Jayti Singh: Chapters 13 - 16 :: BigCloset Classic :: BigCloset TG Stories <br /> June 2001 to November 2004

Will Jayti find love, or will she escape to Udaipur to rid India of the Moghul Empire?

Chapters 13-16

by aardvark

Thanks to all who left comments.

Warning: violence and mild profanity.

Chapter 13: Hassan Discovers Jayti’s Secret

The next day, after first prayers, the eunuch arrived with four female guards. Jayti put on a thick, concealing loose blue muslin covering with a matching hijab, a scarf worn around the head and under the chin.

Jayti climbed in a black palanquin with a dark blue parda. They left through the Harem Main Gate. The short trip was made down a brick street lined with whitewashed mud-brick residences. There were a few curious pedestrians in mundane cotton dress, and veiled women watched them from windows and balconies.

They pulled up to the door of a nondescript two-story structure, and the red and white clad eunuch assisted Jayti out of the palanquin. Her father stood in the door wearing his finest white cotton salwar and long-sleeved kurta with red sash. Her mother stood beside him, dressed for the occasion of her daughter's homecoming in a fine blue sari. Jayti's little sister peeked out between the two. Jayti walked unassisted into the house while the guards posted themselves outside, two at each exit.

Jayti removed the veil; she was with her family again. The eunuch had followed her in. Jayti turned to him. "Excuse me, but would you please give me and my family some privacy? It's been a long time since I've seen them." She saw uncertainty in his face. "You don't think I'm going to run off somewhere, do you?" Her eyes mocked him. "There are guards posted at the doors, if you're worried."

"I'll wait outside, Yasmeen," he said, and left.

Her mother watched him go. She looked into her daughter's eyes and touched her face. "My daughter has grown up. You look like you've seen a lot. Should I call you Yasmeen now? Is Yasmeen your new name?"

Jayti nodded. "I'm always Jayti to my family, mother. I had to convert to Islam for the wedding. It was either convert or stay in the harem, probably forever. Ruqayya Sultan Begam was fairly clear about that."

Her mother's mouth dropped. "You talked to the Empress?"

"Yes. She's the person who decided I should get married, either she or Emperor Akbar. I am a reward to a person named Abdul Jamal who is 'a little older than me' according to the Sultana." Jayti smiled. "Mother, this is a very good thing. You have no idea how it is in the harem."

Jayti talked for an hour, describing the harem and harem life to her mother, father and a gaping little sister. She didn't tell them everything. She left out the part about Razak, but she did talk about her friends Maryam, Inayat, Farha, and Hassan and dancing before the Emperor.

Jayti looked at her father, who was trying to smile, but was clearly unhappy his daughter was a Muslim. She hugged him and whispered in his ear, "I'll never be a Muslim in my heart. I had to say the words to get away."

He whispered back, "I know, Jayti." He pulled back and felt her arms. "Daughter, you are very strong, like an Amazon. You also seem different, so confident. Has the harem changed you so much?"

["Mark, I want to tell him about you, but I can't! He would think you were a demon."]

['I understand. At least let me draw the picture of the septic system for your house.']

["Yes! I can do that, at least."]

"Father, I've learned a lot in the harem. I have a surprise for you, but I have to draw it. Did you bring any paper and ink?"

"Yes. I'll get some."

Mark sat down and drew precise 3 dimensional pictures of an elementary toilet, septic lines and the septic tank and explained how it all worked. Jayti's father understood after a short time and was impressed. "Arundhati, you would like this. Come see this. If we have this built, you won't have to throw the night soil into the river. It will all wash away with water."

Her mother looked at the pictures. "Jayti, you learned to do these things in the harem?"

Mark looked at her. "Sometimes, mother, you never know where you're going to learn new things."

["I'd better take over now."]

['Please do.']

"Mother, where is Veer, Dhirendra, and Natya?"

"They'll be here in a couple of days. They had to stay behind to arrange things for us to be away so long."

"You know about the wedding plans?"

"Yes, it will happen at the end of the week. You'll come here again, and we'll prepare you with henna, dress you in your wedding dress, and we'll all have a party. Your father will meet the bridegroom's father tomorrow and arrange the bride price."

* * * * * * * * * *

Jayti wanted to say her last good buys to Hassan before she left. She left a message with The Keeper of the Robes to meet Hassan in the Hawa Majal garden after sunset prayer. He was waiting for her, lounging on a sandalwood bench under a large, leafy Banyan tree in a secluded part of the garden.

He tapped the space next to him and she sat. His smooth face reflected the fading sun. "So, Jayti, or should I call you Yasmeen, now. You've done it. You're leaving the harem."

"Call me Jayti. My family and my closest friends do."

Hassan nodded at the compliment. "I've watched your time here with interest, Jayti. It's remarkable how much you've accomplished in a few months. You find a dance tune that is unlike any other anyone else has ever heard and give it to Maryam. This makes her a powerful concubine. You dance before the Emperor. And then, there is the matter of Razak..."

Jayti's eyes went wide, and she shifted suddenly in her seat. "What?"

Hassan held his hand up. "Don't worry, Jayti. Your secret is safe with me. Your reaction is just a confirmation of something I suspected."

"I... I don't know what you're talking about!" Jayti face was red. She was shocked.

"You never could lie well. You're too honest. This is what I know. I have a friend who reports to me who works in the bath. There was a rumor that Maryam and Fatima were lovers from the way they looked at each other. Nothing confirmed, but it was fairly obvious. There were also rumors about Razak and Maryam. They were seen speaking to each other many times, but nobody likes Razak. Again, nothing confirmed.

"Along comes Jayti. Fatima and Maryam stop visiting each other. Now Razak hates Maryam and Fatima hates you. Maryam gets a new dance from you and she is suddenly a powerful concubine and can see Fatima again with impunity if she is careful. Fatima likes you again.

"Not long after, Razak tells The Chief Eunuch there is a dildo in your apartment. He comes, but can't find anything. The three people who would have been affected the most, possibly even killed, were Maryam, Fatima, and you. My spy at the bath tells me that Inayat appears to have been beaten immediately afterwards. Her face is swollen.

"The next day, Razak kills himself after talking to Inayat in the bath the day before. There was no connection that I knew of between Razak and Inayat, but now, Inayat, Maryam, Fatima, Razak, and you are now connected in some very bad way. The day that Razak died, I checked all of your clothing on a hunch and found out the laundry had been cursing you and Inayat for having large grass stains on your clothes.

"All this is not proof of anything. It could have been coincidence, until you reacted the way you did. Don't worry about me talking. There's no proof, and I would never inform on you. You did everyone in the harem a favor by getting rid of him. All I want to know is how in the hell you did it and why. I can die peacefully, knowing that."

["I'm going to tell him, Mark. He already knows about Razak. He could have turned us in two months ago after knowing about the grass stains."]

['I agree. He has the right to know.']

Jayti looked at Hassan for a moment. "I killed him with a knife hand strike to the throat. (She demonstrated the stroke) It broke his larynx." She looked at the ground. "He was very strong. He almost killed me. Inayat and I managed to pull him up with the rope together. Afterwards, we yanked on him until his neck broke to make it look good."

Hassan shook his head. "Amazing. You must have been desperate to do such a thing."

"Razak blackmailed Inayat into planting a dildo in the apartment to implicate Maryam. I was lucky enough to find it, and got away just before the Chief Eunuch and the guards arrived. Inayat looked nervous afterwards, so I knew she had done it. Our forgiveness required that she help me kill Razak."

Hassan laughed in his high pitched voice. "I will remember this until the day I die, little one. Another year here, and you would have been Empress." He looked at her curiously. "So, are you a warrior, too? You never would have attacked Razak if you didn't think you would win."

Jayti took a deep breath. "I had help."

['Jayti, are you sure you want to do this?']

["I have to tell someone, Mark or I'll go crazy. I trust Hassan."]

Jayti told Hassan the story about Mark, how they met, who he was and what he knew.

Hassan looked skeptically at Jayti. "You're joking, but it's a strange kind of joke. If this is really true, why don't you allow Mark to talk to me?"

She turned her head to Hassan with a strange smile. The voice was slightly different. "This is Mark, Hassan. It's nice to finally talk to you. Everything Jayti said is true." She sighed. "Go ahead, ask me some questions. Jayti was going nuts, not being able to talk to anyone about me."

Hassan's mouth dropped. They talked well over an hour about everything: medicine, philosophy, music, history, the future, and Mark's country.

Hassan was convinced. He asked hesitantly, "Is there any way for me to become a man again?"

Mark looked at him compassionately. "No, Hassan. There isn't. In my time, we could have added something to you that would have looked like the real thing, but wouldn't have been; it would still have lacked the feeling. The best you can do in this time is to take male hormones regularly. It would put hair on your face, make you stronger and look more like a man. Male urine, wet or dried would do it. The Chinese use it sometimes. It would take a lot, but it wouldn't be impossible."

Hassan looked down. "Well, that's something, I suppose." He brightened. "So, you are the one who made Jayti special."

Mark shook her head. "No, she's special on her own. I just knew a tune that I thought might be helpful. Maryam and Hasseema turned it into a great dance. I've been teaching Jayti how to fight for a few months. She's good, too. She probably could have taken Razak down as well as I did."

"I think you underestimate yourself. Razak was your idea, wasn't it?"

Mark nodded her head.

"That was a brave, bold plan. How is it living with Jayti?"

"Very different and exciting. We talk, and we discuss things. We make a good team and we have the same goals."

Mark studied Hassan for a moment. "Hassan, would you like to go to Amber with us as part of our team?"

It was Hassan's turn to study Mark. "I admit, the idea is appealing. You must be the most interesting person on the earth."

Mark sighed. "It's a lot more than that." She turned to Hassan. "Answer me as honestly as possible. How do you feel about the Moghuls?"

Hassan stared at Mark.

Mark was serious. "Come on, Hassan, our life is in your hands, already. I really want to know."

Hassan said. "I don't like them. I never did. They control the country by force and they are cruel. Still, I see no option to them."

Mark was suddenly cold. "Bullshit, Hassan. That's not nearly good enough." She inched nearer to Hassan's face and glared him straight in the eye. "Jayti hates them for what they did to her, the casual way they took her from her family and the way they treat Jodhpur and India, taking the wealth from the people and making the Hindus kiss their ass."

"I can't stand them, not only because of what they did to Jayti, but because I've seen much better. I know the Moghuls are rotten, even in these times. I know what the possibilities are for the future. I've been there."

["Mark! What are you doing?"]

['This is guy talk, Jayti. Let me handle this.']

"But you have perhaps the best reason of us all. I was a man for 29 years before I shared a woman's body, Hassan, and I know! I know that you hate their guts. They took your balls, your future family and forced you into this life. I know you're still a man in there, Hassan, and no man I know would ever just accept what happened to him. Ever! So I ask you again, man to man, what do you think of the Moghuls?"

Hassan broke away from Mark's stare and stood up. He paced up and down by the bench for a minute. Finally he faced Mark, sitting grimly on the bench. "Jayti, if you're listening, I believe it now. There really is a man inside you." Hassan looked into the darkening sky and sighed. "Yes, I hate the bastards for what they did to me. First a slave, then a eunuch. I never accepted it, but what were my options? If I had had a chance..." He clenched his fists and wiped a tear away before it could fall.

"Hassan, you know I have a lot of knowledge of future things. Your job would be to figure out how to use my knowledge to help bring the Moghuls down. Jayti and I can't do it alone. I'd like to see you there because I like you, but really, we need you, too."

"I don't really have to think about it, Mark. I think I have a good idea how much your knowledge is worth. I'd work with you for that alone, but how does Jayti feel about this?"

The switch in speaking voices was subtle and swift. "Hassan, this is Jayti. Of course I want you to come with us." Jayti looked around for other visitors to the area, reached up and kissed Hassan passionately. When Hassan recovered, Jayti said. "That was from me to you, Hassan, although Mark was there, too. You're more of a man with no balls, than most men with them."

Hassan reared his head back and laughed. "I don't know who was more persuasive, but I like the way Jayti works, better. If it's possible, I'll go with you. Suddenly, the harem doesn't seem to be quite as exciting as it used to be. Why don't we meet back here tomorrow after first prayers? I have some thinking to do."

* * * * * * * * * *

The next day just before first prayers, Jayti told Maryam she was trying to get Hassan to go to Amber with her.

"Is this really important, Jayti? He's just a eunuch."

"It's important to me. He was a good friend on the way to the harem, all the way from Jodhpur. He told me much about the harem that was very helpful. I may ask Ruqayya for him as a wedding present."

"I'll be with the Emperor tomorrow night, you know. I could ask him to give Hassan to you."

Jayti looked at Maryam. "You'd do this for me?"

"Of course, I would! You saved my life at least once and most of this," her arm described an arc that took in most of the apartment, "is due to you. Stop being so modest. You get married in two days. It's the least I can do if that's what you want."

"It's what I want, Maryam and thank you, but could I wait to ask you to talk to the Emperor about it? I want to talk to Hassan, first."

"Sure. Just let me know before tomorrow night."

* * * * * * * * * *

Hassan was waiting on the bench under the same Banyan tree in the garden when Jayti returned. She sat by Hassan in the bright morning coolness.

"Is this Jayti or Mark?" Asked Hassan.

"It's Jayti, but Mark can see and hear everything I can."

He regarded her. "I thought about it last night. Ruqayya or Akbar could give me to you, but the Chief Eunuch could not. Your new husband wouldn't ask for me. I know Ruqayya, but we aren't close. She might talk to you, but a servant has never carried any weight with her. The other option is the Emperor."

"I was going to try Ruqayya, but Maryam is seeing the Emperor tomorrow night. She said she would ask for you as a wedding gift."

"That's very good news. I believe this is the best chance." Hassan grew serious for a moment. "I may never see you again after today, Jayti. If the Emperor turns Maryam down tomorrow night, your wedding is the next day and will be too late to do anything. If that happens, I'll never forget you."

"If the Emperor doesn't allow you to come to Amber with us, we may have to go back and get you." Jayti smiled up at him. "You have no idea how much you mean to us. You're literally the only friend we have in the world we can trust."

* * * * * * * * *

'The Emperor is in for a surprise, tonight,' thought Maryam, as the eunuchs escorted her to the Emperor's quarters.

The red clad female guards guarding the Emperor's life stood relaxed and ready, their spears angled slightly to either side of the ornate double doors. At Maryam's approach, they pushed the doors inward and let her through, closing the doors silently behind.

The large room with the dome of four carved intersecting beams always awed Maryam. The swirled pattern gilded walls reflected the light of the numerous wall lamps into a soft golden glow that was at once comfortable and intimidating. A musician with a polished sitar and a slave with sweets and drink stood silently in the far corner. She crossed the thick purple Persian rug to the window by the balcony door and bowed to the Emperor, pressing the palm of her right hand to her forehead.

The Emperor lay indolently on a divan by the wall, loosely dressed in a white cotton dhoti under a gold and yellow robe. He smiled broadly at her approach. "Ah, my tigress returns to me."

'He looks well rested,' thought Maryam. 'We're in for a long night.' She smiled at the Emperor. "Your Highness, your tigress would like to dance for you." Taking the initiative like that was unthinkable a couple of months ago; it would have been the height of arrogance in her old persona. But since Bolero, a fierce new attitude overlay everything she did. When Jayti had worked her magic at the dance and with Razak, Maryam had taken the tigress completely to heart and had made it hers.

'How could I have thought she was weak and soft?' Thought the Emperor. 'She is anything, but.' "Dance for me, Maryam."

Maryam spoke briefly to the musician. She began in the center of the rug, dancing to a classic Hindu piece, one of the dances that she had disliked for so long, with the difficult finger and arm positioning that gave her so much trouble. With Hasseema's help, she had changed it. The dance was no longer the delicate, stylized thing it was designed to be. It was now the dance of a feline stretching her claws, an arrogant cat dancing to please itself.

The dance completed and Maryam bowed, seemingly unconcerned with the Emperor's reaction.

Akbar dismissed the musician and slave, pausing only to take a sip from a glass on the tray. He pulled the choli and ghagara from her and watched her firm, strong body in the soft light for a moment before he took her to bed. He made love to her twice, the first time as man conquering a woman, the second time more relaxed.

Akbar held her in his arms and was close to sleep. Maryam stirred and spoke quietly, "Your Highness, I have a request."

"Hmm, you want something, Maryam?" Asked the Emperor sleepily.

"It's not for me, your Highness. It's for my servant, Yasmeen. She's getting married tomorrow, and I'd like to allow her to keep a eunuch she met on the trip to the harem. His name is Hassan Faisal."

Akbar roused himself. "You'd like me to give Yasmeen a wedding present of this eunuch?"

"Yes, your Highness. They became friends during the trip."

Akbar considered. He had no objection to it really, but... "No, Maryam. I won't. The husband must know his own house. I won't send him a wife with a servant he doesn't know or can't control."

"Your Highness," she purred, moving her arm down his body.

"No."

"Well, if you won't give her the eunuch, could you give her something in its place?" Her hand continued its meandering path, finally arriving at its destination.

"Are you demanding a gift?" He asked dangerously.

"Never, your Highness. A tigress never demands anything. She just takes." She nibbled his earlobe.

Akbar laughed. "Stop, Maryam. I'll give your servant something. Hmm, say 100 gold mohurs. That should satisfy even you. Now, let me get some sleep."

Chapter 14: Amber Fort

Maryam came back to her apartment before first prayers and gave Jayti the news.

Strangely, to Maryam, she didn't seem happy. "Jayti, what's wrong?"

"Please don't think I'm ungrateful. The money is a very welcome surprise, but Hassan is a friend. I'll probably never see him again." Jayti paced the floor. "I have to give him a package before I go. I have something to give you, too."

Five hours later, Jayti left the harem for the last time. The tearful good-byes had been said. Maryam had insisted the jeweled hairpin Jayti wanted to give Hassan be replaced with one of her own jewels. Fatima surprised Jayti with a gift of her own, a diamond bindi for her forehead, worth a fortune. She'd made a fuss, setting it correctly on Jayti's head.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Jayti greeted her entire family at the door. She hugged her brothers who were shocked at her appearance. Their little sister was suddenly a beautiful woman. They talked excitedly for a couple of hours about the harem and life back in Jodhpur until Jayti's mother kicked all the men out; the women had to prepare Jayti for the wedding.

Jayti talked to her father for a short time, just before he left. He became angry. "You can't just come in on the last day and demand this! I've already agreed to bride price!"

“Father, I have to do this. I won't agree to another wife. If he wants another wife, I must be able to divorce him." She handed him a paper. "Here, please take this. It's clear on the paper that this is my decision alone, and I apologize for the last minute condition. Just explain to him I am just a selfish young girl who wants a husband all to herself. And here is something else."

Jayti gave him 10 gold mohurs. "Give these to him. Tell him I give these to him freely, without condition, because of the trouble I'm putting him through. These are for him to keep, regardless of what he decides." She saw the indecision on her father's face. She started to cry. "Please, father! It's very important to me! The shame will come to me if he refuses. I'm sorry for this, but this is for the rest of my life."

Her father shook his head in agitation. "Very well. I'll do it for you, daughter. It isn't the way things are done, but he seems reasonable. I'll see what he has to say."

It took hours. Jayti's mother had little time to apply the henna to her hands and face to ensure it dried in time for the wedding.

"Jayti, you are so strong and skinny!" she exclaimed after she and Natya removed her clothing to apply the sandalwood paste that would give her body a golden sheen. "Your husband won't like that. Women should be soft and weak, not hard like a man!" Like most brides, Jayti had to suffer through hours of endless nattering. It was easy to ignore; Jayti's mind was elsewhere.

Just after sunset, she heard a voice coming from outside the window. "Jayti. Jayti!"

"Yes, father?" She asked in a trembling voice.

"You have no right to be this lucky! He was angry at first, but he thought about it for a while, and he actually laughed. He said the Sultana had warned him that you were full of surprises. He accepts your apology for bringing this up at the last minute. He also returned the money. He said he didn't want to start a marriage as a bought man. His father was the tough one. I had to apologize to him more than once for your misconduct."

"Thank you, father! I'll try to make this up to you!"

Her mother looked at her curiously, pausing in her application of kohl to Jayti's eyes. "Jayti, you're almost crying. Child, what have you been up to?"

"Mother, I think I've just secured my future."

Jayti made a quick trip into the kitchen during a brief time when she was unattended. She removed some rock salt and sesame seed oil from the pantry and stuffed them in her wedding pack. Pregnancy was not an option.

The wedding preparations were finally complete. The women entertained each other inside the house. Jayti was warned about what to expect on the wedding night, and Mark was surprised to feel Jayti blush. Sweets and appetizers were prepared and eaten. Outside, musicians played happy songs in the small garden behind the house. Her brothers, her father, and many of the men in the neighborhood, invited specially for the occasion, were eating a wedding feast prepared earlier in the day.

The bridegroom and her soon-to-be father-in-law arrived just before dark, riding matching, black Arabian horses. They wore fine turbans and rich clothing appropriate for the event. The bridegroom's younger brother trailed behind on another horse, walking just ahead of the bridal palanquin. Her father and brothers greeted their new in-laws heartily, handing them food and drink as they dismounted.

The party went on for most of the evening. Torches illuminated the cool night. Ribald jokes were told to the groom by some of the local men in a good-natured fashion. Finally, Jayti was brought to a room specially prepared in the house for this occasion. Her new husband, her father, and future father-in-law were already waiting.

["Mark, I am so scared."]

['Don't worry, Jayti, I've been through this before, admittedly from the other side. This will go quickly. The groom isn't bad looking at all.']

["I know. This could've been a lot worse. I think I like him for what he did earlier today. Forcing him to agree to those conditions at the last minute was a dirty trick."]

['I like him too, but it had to be done. Jayti, that was a brilliant idea.']

["I hope so. It may take a year or more to convince him that I'm not producing children, but he will now have to divorce me before taking another wife."]

Abdul saw her for the first time as she walked into the room. She was vision in a gold Zari and red veil; Fatima's gift decorated her forehead. 'This is my wife,' he thought. 'I know already that she's bold, whatever she looks like underneath the veil.'

The Kazi started the ceremony almost immediately. A few eyebrows were raised as he spoke the condition that Jayti had insisted upon, but that was all. The Kazi recited the Fatihah from the Koran and the appropriate Durad. It was soon over.

The new couple were congratulated and sent on their way. Jayti entered the palanquin and was taken to the bridal chamber at her new husband's rented house, not far away.

Jayti felt her veil being lifted by her new husband as he saw her for the first time. His eyes grew large and his face broke into an infectious smile that Jayti found she couldn't resist. "May Allah be praised. Yasmeen, you are beautiful," he said in wonder. Jayti surprised herself by blushing.

He gently removed her clothes in the soft light of the oil lamps and looked at his new wife. She was soft, but firm underneath, much like her personality, he suspected. He removed his clothes and gently lifted her to the bed and lay beside her.

"Abdul, my husband. I'm sorry for..."

He put a soft finger to her lips. 'She is so beautiful!' he thought again. "It is done. I agreed. Now, let's not think about it anymore."

He made love to her slowly. She was nervous, as was expected, but gradually, she warmed to his embrace. He entered her and she winced slightly, but the pain was quickly over. He began again slowly and she relaxed and even moved her hips in rhythm with his efforts. Small, sweet sounds came from her lips until finally, he came too quickly. Her beauty was too much. It was over.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jayti felt Abdul's eyes on her as he removed her clothing. 'I am so nervous, and I want him. I want him.' She trembled at the thought. It was finally happening.

["Mark!"]

['Relax, Jayti. You know you want him. So do I.']

Hers knees grew weak as Abdul picked her up and laid her on the bed. Looking up at him, she tried to apologize for her behavior, but he cut her off easily. She felt his lips against hers; slight razor stubble on his chin and his mustache made it slightly uncomfortable, but not unpleasant. She felt his strength and smelled him. Gradually, she melded to his body and felt the unmistakable maleness of him. When he entered her, she was ready for him, only the expected pain making her nervous. The pain came quickly, but also left almost as fast. 'It's over,' she thought, marveling. 'I'm a woman now.' Gradually and then eagerly, she lost herself in his movements. When the end came, she was still hungry, but not unhappy.

["Mark?"]

['Jayti... I melted. I actually just let him take me. No, make that more like I wanted him to take me. Jesus, I still want him.']

["Mark."]

['Yes.']

["You need to get over this. That was great. Not as good as you, but I think between the two of us, we could train him. By the way, do you think his lingam fits our yoni? Does it, Mark? Does it? Hmm?"]

['Okay, okay. I'm officially over it. I loved it. If that makes me a woman, then so be it. I'm through worrying about it. Hell, let's get him started again.']

[“That's the Mark I know!”]

Abdul was pleasantly surprised when Yasmeen lifted her arms to his face and gently pulled him down to her lips. Her soft lips kissed him gently as her arms wrapped around his back.

* * * * * * * * * *

He awoke early and looked at her sleeping face, a slight smile still upon it. They made love twice more that night. The last time she showed him how to touch a spot on her yoni and was rewarded with cries of pure pleasure. She was certainly no passive woman! The night was only spoiled a little when Yasmeen left him for a moment to visit the latrine for a few minutes.

He woke her up with a playful slap to the rear. She yelped in mock pain, then kissed him. "Husband, shall I make you breakfast?" She asked.

"No, there's nothing here to eat. We'll leave for Amber right after first prayer and get something in town."

"I'd like to say you were wonderful last night." She smiled, shyly.

"Well, aren't you bold!" He laughed. "Just don't say that where someone can hear you."

They prayed together for the first time. After washing, Yasmeen put on her hijab, knelt towards Mecca and performed the raka'ah. Afterwards, they started the long trip to Amber.

* * * * * * * * * *

Maryam still had a hard time believing what Jayti drew for her as a goodbye gift. It was a series of pictures that could not be. One picture was of a peculiar type of house with unusual windows and a tall roof. Outside, a man and woman were dressed strangely, and were about to get into something Jayti called a 'car'. "People drive it," answered Jayti, when she was asked.

Another scene depicted a beach, with a man and woman in scandalous dress walking arm in arm. A sleek looking boat, of a design Maryam had never seen before, was in the background. What impressed Maryam the most was how natural the scenes were, and how good an artist Jayti was. The pictures looked so real, not at all like the flat pictures she was used to.

"What's this, Jayti?" Maryam had asked.

"Our future," Jayti had replied.

* * * * * * * * * *

Hassan felt again, the large diamond in his hand. He'd been bothered by Akbar's rejection of Maryam's request for him to go to Amber with Jayti, but not surprised. When Maryam gave him a diamond and the sheaf of papers, that was a surprise. He even surprised himself and Maryam when he told her that as Jayti's friend, she could count on him for help if needed. Truly, it was a day of surprises; he was about to go, when she remembered something. She took his arm. "Jayti asked me to tell you to 'follow your dreams'."

"That's all she said?"

"Yes."

The drawings were incredible, all the more so, because he knew they were true. They were certainly clear enough. There was a drawing of a city on the ocean with impossibly tall buildings. A small island lay in the foreground, bearing a huge sculpture of a woman in long robes carrying a book in one hand and a torch held high in the other.

There was another drawing of something flying, a plane, Mark called it, sleek looking and deadly, carrying narrow objects beneath its wings. There were pictures of everyday life and a picture of a family in odd dress, a young man in his late 20's, a pretty woman, and two young girls standing in front of an unusual house. The names were labeled. Hassan was familiar enough with the western alphabet to spell them out - Mark, Jasmine, Barbara and Katie. Jasmine sounded enough like Yasmeen to confirm something he had suspected.

Mark and Jayti's meaning was clear enough. The invitation to go to Amber is open. I am giving you the means to do what you want to do. Follow your dreams.

The next trip into Lahore, he asked about Chinese medicines.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jayti knew the end was close as the huge honey walls of the Amber Fort came into view, circling the top of a large, scruffy hill overlooking Lake Maota. The reflection of the fort in the water of the lake at twilight was mesmerizing.

In case she missed anything, her new husband kept up a steady chatter from his Arabian stallion, describing the sights, the houses, the village, and where to buy things. They had considerable time to talk on the way to Amber. He was a Mansabdar, a Moghul noble with a salary and land from which he derived income. 'No wonder he turned down the 10 gold mohurs,' she thought. 'He's rich.'

Her palanquin made it's easy way through the sprawling village at the base of the hills and around the lake, up the steep path to the gate. Passing through the gate, they turned left, passing a huge garden on the right with a Palace behind. Turning right, following the boundaries of the garden, they entered a row of apartments and residences facing the garden and palace, stopping at one of the larger houses.

Abdul assisted Jayti into their home. Four men were lined up inside, awaiting Abdul's inspection.

"Master," said a well-dressed man of medium height, bowing low. "Welcome home."

"Ali, this is my wife, Yasmeen," he said proudly. Turning to Jayti, he smiled the infectious version and pointed to his servant. "And this is Ali. He's been with my family for 20 years. He runs the household."

Two were guards. Both were tall. The swarthy guard's name was Hamid; the other guard was Rustam. The last man in the row was the cook, Tajim, a short, very neat man in his 30's.

Abdul clapped his hands. "Prepare the bath. I expect dinner in two hours!"

The household staff moved to obey. Abdul took Jayti's arm and showed her the bath in the rear, their bedroom on the second floor, the servant's quarters, the kitchen, and the rest of the house. He explained how the household was run. "So you see, Yasmeen, you won't have to do a thing." He tilted her head up and kissed her. His eyes held adoration. "I'll be a good husband, Yasmeen. I hope you'll be happy here."

An hour later, Abdul and Jayti were soaking in the bath, splashing and laughing with each other, like children. Dinner was slightly embarrassing for Jayti. As a near vegetarian, she had to avoid the meat dishes.

Abdul understood. He called the cook. "Tajim, my wife is a vegetarian. From now on, keep this in mind." The cook's face grew red; he was mortified. Abdul calmed him. "Tajim, you didn't know and I didn't tell you. It's my fault."

['Jayti, he's nice. A little bit dominating, but considerate. I like him.']

["So do I."]

The next day, Abdul and Jayti walked to the palace to pay their complements to the Raja. Abdul insisted she wear a heavier hijab that revealed little of her face and a long robe over her choli and ghagara. "You're too beautiful, Yasmeen. Your chastity must be equally great," was his explanation. This started their first argument.

"My husband, it's too hot for a robe or a heavy hijab. I'll be sweating enough as it is."

"Yasmeen," he replied sternly, "I will not permit my wife to appear to be unchaste. I respect you too much."

"Abdul, remember Aisha and what she said to the Prophet about covering herself in public? I will not embarrass you, but I must be the one to decide how much to cover my face. Look at me! The only thing people can see are my hands!"

"That is not the correct interpretation. Besides, is not the husband the shepherd of his family? I must be the one to defend your honor as well as mine, therefor, I will decide what is necessary!"

"But, Aisha!"

"Yasmeen," he sighed, "you've been a Muslim for less than two months. This once, I will allow you to have your way. You're confused. We'll see the Mullah this afternoon and he can explain it to you."

['Jayti, you're going to lose this one.']

["The Koran and the Hadiths..."]

['It's all a matter of interpretation. Many Muslims believe as you do; in Turkey during this time, many Muslim women don't wear veils. It doesn't matter. Here, they think differently. They also give the husband broad rights. Abdul isn't a bad guy. He believes what he's doing is right.']

["Damn it! It's hot."]

The palace wasn't nearly as nice as the one in Lahore. The yellow sandstone was clean, but in need of repair. This wasn't too surprising, as some of the structures were over three hundred years old. As they waited in the anteroom for the Raja, Jayti spotted a familiar figure. "Shaheen!" She waved.

The young woman turned. "Jayti?" she said in shock. "Jayti Singh? So you're the one who married Abdul." She approached them. "Abdul, you're very fortunate. Jayti is a very nice, intelligent, beautiful woman."

"Thank you, Shaheen. It's Yasmeen, now. So, you already know my husband."

"Yes. I live in the palace with my husband Nanda." She smiled and hugged Jayti. "I have to go now, but I hope to see you again soon, Yasmeen. It was nice to see you again, Abdul. Welcome back."

Abdul looked at Jayti curiously. "I didn't know you knew Shaheen."

Jayti shrugged. "I knew her briefly. My father is a friend of her father, Raja Udai Singhji."

They finally met the Raja, a friendly, stout, middle-aged man with a large mustache wearing a court dress jama, who greeted Abdul on his return. The visit ended after a short time. They went back to the house for the palanquin and porters and traveled down the steep path to Amber Village.

Abdul stopped at the mosque in the village to meet Mullah Abdullah Owari. Predictably, things went Abdul's way. The aesthetic, bearded Mullah decided the question with finality, pointing a skinny, slightly crooked finger at his references. He described in a melodious voice that even though the wearing of the veil across the face was referred to by some to be just a preferred way; a good husband was duty bound to ensure that the best way was followed. In fact, the husband was the correct person to decide all issues of chastity and appearance. Her place was to rule the household.

Jayti walked through the bazaar behind Abdul, holding his hand. This was the first time she had been in a true bazaar for several months. The experience filled her with a taste of freedom and home; it was a joy after the disappointment at the mosque. The crowded street by the lake was packed with sellers of vegetables, meats, spices, clothing, cooking utensils, and small jewelry. The stench of unwashed bodies blended with spices and perfumes in a faintly noxious mix.

Even with Abdul to protect her, she was sometimes jostled in the crowd of women with veils, saris, and the tight choli tops and medium length ghagara dresses so common in Rajasthan. Men were there as well, merchants, tradesmen and often, common laborers wearing little more than common dhotis wrapped as loincloths. All did their best to avoid contact with the fine Mirza and his wife.

Abdul stopped at a jewelry store where costly jewelry was displayed. He bargained for and bought a gold bracelet for Jayti. "Please, Yasmeen, I don't want discord between us. I know it will take time before you become comfortable here. Wear this and think of my love for you." He put it on her wrist and snapped it shut. "It's a beautiful day, lets walk down by the water."

With Abdul's hand around her waist, everything seemed to be fine again. It felt good to have a strong man hold her. 'It won't be so bad,' she thought. They saw some children playing with a stuffed ball in the front yard of a house, where a woman in a sari was hanging laundry to dry.

The ball escaped and rolled down to Abdul who laughed and kicked it back. "Nice children," he said, "It's a pity they're going to hell."

Jayti froze. "My family is Hindu," she said icily.

Abdul realized he had made a mistake. "Forgive me, Yasmeen. I shouldn't have said what I did. Your family is very nice and I pray that they convert, as should you. Still, I can't take it back. In a larger sense, you are now in the family of Islam. There are only believers and non-believers."

['Jayti, be careful.']

["I should thank him for that. I think I was beginning to fall in love."]

Jayti looked up at Abdul over the veil. "Yes, Abdul, I understand."

Chapter 15: Jayti's Plan is Discovered

'Yasmeen is just learning what it means to be a wife,' Abdul reminded himself. 'She must be brought along slowly and kindly. She needs a baby to settle her down.'

They went back to the house and made love, but Abdul noticed something was missing.

* * * * * * * * * *

Abdul looked at the evidence on the sheets with confusion. After six months, she still wasn't pregnant. 'Surely, she would have had a baby started after all their efforts,' he thought. His wife of seven months seemed calm and happy, and making love was good, but the passion she had when they were first married was gone. She was obedient, but spent most of her time in the bedroom, the only room in the house where she could remain unveiled, with the door closed. She spent her time drawing, painting, and 'thinking,' as she liked to say. He longed to see her smile the way she had when they had first arrived. He had fallen in love with her months ago, but wasn't at all sure she returned the affection. She kept a veil over her emotions.

Jayti still enjoyed going to the bazaar once a week when she went with Abdul, the only one permitted to leave the house with her. Occasionally, Shaheen visited and they eventually became good friends. Shaheen talked about all the gossip in the palace and the Emperor's court. Jayti showed Shaheen some pictures she was drawing and painting, unusual, wonderful pictures of people in strange clothes and buildings that didn't exist. Sometimes, she would talk of the harem and her friends there. When that happened, Shaheen would get silent and uncomfortable, until one day, Shaheen broke down and told her the story of how she was partially responsible for sending her to the harem.

They both cried and held each other. Shaheen wept for the hardship she put her new friend through, and Jayti cried for a life that was forever lost. In the end, Jayti forgave Shaheen more easily than Shaheen expected. Jayti seemed sadder than she remembered. Married life with Abdul was not her desire, she recalled; it was the price she paid to leave the harem.

One day, the cook surprised Jayti in the kitchen. She was putting some items into a small bag. "May I help you, Sahiba?" He asked. Jayti was utterly surprised. Her look, even though he only saw her eyes, caused him some alarm.

"No, thank you, Tajim. I'm done." Her voice was calm enough, but Tajim thought there was a hint of fear underneath.

After Jayti left, Tajim searched for what she took. It didn't take him long. He was extremely neat and orderly. He knew where everything in the kitchen was. The rock salt and the sesame seed oil jar had been disturbed.

Abdul was livid when Tajim told him. He confronted Jayti immediately in the bedroom. She was painting. "Where is it, Yasmeen? Where is the rock salt and sesame oil?" Jayti's mouth fell open.

['Jayti, he knows. He may beat you. Remember. Nothing lasts forever. Say or do whatever you need to do.']

["Mark. He is really mad. Who can blame him? I think he loves me."]

"I'll get them, Abdul." She went to her cosmetics bag and brought out the bottles. "Here they are. Abdul..."

Abdul snatched the bottles from her hands and threw them on the floor. "You have betrayed me! Why?" Abdul's face was horribly hurt. Jayti could barely face him.

"I'm sorry, Abdul. I... I just didn't want to have children, yet." Her voice tapered off at the end at his expression.

"I gave you everything! I was a good husband. I even loved you." He turned his face and sobbed. A few seconds later, he wiped his tears and heaved a shuddering sigh. When he turned to her again, his eyes were empty. "What did I do to deserve this, Yasmeen? What reason do you have?"

"Abdul, you wanted to have a baby right now and I didn't," Jayti said.

"There was no other reason? You don't hate me?" He searched her face.

"No, Abdul. I don't hate you. I don't even think you're a bad person." She bowed her head.

"Then, there is little choice for me. I will not divorce you and the marriage contract says I can't take a second wife. I've been too easy with you. I've admired your spirit, but it's clear I'll have to break it before you become my wife. You've been lying to me with your body and your mind for months. Any talk at this point would be wasted. To deny you our bed would be meaningless because that's what you want. There is only one option left to me. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. He left the room and came back with a cane. "Lie over the bed, Yasmeen."

"Abdul, no. Please don't do this. I'll do what you want!" Jayti shrieked.

"It's too late, Yasmeen. I know it's difficult for you to believe now, but something good will come from this." Five screaming minutes later, Jayti was a mass of welts and bruises on her back, legs and buttocks and was sobbing uncontrollably on the bed. Abdul came back with some salve and rubbed it into her back and legs.

["Mark, why can't I hate him?"]

['Because you know he's not to blame. If anyone's to blame it has to be me. I'm the one who gave you these ideas on individual rights and put those thoughts of travel and helping India and getting rid of the Moghuls into your head.']

["I can think for myself, Mark. Those are still good ideas. Damn it! That hurt, Mark!"]

['I was there, too, you know. There's a saying that what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.']

["Hah! Such wit should be rewarded with that cane. Mark, it's useless to resist this. If we get pregnant and have a child, it will slow things down, but not stop them. We really don't have a choice."]

['Agreed.']

"Abdul, may I talk with you a moment?" asked Jayti, her voice partially muffled by the mattress.

"Yes, Yasmeen. What do you want to say?" Abdul's voice was gentle. His hands were soft.

"I'll do as you ask. There will be no more resistance. I'm truly sorry for the pain and hurt I've put you through. I won't do it again."

"How can I believe you, Yasmeen?" Abdul's voice was tender, but demanding.

"There's only one way to prove it. If you don't believe me after this, you may beat me again, but my answer won't change. My back is too sore to lie on, but I ask you to take me like this. Please, Abdul. Let me prove this to you."

Abdul was careful. Jayti hardly cried out at all.

It was a month before Abdul would allow Jayti to go to the bazaar with him. Abdul slowly began to recover from the hurt he felt at Jayti's betrayal, and began to view Jayti with fresh eyes. 'She is so sad,' he thought. 'She tries to look happy, but she can't hide it all the time.' One day, he could stand it no more; he asked her what was wrong. Her eyes welled up and he took her in his arms. She cried for minutes, but refused to answer.

They went to the bazaar that afternoon. It was the same as she remembered, with all the busyness and activities as before. Jayti looked around at the stands and shops with idle interest. She stopped at a stand selling pots that she didn't remember seeing before. The bearded man selling them looked familiar. Hassan? What was he doing here? For the first time, Jayti was happy she was wearing a veil. She couldn't stop smiling.

He looked different; he was thinner and looked fit. The beard was well kept and fairly thick, but short. Their eyes met and they both knew! To keep close to him, she pretended to be interested in a pot. Abdul was watching. They bargained for a pot suitable for a hanging plant. During the bargaining, Jayti held up 7 fingers and rolled her eyes towards the sun. Hassan understood: 7 days from now, she would be back. She bought the pot at a low price and Abdul even congratulated her on the deal.

The rest of the week, her whole attitude was improved. They went to the bazaar again the next week and strolled through, but didn't buy anything. Jayti asked to walk along a secluded section of the town by a small patch of trees. Abdul put his arms around her waist and Jayti leaned towards him. 'What a strange woman,' he thought. 'She's different every day.'

Close to the trees, she stopped him with his back to the bazaar. She looked into his questioning brown eyes. "Abdul, you must divorce me. I'll never be happy with you. You're a good man and deserve someone who will love you. I know such a person. Her name is Inayat and she's a friend of mine in the harem. She's 21, beautiful, and would be truly happy with you. I'm almost sure I can arrange this marriage for you."

"What?" This was the last thing he expected. "I'll do no such thing! I'll never give you a divorce!"

"Very well, Abdul, we will have to it the hard way." Even through the long, thick dark blue robe that concealed her from the neck down, it was easy to knee Abdul in the groin when he was standing so close. As his head came down, Jayti grabbed the top of his head and thrust her knee into his jaw. Abdul fell to the ground, unconscious.

Hassan stood to the side and admired her handiwork. "It looks like you didn't need me after all, little one."

She leaped into his arms. "Hassan, I have many questions to ask you, but I have to say your timing could not have been better. I still need you. I need you a lot. But the main thing I need right now is for Abdul, here to give me a divorce."

They put the plan Jayti and Mark had been working on all week, into effect. Hassan bought some thick black cloth, some small diameter rope, and some small men's clothes for Jayti at the bazaar. He wrapped Abdul up with the black cloth and slung him over his shoulder like a sack. Timing was everything. He brought Abdul into his shop close to the center of town near the mosque. After carefully unwrapping Abdul, he removed his pants and made a loop around a distinctive feature of the male anatomy. After making a small hole in the rear of the pants, Hassan threaded the other end of the rope through. Pulling up his pants and tying the sash in place completed the process. He stuffed a rag in his mouth and tied his arms behind him just in case Abdul woke up frisky and then poured water on his face. An ugly set of snorting sounds later, and an angry and confused look appeared in Abdul's eyes.

Hassan detailed his predicament: "Good afternoon, Abdul. The weather is wonderful. The birds are singing. The fish are swimming. And Yasmeen is waiting. But before I go into what she is waiting for, allow me to demonstrate what I have on the end of this rope." Hassan pulled it slightly and Abdul heeled over in pain. "Yes, Abdul, it's attached to what you think it's attached to. You have perhaps the best chance of anyone in your family to become a eunuch."

He leaned over and looked into Abdul's furious face. "Abdul? Are you paying attention?" He motioned with the rope just a bit. Abdul nodded his head firmly, several times. "Good. I'll let you up in a few minutes and you will have just three words to say. 'Talaq, talaq, talaq.' Do you think you can do that, Abdul? If not, I can just make Yasmeen a sad widow and she can inherit your wealth. Would you like that? Ah, I thought not. You're lucky she likes you."

"She asked you politely for a divorce and even found you another wife, but you refused her. That wasn't nice. Now she's giving you another chance. It's simple. If you say nothing, or perform poorly, I pull this and you die screaming. You do the job well and I allow you back inside, where I tie you up loosely so you can get away in a few hours." Hassan ignored Abdul’s glare. Soon, a man was heard calling the faithful to prayer. "Ah, the time is now. Remember. Three words, and three words only." He removed the rag. "Get up. Move over to the door and stand in the doorway. I'm going to release your arms now, but I can pull on the rope much faster than you can escape, so don't even think about it."

Jayti waited across the street. She saw Abdul in the doorway with Hassan in the dimness, just behind. The Muslims in the bazaar were walking to the mosque. The Mullah stood outside. Suddenly, Abdul looked at her with absolute hatred and said clearly, "Talaq, talaq, talaq," the words of divorce that so many Muslim women feared. He was suddenly pulled inside, but an instant later, he was running towards her, groggy, but with obvious lethal intent.

['I'd better handle this, Jayti']

["Please, do."]

Mark swung her fist as hard as she could in an uppercut and once again, Abdul went down at her feet. Mark screamed. "My ex-husband just attacked me!" Hassan was up to the task. He rushed out from the shop and moved to the scene. "I saw it all. This person divorced her then attacked her. The poor woman had to hit him! It's a miracle she's alive!" Even the Mullah on the corner saw it that way. A hakim, a doctor, was called, but not before Jayti was able to shield Hassan's activities in Abdul's pants, completed when he came away with the rope. After prayers, Abdul was carried up the hill to his house with the grieving divorcee trailing behind. A host of witnesses to the unfortunate event followed, including the Mullah.

As the procession reached Abdul's residence, he came to again. He accused Jayti of trying to kill him. Of course, it was dismissed as foolishness. Everyone saw what had happened. Jayti tried to enter the house, but Abdul ordered the guards to keep her out. Jayti wailed. "He has all my clothes and my money! I demand that he give them to me!" Her clothes soon showered the street as well as her cosmetics and paintings. The witnesses were appalled; this was a flagrant violation of the spirit of divorce. Jayti asked the Mullah to escort her to the palace to ask for assistance from her friend Shaheen. He granted her request, of course. Shaheen took only a few moments to come down. Jayti explained the situation and asked for the money she had given her a week before. After a short wait, a servant carried the 100 gold mohurs down to her. She gave them to Hassan, who just shook his head in amazement. The new divorcee had one more request of Shaheen.

"Shaheen, I have to leave now, but I want to thank you for all your help."

"It wasn't anything. Now I understand why you wanted to keep the money here. That was extraordinarily farsighted of you to think he would give you a divorce and might want to hold your money. Really, it was a little too neat." Shaheen looked at her suspiciously.

"There are a few papers I gave you last week. I tried to get Abdul to divorce me because I thought he deserved someone he would be happier with. Those documents state that I was the cause of the divorce and ask the Emperor for another wife for Abdul, specifically, my friend Inayat. Inayat should have been his wife, not me. If you could get your father-in-law, Man Singh to agree to sponsor it, Abdul could have a real marriage. I have no hate in my heart for him. I was simply wrong for him."

"Of course, Yasmeen. I'll do it."

Jayti held Shaheen's hand. "Please call me Jayti. That's what my family and closest friends do. I doubt I'll ever see you again, Shaheen. I wish you the best."

Hassan and a few others were kindly taking Jayti's clothes down the hill. Others had recovered her drawings and paintings.

After a change in the woods, Jayti wore a Muslim man's clothes. It would fool no one up close, but it permitted her to ride a horse. Moghul India did not allow Hindus to ride. After packing her clothes and money, they mounted up. "Where to, Jayti?" Hassan asked.

"Udaipur, to see Rana Pratap."

Chapter 16: Udaipur

Jayti and Hassan rode West for Ajmer as hard and fast as possible, staying on the royal road while trying not to attract attention. They stopped only for water and foraging for the horses. Although Abdul was proscribed by Islamic law from attempting to harm his ex-wife, Jayti had outwitted and even worse, out fought him, and she knew that wouldn't be forgiven. It was likely that he would mount a pursuit as quickly as possible.

The moon was close to full as they rode as late into the evening as they dared, finally stopping to rest, camping a couple of hundred yards off the road in the woods. They didn't build a fire, avoiding any risk of detection at the cost of eating cold rice and vegetables in the chilly night. Less than ten minutes after they decided to camp, they could just make out the profile of two riders bearing a resemblance to Abdul's house guards, leading a group of about twenty riding hard towards Ajmer in the near darkness.

In the early morning, they rode cross-country over the near desolate landscape with only the occasional grass shrubs and stunted peepol trees as scenery. A few hours later, Hassan spotted a major village over a rise. Hassan entered the village alone, sold the smaller horse and brought back a horse cart loaded with their belongings and provisions for the road. Jayti gratefully discarded her men's clothing for a plain choli and ghagara. From here to Udaipur, they would be disguised as Vaisaias on business, a drop in caste for Jayti from her Kshatrias, or warrior caste. It took three long, bumpy days riding on the cart to bypass Ajmer to the south and join the road to Pali, a major trading city to the southeast, and closer to Udaipur.

Hassan and Jayti waited in the open by the road for several hours until a group of several hundred carts, pedestrians carrying goods and mercenaries flanking the procession began to pass by. Hassan asked permission of the caravan leader to join, and a silver coin exchanged hands. They assumed their position behind the last cart while the ungainly pack slowly advanced.

Jayti and Hassan were careful not to associate with the other members on the caravan. There were too many ways to give themselves away. Jayti was a rarity in India; she was an educated woman who could read and write. Even within the four main caste divisions, there were over a thousand sub-castes that mainly associated with just each other. Each sub-caste had its own characteristics of speech and custom. The first time Jayti opened her mouth to say more than the basics, their fellow travelers would probably know her for an imposter. Hassan did his best to look like a forbidding and a jealous husband to discourage conversation. Until they were well on the way to Udaipur, they would be undercover to avoid detection by any Moghuls sent from Jaipur.

Three days later, Jayti and Hassan walked the length of the huge market of Pali. It dwarfed anything she had ever seen. Although reduced in importance since the European Sea Trade had largely supplanted the Silk Road, Pali was still a major trade city. Opium, silk, spice or any of the major trade goods in quantity could be bought here. Jayti and Hassan found copper wire, iron, and magnets among other things, such as a sword for Jayti and a bow for Hassan as protection against the bandits who were known to frequent the desolate region. Jayti, Mark, and Hassan had done everything they could. It was time to find Rana Pratap Singh, the independent Ruler of Mewar.

It took more than three days before Jayti and Hassan could find a caravan heading South across the desert. It wasn't difficult to find the way. Jayti could see the light from their next stop at night more than 50 miles off. This caravan was smaller and more vulnerable, with less protection. The caravan master was understandably nervous. The caravan started out before daybreak. Three days later, the hot, exhausted group pulled into the town in the shadow of Kumbhalgarh Fort, a monstrous, 36km walled edifice 1100 meters high above the plain. After a day of rest and recuperation for themselves and the horse, they continued South once more towards the Aravali hills and forests where Udaipur lay. This time, the group consisted of only 30 people, including 5 guards.

The bandits attacked the caravan late on the second day. They came from the East over a rise, screaming and waving scimitars, mounted on Arabian horses. They singled out the guards first; two were shot down with arrows almost immediately. Hassan had his bow ready within a few seconds of the first rush and was able to pick off two of the bandits. Mark took the sword and long dagger in the medieval two-sword technique. Four of the bandits decided to concentrate on the 'easy' wagon with only a woman and one man.

Two of the four men dismounted in an attempt to pull the fangs of the beautiful woman with the steel toys. The others went after Hassan. Hassan could hardly miss at that range, and had time for an arrow in the chest of a nasty man with a pockmarked face and dirty white turban before the other was on him with a heavy, curved blade.

In the meantime, Mark moved slowly away from the shaking wagon, now with the brakes locked to keep their frantic horse from running. She didn't want to be caught in a place where there was no retreat. The two men advanced toward her from both sides, both displaying near identical toothy grins. They were deep in the throngs of battle passion, and Mark was one of the most beautiful women they had ever seen. They weren't totally stupid. They came at her simultaneously from two sides.

Mark moved to her right and easily managed to deflect down a weak thrust meant to wound from the smaller man. She moved in as fast as the loose sand would allow her and the long, narrow dagger went in to the hilt in a thrust upwards into his heart. She managed to spin the dying man around to protect herself from a slash from the other man to her side. The slash instead buried the blade into the juncture of the smaller man's neck and head. She dropped the now, dead man and faced her enraged opponent in time to lunge just before he could generate another downward slash with his scimitar. Her blade didn't need to go far, just a few inches into the chest. As Shakespeare would write several years later, 't will serve.' He dropped the scimitar and fell nerveless to the ground, his life draining into the sand.

Hassan was having real problems on the other side of the wagon. The mounted man was truly insistent on killing the man who had already killed three of his bandit brothers. The bandit's horse was used to advantage in the uneven struggle. From a height, the scimitar is a formidable weapon. Hassan's bow had practically been chopped to pieces during his frantic efforts to protect himself from the heavy blade.

Mark ran to the other side of the wagon and stabbed the horse in the ass. The Arabian bellowed in pain and reared up impressively, throwing the bandit to the earth. Unfortunately for him, he fell on Mark's side where she skewered him in the neck before he could completely recover from the fall. He staggered to his feet anyway, and walked forward unsteadily, blind rage in his eyes. Mark backed up until the wound finally caused his body to betray his will several seconds later. He slipped to the sand and Mark finished him with a stab through the heart.

Hassan grinned like a maniac. "Let's finish off the rest, Jayti!" he cried, and struggled to get the bandit's bow off the leaping horse with the severe bowel problems. Once he had the bow and the sheaf of arrows, it was easy to pick off three more of the bandits while hiding behind the wagon. Mark was very busy herself protecting what was left of the caravan. She had already hamstrung two horses, bringing down their riders who were promptly killed by the other armed merchants.

There were only five bandits remaining of the original twenty-two when they suddenly realized the odds weren't in their favor. They ran off in defeat, but, in a twist of fate, when one of the bandits wheeled his horse around to escape to the hills, the horse knocked Mark's head hard into the sharp corner of a wagon post. She dropped to the ground and knew nothing more.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mark opened her eyes to a fuzzy, green world. She had trouble moving or thinking. Her head felt like cotton. She had a notion of movement, of sound, and then it was gone. She dropped back into sweet oblivion.

Mark opened her eyes into a world of darkness. No, there was a small light somewhere to the right. She must have made a sound or moved. A dim picture of a head she recognized came into view. "H... Hassan?" she said quietly.

She felt her hand squeezed. "Yes, little one. It's me. You're going to be all right, Jayti."

['Jayti?']

[<no answer>]

[<louder> 'Jayti?' <nothing>]

['Oh, God. Jayti!' <nothing>]

She had barely enough strength to cry. "Hassan, this is Mark. I can't feel Jayti. I can't feel her." She said this so weakly, Hassan had to bend low to catch it.

Hassan took her hand and squeezed, but longer and harder. He managed to speak, "Just get well, little one."

Two days later, Mark managed to struggle to sit up unassisted. The back of her head was bandaged, and she had a horrible headache. Her clothes had been changed, and she wore just a loose man's shirt under the blanket. She still couldn't hear Jayti. Hassan was asleep by her bed; he looked exhausted. She looked at her surroundings for the first time. She was in a forest under a wide, open tent. Tents and small wooden structures were to her right. A few very dark men, most in dhotis with a wide band of white cloth draped over one shoulder and tucked in at the waist, walked around quietly. A pretty, dark skinned woman with a high forehead in a wide skirt and loose blouse stared at her from the foot of the bed. Mark smiled at her, although it made her head hurt even more.

She ran for the men, screaming something Mark didn't catch. This also woke up Hassan.

"Mark, I have to say I'm surprised you're alive. You were unconscious for five days."

"Really," winced Mark, having to turn her head to face Hassan. "Just yesterday, you said I was going to be all right."

"That was two days ago." He waved his arm. "This is a camp of the Bhil. We're about ten miles from Udaipur. They're big friends of Rana Pratap and are ready to take you to him whenever you're ready." He looked at Mark with concern. "That may not be for weeks, Mark. Head injuries can be very dangerous."

Mark winced again. Even blinking was painful. "I agree with you, Hassan. I want to give Jayti every chance to recover. I still can't talk to her, Hassan, but she may not be all gone. Before, I couldn't speak Urdu or Persian without her help."

Hassan smiled unevenly. "So, there's still hope for Jayti, then. Good."

Mark finally broke the silence. "So, Hassan, where is the rest of the caravan?"

"Most are dead. The rest are still in Udaipur, as far as I know. They waited a couple of days for you to recover, but honestly, nobody thought you would live. They finally left." Hassan sighed, looking out of the corner of his eye at Mark. "One of them was a pretty good singer. He made up a fine, catchy song of your death. I almost hate to let him know he'll have to change it."

Mark laughed, then covered her face with both hands to steady it; the pain was too much.

A tall, slim man in orange and white loose blouse and salwar approached. He smiled, showing even white teeth in a dark face. He faced Mark. "Good morning. My sister-in-law was frightened at your unexpected rise from the dead. I'm Bhiloo Raja, a chieftain of the Bhils and a friend of the Maharana. So, you are the Jayti Singh who saved the caravan from certain death. It doesn't seem possible that such a beautiful woman could do what they said you did, but they all saw it. I'm glad you're alive. Maybe you can help Rana Pratap, after all."

Mark smiled painfully. "Thank you, Wazir. But really, Hassan killed far more than I did. He's the real hero. I only killed three or four."

"Three or four, she says!" He laughed, and shook his head. "Jayti, please take your time and get well. You're very welcome here." He bowed and left.

Three weeks later, the headaches were gone, but Jayti hadn't returned. Mark couldn't delay it any longer. With a heavy heart, she told Hassan she wanted to finish the trip to Udaipur. Hassan agreed.

Mark saw Udaipur for the first time as they topped the rise, probably very close to where Rana Pratap's father Udai was convinced by a holy man to build the city almost 30 years before. The city wall surrounded the light granite and marble structures in the city palace. The wall extended from Lake Pichhola on east, to cover a small hill. Udai Singh built Udaipur to be the new capitol of Mewar after Akbar took the ancient capitol, the fortress of Chittor. Udaipur had never been conquered.

Mark was concerned about Hassan and took his hand. Hassan had been down since she had told him about Jayti. "I miss her too, Hassan. I really do have hope; head injuries sometimes take years to recover from. She may well be back."

Hassan was pensive. "Mark, Jayti told me before she met you that her father told her to make the best of things and to just have fun. The best way to remember Jayti may be to follow that advice. I think she would want you to do that. Any debt you had for falling into her body was paid long ago." Hassan looked sadly at Mark. "I've watched you, Mark. You aren't her, but I don't think of you as a man. The way you move, talk, walk, and even what you're doing now by holding my hand tells me you're a woman. I say this to you as a woman and as a friend I respect, if you need a shoulder to cry on when it hits you, please use mine."

Mark nodded her head, wiping a tear off her cheek. They rode the rest of the way into the city in silence.

Mark was anxious to get started. She wanted to have something to show Rana Pratap before talking to him. She minored in Physics at USC several years ago, but it was surprising how difficult it was to assemble some of the basic elements to create even an 18th century level of technology, much less anything close to the 20th. Forget calculus, motion and wave theory. Building a bullet, telegraph, or rifling a gun barrel were specialized skills that she just barely understood, mainly from her historical studies. There was little enough to even start doing the things she wanted to do. Even the copper wire she bought in Pali was crude, uneven, and barely adequate for her purposes. There were so many technologies she didn't understand and she just didn't have the time to experiment.

Nevertheless, she could make DC and AC generators and motors. She knew how to purify lead and make lead oxide for a lead-acid battery. She remembered the basics of nitroglycerine, how to make a crude form of blasting cap and a dangerous form of gun cotton. She could make a workable telegraph and even a crude telephone, given the time. With the help of a local blacksmith, she started on the work for the generators and motors. Hassan and Mark did everything together. Hassan learned electrical theory and elementary algebra as they built the devices. He was astonishingly intelligent and she was an excellent teacher. By the time they were finished, he could explain the principles of each device as well as she.

Three weeks later, Mark had a DC generator and motor, a primitive telegraph set-up and a small, hot air balloon. She was ready to show Maharana Pratap what she could do.

Hassan and Mark made the short trip to the palace gates with the demonstration equipment loaded onto the cart. Hassan explained his purpose to the guards and asked to see someone in authority. Three levels of authority and most of the day later, they were invited to wait in the granite and marble anteroom of the palace for Maharana Pratap.

Mark watched the tall, strong man in red and gold robe and sash as he descended the stairs. Mark felt something; Rana Pratap was an attractive man in his late forties with a commanding presence and a wide mustache. The two guards at either side carried spears and looked deadly serious.

Mark and Hassan both bowed as he approached. Rana Pratap smiled broadly and spread his arms in a welcoming gesture to Hassan. "I've been told you have some wonderful things to show me, Hassan Faisal."

Hassan and Mark discussed what they would say to the Maharana beforehand. In Rajasthan, the Kshatrias women were not generally seen, almost never educated and not heard under most circumstances. Hassan bowed and said. "Your Majesty, Jayti Singh is my associate and is the one most responsible for the creation of the things we have to show you. She could explain them better than I."

Rana Pratap lifted an eyebrow. "So? Well then, lets proceed. Would setting up inside be adequate for the demonstration?" This time he looked at Mark.

"Yes, your Majesty." She started to pick up the equipment. Rana Pratap stopped her and motioned to some idle servants to bring it into an adjoining chamber.

The demonstration went well. Mark cranked the generator and Hassan connected the two copper wires from the generator to the motor. He switched it on and the motor started and ran. Rana Pratap and two of his advisors he brought to the demonstration were impressed and they asked Mark many questions. Mark came prepared with copies of descriptions of the operation and some background theory. The description of electricity and magnetic fields were well beyond anything in science at the time. After a cursory glance at the precise drawings and diagrams, Rana Pratap ordered her to proceed.

The demonstration of the telegraph was the big hit. The implications were obvious to a born fighter and strategist like Rana Pratap. Mark assured him that set-up properly, such a system could reach to Jaipur, creating near instantaneous communication across Rajasthan. Mark handed out copies and diagrams of how it worked as well. The demonstration of the miniature hot air balloon looked like a toy in comparison, although the Maharana saw the advantages to an observation post high in the sky as well. His advisors were stunned.

Rana Pratap sat. He regarded his guests. "Don't think I don't appreciate what you've brought me, but who the hell are you people?"

Mark looked to Hassan who gestured to Mark to answer. "Your Majesty, could we speak in private? With you and just your guards if you think them necessary? This is going to be a long story."

They spoke together long into the night. Mark brought more drawings with her that described the future and what she could do. Rana Pratap had the hardest time thinking of Mark as a man. It was asking his eyes to deny what he was seeing, especially when she described life in Akbar's harem. He was a soldier and leader of Mewar province first and foremost. All this new science and time travel was too much like magic for him to understand. Still, there was no denying what was in front of him. And there was a quick way to check at least parts of her story. He summoned an aid and ordered him to bring back a European who spoke English. There was always the occasional trader from Europe who passed through Udaipur. They waited almost a half-hour before a sleepy and concerned young man in his early twenties was brought before them.

Mark thought the tall, slim man was cute. Then, she considered her reactions to him. She decided she liked it, a lot. Mark spoke to him first, this time in English, and translated for Rana Pratap. They discussed the trade mission he was on, where he came from and information about each other. She noted his name, James Pennington. After a few minutes of this, with the young man stopping to translate for the Maharana occasionally, Rana Pratap stopped them. He asked the Englishman about Mark. "Your Majesty," he spoke in broken Urdu, "I don't know where she comes from. She speaks English fluently, but in no accent I've ever heard. Her words and the way she says things are strange. She says she comes from America, but that would be almost impossible. There are very few Englishmen and fewer women who have ever been there." Rana Pratap dismissed him.

The Maharana thought about it. How different was the language today than four hundred years ago? He had to be sure of their motives. "Hassan, Jayti, why are you here? Why me, instead of Akbar?"

"Your Majesty, I was a historian in the future. I know what the Moghuls are and what they have done to India. I want them removed. You're almost the only person in Rajasthan who is fighting them and I want you to succeed.”

Hassan spoke. "Your Majesty, the Moghuls made me a eunuch. I hate them for that, but it's more than just revenge. I think what Jayti is doing is right and I want to be a part of it." He motioned towards Jayti. "Don't let her fool you, your Majesty. Jayti is being too modest. She fights like a warrior. Bhiloo Raja could tell you stories from the caravan."

Rana Pratap made a mental note to ask his old friend about it. He was far from stupid. Everything that could be verified would be; all this was the stuff of legends. He remembered something abruptly. "You were a historian, you say? Do you know the future?"

"Not exactly, your Majesty. The future changed as soon as I started doing things Jayti wouldn't have. This is the first major change I've tried, though. I know what the future would have been if I had decided to do nothing."

The Maharana had a chilling thought. He looked at her intently. "What would have happened if you had not come here?"

She looked straight back at him. "Your Majesty, you would have fought hard but would never have recovered Chittor. You would have died from injuries from a hunting accident in 1597. Your son would have fought very bravely and hard after you, but he would have been forced to make an alliance with the new Emperor, Selim. All of Rajasthan would be under Moghul rule until the Marathas from the south kick the Moghuls from this area and most of India in about 100 years. Your name would go down in Indian history as one of India's greatest heroes in a losing cause." Mark smiled pleasantly. "But your majesty, I hope all that has changed. The future is a blank page again, ready to be written. I hope to give you the advantage of future knowledge to help you shape it."

Next installment: Mark finds love. Shipwreck! Elizabethan England. A meeting with Sir Walter Raleigh.

Note: Chapters 1&2. 3&4. 5-8. 9-12. 13-16. 17-19. 20-22. 23-24. 25-26
TG mind sharing/body possession magic/sci-fi violence harem girl eunuch Rated-R