Gunnah e Shab

5. Celebration • جشن

We're all so desperate to be understood, we forget to be understanding – Beau Taplin

"Three shows I promised you. Three. She's danced in three and I have protected her Sarah. No more. She needs to earn her keep now. Prepare her. Her virginity will be sold tonight, to the highest bidder". Asma waved her hand in the air.

Her sharp eyes, staring at her sister's movements. The lethargic gasp, the silent screams, the clenching of the fist. Nothing went unseen. Her hair was grey, she had seen the world. She had more experiences than her brothel had had prostitutes. She would not show leniency. She hadn't when it came to that woman twenty six years ago, and she won't now.

"Asma this is my brothel as much as yours. I've lived all my life according to your conditions. My daughter won't be subjected to the same torture!" Sarah stood her ground.

Asma scoffed, fixing her hair, smacking her lips as she eyed her sister.

"Amma knew better. That's why she left me this place. Not you! Jitna kar diya hai uss mein khush raho. Warna karz utaro aur chalti bano!" [Be happy in that which I have done. Or else pay the debt and leave!] Asma poked her.

"And why do you worry? That girl wants it. I've seen the fire in her eyes as she challenges the raees zaday". [Son of cheifs] Asma announced.

"Now go and get her ready. Everything must go perfectly well". She rolled her eyes.

"What about your own daughters?" Sarah pointed.

"My daughters are educated women. They'll marry into respectable families". Asma retorted.

"That sounds very selfish. Why can't my daughters have the same?" Sarah tried to protest.

"May I remind you, your family of three still owes me—"

"My mother was the owner. You and I both know who's debt my children are being forced to pay off!" Sarah tsked.

"I'm glad you know. In this world, the only thing you're climbing is into a man's bed. Nothing more. Now run along, the wax ladies will be here to prep our budding rose for her night of bloom". Asma stood up from the straw bed.

Fixing her dress, brushing her fingers through her lustrous hair, she was out of the room. Leaving behind a tense Sarah. Worry creeping up her neck, the goosebumps scattering all over her skin. With heavy feet she stepped inside Ayna's bedroom. Her daughter's nimble form covered under a thick maroon duvet. With half a heart, Sarah lifted the covers, her heart aching as she imagined the forlorn expression on Ayna's face when she would find out her mother had failed.

Sarah let her hand glide across Ayna's tired face. Even in sleep, her eldest child was plagued with nightmares. She had lost one daughter to the horrors of prostitution, she could not loose another. Years ago she had sacrificed a sister. Then a daughter. To ask for her most tender piece of heart — it was a crime. Kissing Ayna's browbone, Sarah sat in complete silence. Just the sound of their intermingled breathing. And the soft hushed movements of the rustling blankets.

The braid in Ayna's hair was coming loose. The stray hair strands sticking to the drool on her cheek. Life had robbed her eldest daughter of her life, and now it seemed history was about to repeat itself. Taking a deep breath, she stroked Ayna's closed eyelids. Her cheeks swollen and the apples of them red like ripened cherries. She hesitated for a few seconds — was it worth it or not? There was not much she could do, Laila's fate was set in stone.