Chapter 3: "The Iron Covenant"

Scene 1: The Alley of Whispers

Murshidabad Bazaar – Night

Karim pressed himself against the damp brick wall, Mir Jafar's breath hot on his neck. The traitorous noble's dagger hovered inches from his throat, moonlight glinting off its serpentine hilt.

"Give me the ledger, rat," Mir Jafar hissed, "or I'll carve your tongue out first."

Karim clutched the stolen Company ledger tighter. At twelve, he'd survived streets deadlier than this—dodging slavers, outrunning British sepoys. But Mir Jafar's eyes held a madness even Clive lacked.

"The Nawab's men are coming," Karim lied. "They've known about you for weeks."

Mir Jafar laughed. "Your Nawab is too busy playing scholar to—"

A gunshot cracked.

Mir Jafar staggered, blood blooming on his shoulder. From the rooftops, a woman's voice rang out: "Step away. Slowly."

Laila, Saifullah's chief spy, leaped into the alley, her musket smoking. Behind her, three khabaris materialized, swords drawn.

"Run, boy!" Laila barked.

Karim ducked as steel clashed. Mir Jafar roared, slashing wildly, but Laila danced past his guard, disarming him with a whip of her rumal (scarf). By the time Karim reached the alley's end, Mir Jafar was gone—vanished into the shadows, leaving only a trail of blood.

Laila tossed Karim a coin. "The Nawab needs that ledger. Now."

Scene 2: The Ledger of Betrayal

Hazarduari Palace – Council Chamber

Saifullah spread the ledger across his marble desk, Ayesha and Siraj flanking him. The pages reeked of Calcutta's salt air, detailing everything:

Noble Conspirators: 23 names, from saltpeter magnates to court poets.

British Payments: 50,000 gold mohurs funneled through Dutch banks.

Plans: Poisoning grain stores, sabotaging cannons, assassinating Siraj.

Siraj slammed his fist. "I'll hang them all by dawn!"

"No." Saifullah's voice was calm. "Public trials. Confiscate their lands, redistribute their wealth to the famine-struck villages."

Ayesha frowned. "They'll call you a tyrant."

"Let them. But we follow Qanun-e-Sharia—evidence, witnesses, fair judgment."

Siraj scoffed. "Since when do traitors deserve fairness?"

Saifullah met his glare. "Because we are not them."

Scene 3: The Falcon's Justice

Murshidabad Courtyard – Dawn

The trials lasted three days.

Saifullah presided from a simple wooden chair, flanked by Hindu jurists and Islamic qazis. One by one, the accused nobles were paraded—not in chains, but in their finest silks, their crimes read aloud.

Day 1: Raja Amrit Singh, a saltpeter baron, laughed as peasants testified. "You think their word outweighs mine?"

Saifullah unsealed a Company letter. "Does Robert Clive's word? He thanks you for the 'timely arsenic shipment.'"

The crowd gasped. Amrit paled.

Verdict: Lands seized. Exiled to Arakan.

Day 3: Begum Fatima, Siraj's own aunt, spat at Saifullah's feet. "My brother Alivardi would've flayed you alive!"

Saifullah nodded to Laila, who dragged in a sobbing clerk. "You paid him to leak troop movements to the Marathas. Twice."

Begum Fatima lunged with a hidden dagger. Siraj intercepted, disarming her with a sickening crunch of bone.

Verdict: Imprisoned for life. Dowry assets granted to widows' shelters.

By sunset, the crowd's jeers turned to cheers.

Scene 4: The Cost of Mercy

Palace Gardens – Night

Siraj found Saifullah kneeling by a lotus pond, scrubbing trial ink from his hands.

"You spared Amrit Singh's children," Siraj said. "Why?"

"They're orphans. Like us."

"They'll seek revenge."

Saifullah stood, weary. "Then I'll face them when the time comes."

Siraj gripped his shoulder. "This gentleness will destroy you."

"And your rage will destroy you."

They stood in silence, the pond reflecting twin crescent moons—one whole, one fractured.

Scene 5: The Blockade

Hooghly River – Dawn

The British ships arrived at dawn, their sails black against the rising sun.

HMS Defiance, a 50-gun frigate, anchored at the mouth of the Hooghly, its cannons trained on Murshidabad's docks. Smaller sloops fanned out, cutting off trade routes. By noon, the river was a graveyard of stranded dhows and fishing boats.

From the palace balcony, Saifullah watched through a brass telescope. "They're not attacking. Just… choking us."

Ayesha joined him, her scholar's robe fluttering in the wind. "Clive's strategy. Starve us into submission."

"Then we'll feed ourselves." Saifullah turned to Laila. "Send word to the villages: Double rice production. Seize any grain hoarded by British agents."

Siraj stormed in, his scimitar already drawn. "Let me sink those ships! I'll take a dozen ghurabs (warships) and—"

"And die before you reach the Defiance," Saifullah snapped. "No. We fight smarter."

Scene 6: The French Gambit

Hazarduari Palace – Council Chamber

The French envoy, Pierre Duval, arrived under a white flag, his uniform pristine despite the blockade.

"Monsieur Nawab," he began, "France offers alliance. We'll break the blockade—for a price."

Saifullah leaned forward. "What price?"

"Your cannons. Your looms. Your… secrets."

Ayesha stiffened. "You want to steal our technology."

Duval smiled. "Share, madame. For mutual benefit."

Saifullah exchanged a glance with Siraj. "And if we refuse?"

"Then Britain wins. And Bengal burns."

Scene 7: The Orphan's Gambit

Murshidabad Slums – Night

Karim crouched in a thatched hut, the ledger clutched to his chest. Since Mir Jafar's attack, he'd been hiding, surviving on stolen bread and rainwater.

A knock startled him.

"Open up, chhotu," Laila's voice called. "The Nawab needs you."

Karim hesitated. "How do I know it's you?"

"Because I'm the one who saved your scrawny neck."

He opened the door. Laila tossed him a bundle: a clean kurta, a dagger, and a pouch of coins.

"You're one of us now," she said. "But first, a test."

Scene 8: The Silent Strike

Hooghly River – Midnight

Karim crouched in a fishing boat, his heart pounding as Laila rowed toward the Defiance.

"Your job," she whispered, "is to distract the guards. Can you swim?"

He nodded.

"Good. When I give the signal, jump."

As they neared the frigate, Laila lit a fuse on a floating barrel. Karim leaped into the icy water, splashing and shouting.

"Help! Pirates!"

The Defiance's guards rushed to the railing, muskets aimed. Laila slipped aboard, her rumal silencing a sentry before he could scream.

By dawn, the Defiance's powder magazine was rigged to blow.

Scene 9: The Nawab's Ultimatum

Hazarduari Palace – Morning

Saifullah stood before the French envoy, a map of India spread between them.

"Here's my counteroffer," he said. "France breaks the blockade. In return, we'll grant you trading rights—not our technology."

Duval frowned. "And if we refuse?"

Saifullah smiled. "Then we'll sink the Defiance ourselves."

As if on cue, a distant explosion shook the palace. Through the window, the Defiance's mast toppled into the Hooghly, its hull engulfed in flames.

Duval paled. "You're mad."

"No," Saifullah said. "I'm winning."

Scene 10: The Aftermath of the Defiance

Hooghly River – Morning

The burning wreckage of the HMS Defiance sent plumes of black smoke into the sky, its once-proud cannons now submerged in the murky waters of the Hooghly. Fishermen and traders lined the riverbanks, their faces a mix of awe and fear.

Saifullah stood on the palace balcony, his expression unreadable as he watched the chaos unfold. Beside him, Ayesha clutched a report from Laila, detailing the operation.

"The Defiance is gone," Ayesha said, her voice steady but her hands trembling slightly. "But the British will retaliate. This is an act of war."

"It was already war," Saifullah replied, his tone cold. "They just didn't realize we were fighting back."

Siraj burst onto the balcony, his scimitar still bloodied from a skirmish with British sailors who had escaped the sinking ship. "We did it, bhai! The Defiance is at the bottom of the river, and Clive's men are scrambling like rats!"

Saifullah turned to him, his eyes sharp. "This is only the beginning. The British will not take this lightly. We need to prepare for their next move."

Scene 11: The Council of War

Hazarduari Palace – Council Chamber

The council chamber was filled with tension as Saifullah's advisors debated their next steps. The French envoy, Pierre Duval, sat at the table, his earlier arrogance replaced by a cautious respect.

"The British will send reinforcements," Duval said, tapping the map of India spread across the table. "They control the seas. You cannot fight them alone."

"We are not alone," Saifullah replied, his gaze sweeping the room. "We have the people of Bengal. And now, we have you."

Duval leaned back, his fingers steepled. "France will help you break the blockade. But in return, we want more than trading rights. We want a military alliance."

Saifullah's eyes narrowed. "What kind of alliance?"

"A pact," Duval said. "France will provide ships, weapons, and engineers. In return, you will help us weaken British influence in India. Together, we can drive them out."

The room fell silent. Siraj slammed his fist on the table. "We don't need the French! We can fight our own battles!"

Saifullah raised a hand, silencing him. "We need every advantage we can get. But we will not become pawns in France's game."

He turned to Duval. "We accept your help. But on our terms. France will provide ships and engineers, but Bengal retains control of its armies and resources. Any attempt to undermine our sovereignty, and the alliance ends."

Duval smiled thinly. "Agreed."

Scene 12: The People's Army

Murshidabad – Training Grounds

The sinking of the Defiance had galvanized the people of Bengal. Farmers, weavers, and blacksmiths flocked to the training grounds, eager to join Saifullah's army.

Karim stood among them, his small frame dwarfed by the grown men around him. Laila had given him a dagger and a simple uniform, but he still felt out of place.

"You're too young to fight," a burly blacksmith grumbled, eyeing Karim.

"I'm not here to fight," Karim shot back. "I'm here to help. The Nawab needs everyone."

Nearby, Siraj oversaw the training, barking orders at the recruits. "Form ranks! Keep your shields up! And for Allah's sake, stop tripping over your own feet!"

Saifullah watched from a distance, his mind racing. These are not soldiers. They are farmers, craftsmen, fathers. But they are willing to fight for their future.

Ayesha approached, her scholar's robe replaced by a simple tunic. "The people believe in you," she said. "But belief alone won't win this war."

"I know," Saifullah replied. "That's why we need to be smarter. Stronger. And, if necessary, crueler."

Scene 13: The Iron Fist

Hazarduari Palace – Night

Saifullah sat alone in his study, the ledger of betrayals open before him. The names of the conspirators stared back at him, their crimes etched in ink.

Amrit Singh. Begum Fatima. Mir Jafar.

He dipped his quill in ink and began to write.

Decree No. 1: All lands and assets of traitors are hereby confiscated. Redistributed to the people of Bengal.

Decree No. 2: Any noble found conspiring with foreign powers will face immediate exile. Their families will be stripped of titles and privileges.

Decree No. 3: The establishment of the People's Council, composed of representatives from every village and trade guild. Their voices will guide Bengal's future.

As he signed the decrees, a knock interrupted him.

"Enter," Saifullah called.

Karim stepped inside, clutching a small bundle. "Huzoor, I found this in Mir Jafar's quarters."

Saifullah unwrapped the bundle. Inside was a letter, its seal broken.

*"To Mir Jafar,

The Company appreciates your loyalty. Await further instructions.

R. Clive."*

Saifullah's jaw tightened. "Thank you, Karim. You've done well."

As the boy left, Saifullah stared at the letter, his resolve hardening. No more mercy. No more half-measures. Bengal will survive, even if I must become a monster to save it.

Scene 14: The Nawab's Shadow

Murshidabad – Slums

Mir Jafar lurked in the shadows of the slums, his shoulder bandaged and his pride shattered. The people who once feared him now spat at his name.

"Traitor!" a woman hissed as he passed.

"Coward!" a child shouted, hurling a rock.

Mir Jafar ducked into an abandoned hut, his mind racing. Saifullah has turned the people against me. But I still have allies. And I still have a plan.

He pulled out a small vial of poison, its contents shimmering in the moonlight. If I cannot rule Bengal, I will burn it to the ground.

Scene 15: The French Engineers

Tara Jheel Arsenal – Day

The French engineers arrived with the first light of dawn, their wagons laden with tools, blueprints, and crates of gunpowder. Pierre Duval led them, his earlier arrogance tempered by the sight of the Defiance's wreckage still smoldering in the river.

Saifullah greeted them personally, his robes dusted with soot from the ongoing reconstruction of the arsenal. "Welcome to Bengal," he said, his voice carrying over the clang of hammers and the hiss of molten metal. "Your expertise will help us build a future free from tyranny."

Duval nodded, his eyes scanning the bustling site. "Your people are… resourceful. But you lack the precision of European engineering."

"Then teach us," Saifullah replied. "And we will teach you resilience."

The engineers set to work, their presence sparking both curiosity and resentment among the Bengali workers. A young blacksmith, Rahim, glared at a Frenchman adjusting the gears of a steam-powered hammer.

"Why do we need them?" Rahim muttered to Karim, who was helping carry tools. "We built this arsenal without their help."

"The Nawab says they'll make us stronger," Karim replied, though he shared Rahim's unease.

Scene 16: The People's Council

Hazarduari Palace – Great Hall

The first meeting of the People's Council was a chaotic affair. Farmers, weavers, and merchants filled the hall, their voices rising in a cacophony of dialects and demands.

"The British are stealing our crops!" a farmer shouted.

"The nobles are hoarding grain!" a weaver added.

Saifullah stood at the center, his presence commanding silence. "Your voices will shape Bengal's future," he said. "But unity is our strength. We must stand together, or we will fall divided."

Ayesha stepped forward, holding a ledger. "The Nawab has decreed that all confiscated lands will be redistributed to those who work them. But we need your help to ensure fairness."

The crowd erupted in cheers, but Siraj watched from the sidelines, his arms crossed. "This is madness," he muttered to Laila. "Farmers cannot rule a kingdom."

"They can if the Nawab guides them," Laila replied. "Trust him."

Scene 17: The Poisoned Grain

Murshidabad – Granary

Mir Jafar's plan unfolded in the dead of night. His agents infiltrated the granaries, their vials of poison glinting in the moonlight. By dawn, the first reports of sickness reached the palace.

"Huzoor!" A messenger burst into the council chamber, his face pale. "The grain stores—they've been poisoned! Hundreds are falling ill!"

Saifullah rose, his expression grim. "Seal the granaries. Summon the physicians. And find Mir Jafar."

Siraj was already at the door, his scimitar drawn. "I'll bring you his head."

"No," Saifullah said. "Bring him alive. I want the people to see justice done."

Scene 18: The Hunt for Mir Jafar

Murshidabad Slums – Night

Karim led the search, his knowledge of the slums proving invaluable. He moved through the narrow alleys like a shadow, his dagger ready.

"He's here," Karim whispered to Laila, pointing to a crumbling hut. "I saw him go in."

Laila nodded, signaling the guards to surround the building. Inside, Mir Jafar crouched in the darkness, his vial of poison clutched in his hand.

"Come out, traitor," Laila called. "It's over."

Mir Jafar laughed, a hollow, desperate sound. "You think you've won? Saifullah's empire is built on sand. It will crumble, just like the Mughals before him."

"Maybe," Laila said. "But you won't live to see it."

As the guards moved in, Mir Jafar raised the vial to his lips. But before he could drink, Karim tackled him, the vial shattering on the floor.

"Not today," Karim growled.

Scene 19: The Trial of Mir Jafar

Murshidabad Courtyard – Dawn

The people gathered to witness Mir Jafar's trial, their faces etched with anger and grief. Saifullah presided, his voice steady but his eyes burning with fury.

"Mir Jafar," he began, "you have betrayed your people, poisoned their food, and conspired with their enemies. What do you say in your defense?"

Mir Jafar spat at Saifullah's feet. "You are no Nawab. You are a pretender, playing at king while the British tighten their noose."

Saifullah's gaze hardened. "Your crimes are beyond forgiveness. But I will not stoop to your level. You will live—to see the empire you tried to destroy rise without you."

The crowd roared as Mir Jafar was dragged away, his fate sealed.

Scene 20: The Rising Storm

Hazarduari Palace – Balcony

As the sun set, Saifullah stood alone on the balcony, the weight of his decisions pressing on his shoulders.

Ayesha joined him, her presence a quiet comfort. "You did what you had to do."

"Did I?" Saifullah asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mir Jafar was right about one thing. The British will not stop. And neither will I."

Ayesha took his hand. "Then we fight. Together."

Below, the people of Bengal gathered in the courtyard, their voices rising in a chant.

"Nawab Saheb! Nawab Saheb!"

Saifullah closed his eyes, the chant echoing in his mind. This is my burden. My destiny. And I will bear it, no matter the cost.