Meri Pehchan

•the vital guests•

The week whizzed by. Like an annoying fly that constantly buzzed in the shell of the ear. Despite being the peak of summers, time had not stood still. The sun had risen and set faster than ever before — an opposite of how it usually went. Samra anticipated it was because she awaited the arrival of her birthday, her fingers crossed tightly to see what the King would say. The emerald green grass next to the south wall of the home had grown a few inches in just a few days, and she knew if for she measured it each day. Everything had changed and yet it was all still, and unchanged.

It seemed that for the first time the whole kingdom was counting down the seconds to her birthday. Ofcourse it was not due to herself, but in fact it was simply in wait for the royal wedding and the arrival of one of the strongest Kings. The King of Persia, was a man famous in the regions beyond the Eastern worlds. Everyone wished to be under his just and peaceful rule. When he had taken over, his whole empire had been in a large war. Yet in the past thirty years, Persia had sat like a sated Lion. It's gaze on everyone but too lethargic to attack. That of course, proved nothing. The country had continued to work on it's military skills and news of the new general's success had reached ears far and wide.

General Fadahunsi was an enigma. No one had seen him, save for a handful of his most trusted advisors. It was to protect him on the battlefield but also because his status as a royal prince demanded it. One thing famous about him were his dark mocha eyes, shaped like sharp Hawk eye's. His thick brows and the long mane of curly hair that reached his broad, sun tanned shoulders. Anyone that caught a glimpse of him, was left flushed — be it man or woman, friend or foe. No one was immune to his charms.

Samra who had heard the tales of his handsomeness was filled with a thirst to see him. A thirst that was almost impossible to quench. Her maids who had affairs with the royal guards every now and then, dropped some information in her ear and she was left with enough mystery to imagine a tale on the man. Her heart was filled with a pain upon the realization that she would not be able to see him, ever. Just once she wished, just one time was all that she needed to put a face on the man who clouded her senses and was the hero of refugee's stories.

Even now, taking a dip in the cool water of the communal bath, Samra's mind was hundreds of kilometers out of the palace walls. It was running through the baked streets of Persia, imagining the sweet smells of honey and bread. The people doing their menial jobs as the King's son, their most fierce protector passed by them. How lucky, she thought they were. Sighing she licked her lips, washing her skin with the soap her mother had made the week before. It crumbled in her hand and smelt of rose, the dried petals spreading all across her soft skin.

"Samra jaldi kijiye, ap keh abu ko badshah nai bulaya hai," her mother called to her.

[Samra hurry up the King has summoned your father.]

Nodding her head she dipped into the water and rinsed the remnants of soap. Her mother held a large white linen sheet to give privacy as she undressed under the sun. The warmth of it on her back as she dressed into the loose cotton saree, was relaxing. The indigo fabric came to life against her dark skin, the gold block print gleaming under the sun. Her hair was left open and covered her bare back, one of her breast covered by the flimsy cloth of her blouse, a symbol of her growing up in a muslim household. It was otherwise custom for women to leave their breasts bare — a symbol of power in their kingdom. It showed men that the women were in touch with their femininity and that their bodies weren't meant to be hidden, only the royal family's women wore thin nets to act some form of cover, the rest enjoyed the freeness it gave them.

"What does he want to say?" She frowned.

Catching up with her father she wrapped a hand around his bicep. Her head rested against his fancy raw silk sherwani, the wetness of the hair seeping through the cloth, surely to leave behind a stain. He kissed her hair, the drops of water touching his cracked lips lightly, a light grin marked his face as he picked out the stray pieces of rose petals from her long tresses.