Meri Pehchan

•the southasian princess•

The city of Loh prospered under the gaze of King Zaid. It had turned from being a fertile land of farmers to one full of opulence as the King and his family settled there. King Zaid's family had been the ruling family for hundreds of years already but it was not until he took over that things changed—drastically. His policies had turned the revenue generation and the kingdom had never been as prosperous. The people all but worshiped him for his loyalty and service. He carried with him an aura of mystery, a darkness shrouded his shoulders almost always and the one that faced the brunt of it all was his advisor, Akbar. His younger brother.

Akbar was the youngest out of seven siblings. With Zaid being the eldest followed by three more brothers, Zain, Zafar and Zafran. As well as two sisters Alia and Alina. Unfortunately, Akbar had fallen from graces after he married an Egyptian slave girl—a gift from the Egyptian King to Zaid on his coronation. It had been love at first sight and Akbar had ditched his noble blood fiancée for Yumna. As if to make the wound deeper, the couple had not been blessed with a child until ten years after marriage. A daughter. Akbar had been given a daughter by God and it was a sign of a hated union according to Zaid.

Akbar's daughter was blessed with the most softest of skins. It was dark like melted chocolate made of purely cocoa beans. Her silken black tresses were like softest of cotton with light waves, like the calm sea of the south. Her slender body that moved gently as she tread lightly on her feet, feline eyes with long curled lashes and molten umber for orbs. Full heart shaped lips with a cupids bow and swan like neck. Samra was like her name, a dark skinned princess. At eighteen, she was undoubtedly the one that people would most desire, even more than the King's daughters—that was if they got to see her.

Samra was kept behind the doors of her parents haveli within the large palace. Special orders from the King himself, ofcourse. Her father to him was a valuable treasure but he did not find it pleasing to have a slave's daughter walk infront of the many guests present in the abode at all times. However, Samra liked it that way. The privacy of her home did good to her introverted self. Where she spent time learning about her mother's land and experimenting in their humble kitchen. Sometimes she would sneak up to the private gardens where the ladies of the palace studied, wondering what it would be like to hold a feather and write her own name. Maybe, that would be the perfect gift for her nineteenth birthday.

The palace was built on an uncountable acres of land. Sandstone, marble and granite were used in plenty to craft the pillars of the place. Arched gateways that lead from one section of the palace to the other. Iron wrought arched gates that kept the privacy of the women's areas. The opulence of the place was unmatched. With large glass chandeliers and plenty of courtyards with seasonal and exotic plants of all kinds. Diwans for the king to entertain his men and family were littered across the property. Large domes crafted with great precision, inlays and artwork of peacocks and elephants covered the walls. The detail in the murals—extraordinary.

Inside the arched gateways, and windows lattice work made of red stone was laid. It provided privacy to the women, allowing them to freely gaze at the matches of polo and King's audience with his courtiers without having to forgo the rules of common courtesy. While within family, free mixing of the genders occurred it was a big no to appear infront of the King's ambassadors and visitors. Samra's favourite part though, were the jharoka's. The stone windows that looked over the tiny herb garden of her mother and the man-made pool gave her a sense of calmness. The trees that leaned over the cover of the window, gave easy access to oranges in the winter and Samra enjoyed snacking on nature's bounty. Not to mention, it was the perfect place to lounge at as the sun set and cast its warm, orange glow on her dark skin.

Samra's life was a bit different from her cousin sister's. Their parents were pure nobility and their blood was not tainted. Words she was acquainted with as a seven year old. The cruelty of the palace women was hid from the populace, who were ready to give lives for them. Still her heart was wrapped in the lace of innocence and she hoped for a day where her family would love her. All her aunts and uncles had been blessed with son's. Raising their ranks by a few notches. Only the king had three daughters, after four sons. To him it was the sign of successful union—with his two wives ofcourse.