An avalanche of orders fell on Samra's shoulders. A soft pout, a silent cry, an unspoken plead of help ringing out from her actions. She was sick and tired of the loudness inside their cramped kitchen, the cot like bed too small to hold her as she moved around. The thin, worn out cotton sheets were piled on one side, her hands raising the thin mattress searching for something lost. Anything to keep busy. To stay away from the rush inside their tiny bungalow. Maids rushed through their home and straightened the dinning room. Petunias and Tulips were arranged on the large table, light lamps burning on the entrance to greet the former Queen.

Samra hid behind the thin screen in her bedroom as soon as she heard the worn out doors creak open. The last of the sun's light spilled in from the jharokha, dying the bare bedroom a rich gold. She giggled under her breath, observing her mother's frantic gaze search for her. The usually calm voice screamed her name, as she looked under the bed. Behind the chest of drawers, inching closer to the three panel screen, her hands scratching the tight cloth stuck between the wooden frame.

"Samra bahir aajayie. Humein maloom hai keh aap idhr hi hain, ab ajaiye ziada waqt nahi hai ap keh paas," Yumna threatened.

[Samra come outside. I know you are here, there is not a lot of time in your hands,]

Nervously, Samra scratched the back of her head. The hair spilling out from the loose bun at the nape of her neck. She stared down at the cat in her hands, a soft mewl escaping the feline's mouth.

"Billo aap humein ammi keh haathon marwayn gi," she glared.

[Billo you'll have me murdered at mother's hand,]

Yumna smiled to herself, stalking behind the screen. She knew the young girl had no where to escape to now. She was trapped. Infront of her was the thin changing screen and behind her was a pale brick wall. Unless God Himself made a hole to help her escape, her daughter was trapped. She lifted her loose skirt and turned the corner, the circular wall in the middle of the room jutted out before smoothing into a straight wall. There stood Samra, like a thief caught red handed.

"Hi!" Samra sheepishly grinned.

Yumna grinned victorious. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders she dragged the young girl out and sat her down on the bed. Its small frame seemed fragile in the large bedroom. Billo leaped out of her owners hands and ran to the window, climbing the trees branch, meowing mischievously in Samra's direction—as if teasing her.

"Now tell me why have you been running around like a headless chicken?" Yumna rested her hands on her hips.

"W-woh mein kaam nahi karna chahti," she sighed.

[U-ugh I don't want to work,]

Yumna slapped her forehead in annoyance. Turning her back to the young girl, she opened the chest of drawers taking out a barely worn saree. It was made of light pink Indian silk. Small stones sewn into the fabric, it spilled out with its many pleats and a thin chiffon blouse went with it. It had been part of her small wedding gifts, and she had saved it for Samra as soon as they had her.

"Wear this. Get dressed your grandmother will be here in a few minutes," Yumna sighed.

"I wore this the last time she came aswell," Samra spoke, absentminded.

"She wouldn't remember. Dress up and meet your father and I at the gates. Otherwise you know as well as I do that there will be a ruckus," Yumna sat beside her with a huff.

Her calloused hands massaged the kneecap from above the skirt. She had dislocated it a few months ago, unfortunately their situation had forced her out of the prescribed bed rest and now she suffered from spasms time to time. A fear crippled Samra, her eyes staring at her mother with worry. She smoothed her hand over her mothers, the dark skin contrasting the pale skirt. She kneeled infront of her, her legs folded between her. She touched her lips to her palm and her forehead to her knees. Massaging the knotted muscle there.

"Leave it Samra, go get dressed," Yumna shook her head.

"You are more important than any queen. Fikr hoti hai apki mujhe," tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

[I worry for you]

The mother looked at her young, insolent daughter. She ran her hand through the soft mane, freeing the hair from the worn out pin. The hair like waterfall cascaded down Samra's back. Yumna smiled, playing with her hair and massaging the scalp. Head lowered the littered kisses. One at a time. She inhaled the soft scent of roses, playing with the thin gold earring inside her ear, checking for signs of that pesky ear infection — calming down upon the realization that the medication had worked.

"Get dressed. I need to oversee the last of the works, its almost evening and your father will be back soon. Chalo meri shehzadi," Yumna lifted her head.

Two of her fingers resting under her jaw, the two looking at each other eye to eye. Their bond was like that of river water and the river bed. The two worked in smoothness, any entity that tried to penetrate was thrown out. Samra was the fast flowing current, here and then there. Meanwhile Yumna was the bed that followed all along, stretching out to accommodate whenever her daughter threatened to fall of course. The love the family of three held for each other was infinite and unlike anything else. In silence they moved through their home, sharing small smiles from before the Sun spilled its bright colors on the horizon.

Morning for them started early. With Akbar heading out with their manservant to draw water out from the well inside their small backyard. Around it weeds grew plenty and some heads sprouted from behind the stones that acted as the boundaries. By that time, Yumna would have already added the firewood to the stove and could be found blowing on the embers to keep it burning. During all this, Samra herself would sit on the edge of her window, looking down at her father's bareback as he drew the water out. His muscles contorting as he threw bucketfuls into a larger tub. Many a time she would find her mother standing behind the trees staring at him and that gave Samra the leverage on teasing her.

Thrice a week, before they sat down to eat their humble breakfast, the family made a trip to the shah-i-hamam, a communal bath. It was a large square brick pool that had steps leading down to the bottom of the filled space. There were lotus flowers floating on top, courtesy of Samra. The bath was used by their family and their workers. The rest having built private washing, bathing chambers in their wings. The three showered with clothes on and then Akbar would slip out to give privacy to the two to undress and change into their fresh clothes.

Walking back, Akbar would wrap an arm around the two and pass them a small sack of dried raisins. A special treat for them. They would chew in silence and after breakfast went separate ways. Samra in the garden, working on their plants and Yumna in the kitchen. Meanwhile Akbar would be summoned in the King's court. They met again in the evening at dinner time and make idle conversation over their days tasks.

Yumna patted Samra one last time before slipping out of the barely furnished room. Humming and twirling around the room, she got changed behind the screen. The dress was a bit snug now but she sighed, fiddling with the sleeves and drape. It rested in a thin pile on one of her shoulder, her blemish free brown skin on display. The dip of her waist adorned with a thin stomach chain. The chain slightly turning dull after years of use. She slid on the oval earrings hoping no one would notice the missing crystals. Rubbing some rogue on her full lips she grinned at herself. The thick anklets making rhythmic noise as she moved like a water nymph.

Her hair was put behind her ear and the natural waves sat on her shoulders—with an alertness. Running out of her room on noticing the approaching profession of servants and the bright red doli painted gold carried by the guards. The grandmother she feared was almost here and her life was stuck in her throat. It was painful like that one time a fish bone had gotten stuck inside her throat. She jumped down the steps, snickering as she imagined her mother shaking her head shouting 'how unladylike!' Out of breath, she made it in between her parents. Her father smiling at her, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

"Just on time," he whispered.

"Always". She winked.

Yumna pinched Samra's waist. Narrowing her eyes, as if to remind them that they were here to welcome the most important woman in the entire kingdom, after the current Queen of course. The father daughter pair laughed at her nervousness, standing with complete alertness. The nineteen year old twitched in place waiting to get over with the formalities so that she could finally dig into the heavenly biryani. Biting on her lower lip, she fiddled with her mother's hands.

The wait came to an end as the procession came to halt and Rukhsar Shah Bakht stepped out of the carriage. Her mouth was formed into a grim line, eyes like unending pits of darkness stared at the small family. Samra squirmed under her gaze, finding it difficult to hold her shoulders straight. It was her father's iron grip that forced her back straight. She felt like she was standing in court and awaiting a death sentence for a heinous crime. The widowed woman walked with her pale white lehnga brushing the swept ground. Her grey hair in a sleek bun, her hair covered with the ends of her veil. The cropped blouse sat a few inches above her bulging belly, the thick gold bangle in her wrist fixed in one place due to years of fat pilling up.

"Salam dado," Samra bowed.

[Greetings grandmother.]

With a flick of her wrist and a small grunt, Rukhsar continued to move forward and into the tiny hut like building — it was of course no where near the mighty mansions of her other sons. Without even waiting for anyone she stepped into the dining hall and sat at the head of the table. Like ants, everyone scattered out of the room, leaving Samra and her parents in the tyrants company all alone.

"Akbar I assume you know why I am here," she cleared her throat.

"J-ji maa ji," he nodded.

[Y-yes mother,]

His eyes held contempt and fear. The soft curve of his mouth turned south, hands clenched the cutlery in a tight, death grip.

"Well you two," she rolled her eyes and addressed Yumna and Samra.

"An important family, the royal family of Persia is coming to stay at our palace. They will be here for Nadir's engagement and we hope the king proposes marriage between his son, the general and Yasmin. I do not wish to see you two loitering around them, unless a royal letter invites you. I don't want your daughter seducing my granddaughter's husband to be". She roared.

Her words setting a series of emotions on fire. And Samra understood for the first time why her parents kept her away from her family. This was not a family, but a prison.

• Translations •
Saree — Traditional south asian attire
Shah-i-hamam — the royal bath (communal)
Lehnga — Traditional south asian attire
Doli — A carriage lifted by men on their shoulders

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