The Tale of SAHABABAD

Pg. 3

One can never understand the power one has within, until and unless it is challenged yet what makes the whole journey all the more interesting is not the actualization of the powers within, but oneself. One has to go through rigorous self-improvement techniques and heart-breaking circumstances to shine like a twinkling star in the downright dark sky (Like the one, I am about to face in Sahababad and I am preparing myself for it) anyhow once you reach that parameter; you understand that at the end, you are something that matters and not the world around. It's all within; you just need the right time and mindset to peek in. Everything is there for you, but not you—and that's a human being's biggest fault. We seek to find pleasure outside when the treasure is all within. It is when you love who you truly are, that you love someone who resembles the one in you. Its human tendency to find the missing piece, isn't it?

Then why am I here; in a place that is far from the one, I have lived in half of my life, where my missing piece would have exists? Why do I feel inclined to go beneath the sheets to reveal the unsaid and unasked? Why do I feel like, it is I who can fix the shrewd for a country? Why do I feel like that there is more to Sahababad, there is more to Sheikh Iblis Ali than what is being seen? Why am I feeling like the Sahababad that appears on the maps isn't the Sahababad that exists? What is Azazela and what is their mission?

It wasn't power. Iblis have enough from the throne. People of Sahababad worship him as if he is a deity of God who will snatch away their sorrows within a blink. I've seen it. I've witnessed it when they were bringing me back to Sahababad from my country. Then what is he after? It was getting more messed up than my little archaeological brain could comprehend and I feel agitated at my helplessness.

Why am I thinking about all these things when I should be crying over my miseries while reminiscing my family?

Family...it feels like a distant memory whereas it has hardly been forty-hours for I've seen my mother.

What might they be going through? Have they launched a complaint? How is Bhai managing the two ladies? Will I ever see them again? There were thousands of unanswered questions, some of them were agonizing, without any reasonable explanation to any of it and if I'd be honest, I am not trying to look for the answers right now. It's my farthest concern because somewhere deep within my soul knows that there is no escape and I am caged in this luxuries palace that resembles a golden cage for a free bird like me for my whole life. I feel suffocated. Of course, I see options here—Such as trying to escape again and again until Iblis get fed up of me and announce my execution or I can give up my life myself. Will it worth it? There was a dirge-like murmur in my brain, yet a final answer couldn't be figured out. There are only questions—the one that had been nagging me the most out of all the others was—what does Iblis want from me? Why is he keeping me when he could easily get rid of me?

He is allowed to marry as many times as he pleases as a crown prince. The religion permits him to have four wives at a time, but during last night while claiming my body he had claimed a surprising resolve as well. He resolved to have only me. He had cleared his intention of not wanting or having another woman but me as his only wife during his entire lifetime.

I don't think it is love as he claims. It could be anything but love given to the circumstances we have been dealing in with each other. One needs to understand the other one's mindset, heartset and soul-set to love the other and we have never shared any 'moment' where he could fall in love with me. I don't know him and he doesn't know me apart from the official details of course and if I ponder over the impossible Love-at-first-sight-thing alternative than it seemed way out of the league. I am not 'that' beautiful (given to the somewhat true expression of Fatima) to attract someone as handsome and royal as Iblis Ali when nymphs are roaming around in the UAE. Sure, I'd his attention numerous times but nothing can amount to the attention of the kind where he would fall in love with me.

I had never thought that I'd be a philosopher out of all the other things, contrary I was far from being one yet as it has been truly laid down that 'Life is the best teacher' and so I have learnt it from the harsh slaps of life.

Today, while pouring my heart out on these papers seems to be the most important of things in the world than the royal palace, rows of luxurious car lined in the garage, the handsome owner and the millions of natives. I don't know if someone will ever read this or it would be compiled in the store-room as garbage written down by some foreigner-queen; an unwanted wife of the crown prince who was held hostage for her half of the life because the kind had claimed her as his madness, yet as of now, it isn't the readers that matters but the story, the surroundings, the author, the villain and the endings.

But before reaching to the endings, one has to commence with a beginning. It never the ends but the beginning that predict the conclusions—as a woman and the so-called wife of the crown prince, I can never forget our beginning.

26th September 2019,

My second month in Pakistan had commenced so were the conspiracies of the universe against me (Us?).

It was one of those 'regular' evenings that remain regular while waiting for something irregular to happen. The evening knew it all, the chilly wind of departing monsoon was the evidence, but so naïve as I was, I couldn't decipher the obvious signals. Unaware of everything and lost in my happy world; I felt uncommonly lively and playful. The joy was in the air and I felt ecstasy hovering over my head, creating a mini-universe on its own. I had somehow convinced Sara and the girls to have a cricket match by five with all her cousins in the back-yard to kill time. Although reluctantly, the girls had somehow agreed to my stubborn persistence and arranged the kit after half an hour-long vowing of their brothers—maybe the idea of being free had entertained them.

I was in Peshawar, the capital of the Pakistani province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and its largest city, to attend the wedding of Sara's cousins who was engaged to marry the daughter of some high-profile Minister whose family had served for the nations for six generations. According to Sara, it was a perfect opportunity for me to understand the matrimony culture of Pakistan whereby my knowledge over Nikkah* would be enhanced with my presence in every ceremony.

Therefore, she had asked for my invitation to her cousin who was delighted to attend a 'Special-guest' in his wedding, nevertheless had specified the terms that I'd behave like one of them during the main ceremony and would perform on any hit Bollywood number on the DJ-night and so by thirty past five, the girls were ready in the back-yard with bats that hardly fit under their palms and a green tennis ball chirping like an early bird.

The stumps were dug in the ground while Afasana, one of Sara's cousins, portrayed the empire. The rules were pondered over for a while and it was decided that the tea-table facing the lawn on the passage adjacent to bungalow would be the 'boundary' whereas passing over it would tantamount to six. For right, the brick fence guarding the bungalow was the only choice.

It was further decided that if someone breaks a glass or hit a person, he would be held solely liable for the mischief and shall have to bear all the costs and apologies.

I was the promoter of the idea thus I took the liberty to bat first as the captain of my team while Sara's team had to field. There were four boys, all teens and regular player, involved in the match, two in each team upon whom we were supposed to rely over.

Adman, Sara's distant cousin, bowled to me initiating the first inning as I took the strike and hit the stroke lightly bringing my body to move. Then there was another ball and many following after from different players. Very soon, the match took its swing and the ladies of the family joined the match as the audience with Sara's elder cousins. Even the males of the house were cheering the teams. We had created a Mahool in the house as no was worrying over the preparation's any longer; even the groom had sat on one of the steps and was cheering Sara's team.

By seven in the night, I was soaked from head to toe in sweat as the white shirt clanged to me like a second skin. My black denim wasn't black anymore with patches of soil at places whereas my highlighted hairs, tied in a ponytail, were flying in all the direction, dripping wet. I could feel the blood flowing through my veins with the exercise, nevertheless, it all felt beyond thrilling. I had hit a half-century with the change of five partners. I was on the verge of hitting a century with Aslam who was going to hit half-century too. It was the final over with the score of Ninety-one on five when I and Aslam planned to hit big strokes.

I was on the strike waiting for the first ball that Sara was to serve me. It all happened within a second when the ball hit my bat hard and swung to the left with full impact; it flew over the fielder then past the tea-table and hit the man, walking towards the back-yard, on the head. His Agal* fell on the floor as he lost his balance and stumbled backyard followed by the white-red Keffiyeh*. If it weren't for men walking behind him, he would have landed on the floor by then.

'Your Highness!' We heard a man scream as he caught my victim, preventing him from falling.

The women gasped while the men swung in the action and helped the man sit on one of the chairs. They formed a protective circle around him, making it hard to see what was happening. From where I stood only the back of his white thobe was visible. Medicines were called, glucose was offered. The groom ran hither-thither so did the other men while the women silently prayed from some safe distance—as, for me, I watched the whole commotion.

'You did this!' Sara accused in a timidly voicing out my thoughts as the girls gathered around me in a semi-circle. The four male players shared a look but never commented, lines of worries were visible.

'I know! Is he okay?' I asked as I tried to peep in from my safe distance, unable to move an inch. I was shocked and tensed.

'Who knows? You should go and apologise. He looks like a big man. Maybe a VIP.' Adman recommended removing his gloves. I nodded but didn't move. The commotion had me ponder it over and over, Should I go and check up on him? I couldn't gather the courage to eliminate the distance between us. It was bringing an unknown shiver run down my spine and if it weren't for Sara's pressing, I would have never done it.

'I am sorry. I am very sorry, Sir. I...I...You are okay?' I stammered. My voice was timid making me curl my toes in shame. The circle around him dissembled at my words only to glare at me. His head was hung down; his one hand was covering the bruise while the other had an ice-pack. He wasn't speaking, unwavering from the persistence of his kinsmen who wanted to hear his safe-being. 

My voice might have not been audible for all of them, but he had listened to it crystal clearly amidst the pool of many—Slowly, his head inched upwards and I found the most captivating eyes in the world staring at me. It was the first time his eyes had hypnotised me, had put me in a trance and scared me. For a long time, He kept silent and simply stared at me while the man on his right accused me of being careless. He was wearing the same thobe as his, but it didn't go too well on the man as it went on him. I didn't hear what the man was saying, my breaths were stolen by a pair of dark eyes—defeated, I had to lower my eyes.

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*Nikkah- Marriage in Islam.

*Agal- is an accessory worn usually by Arab men. It is a black cord word doubled, used the keep a Keffiyeh in place on the wearer's head.

*Keffiyeh- is a traditional Arabian headdress, fashioned from a square scarf that is made of cotton. 

P.S— The best comment will win the dedication!

ASR