YM778.TV Chapter 30: Treachery Among Peers
Chapter 30: Treachery Among Peers
The forest floor trembled with the weight of the fleeing figure, its hurried steps leaving a trail of disturbed foliage in its wake. Stricken with fear, the figure pushed forward, driven by an unseen force compelling it to escape the encroaching darkness.
With each stride, he left a trail of bloodied footprints, his talwar hacking through the thick foliage in his desperate flight.
As he ran, his turbaned head bobbed amidst the shadows, a grim silhouette against the moonlit backdrop. The urgency in his movements was palpable, his heart pounding with fear and adrenaline. His breath came in ragged gasps, the thorns and branches of the unforgiving terrain tearing at his flesh.
In his mad dash, he stumbled, a shoe slipping from his foot and tumbling into the underbrush. Ignoring the loss, he pressed on, driven by an instinct for survival that drowned out the pain and exhaustion gnawing at his limbs.
Exhausted and breathless, he stumbled to a halt, his heaving chest a testament to the relentless pursuit that had dogged him throughout the day. Pausing to catch his breath, he cast a wary glance over his shoulder, hoping against hope that his relentless pursuers had fallen behind. Yet, before he could ascertain his safety, a sudden sense of impending doom seized him, prompting an instinctive dive to the side. In the split second before impact, he felt the whoosh of an arrow whizzing past his cheek, grazing it with a stinging cut.
With adrenaline coursing through his veins, he pushed himself onward, driven by sheer determination to outpace the relentless foes hot on his trail. Each step forward was a battle against exhaustion, his aching muscles protesting with every movement. Yet, with the river\'s edge beckoning in the distance, he knew he had no choice but to press on, his very survival hanging in the balance.
With every passing moment, the pursuers drew closer, their intent clear in the twang of bowstrings and the whistle of arrows slicing through the air.
As adrenaline coursed through his veins, he pushed himself onward, driven by sheer determination to outpace the relentless foes hot on his trail. Each step forward was a battle against exhaustion, his aching muscles protesting with every movement.
Upon reaching the summit, his heart sank as he was confronted with a stark reality:
a sheer drop loomed before him, the cliff\'s edge offering a treacherous descent to the river below.
The turbaned man came to an abrupt halt, his chest heaving as he turned to face the ominous figures emerging from the shadows of the forest, their hooded silhouettes poised with deadly intent. Each archer stood with bow drawn, their arrows trained on him, a silent but potent threat. Stepping forward, their leader, cloaked in black, brandished his sword and issued a commanding ultimatum.
"Throw down your weapon and surrender. There is no escape. Our Badshah may grant you a swift death," he proclaimed with steely resolve.
The turbaned man glanced over his shoulder, his gaze falling upon the precipice that dropped sharply to the swirling river below. With beads of sweat mingling with the crimson stains on his face, a desperate determination flickered in his eyes, belying the facade of resignation on his countenance.
Driving his sword into the damp earth, he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, momentarily easing the tension among the elite guards. But in a sudden twist of fate, he pivoted on his heel, defying expectation, and made a mad dash toward the cliff\'s edge. With a resounding cry, "Jo bole so Nihal!" he leaped into the abyss, plummeting toward the rushing waters below.
Caught off-guard by the audacity of his maneuver, the leader of the elite guards barked orders, "Quick, fire!" Arrows sliced through the air, raining down upon the spot where the man had disappeared, their fate uncertain as they vanished into the darkness.
** Few days back when Mughals army returned to Lahore (Origin of ambush)**
As the evening descended, the golden rays of the setting sun casted long shadows across the tent where the leaders of the Mughal Empire had gathered outside Lahore. Tension hung heavy in the air as the discussion turned to the growing discontent within the empire.
Bairam Khan, being the cunning strategist, spoke up, his voice low and insidious. "Gentlemen, it is clear that our Badshah\'s peace treaty leads only to ruin. The soldiers grow restless, and rumours of rebellion spread like wildfire. But what if we were to redirect their anger and frustration towards a different target?"
Shah Quli Mahram, his brow furrowed with concern, questioned, "And who might that be, Bairam Khan? Surely you do not suggest turning against Safavid Sultanate? Also Badshah is not among us yet."
Bairam Khan\'s lips twisted into a sinister smile. "No, my dear Shah Quli. I propose a different target altogether. What if we were to incite the soldiers to riot in the outskirts of Lahore, to plunder the infidels and sow chaos? And then, we could place the blame squarely on the shoulders of our enemies, the forces of the Hemu."
A murmur of unease rippled through the tent as the leaders contemplated the implications of such a plan. Ali Quli Khan Shaibani, being loyalist to the throne, bristled at the suggestion. "This is madness, Bairam Khan! Such actions would only bring further suffering to our people. We cannot allow ourselves to descend into chaos and lawlessness. We will become bad example and history will paint Mughlai Huqumat as tyranny."
"I think what Bairam Khan says actually makes sense," Sikandar Khan Uzbak conceded, his voice carrying a note of agreement. "Also, we don\'t need to worry about history when we are going to write it ourselves. Since Badshah had declared our controlled territory as Pakistan, then we should clean it and make it really PAK with the kafir\'s bloods."
Abdullah Khan Uzbak, standing nearby, chimed in with his support. "Right brother," he affirmed, his tone resolute. "I also agree with this plan. We can maintain order by giving the infidels the chance to convert and follow the grace of Allah. If they don\'t, then we can set examples."
Ali Quli Khan, his brow furrowed with worry, raised his voice in protest. "You people are going against our sultanate\'s principles set by our predecessors," he argued passionately. "We allow kafirs to live in our land if they pay jizya. Robbing them of their lives when they pay is completely inhumane and barbaric. Neither I nor my cousin Mahmud Khan will be part of this plan."
Shah Quli Mahram, sensing the rising tension, interjected, his tone calm yet authoritative. "Let us not resort to infighting," he urged, his gaze shifting between the gathered leaders. "We are already facing high tensions, and discord among ourselves will only weaken us further. Bairam Khan, I share Ali Quli Khan\'s concern. What if Badshah doesn\'t take it seriously and dismiss it as local bandit\'s conspiracy?"
Tension hung thick in the air as Bairam Khan\'s eyes scanned the faces of the assembled leaders. His voice, though firm, filled with desperation as he spoke. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," his tone grave.
"The truth is, Badshah has committed a grave sin, one that may tarnish the Mughal legacy for generations to come. If we are to salvage what remains of our sultanate, he must be held accountable."
His words sent a ripple of shock through the gathered leaders, but Bairam Khan pressed on, his resolve unwavering. "Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good," he continued, his gaze flickering to Sikandar khan for a brief moment. "And if the Badshah is to see the error of his ways, we must make it personal. We must strike at his heart, igniting a fire within him that cannot be quenched. His mother must be sacrificed, and we will lay the blame at the feet of Bhargav empire."
The mention of the Badshah\'s mother sent a chill down the spines of the assembled leaders.
Ali Quli Khan, his face twisted with rage and betrayal, drew his sword. "Enough! You have crossed limits Bairam Khan! This is treason! Your head will..."
Before he could finish his protest, a swift motion caught everyone by surprise. Sikandar khan, loyal to Bairam Khan, lunged forward with a dagger, plunging it multiple times into Ali Quli Khan\'s back. The tent erupted into chaos as guards moved to defend their respective leaders, but Bairam Khan\'s supporters swiftly dispatched them.
Shah Quli Mahram\'s eyes widened in horror. "You cannot be serious, Bairam Khan! Turning against your own people..."
But Bairam Khan remained calm, his eyes cold and calculating. "No, Shah Quli Mahram. This is revival. And if you stand in our way, then you too shall meet the same fate as Ali Quli Khan."
As the blood pooled beneath Ali Quli khan\'s lifeless body, the weight of Bairam Khan\'s words hung heavy in the air, casting a dark shadow over the fate of the Mughal sultanate.
The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on Shah Quli Mahram, as he realized the next body in floor will be his if he goes against the flow. He finally decided to give in to Bairam khan\'s side knowing there is no chance of his survival on further protest.
As the tension in the tent reached its peak, Shah Quli Khan\'s unexpected alignment with Bairam Khan brought a momentary sense of relief. "Good, you still have sense and foresight for the welfare of the sultanate," Bairam Khan acknowledged, his tone carrying a note of approval.
However, Abdullah Khan Uzbak\'s words of caution quickly dampened the mood. "I think we are in a dire situation," he voiced, his concern evident. "With Ali Quli Khan gone, who will lead the cavalry? And what of his cousin Mahmud Khan? He remains inside the fort as the zat (city lord). If news of our plans were to leak from this tent..."
Bairam Khan silenced Abdullah\'s worries with a reassuring gesture, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Do not worry," he reassured, his voice steady despite the gravity of the situation. "You will lead the cavalry. And once we take care of Mahmud, Sikandar Khan will assume the role of new zat (city lord)."
Sikandar Khan nodded in acknowledgment of Bairam Khan\'s decree, gratitude evident in his expression. With a sense of purpose, Bairam Khan issued his next commands.
"Abdullah Khan, call Istafa and Ansari to the tent. I have a brilliant plan," he announced, his voice brimming with confidence. "We will eliminate the snakes, and our sticks won\'t even break."
Turning to Sikandar Khan, Bairam Khan\'s tone hardened as he issued his final directive. "Prepare your forces," he instructed, his words ringing with determination. "Tell them it\'s time for revenge."
With the stage set for a dramatic showdown, the shadows of treachery loomed large over the tent, leaving the fate of the sultanate in the hands of ruthless ambition and cunning strategy.