مجھ سے پہلی سی مہبت میرے مہبوب نہ مانگ
— فیض احمد فیضؔ

٭

Chapter 15 : Meray shohar

Golnar woke up with her neck muscles distressed. The ache that dwelled within the floor of her shoulder's muscles, continued to gain intensity as she tried to sit up right. Her dress weighed her down, and the thick necklace that she had in her unordered state forgotten to remove, dug into her flesh. Sighing at the blissful start to her day, she fought with the bow of her necklace's dori. All but tearing it off, on to the bed. The other side of the bed, completely ordered as the heavy ornament fell on to it.

With a groan, running her tongue over the corner of her mouth, she stumbled out of bed. Her legs frozen due to hours of inaction. Twisting her shoulder blade, Golnar walked on her toes across the cold floor. The thin carpet doing little to keep the room perfectly insulated. Opened window, and pulled back curtains only added to the frozen misery of her bedroom. Though it was a wonder how the candles had managed to burn through the thunderstorm of the night before.

Her mouth dry as sand paper. Her skin cracking under the weight of her gentle fingers, she had to walk towards the mirror to inspect her sight. The first thing she noticed with a start, was how the contour had held it's shape through the night. Though all else had not. Her lipstick was slightly smudged and the flowers in her hair were torn. Some wilting already. The head piece laying crookedly along one side of her face. Picking apart each of the pieces, she pulled the pins holding the remnants of her look in place.

Golnar's hair tumbled down her back and the ache behind her ears dulled as she took off her accessories. One at a time. Though the room was still covered in a deep darkness, the first rays of the sun were about to crack on to the horizon soon. A light blue sheen on the sky giving just enough to make out the silhouette of her husband — disinterested husband sleeping on the rocking chair. His legs spread over the floor, and his head fell on to one side of his shoulders. In an awkward position.

Serves him right. Golnar hummed, brushing her hair before tying it into a braid. Sugary and sweet — the room that smelt irrevocably of roses had the atmosphere of anything but that. Even as she slipped out of her dress, with great agony, scratching the skin of her back as she pulled the zipped. Golnar knew she had no help. Stopping to take breaths, running herself a warm shower. Placing the bucket of water outside of her reach, she took liberties.

The thin towel hid not her shivers as she changed into her plain white shalwar kameez. It's ivory was like a soiled crème. The loose pleats of the shalwar allowed it to graze her ankles and the fitted form of the kameez gave her naturally broad bones the illusion of a slimness. Cutting the soft roundness of her shoulder blades from sight.

Best of both worlds.

The deep woody shawl wrapped over her damp hair gave rise to the grave ickiness she abhorred. Rubbing her eyes, the laziness throbbing deep underneath her skin, kept ringing in her head like an alarm bell. Blaring red. Deep and bright. Tying the cloth beneath her chin, her sharp bones jutting out, she stepped out into the bedroom. Her husband still dozing off.

His deep snores filled the bedroom, strong and full of might just like his physical presence. Darab's warm voice ; that had yet to speak to her a kindly sentence, was deep enough to raise tremors along her skin. And apparently she realised his snores were too.

"Dar-Darab."

With a shaky voice and trembling fingers, she shook his arm. Moving him gently by his shoulder blade. The tips of her fingers burned against the feel of his flesh through the thin cloth that wrapped around his torso. His skin was warm, and fleshy. It was toned and hard as she grasped a handful of his bicep, whispered against his ear.

His face was even in the depths of his slumber, full of complexities. The span of his tanned forehead was full of creases, his cheeks slouched. His full lips — their dense peach shade, frowning. Like always.

"Hmm?" He grumbled, opening an eye to stare at her.

Darab's eyes, full of anger, scared her. Goosebumps slithered over her skin as she jumped back. Flinching as he pushed her hand off of his shoulder. Jutting his chin into the direction of the window left open, he threw her a distasteful glance for a moment. Tightening the blanket around himself.

"Wo-h qibla kis taraf hai?" She spoke, swallowing her words, tracing their shell into her finger.
[What direction is the Qibla?]

"Uss taraf." He grumbled, pointing in the direction of the Southern window.
[That way.]

Thanking him, she placed the prayer mat her father had gifted her. It's shade of maroon, with swirls of gold and a shadow of the Holy city embroidered on to it, reminded her of the time they had gone to perform the Umrah. The many prayers she had uttered for a good husband, Golnar swallowed the pain, maybe they had been heard. Perhaps in a way different than she had assumed.

Bowing as the rays of the sun sank on to her skin, she squeezed her eyes shut. Tears ran down her face. The pain inside of her chest became overbearing and hindered her breath. Foaming at the corner of her ribs before it extinguished on to the velvet fabric. Her fingers, caved into the material, leaving crescent indents as she rose once. Before bowing once more. Letting the paleness of her spirits match the shade of pale on her fingers.

As her hand rose to pray, Golnar breathed in sharply. Watching Darab stand before her, to pray. His hands wound above his abdomen and the flesh of his feet stamp into the almost tearing prayer mat. Though he rushed through it in a mechanical speed, Golnar's heart still burst with a small amount of pride. Wiping down her tears, her cool fingers heaven against the searing flesh of her swollen eyes.

Maybe she could make it work.

Or not. For two seconds later, running his hands over his face, Darab stood up to walk out of the bedroom. Not even turning to throw a look at his fragile wife's figure as she sat on the prayer mat with an expectant look. Not even as she called out to him withe a soft whisper. Though he stood a few feet away, there was a league of distance between them. His shadow and then the scent of his musk left her soon after, leaving her trapped in the bedroom.

With herself, her thoughts, and a bit of something else though she could not put a finger on it.

٭

Failing at the task of falling asleep after praying Fajar, Golnar got out of bed with a tiredness that was more spiritual than physical. Her body though ached with each step she took, it was more-so, her heart that did most of the crying. Bleeding as she compared her life to her father's.

An almost similar pain written for them. She realised. Perhaps having his love, this was the price she was expected to pay. Like father like daughter.

Watching the clock strike seven thirty, and a lazy light spill in from the one window she had been unable to close, a scar from which pain still teemed, Golnar slid her feet into her slippers. The thin bracelet moved on her arm as she made the bed, throwing the comforter over one end, straightening out the wrinkles on the one side. Before she opened the zipper of her luggage.

Wrapped before her in sheer packaging the many sequinned attires, of all colours and fabrics, screamed for attention. Her fingers played around with them. Though the fantasy of wearing a colour similar to her husband's had been laid to rest just a few hours ago, the fantasy of dressing up nice had not. Tugging through the many layers, the sight of a soft berry like purple velvet, caught her eye.

It was at large plain. Only it's round neckline had a thick work of sequins and beads with silver threads embroidered in patterns of a vine. A sprinkling of embroidered flower heads and sequinned edges of the symmetrical panels, with the trouser's hemmed with a similar kind of work. Golnar could not resist it's innocent charm. Changing into it behind the wooden screen, she beamed at her reflection. Wrapping it's satin veil over her shoulders, sliding her feet into the velvet lined khussas, Golnar shook on the balls of her feet.

"Dulhan bahu aahi gai humari." An old woman cheered.
[Our bride daughter-in-law has arrived.]

Took me twenty minutes — Golnar chuckled to herself. Only offering the huge crowd one of her awkward smiles, she got into place beside her already seated husband.

The large haveli had more than it's fair share of twists and turns. Each one had either lead to a trap door or an abandoned bedroom. For which she could only wonder why someone would need that many rooms when the family was barely more than six people. It had taken a servant guiding her, from the opposite end of the home towards the dining room, to find the place.

Swallowing her tears at the sight of all unknown faces, the knot inside her stomach tightened and she shuffled around her chair in a bid to disappear. Her fingers — red, turned pale as she tightened her hold around the silverware, scooping the thick chickpea gravy on to her porcelain plate. Golnar heaved at the scent of the familiar spices, wondering if Agha ji had made this or had her yearning for home tricked her.

"W-woh naan—" she whispered, twisting in place as all eyes ran over in her direction.
[Th-that bread—]

"Uncha bolo. Tumharay maa baap ki tou kaafi unchi awaaz hai." Her mother-in-law chuckled.
[Speak louder. Your parents have very loud voices.]

"Aunty woh mein—" Golnar rose her voice a few knots, gripping the plate's edges between her finger.
[Aunty I was—]

"Aunty nahi baaqi sab ki tarah tum bhi amma jaan ko bari bibi bulao gi!" Dania tutted.
[Not aunty like everyone else you will call mother dearest elder madam like everyone else!]

The kindness had been shed, the shade of ugly smearing the cheeks of the woman Golnar had assumed would be her friend.

"Bas!" Darab rose his hand.
[Enough!]

Coughing, she hid behind her hand the smile that bloomed at seeing him stand up for her. Though perhaps it had been far too soon.

"Aj pehla din ae, kal tou enu sab sikha dan ga. Ae kon ae, te aeda rutba ki ae." Darab chuckled.
[Today is the first day, tomorrow I will teach her everything. Who she is, and what her rank is.]