THE ROYAL BATH HOUSE, BURHANPUR, MP, INDIA
LOVE’S LABOUR LOST
By Neel Anil Panicker
‘We are in the Shahi Palace; what you see is the royal bath.’
Margaret was living her dream. The past 24 hours had transported her into the quaint, dusty old world charms of 15th century Mughal India.
Her infectious enthusiasm even got to Albert. The two had waded in and out of sandstone mousleums, gold carved palaces, aged forts, crumbling edifices et al.
She loved it, the aura of the era, beautifully captured in its fairy pavilions with their intricately carved pillars, the latticed windows through which sneaked in strobes of sun kissed lights that reflected on graves long gone silent.
‘Dear tourists, this is where Queen Mumtaz Mahal bathed in water scented with khus, saffron and rose petals.’
Her eyes took in the high domed roof, the curved walls and the exquisitely etched paintings of chirpy birds and flowers.
‘One of these paintings was the inspiration for Shah Jahan to build Taj Mahal, his ode to love.’
Later, when they were in their room, Albert quipped, “Love indeed, after she failed to deliver him their 14th child, and died in labour”.
(c)neelanilpanicker2017#fiction#shortstory#182words
WHAT PEGMAN SAW
Written as part of short fiction challenge initiated by
Oh, what a sad look back into history. Well told through eyes of the present.
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Yes, quite a lot of history is sad. Thank you for your appreciation.
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Dear Neel,
Beautifully written descriptions that made me feel as if I were on the tour with them. You’ve also captured the two points of view expertly. Albert is the quintessential pragmatist. Nicely done.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Yes, all of us are quite nostalgic when it comes to travelling back to our roots. Thanks a lot Rochelle for your appreciation. It is manna for writers, you know..
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Dear Neel,
Comments are indeed manna to writers. I for one am a self professed comment junkie. On the other hand, through blogging stories, I’ve met so many interesting people worldwide I never would have otherwise. This is why I stress reciprocation.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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