Jazeera- Legend of the Fort Island

by Yash Pawaskar

  Jazeera: Legend of the Fort Island

  Yash Pawaskar

  Credits

  Editor: Shilpiya Krishnan

  Cover Designer: Ajay Prabhu

  First Edition

  December, 2019

  Disclaimer

  This is a work of fiction, and all characters and incidents described in this book are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, any place and incidents, is entirely coincidental.

  Yash Pawaskar asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this book. Copyright © Yash Pawaskar.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

  Map

  List of Tribes/Groups and Prominent Characters

  Tribes and Groups

  Islanders: People residing inside Jazeera

  Island Guards: Jazeera’s army of African slaves

  Villagers: People residing in the village on the west coast of Bharatvarsh facing Jazeera

  Junglees: People residing in and around Mahavan

  Cave dwellers: People residing in the cave in the Mahavan

  Adivasis: People residing in a settlement inside the Mahavan

  Characters (in order of appearance)

  Sultan, Zorawar: Ruler of Jazeera

  Wazir, Ubaid Khan: Head of the Council of Ministers at Jazeera

  Bagha: Leader of the Junglees

  Urmila: Gardner at Sultan’s palace, islander

  Kashvi: Leader of the cave dwellers

  Chitrashi: Young cave dweller

  Avni: Kashvi’s daughter

  Guru Ashwath: An elderly scholar among the cave dwellers

  Goraksh: Village Chief’s son

  Shambhu: Head of the Adivasi tribe

  Jahanara: Jazeera’s Queen from Afghan Land and Ubaid Khan’s sister

  Aadil: Prince and son of Zorawar and Jahanara

  Mirabai: Prince Aadil’s caretaker

  Sarayu: Village Chief

  Brinda: Warrior

  Keshav: Kashvi’s brother

  Shravan: Visitor in Jazeera

  Raghu: Urmila’s husband

  Kaal Acharya: Type of Pandit

  Hamid: Officer

  Hassan: Goraksh’s friend

  Harit: Avni’s younger brother

  Jatasya: Council Member and Kashvi’s husband

  Dara: Bagha’s elder brother

  Gaffar: African leader

  Chandra: Elder Council Member

  Bhala: Council Member

  Bakhtiar: Second-in-command of Island Guards

  Part One

  1 – The Mahavan

  Jazeera, the fort island, seemed a lot farther from the forest than it actually was. Tired minds created more obstacles for the Island Guards than their tired bodies. The ten-men armoured squad commissioned to receive the Sultan’s guest from Daulatabad was completely exhausted during the return journey through the forest called the Mahavan. No food, no rest, their only focus was on accomplishing their mission.

  The terrain in the dense Mahavan had challenged the Island Guards, but they had no option other than following the orders of the Wazir, the Head of the Council of Ministers—bring the guest safely to the island. If it wasn’t for the massive tree that had fallen near the stream and blocked their original route, the soldiers would have been on the island by now, at the taverns, whore houses, and eventually in their filthy quarters.

  The sun was about to set, and yet there were a few more miles to cover. A glimmer of orange was still splattered across the darkening sky. The bright-green forest was now starting to turn frighteningly dark. The trees running parallel to the narrow path appeared too close for comfort in the late evening. The forest had a reputation of being unkind to those who wandered post daylight.

  The fatigued men and their guest were trotting through the forest towards the coast in a 3-2-1-2-3 formation on their horses.

  ‘I saw someone up there,’ quivered the young recruit at the rear end of the squad with two riders on his right, pointing to a tree branch on his left.

  His senior counterpart riding beside him, who had been tolerating the rookie’s cowardice throughout the journey, lost his cool. ‘Shut up, you chicken. Grow some balls. Or is something missing down there?’ quipped the bearded horseman and urged him to keep pace with the rest.

  The two soldiers in front of them let out a smirk. But the purple-robed, muscular rider in the middle of the formation didn’t seem amused. He wanted to reach his destination without any incident and seemed focused on the muddy, curvy path ahead. Another rider holding the fluttering emerald-coloured flag with the island’s emblem on it rode closely behind him.

  The young recruit noticed some movement again. He was convinced he had heard something besides the horses’ four-beat gait. He looked right towards the bearded soldier and requested, ‘Listen closely, please.’

  The senior raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Wait. Yes, you are right. I can hear something…’ he paused for effect. ‘I can hear your mother moaning.’ The soldiers laughed heartily at the insult. ‘Now keep your mouth shut, or I will dump a load of horseshit into it.’

  The youngster went quiet, and in a while, too quiet. His senior noticed that the horse on his left wasn’t maintaining its pace. He turned and noticed that the stallion was trotting without a rider.

  He turned to his right and saw his buddy being picked up by a camouflaged figure on the tree branch above them. As the bearded soldier screamed, ‘Insurgents,’ an arrow went through his right eyeball.

  The Junglees were attacking the Sultan’s squad.

  The horsemen were caught off-guard by a flurry of arrows and spears from their right and left. Their count was down to five.

  They moved at frantic speed in the hope of escaping the incoming arrows and spears, but the Junglees had planned the attack well. They had caused the obstruction near the stream that had forced the squad to take a longer route. With the dwindling light, the Junglees had the upper hand in the forest.

  The soldiers had drawn out their shields and blades. They managed to defend themselves and slash at a few Junglees with their swords. However, the Junglees were overpowering. The forest was their den, and they were nothing short of lions in there.

  The sound of the waves was becoming more prominent, as the squad approached a westward curve. They took the turn but were shocked to see a vandalized horse carriage blocking their route. Their horses stopped and neighed vehemently.

  Bagha, leader of the Junglees, stepped out from behind a thick tree trunk directly facing what was left of the squad. A black turban covered his head and face. Only his preying eyes and a prominent scar under his right eye were visible. The soldiers were taken aback and formed a circle with the purple-robed rider in the centre.

  Bagha aimed—decades of training ensured he hardly missed—and launched the spear. It cut through the air rapidly and crashed into the muscular rider’s neck. His purple tunic was now turning blood red.

  The count was down to four.

  Having achieved his goal of killing the Sultan’s guest in the purple robe, Bagha retreated into the forest. The four remaining soldiers were besieged by a bunch of Junglees from the rear with daggers. They were masters at guerrilla warfare, and there was no point fighting them in their backyard. But the soldiers tried their best.

  The horseman with the flag led the fightback. He tore off the flag from what was a thick spear. With a shield protecting his back, he spun the spear swiftly with both hands and bludgeoned th
e Junglees in the arc the spear created. The remaining three soldiers took inspiration from the soldier wielding the spear and fought the Junglees bravely with their swords. Twenty against four wasn’t good odds for the soldiers.

  The Junglees forced the other three soldiers’ horses into submission, causing the soldiers to fall on the ground. While the lone horseman broke the Junglees’ defence, the forest dwellers had punctured the fallen soldiers’ bodies with their rustic daggers.

  The count was down to one.

  Bones had been broken, bodies disfigured, and lives lost on both sides. But there was not an iota of fear in the horseman’s alert eyes. Panic set among the Junglees, and they looked towards the forest for further orders.

  The horseman charged towards them with his spear and ran it through an attacker’s body. He was in position to kill another one when the remaining Junglees responded to a ‘hoot’ from Bagha and retreated inside their haven—the Mahavan.

  The horseman had survived the attack. This meant that the Sultan’s guest had survived.

  The Junglees had been tricked. One of the soldiers had switched attire with the guest. The soldiers lost their lives, but they did manage to accomplish their mission.

  The guest galloped towards the coast. He dismounted from his horse and walked towards the settlement thronged by villagers. That’s when he saw the mighty Jazeera across the sea. It wasn’t just a fort or a city. The fort island was a port for merchants, a market for traders, and a stopover for travellers. It was a strategic economic hub.

  Jazeera looked inviting in the moonlight. The island fort’s boundaries were lit with, what seemed from afar, tiny balls of fire. Once he reached the jetty, the guest approached the oarsman awaiting him. Together they climbed into the boat. When the guest had settled comfortably with an attentive grip over his spear, he ordered the old man to take him to the island fort.

  2 – Island

  The night had settled in Jazeera.

  Unlike her usual punctual self, that night, Urmila was late to return home. She, like several other women in Jazeera, worked in the Sultan’s south-facing three-storied palace, which was constructed in the middle of the fort island.

  She was a gardener, and she toiled from sunrise to sunset to keep the green of the garden intact. That evening, a quarrel between two guards had damaged a line of ferns. The guards made up soon after over toddy, but Urmila had to work overtime to do the patchwork. Ably supported by her colleagues, she finished tending to the damaged ferns and left the palace through a mini door meant for the palace staff in the huge palace gate.

  She was a long way away from her shanty, which was way behind the palace, towards the fort’s northern boundary. What troubled her was the fact that her children would be hungry. Urmila knew that her good-for-nothing husband, who worked as a cobbler in the market, would have finished his daily routine and proceeded towards the tavern with his equally miserable friends, not caring about the children.

  She consoled herself by thinking that she had raised her elder daughter well. ‘Sujata will take care of her little sister,’ she thought. Fuelled by this belief, she walked briskly towards her home taking the shortcut from the butcher’s, covering her mouth with her rough hands to avoid the stench.

  Sujata was eight but was mature enough to understand that something might have kept her mother occupied at the palace. Having learnt early on to not rely on her father, she had developed motherly skills. She took responsibility for her three-year-old sibling, Sarita.

  The child’s incessant wailing and the fact that they had not had anything to eat since afternoon convinced her that the little sister was hungry and had to be fed. Sujata coaxed Sarita to sit on the jute mat and play with her tiny clay toys, while she went to get some food from her aunt, whose house was two streets away, adjoining the fort’s north wall.

  Urmila had ordered her to not visit her aunt post-sunset, as her sister’s house was near a dumping ground thronged by massive rats and flea-infested dogs. There was also an ancient graveyard over there. The site appeared even more miserable in the dark.

  However, the youngster considered her situation as an emergency and thought of doing what her mother would have done. She ran out of her shanty with the thought of feeding Sarita.

  Sujata crossed the street and leaped over the dwarf timber fencing of the houses to reach the dumping ground. However, she mistimed her jump and fell. Her knee was bruised.

  As she was inspecting her wound, she heard a growl from behind her. Then another from her left. And another from her right. She turned and was shocked to see three unruly hounds staring at her. Their heaving made her so nervous that she couldn’t even let out a shriek. She stood up as the dogs approached her.

  Cornered and scared, she ran to the fencing and tried to jump over it but failed again. That’s when she saw a massive shadow near the wall to her right. Her teary eyes couldn’t see clearly but the dogs in front of her seemed to have stopped inching towards her. Their growl had also mellowed.

  She saw the Shadow walk towards her. It grew darker and larger with each step. The dogs were startled by the strange phenomenon and retreated stealthily. Within seconds, Sujata was blinded temporarily. Her feet were lifted off the ground, as the Shadow picked her up in one swift motion. A black sheet was thrown over her, and she instantly became unconscious.

  Urmila came home to a crying daughter and a missing one. She understood that Sujata might have ventured outside to fetch food for Sarita. But when she saw no signs of her return for an hour, she crashed down onto the floor. Tears gushed out, as she realised that, like the other children of Jazeera, her daughter was also ‘taken’.

  3 – Cave

  A mild breeze sauntered through the interiors of the cave. Dressed in a simple cotton saree, pensive-looking Kashvi was seated in a corner, enjoying figs. It was her after-dinner ritual. As she munched on, she saw one of the diyas fizz out due to the breeze.

  She smiled softly, remembering her childhood when she would rush to relight the diya, fearing inauspiciousness, in her father’s home near a riverbank beyond the Mahavan. Time had made her wiser.

  Chitrashi, her daughter’s friend, entered Kashvi’s side of the cave and proceeded to relight the diya. ‘Let it be, my child. It is almost time to retire for the night. Would you like to have some figs?’ asked Kashvi with an enviable smile.

  ‘I have already had enough. And Avni keeps teasing me about my curves, so I do not want to eat a lot,’ said Chitrashi placing her hands on her slightly flabby waist.

  ‘I am sure Avni was just having some harmless fun because she knows what’s on the outside is irrelevant; inner beauty is more important. But I will tell her to stop teasing you. Besides, some men fancy a chubby navel, you know,’ Kashvi teased her and Chitrashi blushed. She did share a friendly relationship with Kashvi, but the fact that she was her best friend’s mother created a barrier.

  ‘Oh, come on, you are in your prime. It is the time to enjoy, irrespective of our circumstances,’ Kashvi nudged.

  ‘Yes, Kashvi,’ Chitrashi giggled.

  ‘What yes?’ Kashvi said, raising her voice mockingly.

  Chitrashi was taken aback and said, ‘No. I mean No. Yes…’ she fumbled, and both laughed merrily.

  ‘How is the work in the cave going on?’ asked Kashvi.

  ‘Going well. The women are persistent,’ answered Chitrashi with a smile.

  ‘And what about the traps alongside the cave?’

  ‘Yes, some are ready; the rest are in progress.’

  ‘Good, good, good,’ replied Kashvi in her peculiar style.

  ‘Kashvi, I completely forgot. Sorry. I came here to give you some bad news.’

  ‘There is no such thing as bad news or good news. It is just news. It is our expectations that make it good or bad,’ replied Kashvi. ‘And how many times have I told you? Women need to stop apologizing for every little thing, especially to men. They will feel they have power over us if you keep apologizing to them for trivial th
ings.’

  ‘Yes, yes. I shall abide by it. Sorry. I mean…’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Kashvi, as she lifted her burnt right hand and patted Chitrashi’s smooth cheeks. ‘Now, tell me. What’s the news?’

  ‘I heard that Bagha and his men had a showdown in the woods, and he killed ten of Sultan’s soldiers.’

  ‘How is this bad news?’ asked Kashvi, blowing off the diyas from her side of the cave one by one. She slept there alongside Bhoodevi, their deity.

  Unlike other deities, theirs wasn’t an idol. Big, ever-open eyes and a red face was drawn on a banyan tree they considered sacred. Its ten-feet wide trunk was half-inside and half-outside the centuries-old cave in the dense Mahavan.

  Chitrashi said, ‘He lost some of his good men during the fight.’

  ‘Well, well, well, that’s a blow to Bagha’s ego. This news will make it difficult for us to have a strategic conversation with him. Has Guru Ashvath returned from his journey to the south?’ she enquired.

  ‘Not yet. From what I have heard, he has halted at the Adivasi settlement,’ said Chitrashi, toying with the end of her neatly braided hair.

  ‘Don’t worry, he will return safely,’ assured Kashvi.

  ‘But he is old and should rest…’

  Kashvi interrupted her saying, ‘Youngsters often perceive elders as weak. The elderly people are not invalids, and Guru Ashvath is certainly not. His body might look frail, but his mind is as sharp as a warrior’s sword.’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be disrespectful.’

  Kashvi widened her eyes, and Chitrashi realised she had used the S-word, again.

  She held her earlobes with her hands, gesturing the acknowledgement of her mistake. Chitrashi looked into Kashvi’s black, beady eyes, which reflected the light emanating from the solitary diya, and asked, ‘Is there anything else for me to do now?’

  ‘Yes. Please go and sleep. You need rest,’ said Kashvi smilingly and blew off the last diya.