There were two choices ahead of Roshanak– follow Sikander where he was gone, or retire to her room like a woman accustomed to not protesting. The former would be risky, and the latter would keep her marriage running as it was.

Sikander had married her for her valour. She knew what she had to do.

As soon as Sikander left on his chariot, she called for her own. Luckily, the Shahamsaram was given almost every luxury that the Shah could enjoy.

"Take me to him," she said.

The charioteer stared at her belly with widened eyes, then looked up at the moon hidden behind the grey clouds. "Shahamsaram, it's very late."

Roshanak heaved a sigh. "Do not worry for me. Your Shah is losing himself. I-I need to," she shivered, "hold him. I can't lose him, neither can Persia."

The man nodded. "I will take you, as you order me."

She climbed the chariot and draped a shawl around herself. The chariot raced, following the fresh track of the Shah. It was a very lonely night with no stars and a sad darkness, like the cosmic eye was devoid of light. The gelid breeze made Roshanak quiver. A fortunate wife would have gotten to be in the arms of her loving husband. Alas, queens like her knew no everlasting love.

Soon, they reached the burial site of Hridayank. The royals had poured his ashes here. The chariot of the Shah waited outside, and its charioteer was surprised to see Roshanak. He hurriedly climbed down and bowed.

"Wait here, both of you," she said.

"The Shah desired solitude. I wanted to go with him since he needs some protection, but he forbid me from coming."

She smiled. "Don't worry. I will be fine. His madness can't deter me from my path."

Sikander had, she noticed, left his sandals in the chariot. Perhaps he revered the soil where his beloved now slept. Roshanak felt a pang in her heart. With a heaviness inside, she left her sandals there too. The moist soil soothed her feet, the coolness seeping through her skin. The branches hovered above her, lurking close to her curls. She moved them gently and passed through the lush green. Crossing a line of bushes and shrubs, she was welcomed by a little pond. At its bank sat Sikander.

Unlike any other time, there was no crown atop his head. The golden locks fell helplessly over his shoulders. It was messy, but in a way the gods would admire, like the tangled climbers of nature or threads of thunder coiled in a stormy sky. Roshanak hadn't seen his body so deflated ever, bending so low and exuding such submission, as if he had failed to destiny. When she walked closer to him, she saw his glassy eyes. His face was smeared with the dirt of earth. He had rubbed it on his arms like an esoteric saint would do. In his grip was squeezed a lump of earth, the thirst of which he quenched with his tears.

Roshanak whimpered. In the silence, that little noise alerted the Shah. He turned back, shocked to see her. His puffy reddened eyes narrowed. "You are truly admirable."

"Why?" She stood beside him.

He let go of the earth in his hand. "You are courageous. To come here in the dead of the night, with a child inside, without company, is commendable."

"I am not entirely without company," she replied, looking at the slab erected that had Hridayank's name.

Sikander followed her eyes. "I see. Perhaps I am not company." He gulped. "It must be hideous to see a Shah in this state. You have hurt my ego."

"I think I like this side of yours more, than the one you showed me before coming."

Sikander's pupils enlarged. He clenched his fist, averting his gaze away from her.

Roshanak fidgeted with the pleats of her robe. "Do not misunderstand me; I don't wish to see you mourning forever, but emotions are something a human feels. We cherish time and the little that we can spend with our dear ones in this mortal plane. The loss we experience when the time is over is overwhelming.

"On the other hand, gods probably don't feel such fleeting heartaches. They have eternity, immortality. They can hardly understand how precious love is."

"So, gods are too submerged in pride and power to care?" he asked, guilt echoing in his words.

"I think so. Chasing ambitions makes one the same. You can never have an end to what you want. Wealth is abundant like thought. If you can't control your urge to overtake the ordinary and become great, you lose yourself."

Sikander winced. Roshanak was pleasantly surprised, a smile creeping up to her lips for a flickering moment.

"When man forgets that he can make mistakes, when man forgets that in simplicity lies ultimate peace, he becomes a god. And being god is often being a monster. He denies everything that shows him a mirror and requests him to change for good. He pushes away anything that comes in the way of his expansion, even if it's love. He ignores the rudimentary joys, thinking it reduces him to a human. He sees himself as the supreme and the only one. How foolish is that?" She paused to take a breath. "In short, I like when you behave like a human and less like a Shah. You are Shah to Persia, not to family. Well, if I am family."

"You...you aren't afraid of me?"

"I am. But I am a warrior's daughter, so you should know that I fight my fears. I don't stand crying like a dumb."

"Was...was Hridayank afraid of me too?"

Roshanak wondered if that was how a shattered heart spoke– the last screech of an eagle before its injured wings pulled it to a bleeding death. The majestic bird that flew above the raining clouds, soaring higher than anyone else, plunged in the realm of petty humans.

"I think he had given up on hope. His world revolved around you, Shah. He knew nothing else."

"Stupid," Sikander muttered, sniffling quietly. "He didn't need to love me so much."

"You can't dictate one what to do with their heart."

"He said his heart belonged to me. So if I say he shouldn't love me, he shouldn't. Had he loved me less, he would have lived."

Tears came to Roshanak's eyes. "You are a fool too, Shah."

"You don't tell such things to a Shah. You...you don't."

He sobbed. With mud-covered hands he wiped his tears. Anger never suited his warm orbs. Roshanak saw they were very beautiful when crying, perhaps more than when he would laugh.

"I lost him. I lost him because of my own faults. He...he could have given me another chance, could he not?"

"I wish that he does in another life."

"It's such a long wait."

Kazu... "But worth it."

Sikander extended his hand. "Do you need help to sit down?"

She took his hand, more out of pity than need, and sat beside him. "I can do regular chores now, but after some months it will become difficult. Then I wouldn't be able to sit on ground like this."

"Oh..." He plucked grass and played with its roots, suddenly stuck in a disillusioned world. "Does it not feel uncomfortable to have something inside you?"

"It does. But it also feels nice."

"You can't run or have fun."

"Yes, perhaps. I won't say we can't have fun."

Roshanak shifted a little far from him, careful in her movements. "Don't be Philip's son, or the Son of Zeus. Be Odile's son."

Sikander frowned. Roshanak almost believed that the whole progress would be lost, but he just shook his head and blew a breath. "I may have got nothing from my father except his wrath. But don't ask me to be Odile's son. She was the one who claimed I was some hero, a divine born, when in reality I just wished to be like everyone else. If I am a monster today, everyone has a hand in it. So don't blame me alone."

"You need to understand that she did many things to secure your position and safeguard you. But yes, maybe she could have allowed you more freedom."

"My destiny was decided way before my birth. They all wrote epic poems about my birth and how I was a blessing. As a child it was a lot of pressure. When other kids would play and be naive, I was made to question my very existence. I was here not to lead a life like the crowd, but be a king."

"What would you be if not a Shah?"

Sikander blushed. "After Hridayank, you are the only one to have asked me this."

Does it make me your wife? I hope so. "So, do you know what you would be if not a Shah?"

"A writer, maybe. I worship Iliad. I respect sweet verses and tragic lores. I wish I could create something similar."

"I hope in some life, you will be able to do it. Remember to not run after godhood then."

"It is young blood that dreams. With age, we all learn to be still. I just wonder if in some other universe, I would be writing and dancing now, playing the flute, and everyone would love me because of my creativity."

"May so happen. I might not be there to witness your transformation, but the stars listen. They will carry your wish."

"What would you be, Roshanak, if not a queen?"

She stiffened. If she was to be honest with herself, it was Kazu whose name that came to her. She would love to be with him, have a family and live happily ever after. Nothing very grand and perfect. "I want to be some villager. Have a small shop, a family to take care of. Maybe my husband will be a fisherman."

Sikander gaped. "A fisherman?"

"Yes. Since I love fish."

"Oh well, in that sense, I should marry some old poet whose hair has started graying. Or maybe the ghost of Homer."

Roshanak laughed heartily. Her husband didn't like the fisherman aspect. "You don't want to be fisherman."

"I don't. I would rather be exploring the ocean. Just imagine, my sails are defying the winds and I am navigating the ship through a raging tempest!"

"You are a tempest yourself. A very unlikeable one."

She clicked her tongue. Should I have said that?

"I-I am sorry. I know things won't change in a day or night. But I will try."

Anger simmered in her heart. She was upset with his disrespectful behaviour, his piercing words. But she couldn't remain angry. She didn't have the right, neither the strength to hold on to the burning sensation. "I know I will never be a Shah. I will never be you. I will never be a man. But don't compare the pain of motherhood with your battles. Both are agonising and not to be belittled."

"Hridayank was a man better than me. He knew the intricacies of feminity."

"You should, then, be the man he desired you to be."

"I can never be so until I leave being the Shah. And I can't let Persia die like that."

But you could let Hridayank die. "Try to be half of what he wanted you to be. Half, just half."

"Alright. Perhaps I should start with you, then. The accusations I made."

Roshanak looked away. "I-I don't need any apology. Just work on yourself."

Sikander pursed his lips. "I have grown up seeing my mother being tortured. I-I don't know how," he choked on his words, "I ended up being the same monster. The monster, my father, that I wanted to defeat. I became what I was afraid of."

"You do not need to grieve for hurting me. I am no one of value."

"You say this out of spite."

"I am being down-to-earth."

Sikander huffed. "Fine. But you are carrying my son."

"What if it's a daughter?"

He blinked, utterly confused. "What?"

"A daughter. How can you be so sure that it will be a male?"

Sikander scratched his chin. "Yes, a girl. She can't be the heir, but she will still be good. We will name her after the goddess Athena."

"And if it's a son?"

He smiled softly. "Would you mind if I say Hridayank?"

Roshanak's eyes flooded again. How come this mystery of a man, a beast in a provider's body, be so full of tender love? He had failed to show the depth of his affections. He had hurt both her and his beloved. "A very noble idea."

"I don't care what others think. I will then name him Hridayank, if it's a boy."

"It calms me down when you accept my son as yours, Shah." Roshanak's lips puckered. "I will need time to forgive you for what you have done, but know that I will. I can't be sad for long. It's not how I live."

He touched her face, attempting to wipe her tears.

But she flinched.

Sikander pulled back his hand. "There's a lot to take care of. We will start with me." He pointed to himself. "I won't disappoint Hridayank, and I won't be the man that my father was. I am dangerously close to the cliff, hanging in the middle of insanity and a healthy life. I don't know if I will be able to keep my mind away from Hridayank and his death, but I promise not to accuse you for it. I have said many things but know none of it is true."

She wanted to ask if he knew about Kazu, but shoved away the topic. As Sikander said, they needed to focus on him first. "Please do not again hurt me like you did."

"I won't. I give my word. Not as a Shah but as a true man." He took her palm in his. "And from now, we will be friends. I have been the bad one in this relationship, so allow me to redeem."

A wind twirled Roshanak's open curls, occluding her tears. Looking at the sincerity in his glimmering gaze, she forgot for a moment that she loved Kazu the most. A woman's heart was strange, and stranger was her ability to forgive. The memories of him screaming and cursing were still so new, but Roshanak, like a warrior's daughter, dared to hope.

It was a shameful thing to accept, but she was growing on him.

"Can we be friends, Roshanak?"

"Yes. Yes we can."

In front of the remains of Hridayank, death whispered in her ears and sang a ballad of separation. One among the three was no more. Enemies lurked nearby, and with the delicate mind of the Shah and the twists of politics, Roshanak knew she had to do many things on her own. A queen was supposed to be her king's support, the guardian of his life. A woman could do so much from behind the veil.

Death. That was what Roshanak feared. Not because it would leave her weak and a beggar.

It was his eyes, shimmering and beaming, his muddy face shining at the break of dawn. 

Roshanak wished to the immortal sun– Sikander, don't die.

e n d

****

word count: 2564 words
Total word count: 38,577 words

This is where I end the novella.

As of January 2025, I haven't expanded this into a novel. And I'll not, for now. I want to keep this as it is. Perhaps a very open-ended story. I also unpublished the author's note.

I am not republishing this chapter again, so yeah you are gonna see it only if you come to re read.

Thing is, I have found myself unable to complete any of Sikander based or inspired novellas (Son of Mah included) into a happy ending or an AU sort of ending. Maybe because history isn't supposed to be tampered. There could be many reasons. I firmly believe when I write historical fiction, or even some story inspired from history, the souls who have inspired me have a hold on the story too.

I think they wish this to be like this for now? I don't know what I'll do in future. But let's keep this as open ending. A one where things are improving if not the best.

Lastly, lots of love and respect to Roshanak ❤️