The Fallen Widow

29. The Prisoner

The first time Meh'r-Bano saw the dream, she was seven years old and barely recalled it. Every year, at certain time of the year, she'd return into the realm of her subconscious and her soul would reunite with late mother.
Tonight, it happened again. Meh'r-Bano wasn't sure when she fell asleep on the makeshift, prickly basket she used for a pillow. Drifting in and out of sleep, she heard the muezzin's pleading call to the dawn prayer for the pious. With little energy to open her heavy eyes, her soul wandered into the subliminal.

'Ammi? where are you?'
The sweet, honey taste of mango jam is thick in the glorious summer air. Her hand soft like cotton brushes against my cheek. There, I can see her figure dressed in cris, white kameez, she is kneeling over a bed of flowers. My two pigtails, tied with pink ribbons bounce. My small hands wave her over. We stand together watering a bed of seedlings. They shoot high, like tall pine trees into the sky.

"Look ammi. Our seeds." I shade the blinding sun from my eyes as the trees ascend me into the sky. I giggle, why do I feel sad?
'Come with me, ammi?" I reach down, but her hand slips from my small hand. Tears fill my eyes.
"Ammi!" I cry.
"Don't cry. May Allah be with you. May Allah protect you."
Meh'r-Bano muttered in her sleep, sweat breaking her forehead.

"Ammi." She cried trapped, her soul struggling in her dream. A hand brushed her cheek. She's here.
"Ammi." Gently Meh'r-Bano's tired eyes opened to a blurry figure. There. A woman dressed in a cream, cotton kameez. It was her mother. Though, she smelt different, like of tobacco naswaar and olive oil. It was strong and inviting. Her eyes, soft, warm, together with a welcoming smile evoked a smile from Meh'r-Bano's sleepy lips.
"Ammi." Meh'r-Bano uttered from her dry lips, drifting in and out of sleep.
The woman washed her hand over Meh'r-Bano's face, framing her face.
"Ammi." It had to be her mother visiting her in the cell. The woman bought a cold glass of water to her lips. Meh'r-Bano felt the cold shard of glass against her dry lips.
"Drink." She said.

Meh'r-Bano licked the glass and sipped a few drops quenching her arid throat. When she opened her eyes, she realised it wasn't a mirage. The woman was real. The strong light from the hallway lit the room and Meh'r-Bano gazed at the woman's face. She was in her late fifties. Wrinkles around her eyes. Gold nose studs on both side of her nose.
"Drink the water, puthar." Said the old woman in a soft, maternal voice.
Who was she? Meh'r-Bano leaned back. Puthar meant, child, my daughter, or my son spoken mostly by a mother to her child. Why did she use the term?
"What is your name, puthar?" Again, she called her puthar.
Meh'r-Bano sat up in confusion. A pain shot down her back from the awkward way she slept. Where was she? Why was this woman worried about her? Surely the haveli would punish her for being here?
"I will get you out of here." Said the woman thick with conviction in her tone.
"Who are you?" Meh'r-Bano mustered the energy to speak and held the glass. The woman framed her face with her warm hand.
"Come, let me take you out of here. This is no place for a young woman."
"No. I can't leave. Not until they allow me." Fear paralysed her.
"What have you done?"
Meh'r-Bano shook her head. She didn't know where to start and what to say. But from her tone, the woman sounded genuinely concerned.
"Look at the state of you." The woman glanced from what she could from little the light bought.
"Is this blood?" She looked at her clothes. "Did they beat you? Did they hit you?" Alarm rose in her voice, but Meh'r-Bano could neither deny nor admit it. She didn't trust anyone at the haveli.
"What are you doing down here, dai-ama?"
On hearing Shah-Nawaz's booming voice from the hallway, Meh'r-Bano dropped the glass, smashing it and scurried back into a corner sending worry lines across dai-ama's forehead. Meh'r-Bano shuffled away from the old woman proving, she had no affiliation with the woman.
On entering the room, Shah Nawaz kicked the broken kat. From his silhouette, Meh'r-Bano deciphered he wasn't wearing his uniform turban.
"You shouldn't be down here!" Said Shah Nawaz. "I told you not to interfere in the issues of the haveli."
Dai-ama limped her way towards Shah-Nawaz.
"What is going on here, puthar? Why have you locked the poor young woman down here? Have you seen her state? Did you beat her?" Her voice raised with alarm.