After my last lesson, I make my way to Gharib Kothri to Hakeem Hamid's Apothecary. On my way I see an old man chopping wood for heating water. His bent figure and frail hands quiver in the heat. He puts down the axe tired. Wiping his brow he goes into his hut, maybe for a glass of water. I immediately walk over and chop the wood as fast as I can all the time asking Allah to delay the reappearance of the old man. Soon I am done chopping the small pile of wood. I quickly walk away and hide behind a tree on the opposite side of the street. After a few minutes the old man slowly walks out and stands aghast in front of the chopped wood. He rubs his eyes to make sure he isn't dreaming and raises his hands towards the heaven.

"O Allah! You are truly merciful" he shouts, gratefulness written all over his face. I smile from where I am hiding. I had made someone happy today and that made me happy!

I reach the Apothecary and knock at the door. Hakeem Hamid's wife, Seher opens it for me.

"Assalamualaikum warahmathullahi wabarakatuh Seher khala" I say.

"Walaikumassalam warahmathullahi wabarakatuh my child", she replies.

"I came to collect herbs for Maa's tincture" I tell her.

"Come on in sweetheart, I'll get them for you", she says pointing towards a stool on which I sit. As usual the smell of herbs is soothing and I take in deep breaths. I look around taking in all the rows and rows of glass jars which contain roots, leaves, flowers, barks and fruits. Hanging from the roof are more herbs tied with the help of strings to dry them up. On one side are jars that contain animal parts that are frequently used in preparations and on the other side are jars of different types of sands and stones which are also used in making medicines. One shelf holds a number of mortar pestles made from different materials and long rows of bottles containing different liquids.

Seher Khala reaches out for different jars and puts the herbs in a bag for me. I used to spend a lot of time here when I was young learning the names and uses of different drugs. Not because I was interested but because Hammad Chachu wanted me to learn as much as I could about the art of healing. I had picked up a little information on poisons as well.

"How's your Maa faring?",  asks Seher khala.

"Her condition is gradually deteriorating" I tell her with a sigh.

"Don't be disheartened child, Hamid is researching on new herbs that might cure her. He is also trying to get in touch with the Hakeem of neighboring Kingdom, the Waraqi Sultanath" she says giving me a hug.

"I hope she gets better Seher khala, it's been months since I saw her moving about the house, I miss her bustling figure that used to cook, clean and give me tight hugs".

"Sweetheart, though I know a mother's hug can never be replaced, I am here to give you all the hugs you want". She gives me another hug.

I smile at her and replace my veil over my face, pick up my bag and bid her goodbye. She stands at the door and watches me walk away. According to my planned schedule I should be going home now for food and rest before I enter the palace again tonight. But I can't resist the urge to walk over to the Shahi housing. Maybe it was the memories with Abbuji and our previous house that pulled me there. As usual there are guards at the entrance. I make my way to the right side of the gates which are bordered by walls, I walk along the wall looking for the crack through which I could see my old home. Here I peep through and gaze at the house within whose walls I had felt the care, love and affection of a doting father. As I look at it I can hear faint moaning. I listen hard to confirm and there it is again. It sounds like as if someone is in great pain. I should run for help I know, but whom do I inform? Those scruff guards? No way. Who would believe my story anyway? I should try and help myself. I look around and find a tree whose  branches are hanging within the walls. I carry my bag of herbs and climb up. Climbing is difficult in my female gown for I am not dressed for my nightly ventures yet. I quickly jump inside before I am spotted. I press myself against the wall and listen hard to follow the sound.

There is no one about. Mostly because the heat is unbearable and people usually rest after their afternoon meal. I stop and try to catch the sound again. Unfortunately it seems to have stopped. The houses here are arranged in neat rows with a small lane in front. I move about the lane trying to locate the sound again. After 3 more rounds I catch the low moaning again like as if the person is doing his best to muffle it. The sound leads me to the window of a very handsome house, much bigger than the others. I peer through the window and find a badly bruised and bleeding woman on bed. Her condition is pathetic and she seems to be crying. With slow and quite movements I enter inside through the window.

"Don't hurt me, please don't hurt me", she says sitting up on bed with her hands crossed in front to shield her from any harm. My heart moves with pity at her sorry state.

"Don't worry Khala, I am here to help" I say in soft tones. I walk to her and hold out my hand. She looks at me full of doubt, gazing at me from head to toe. I nod at her and unveil my face smiling at her, my arm still extended. She slowly reaches out and places her hand in mine. I can see she trusts me. Uncovering my face in front of a stranger was a bad idea but this lady needed reassurance and you can hardly give that from behind a veil. Behind the bruises and blood was a very lovely woman. The wounds made her look terrible now.

I sit beside her on the bed and slowly rub my palm on her back.

"You need a Hakeem Khala, shall I call for one?", I ask.

"No no no", she says jumping up afraid.

"Calm down, calm down, I won't call anyone if you don't want me to. I'll do my best to clean up your wounds myself and prepare a salve to apply on them". She nods, her eyes welling up with tears.

I prepare a basin and fill it with cool water from a jug on the table. I tear a dupatta and soak it in water. I squeeze out the excess water and use the cloth to wipe away blood and clean the wounds. A million thoughts are running through my head. Who was she? Why was she so scared? Who had harmed so badly? Why wasn't she reporting it to anyone? Whose house was this?

Judging from her appearance and the room she was in, she certainly wasn't a servant. She was beautiful and wore silk garments torn here and there because violence. This meant she was the lady of the house. If the lady of the house wasn't reporting violence then it surely meant the person hurting her was the man of the house. The poor woman was a victim of domestic abuse.

If I could lay my hand on her husband I would have flayed him alive. I had no mercy towards such beasts. How dare he even call himself a Muslim when he didn't even recognize the status Islam had given women?  A woman was a queen and should rightly be treated so. She was supposed to be respected and loved and given all her shares as the Quran commanded. She was not to be trodden upon and pushed to the side. The more I thought over it the more my anger built.

"Khala, I know you love and respect your husband and fear him even more but you can't let this continue. You need to stand up to him".

"Mmmy... my... husband din't do this. He is a very good man. No.. no.. he didn't hurt me", she says.

"It's of no use lying. I can see it clearly in your eyes", I say.

She breaks down completely and cries hugging me tightly. I try soothing her with calm words and she relaxes after a few minutes.

"Please don't tell anyone about me or my husband, he will just hurt me more", she says.

"Of course I will not, but why are you letting this continue?"

"I am helpless" is her reply. I can see she is afraid of giving out information and doesn't say anything after that. I'll have to apply some logic here and get the answers myself. As I pull out the herbs and pound them I let my thoughts run. She looks young, that means her husband might also be young. But how can a young man rise as a high official so soon to be allotted such a palatial house? No, she must be a young wife of an old man. Probably the second or third wife.

"Do you have children?" I ask.

"No"

"Your husband probably has children from other wives then?"

"Yes"

Her monosyllabic answers do not encourage me to move further. At least I was right about him having other wives.

"Is it OK if I make another visit to check on you?" I ask.

"Yes, only at this time of the day", she says.

"Won't your husband question you regarding the salve after he returns?", I ask.

"He doesn't come for days together, so its OK".

"Where does he stay then?"

"In the palace, he is a very high official and always busy. He works right next to the king", she says still not revealing the exact status of her husband. But even a child knows the man right next to the king is Wazir-e-aala. If she was the wife of Wazir-e-aala then this was the house of.... Mir Jafar! SubhanAllah! I was treading on dangerous grounds but I knew exactly how to twist the situation to suit my needs. If Mir Jafar could kill the Shehenshah's power from within his household, so could I!

I pack away the excess salve in a plate.

"Apply this again before going to sleep and keep it overnight. You will be as good as new in the morning InshaAllah" I say ready to leave.

"You didn't tell me who you are." She says.

"So din't you", I say with a smile. "I expect you to keep me a secret as I am keeping you as a secret, take care Khala".

I jump out through the window. I should go straight back home now but the instinct in me pleads to find out more about the Shahi housing while I have the chance. I move away as hidden as I can looking at the surroundings. I reach a point where the houses end in a cluster of thick trees. And here I find an opening connecting the Shahi housing to the palace grounds. It was small and well hidden. Only people who knew where to find it would come across this opening. This was how the officials easily made it to the palace without having to cross the palace gates. I crouched behind the hedge that lined either side of the doorway and looked into the garden which it opened to. It was a pretty colorful flower garden with a fountain in between and bordered by mango trees. Juicy, ripe, yellow mangoes hung from the branches making my mouth water. This garden had four doorways leading in four different directions. I will have to enter the garden to find out where they lead, which meant exposing myself in the open air from where I could be spotted easily. I couldn't see any gaurds posted here but still it's better to be careful, especially in the clothes I am wearing. I am still debating whether to enter the garden and familiarize myself with the surroundings when I hear a shriek and laughter of a child. I peer around cautiously and notice a golden ball come flying from one of the doorways. Running behind the ball came a little figure of a boy. He chased the ball and kicked it mercilessly in all directions.

"Take that! And that! And that!" He yelled, sending the ball flying.

I looked carefully at the boy and a realization hit me! It was Shehzada Firoz Shah. What was he doing here all alone? Where was his nanny and his guards? How had he ventured here without any supervision?

Another kick and the ball landed right in the middle of the fountain. Shehzada ran behind it and stood right at the edge looking helplessly at the floating ball completely out of his reach. He looked around for some aid and ran towards the mango tree at a far end and brought back a thin branch. He tried to reach the ball with it, bending forward to cover the distance. I started sweating with apprehension, it was a dangerous thing for a little boy to do. But the little boy seemed to be oblivious of this fact and bent a little more and tumbled right into the fountain with a huge splash!