Seeds of corruption

** In Pakistan empire **

As dawn broke, casting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Afzal strode purposefully towards the outskirts of Lahore city. Despite the weight of responsibility, he maintained his resolve, leading a formidable cavalry whose armor caught the morning light.

Through the fertile farmlands, they marched, a symbol of unwavering loyalty and commitment to their cause, as disciplined infantry followed in their wake.

However, amidst the solemnity of the march, a shadow hung over the procession. The news of Abdullah Khan Azbak's death, the revered hero of the impending battle, brought sorrow to the troops. His lifeless body, adorned in ceremonial attire, was somberly carried at the rear, bound for a royal burial honoring his bravery.

Despite the heavy grief they bore, the soldiers stood firm, their resolve unwavering despite the tragedy. However, amidst their mourning, a pressing question lingered: the whereabouts of the main assailant remained unknown, casting doubt over the impending conflict.

As the procession moved through the city streets, whispers of concern mixed with the solemn quiet, a reminder of the dangers that awaited them.

As Afzal and his contingent approached the outskirts of Lahore city, a scene of devastation unfolded before them, shattering the calm of the cloudy day. The once-thriving villages lay in ruins, their charred remains a grim testament to the brutality that had swept through the land.

The air was heavy with the stench of death, as vultures and crows circled overhead, feasting upon the lifeless bodies of men, women, and children that hung from the trees like macabre ornaments.

The sight was a chilling reminder of the harsh realities faced by the common folk, their lives torn apart by forces beyond their control. As they made their way through the desolate landscape, a sense of foreboding hung in the air, a silent witness to the unspeakable horrors that had befallen these once-peaceful villages.

Upon entering the city gates, Afzal breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar cityscape. Despite the lingering unease, the bustling streets and bustling activity brought a semblance of normalcy to the chaos that surrounded them.

Yet, the empty roads and wary glances of the few people who dared to venture out spoke volumes of the lingering fear that gripped the city.

Sensing the tension in the air, Shoeb Ali, a trusted advisor to the Badshah, stepped forward to offer words of reassurance. "Fear not, Badshah. The Mughal soldiers are strong, and we will uncover the truth behind these atrocities in due time."

Afzal, who is just a 13-year-old boy thrust into the midst of turmoil, found solace in Shoeb Ali's words. With a nod of understanding, he followed his commander towards the city's old castle, determined to uncover the mysteries that lay hidden within its ancient walls.

As the rain continued to drizzle down, mingling with the tears of mourners, Afzal stood at the entrance of the ancient fort of Lahore, his heart heavy with apprehension. The somber atmosphere hung thick in the air, the clouds above casting a dreary pall over the scene.

Afzal made his way towards the solemn gathering at the heart of the fortress. There, amidst the towering walls and ancient stones, a somber atmosphere hung thick in the air.

Bairam Khan and other military commanders, accompanied by elite guards and the royal hakim, solemnly conducted the final funeral for Afzal's mother, the former empress. The scene was one of profound mourning, with grief etched on every face and a sense of heaviness that weighed upon the hearts of all present.

Afzal couldn't help but feel an ominous foreboding settle over him as he observed the mournful assembly.

The sight of so many gathered to bid farewell to someone of authority filled him with a sense of unease, as if the very air itself whispered of impending change and uncertainty.

Bairam Khan's weathered features were streaked with tears, his anguished expression a testament to the weight of his grief.

Kneeling beside the funeral pyre, he mourned the loss of their beloved former empress, his lamentations echoing through the somber air.

Afzal, overcome with a mixture of bewilderment and dread, approached the scene with hesitant steps. The sight of his regent, usually composed and resolute, broken by sorrow, filled him with a profound sense of confusion and foreboding.

"What is happening here?" Afzal's voice trembled with emotion as he addressed Bairam Khan, his mentor and regent.

As Bairam Khan struggled to contain his emotions, his voice wavered with sorrow. "I have failed you. We were unprepared, and your mother..." His words trailed off, choked by the weight of his grief.

Tears welled in Afzal's eyes as he struggled to comprehend the enormity of his loss. "Ammi (mother)..." he whispered, the word catching in his throat.

Bairam Khan rose slowly to his feet, his expression etched with sorrow. "The Samrajya forces..," he continued, his voice heavy with regret. "They attacked when we least expected it. We were caught off guard, and... your mother was taken from us."

Inwardly, Bairam Khan cursed , "Had it not been for your foolish treaty, she might still be alive. You brought it to yourself brat."

Afzal, unaware of the turmoil raging within Bairam Khan, could only watch in silence as his mentor grappled with his anguish. The revelation of his mother's death had plunged him into a maelstrom of conflicting emotions, leaving him adrift in a sea of despair.

Tears streamed down Afzal's face uncontrollably as he knelt beside his mother's lifeless form, shrouded beneath a white kafan. His heart shattered into a million pieces as he cried out in anguish, unable to comprehend the cruel twist of fate that had snatched her away.

"No, no, this can't be happening," he wailed, his voice trembling with sorrow and disbelief.

"Why, Samrajya? Aditya promised me peace. Why my mother? She had nothing to do with this!"

His cries echoed through the sombre air, a heart-breaking lament for the loss of his beloved mother. "No, Mother, you can't leave me," he pleaded, his hands clutching desperately at the fabric covering her still form.

"Look at me, Ammi, your son has come. I have made peace as you taught me. Now you can't reward me like this. Look at me!"

The guards, witnessing the young Badshah's agony, moved to restrain him gently, their hearts heavy with sympathy for his pain. Meanwhile, others solemnly carried his mother's body to its final resting place, guided by the instructions of the royal hakim.

Bairam Khan, his own fake grief etched deeply into his features, approached Afzal with a heavy heart. "Badshah-e-Pakistan, you must hold yourself together," he urged, his voice thick with emotion.

"Your mother would want you to be strong. Let us bid her farewell with dignity and honour."

Agony and fury intertwined within Afzal's heart, swirling like a turbulent storm in the depths of his being.

"Why?" he cried out, his voice echoing with a mixture of sorrow and rage.

"How could this tragedy befall us? What happened to our defenses? Where were our soldiers when our kingdom needed them most?"

Bairam Khan, his countenance heavy with remorse, bowed his head in shame, unable to muster the strength to look Badshah Afzal in the eye.

"There are no excuses, Badshah," he confessed, his tone laden with regret.

"We grew complacent, blinded by false assurances of peace, and in our negligence, we have paid a heavy price. They colluded with rebels and this.."

Afzal's anguish deepened as he grappled with the devastating reality of his mother's untimely demise. The weight of responsibility bore down upon him like an oppressive burden, threatening to crush his spirit beneath its unyielding weight.

Around them, the atmosphere was heavy with grief, the mournful wails of those who had lost loved ones mingling with the sombre silence of mourning.

The once bustling courtyard of the Lahore fort now lay shrouded in a veil of sorrow, the air thick with the collective anguish of a empire in mourning.

Yet amid the prevailing despair, a flicker of uncertainty ignited within the young Badshah's heart. Recollections of Amira's radiant smile, the warm reception from the capital's populace, and Aditya's parting words stirred within him.

Yet, the sight of the turbaned leader among the rival forces, reminiscent of Jeetendar, sparked doubts about Samrajya's unity under Prince Aditya's hold. Despite the looming grief, he knew yielding to despair was not an option.

As the sovereign of a realm embroiled in chaos, it was his solemn obligation to transcend his sorrow and guide his people through the encroaching darkness.

With a heavy heart and a resolve tempered by adversity, Badshah Afzal turned his gaze to the horizon, his eyes glinting with newfound determination.

Though the path ahead was fraught with challenges and uncertainty, he vowed to honor his mother's memory by forging a brighter future for his kingdom, one marked by resilience, strength, and unwavering resolve.

a flicker of determination ignited within Afzal's heart. "We will not rest until justice is served," he declared, his voice ringing with resolve.

"The responsible faction of Samrajya forces will pay for what they have done. And my mother... she will be avenged."

Bairam Khan furrowed his brow, his tone cautious as he addressed the young Badshah. "Isn't it clear that it's the forces of Samrajya behind all of this? "

The Badshah met Khan Baba's gaze with unwavering resolve. "I trust my friends and do put faith in Amira and Aditya."

Just as you believe in your convictions, I believe in mine. I refuse to let my mother's teachings or her death be in vain."

Impressed by the Badshah's unwavering determination, Bairam Khan sighed inwardly, acknowledging the innocence and idealism of his young sovereign.

"If not for your treaty, perhaps we could have achieved peace," he mused to himself. "Oh, great son of my master, yet so naive."

Afzal, catching Khan Baba's gaze, responded with a steely resolve. "Don't worry, Khan Baba. If the empires comes midway of my revenge, then I will not hesitate to deal with the empire or even Aditya himself."

At the mention of showing no mercy to Aditya, Bairam Khan felt a surge of joy. He bowed respectfully to Afzal, all the while thinking, "Alas, the seeds of corruption have been finally sown. Let the time nurture them, and the dream of Ghazwa -e -hind shall turn to reality (Invasion of India)."

As they parted ways, a storm brewed on the horizon, mirroring the turmoil within their hearts. The fate of two empires hung in the balance, its destiny entwined with the choices of its leaders.

And as the last drops of rain began to fall, a sense of anticipation filled the air, signalling the beginning of a new chapter in the history of Pakistan and the legacy of its people.