I stand in the queue of daily wage laborers by the palace kitchen grounds. Every day a bunch of women turn up looking for odd jobs and are paid at the end of the day. Though most of the women are regular, some like me turn up once in a while. What differentiates me from them is, they are looking for income at the end of the day while I am looking for the latest palace gossip and chance to slip away within the palace grounds.

My young age and small and slim body built usually lands me in cleaning duty. Which suits me just fine. I immediately get to work keeping my ears open.

"By back hurts from all the bending", complains a lady sweeping the kitchen with me.

"Rest for a while Khala, I will take care of the cleaning until then", I tell her.

"May Allah bless you child", she says sitting down. She looks tired. 

"Is everything alright?", I ask her.

"My husband is no more and I have 5 mouths to feed", she says in sad tones. Desperation and pain are written all over her face. I hope she doesn't cry. It pains my heart to see anyone cry. How I hate Mir Jafar for not allowing the Shehenshah to sanction an income for the widows! He had taken over all the administrative affairs, no notice entered or left the Shahi durbar without his approval.

"Do not worry Khala, Allah never burdens a soul more than it can bear. Trust him", I say.

"I do know Allah is watching child but how do I face my children who get to eat a bare minimum? How do I find the strength to see them suffer? I am but a mother and my heart bleeds to see them in that condition."

"I have a suggestion. Why don't you meet Hazrath Fakhruddin Mulla at Jamia Masjid? He will surely help you out", I say.

"InshaAllah I will"

"You are paid to work, not to chitchat", a supervisor snarls at us. She immediately gets back to work. 

The Shahi kitchen works in an organised way. One group cuts and cleans the vegetables while another prepares the spices and sauces. The final cooking is done by the Shahi cooks from where it is taken to the dining hall and served by another group of servants. The cleaning of kitchen and washing of vessels was done thrice a day. All these tasks were supervised by head servants who in turn reported to the ministers. The granary and store room was re-filled every month.

By the time I am done I realise that the news of the death of Shehenshah hasn't been released to the general public yet. 

"Malika Humera needs turmeric", says a kaneez entering the kitchen. Her eyes are red and swollen. It looks like she has been crying. Malika Humera was the second wife of the Shehenshah. This means that the royal family and their personal servants are in mourning.

I slip away once I am done. I wonder where the Shehzada is. From what Chachu had taught me, he must be around the age of 20 now. A fair age to take up the throne. But he is as incapable as a roadside cobbler when it comes to state politics. All thanks to Mir Jafar who never allowed the king to come close to his son or take personal interest in his upbringing.

Shehzada Sher Shah had never made an appearance in public, rumours had it that he was very good looking. Hah! What does it matter if a man is good looking or not? It's wit, courage and strength that makes a man! His good looks aren't even his own achievement, they have just been passed on from his mother Malika Mariam. Neglect from his father and abundant love from his mother had made him quite a spoilt child. His tantrums were a common occurrence within the palace walls.

With Shehenshah gone I knew Mir Jafar might already be scheming to usurp the kingdom. My first duty was to protect the Shehzada's life. No matter how he had lead his life till now it was time to throw some responsibility and sense at him.

There are 7 secret underground ways into the palace. 5 are known by the royal bodyguards. 2 are only known to the royal family, 1 of which had caved in 5 years ago and forgotten. It was this passage that I and Chachu had excavated little by little through a span of 5 months. It led from the forest right into the cleaning supply cupboard of the servant quarters in the second floor in the west wing. This wing had kitchen in the first and dining area in the third floor. The kitchen and servant quarters were connected through a small staircase.

As the night approaches I prepare myself to make my first ever visit into the palace. Dressing in a black tunic and covering my face in a mask I walk all the way to the forest. I enter the dark underground passage crawling my way in. The beginning is narrow where we had dug out. After about half a mile this excavated tunnel opened into the original tunnel which was more roomy and comfortable to walk in. This claustrophobic journey ended in the cleaning supply cupboard in the servant quarters. I blow out the candle and slowly pull the false back of the cupboard and listen to make sure there is no one in the room. I step on brooms and dust pans. My clothes are covered in mud and dirt. I do my best to dust myself without making noise and bumping into things around me. The sun is about to set and I figure this would be the best time to enter as the darkness of the night can easily hide me.

Making my way cautiously outside I recall the layout of the palace and stealthily make my way towards the east. As easy as it sounds its the most perilous journey I have ever made. My heart rate increases at every corner I have to cross.