November 16, 1657, Earth.

The little boy clung to his mother as she stood on the terrace. In the courtyard below, the Crown Prince’s procession had arrived and a fireworks display was in progress, casting showers of sparks into the night. He felt cozy despite the chilly breeze. Where others saw a woman battered by birthing nine children, he saw someone whose body was the perfect shape and softness for him to rest on. His two younger sisters were still too young to accompany them out in the cold, so he had her all to himself. Not that he was short of warm embraces, but hers was special.

“Is Kamran going hunting with him next week?” his grandmother asked. Kamran was his father. 

“Yes, they will take Khizar, too,” his mother said. 

“What place is a hunt for a little boy?” 

“Kamran thinks it would be good for him to meet the Crown Prince.” 

His grandmother scoffed. Even at four years old, it was clear to the boy that she neither approved of his father nor the Crown Prince. He wasn’t sure why, though. He liked his father and his mother seemed fond of him. 

“He’s waited long enough for a son,” his mother said. “I can’t blame him for not wanting to wait longer. Khizar can handle it.”

His grandmother caught him peeking and smiled. “Khizar Mirza, come to your grandmother now. Amma must be tired.” 

The boy closed his eyes and lay motionless. 

“Are you sleeping, Khizar Mirza?” she asked.

He didn’t reply.

“Oho, such a shame. I guess you won’t see the Prince’s elephant then.” Still no response. “He is really asleep,” she said to his mother. “Let’s go downstairs then.” 

“I’m awake!” he said, raising his head. Both his mother and grandmother were already grinning at him, even before he opened his eyes. He had been played. With a sheepish smile, he buried his face back in the crook of his mother’s neck as they laughed. He blinked rapidly and repeatedly against her neck, his long lashes tickling her and earning him a slap on his bottom. He giggled. It was worth it. 

“You think you can lie to me?” his grandmother said. “I am your Amma’s Amma.”

Khizar peeked at her from between the folds of her mother’s dupatta.

“No more lies, okay?” she said.

He nodded. 

“Khizar Mirza, look at how grand your High Prince Dara Shikoh is,” his mother said. “Do you like him? Does he look good?” 

Khizar nodded vigorously. 

His grandmother cupped his face in her hands and sighed. “My darling, my precious little boy. Only your beautiful cat eyes can see goodness where there is none.”

He blinked his hazel eyes at her with a big smile. Then, as she often did, she said a little prayer out loud, “Ilahi, keep my boy safe and put some sense into his father.”