Meri Pehchan

•the coronation•

She felt her heart drenched in pain. Like a never ending tear that burned on every slight movement. She felt the tears fill up her eyes before falling down her cheeks. She palmed her face time and time again, hoping to end some of the pain. That day though, not even their burn could satiate her. The very deepest parts of her mind had caged her in their deceptive images throwing at her scenes of violence and torture. Of every painful way her husband might be tortured on the battlefield. She imagined his strength falling and failing as he crumbled. All the while, she sat in the comfort of their makeshift home under the thick blankets with fruits and milk in front of her.

How could she be at peace when her soul was tied to the very man that lead so courageously. How could she sit still in leisure while her new family suffered. She could not think of all the ways her uncle would hurt them, shattering their bones, gauging their eyes out to calm his bruised ego. Samra wept into her palms, the heels of them digging into her cheeks. Her stomach rumbled with hunger the last time she ate was with Fadahunsi before he left — a measly bowl of gravel and bread. However, she could not bring herself to eat. She had spent time on the prayer mat bowed, praying for his wellbeing and safety. Now though she could barely feel any energy inside her, the quivering of her hands and legs had not gone unnoticed by Zumar.

"Shehzadi mera koi rutba tou nahi hai ap keh aagay magar eik baat kahun?" She cleared her throat.

[Princess I have no status in front of you but can I say something to you?]

Sniffing, Samra nodded her head. Zumar brushed her thick fringe to the side, a thick bangle dangling from her hands — a significance of her status.

"Humaray arteshbod ki zouja hain, ap ko unki tarah hosla rakh kar baaki khawateen ki honsla afzai karni chahiye," she spoke, her tone barely above a whisper.

[You are our army general's wife, you should stand with confidence and reignite the spirits of all the other women.]

"There is nothing more that I would love to do. Yet there is this ache in my heart — I — can not fathom working without his presence near me," she sobbed.

"Sometimes spiritual presence is more vital than a physical one". Zumar spoke.

Samra could sense the disappointment in Zumar's being. They were all expecting something from her. As the sun settled below the horizon and an azure blue began to take over the rapturous yellow, their hopes were all beginning to thin out. No one had come to report what was going on, the women had been left without a clue. The thick date trees stood tall with pride and their large branches spread out in cover. Between the sage green leaves she could see the plentiful dates. That was what a husband was to all of them. Their strength, he provided for them and nurtured them, gave them shelter from the storms of this world. No one wanted to loose theirs, in this their pain was similar.

"Gather the women round the bonfire. All of us will eat there tonight, I shall join you in a few minutes". Samra spoke up after deep contemplation.

"Of course. Anything special you would like the chef's to prepare?" Zumar smiled.

Samra sighed, closing her eyes tight. She could sense Fadahunsi by her side. The smell of his sweat, covered by the concentrated levels of his perfume. His warm callused touch, grazing her skin ever so lightly. The small laughter that rang in between them, his aversion towards gamey meats and likeness for lamb. Especially after it had been roasted over open fire, cooked slow until the meat was tender and broke apart from the bone without a hitch.

"Lamb. I'd love to have a roasted leg of lamb". She spoke.

"Of course. I assume you would like to wear that muslin plum dress, the one with the gold belt and frills?" Zumar questioned with a bit of humor.