Meri Pehchan

•the kingdom of Persia•

Baghdad was not a city. It was not just a simple capital of the largest empire. It was not only unique because of the shape it had been built in. Thick mortars, tall walls and wide gates that were made of wood and iron, weighing tonnes was not why it looked so ethereal. The city housed and guarded more than gold and gems. It gave birth to more than just poetry and hundreds of schools of thought. Baghdad translated to "Gift from God" and there was a reason behind that. Nestled between two free flowing rivers, that brought ample nutrients during the flooding seasons, and water for the citizens all year round was just one of it's many traits.

Baghdad was an emotion. The air around it buzzed with a heavy thickness. One that pressed against your skin, caused all kinds of sparks. It's humid air, dampened the silken clothes on their bodies, making them stick like a second skin. The electricity that sizzled in the atmosphere transferred inside your soul, it gave a deep buzz to the heart that beat uncontrollably. Baghdad was home. For millions of people, for thousands of animals, for hundreds of trees and for plenty of carts it was home. The only dwelling they had ever known.

After the slow travels, that were full of depressing episodes, sick men dying left right and centre. The scrutinizing gaze of General Fadahunsi that checked over each one as if they were traitors for having treated his wife like a scum, stabbed them. Widows threw themselves into the buffalo and horse drawn wagons, the thin manilla colored linen sheets protected them from the sweltering heat of the sun. Inside they used thin feathers to fan themselves, their days spent crying and praying. The rest followed on in the horses, the women that could not ride had taken refuge in the wagons and at the end of the caravan were large wagons that pulled their supplies along the roads.

They were a days ride away from the city and Samra could already feel the lifted spirits. The men sang and drank ale, their tongues crying out Persian verses. The women blushed and gazed at men they had fallen for, the air brimming with the air of love. She felt their joy, the happiness of returning to a life they had known was beyond the pain of the war they had been through. In her own soul though, was a loneliness. Her parents had chosen to stay behind in Hindustan, moving to a Northern Province away from the royal life. She was left all by herself, alone to trudge through new unknown waters. The journey for her had been full of no motive, her home was Fadahunsi and he was right by her side. There was nothing more that she needed.

In the evenings they would camp in secluded places, Fadahunsi ensuring she was fed well. The two had a tent to themselves and would sleep until the first rays of sun washed ashore, until the first cock creaked. Then they would take turns bathing in the corner of their room, the guards coming soon after to pile the sheepskin cover before they left. He had asked her to ride by him, to which she agreed. The reluctant gazes and harsh attitudes of the Persian women had not yet been forgotten. So she rode in between Fadahunsi's arms, having no knowledge of riding herself. She could feel his gentle warmth douse her, his soft breath would brush the stray hair on her head, the sharp chin resting on top of her head.

Even now, as they rode towards the city, she held onto the leather reigns with a tight grip. Her trust on Fadahunsi was infinite but on the horse not so much. He chuckled, he chest rumbling against her back. Fadahunsi had dressed her in one of his kaftan's for the ride, the loose dress kept her chastity and the dress rose no higher than her ankles during harsh winds. His body, towered over hers even as the sat, one arm on either side acting as her supports. His broad back a shelter from the sunshine.

"What is that you're thinking humdum?" He questioned.

If it were not for the way she was pressed against his body, molded to fit each of his curve, she was sure that his words would have skittered into thin air. Unheard.

"I am just thinking about everything and nothing". She replied.

Fadahunsi looked down at her. The thick braid along the crown of her head had come undone slightly, the fast pace at which they rode messing up her neat hair. Brushing his fingers against her cool cheek, he pressed his lips to her hair. She smelt of his perfume, swimming in his large dress she looked endearing. Although the woman required no protecting, in such an ensemble, it looked as if she were a soft young woman who needed his strength.