*Every day is a gift, and anybody can become a refugee at any moment.
Eventually she returns to Delhi and the compassionate British give her a ten-rupee pension
(...)
“He raised his shaking hands in prayer and cried out to Allah, ‘Dear god, I entrust this orphan girl into your care. Brought up in magnificent palaces, they now venture into the wilderness and desolate jungles. They have no friends or protectors. Please protect the honour of these princesses of the Timurid dynasty. Preserve their honour. The entire Hindu and Muslim population of Hindustan are my children and trouble surrounds them all. Don’t let them suffer because of my actions. Give them relief from all troubles.’ With that, he patted my head, embraced Zainab, gave a few jewels to my husband Mirza Ziauddin, and sent us off along with Nur Mahal Saheba, who was Huzur’s begum....
“When we climbed into our bullock cart, it was dawn. Only the morning star still twinkled in the sky, and all the other stars had vanished. We cast a last glance at the royal palace. We wept and yearned for what had once been our happy abode. Nawab Nur Mahal’s lashes were laden with tears and the morning star was reflected in them.
“We left the Lal Qila forever and reached Kurali village, where we rested for a while in the house of our cart driver. We were given bajra roti and some buttermilk. We were so hungry that the food tasted better than biryani and mutanjan....
