21-02-2026, 09:56 AM
Introduction
My name is Iqbal. I am a Khwajasara, what you people today might call a special eunuch guard, serving in the grand Harem of Shahenshah. People who live outside these high red stone walls think that the Harem is just a place of magic, romance, and beautiful women living in heaven. They think it is all poetry and soft music. But only we, the guards who live and breathe inside this place, know the real truth. It is a golden jail. A very beautiful, sweet-smelling, luxurious jail, but a jail anyway.
You see, ordinary men are strictly not allowed inside. Outside the grand walls, the heavy Rajput and Mughal soldiers stand with big swords and spears. Inside the outer gates, there are Turki and Kashmiri female guards who keep a very strict eye. But in the deepest, most secret parts of the palace, where the Begums and the special women live, only people like me are allowed. We Khwajasaras are not weak men. We practice heavy martial arts every single morning before the sun comes up. If by some miracle, any outside man tries to climb the sixty-foot high wall from the river side to enter here, we are trained to break his bones in one minute and throw him right back into the Yamuna river. But nobody dares. The security of Harem is tighter than a royal treasury.
In this Harem, there are more than five thousand women. Yes, you heard me right. Five thousand. Some are royal wives who came from big families. Some are given as rich gifts by other defeated kings, and some are just brought here because the Shahenshah liked their face during a journey. But the rule is the same for everyone: once a woman steps inside this high wall, her outside life is completely finished. Her old identity is erased. Her name is changed. She gets everything a human can dream of—rich Mughlai food, clothes stitched with real gold and silver wires, and four to five dasis (maids) running behind her all day. But she can never, ever see the outside world again.
I have seen the real faces of these women when the Emperor is not looking. In front of him, they are very sweet, calling each other 'dear sister'. But behind his back, there is very dirty politics. Oh, the jealousy! You cannot imagine. If one woman gets pregnant, the others will silently try to mix poison in her food so she loses the baby. Because in this place, everyone wants their own son to be the next king. That is why we have a special kitchen here. The food is cooked and served in special Chinese clay pots. If there is poison, the pot will break or change its color. Even then, the main cook has to eat the food first to test it.
Let me tell you a secret about the Hakims (doctors). Sometimes these women feel so lonely in this big crowd, they purposely tell lies that they are sick with fever. When the outside doctor comes, we put a thick black cloth over his head so he cannot see anything. The woman sits behind a heavy curtain. She only takes her hand out for the doctor to check her pulse. I have seen with my own eyes—these royal women sometimes kiss the doctor's hand or bite his fingers softly out of total desperation, just because he is a man from the outside world. The poor doctor has to stand like a statue, sweating in fear, because if I complain to the Emperor, the doctor will be thrown in our secret tahkhana (dungeon) and hanged the same night.
This is my life. I watch everything, I hear every whisper, but my mouth is always shut.
And......Today a princess is coming.
![[Image: OzHIzwQ5_o.gif]](https://images2.imgbox.com/f8/17/OzHIzwQ5_o.gif)
![[Image: XxEOL6N5_o.png]](https://images2.imgbox.com/cc/11/XxEOL6N5_o.png)
My name is Iqbal. I am a Khwajasara, what you people today might call a special eunuch guard, serving in the grand Harem of Shahenshah. People who live outside these high red stone walls think that the Harem is just a place of magic, romance, and beautiful women living in heaven. They think it is all poetry and soft music. But only we, the guards who live and breathe inside this place, know the real truth. It is a golden jail. A very beautiful, sweet-smelling, luxurious jail, but a jail anyway.
You see, ordinary men are strictly not allowed inside. Outside the grand walls, the heavy Rajput and Mughal soldiers stand with big swords and spears. Inside the outer gates, there are Turki and Kashmiri female guards who keep a very strict eye. But in the deepest, most secret parts of the palace, where the Begums and the special women live, only people like me are allowed. We Khwajasaras are not weak men. We practice heavy martial arts every single morning before the sun comes up. If by some miracle, any outside man tries to climb the sixty-foot high wall from the river side to enter here, we are trained to break his bones in one minute and throw him right back into the Yamuna river. But nobody dares. The security of Harem is tighter than a royal treasury.
In this Harem, there are more than five thousand women. Yes, you heard me right. Five thousand. Some are royal wives who came from big families. Some are given as rich gifts by other defeated kings, and some are just brought here because the Shahenshah liked their face during a journey. But the rule is the same for everyone: once a woman steps inside this high wall, her outside life is completely finished. Her old identity is erased. Her name is changed. She gets everything a human can dream of—rich Mughlai food, clothes stitched with real gold and silver wires, and four to five dasis (maids) running behind her all day. But she can never, ever see the outside world again.
I have seen the real faces of these women when the Emperor is not looking. In front of him, they are very sweet, calling each other 'dear sister'. But behind his back, there is very dirty politics. Oh, the jealousy! You cannot imagine. If one woman gets pregnant, the others will silently try to mix poison in her food so she loses the baby. Because in this place, everyone wants their own son to be the next king. That is why we have a special kitchen here. The food is cooked and served in special Chinese clay pots. If there is poison, the pot will break or change its color. Even then, the main cook has to eat the food first to test it.
Let me tell you a secret about the Hakims (doctors). Sometimes these women feel so lonely in this big crowd, they purposely tell lies that they are sick with fever. When the outside doctor comes, we put a thick black cloth over his head so he cannot see anything. The woman sits behind a heavy curtain. She only takes her hand out for the doctor to check her pulse. I have seen with my own eyes—these royal women sometimes kiss the doctor's hand or bite his fingers softly out of total desperation, just because he is a man from the outside world. The poor doctor has to stand like a statue, sweating in fear, because if I complain to the Emperor, the doctor will be thrown in our secret tahkhana (dungeon) and hanged the same night.
This is my life. I watch everything, I hear every whisper, but my mouth is always shut.
And......Today a princess is coming.
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