by Nafiza Azad
Predictably, it is his mother who speaks first. “How long have you been harboring that creature in our midst?”
Not so predictably, it is his wife who responds to the Rajmata. “I appreciate your concern for your son, Amma, but Fatima Ghazala’s presence in the mahal is not up for discussion right now. The issue at hand is that your son, my husband’s brother, Rajkumar Aaruv, made unwanted advances on a woman.”
“Do you have any idea who she is?” Aarush says, if only to deflect some of the anger directed at Aruna by his mother and aunt.
“It doesn’t matter who she is!” Aruna says, turning to Aarush. She is truly, spectacularly angry, angrier than Aarush has ever seen her. “She could be a beggar on the streets, and it would not excuse what the rajkumar did. A woman’s body is her own, and no one has the right to touch it without her permission. It doesn’t matter if you are a rajkumar or the maharajah, if a woman doesn’t welcome your advances, don’t make them!” Aruna looks at the rajkumar, who still won’t look them in the eyes. “I am ashamed of you, Aaruv. I expected so much better from you.”
“Aruna!” the Rajmata says sharply. “Do you forget who you are talking to?”
“It is precisely because I know who I am speaking to that I speak thusly, Amma. As a rajkumar of Qirat, Aaruv has the responsibility to behave in a manner befitting his position. You are always concerned that Bhavya behave properly; should this concern not extend also to your son? My companions have long complained about his unwelcome attentions, and I, instead of speaking to the rajkumar, told them to avoid him. I thought that his brother, his mother, or even his aunt would and should speak to him about his proclivities.” She skewers them all with a look. “Clearly, I thought wrong. The fault is as much mine as it is yours, Maharaj.”
Aarush feels Aruna’s disappointment in him keenly. He turns to his mother. “She is the Emir’s charge, Amma. He requested that we keep her among us temporarily. If Aaruv has managed to malign her in any way, he will find the war he is courting on our doorstep.” Aaruv finally turns to them; his face is pale, but his expression is defiant.
“Do not think Fatima Ghazala’s strength is limited only to that extent,” Aruna warns, gesturing to Aaruv’s bandaged hands. “If she desired to, she could have set you on fire, Aaruv …” She pauses and looks at her brother-in-law for a second before adding, “And you would have deserved it.”
The Rajmata’s expression grows stormier. Before she has the chance to say anything however, Aarush does. “I apologize, Aruna. I ought to have spoken to Aaruv. I didn’t see his actions as particularly wrong or needing correction. I was wrong.” He looks at his brother, but the rajkumar still won’t meet his eyes. Aarush’s lips thin, and he fights the urge to shake his brother.
A knock sounds on the closed door before it opens. Janab Jamshid appears in the doorway. He bows to Aarush and says the one thing the maharajah wished he wouldn’t. “Maharaj, the Emir is here and awaiting your presence.”
The moon is a sliver, and the shadows are malevolent. Fatima Ghazala walked away from Southern Aftab without giving any thought to where she was going. She found herself near a madrasa and, because her sari was inappropriate to wear during a prayer, borrowed an abaya from a sister and prayed Maghrib. She sat with her hands lifted in dua for half an hour or so, but no immediate solution seemed visible. Now she sits on the steps of the madrasa and considers her options. She can go to Achal Kaur or to the Alifs, but those are the first places Zulfikar will look. Why Fatima Ghazala is so certain Zulfikar will look for her, she doesn’t know. It is as though she feels his attention on her like one would feel a breeze on their skin. Even when he is not present, she can feel him thinking of her. She hasn’t seen him since she failed … No, he pulled her away from the fire, so it isn’t as though she failed. But she did, didn’t she? She should have just gone through with the Naming. If she had died, the Name Giving power would have gone to someone more able. Fatima Ghazala takes a deep breath. She doesn’t want to face Zulfikar at all. She remembers Tali teaching her to cloak her fire and decides a practical application of the theory is in order.
The imam of the madrasa comes out and asks her kindly if she needs a place to stay or help of a more delicate sort. Fatima Ghazala thanks him for his concern and gets up to leave. As she steps out onto the pavement, a light rain begins to fall. Fatima Ghazala looks in wonder at the raindrops; she cannot remember the last time it rained in Northern Noor. The rain fades away, leaving a glow to the night and a scent that reminds her of Firdaus. Fatima Ghazala walks the streets of Southern Noor, with lush bougainvillea climbing over walls and the intoxicating fragrances of night jasmine and frangipani. She follows her hunger to a small market set up in the southern maidaan.
The night is suddenly alive with song, laughter, and voices. Fatima Ghazala lets go of her mental hold on her fire and breathes easily for the first time in hours. Her problems still concern her. The rajkumar whose gaze makes her want to pluck out his eyes—will she have to face him again? Will she be punished for burning his hands? What about Zulfikar? How long is she going to deny herself his smiles?
Deciding not to think about them, she checks the pouch at her hips for money and is pleased to find enough for a meal. The sari she is wearing is a pale yellow with wide red borders. The material is fine, and though the jewelry she wears is costume, they are well-crafted pieces. Fatima Ghazala wonders why she has been able to walk around without being hassled by men who seem to think all women are fair game. In fact, no one gives her even a second look.
She spies a pani puri seller doing excellent business in one corner of the maidaan and lines up behind two matronly women, one from Nippon and the other Qirati. They are gossiping about their daughters-in-law. Fatima Ghazala amuses herself by eavesdropping unashamedly. Twenty minutes later, she walks away holding a paper tray filled with fifteen crispy little puris filled with potato curry, topped with fresh onion, and dipped in tamarind chutney. She finds a mostly dry wooden stump to sit on and proceeds to inhale her food.
As she is licking her fingers and wishing she had more pani puri, Fatima Ghazala feels a prickle on her shoulder. She looks up and sees Zulfikar standing a fair distance away. He walks toward her without once looking away. People move to clear his path, and Fatima Ghazala feels a spurt of annoyance at how easily he parts the crowds. When he is ten steps away, Fatima Ghazala decides that she would rather not talk to him after all.
Fatima Ghazala gets up and, without looking at the approaching Emir, plunges into the throngs. He may be able to part crowds, but Fatima Ghazala can move through them. She leads him on a merry chase. There are times when she thinks she has lost him only to have him reappear at the last minute. Finally, she leads him to Chandani Baag, which has rows of night-blooming jasmine and little else. The garden isn’t entirely deserted; a few couples sit in shadows enjoying the darkness, the fragrance of the jasmine, and each other. Fatima Ghazala chooses to sit on a bench underneath a lamppost by a rather large jasmine bush and waits for Zulfikar to reach her.
He appears a little later, panting slightly, a light sheen of sweat over his chest and arms. He drops down on the bench, the scimitar he is wearing banging against the wooden surface.
“Your eyes are glowing orange” is the first thing he says before wiping his face with a handkerchief.
Oh. Fatima Ghazala suddenly understands how she, a woman dressed in relatively expensive clothes, has been able to walk the streets without being harassed. She didn’t have to be scared of monsters; she just had to become one herself. Fatima Ghazala focuses her thoughts on her fire and, as Tali has taught her, imagines she is taking a step back from it.
“Better?” she asks Zulfikar. He nods. The darkness, aided by the jasmine, suddenly feels soft and pliant. “I suppose you heard what happened.”
“Yes,” Zulfikar says. “I’m surprised by how restrained you were. He has only light burns.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure whether I would be punished for hurting him.” Fatima Ghaza
la lets out a short, brittle laugh. “What a strange world we live in. He attacked me, and yet I am the one worrying about being punished.”
“You seem remarkably calm about this entire situation.”
“He was never more than an annoying gnat to me. Were I simply human, I would have tasted an entirely different flavor of weakness.”
“He didn’t hurt you?”
“Not physically, no. But the way he looked at me made me feel dirty. Like he was undressing me.” Fatima Ghazala shudders, remembering.
“You should have broken his arms and legs. You were too restrained,” Zulfikar says, and Fatima Ghazala hears the skein of barely repressed anger in his voice.
“I think so too. I’m regretting not doing so right now.”
“Fatima Ghazala …” Zulfikar says, and she looks at him. “Why were you running away from me?”
Fatima Ghazala wishes the night wasn’t so kind to Zulfikar. She would have a much easier time resisting him then. “I failed to Name the Raees. I failed you and I failed Baba. How am I supposed to face you?”
“You didn’t fail me!” Zulfikar replies fiercely. “You didn’t fail Firdaus! You cannot ask a boulder to be a mountain.”
“If you had let me make the attempt, I would have died. Then the Name Giving power would have gone to someone else, maybe even to your beloved Tali. Did you pull me back because of the bond?” Fatima Ghazala asks the question she most wants to know the answer to.
“Of course not,” the Zulfikar replies immediately.
“I don’t believe you.” Fatima Ghazala is sitting so close to the Emir she can feel his warmth in the cool night air. But emotionally she feels miles away. “What do we do now? The Raees cannot stay in Al-Naar.”
Zulfikar shifts even closer to Fatima Ghazala, and she freezes. She takes a deep breath and wills her heart to calm down. “Will you marry me?” he asks in such a low voice that she has to lean forward in order to hear him. At first she is certain she misheard.
“What did you just say?” The Emir’s face is mostly in shadow, but Fatima Ghazala is sure his cheeks are red. “Did you just ask me to marry you? Why?”
“To strengthen your fire so you can Name the Raees,” he explains in a rush. Fatima Ghazala’s world screeches to a halt. Hurt crystallizes in her chest before splintering into pain.
“I would much rather die,” she tells him succinctly, and gets up to go. The Emir moves fast. He grabs her hand and moves them farther into the shadows of a Palash tree. His arms are locked around her, making it impossible for her to move away from him. The darkness knows no light, and Fatima Ghazala cannot see the Emir’s face at all.
“Do not speak of dying so easily,” the Emir hisses at her. Fatima Ghazala feels her anger spark in turn.
“Let me go, Zulfikar. I cannot fathom what made you think asking me to make a mockery of marriage was a good idea, but if you let me go now, I will pretend it didn’t happen.” If he lets her go now, she will be able to walk away without crying.
“Yes, the reason I want to marry you is for my people. Yes, I wouldn’t have considered marrying you except as a last resort. But, Fatima Ghazala, it wouldn’t be a marriage in name alone. We would be truly wedded.” Fatima Ghazala can feel the Emir’s heart pounding, and for a moment, she is convinced. Then she wrenches out of his embrace.
“You cannot even be sure that your feelings for me are your own. What you feel for me may be a creation of the bond between your fire and mine,” she bursts out.
“I don’t care.” He really doesn’t, Fatima Ghazala realizes. “And truly, I am willing to seize the least excuse to have you. I have been trying to distance myself from you. I have been trying to pretend I don’t care, and it has been hell. I don’t want to do that anymore. I refuse to do that anymore. So if strengthening your fire is the excuse I can give to have you, I will take it thankfully.”
Fatima Ghazala wishes she could see the Emir’s face. Read his expression. “What about Tali? Don’t you love her?”
“The boy I was loved her. He no longer exists. The person I am right now can see no one else other than you. Will you have me, Fatima Ghazala? Will you allow me into your heart?”
The new day has a pearly glow to it; Fatima Ghazala sits on the wall surrounding the open roof of the apartment building in Taaj Gul and watches the early morning greet the citizens of Northern Noor awake. She refused to return to Aftab Mahal the night before and insisted on coming to the Alif family.
From her perch, Fatima Ghazala can see the milkman making the rounds on his cart; the shops have been open since before dawn, but it is only now that shop boys and girls emerge from their depths to sweep the entrances clean. From all appearances, today is going to be like any other, perhaps with a little more heat. And yet, Fatima Ghazala’s life is going to change forever. She doesn’t quite know what to think of that. On the one hand, her life has been a madcap adventure ever since Firdaus was killed; she changed personalities, homes, and employment. But somehow, ludicrously enough, those changes seem far easier to handle than this future change. The other things simply happened to her; they were all things she had little choice over. Marrying Zulfikar is something she has decided all on her own. This makes the change weightier. Scarier.
“What are you doing up here?” Adila asks from behind her.
“Wondering if I’m making a mistake.” Adila is the only one Fatima Ghazala has told about Zulfikar’s proposal. The other two are sure to go into paroxysms of either joy or disbelief, and Fatima Ghazala is not sure she has the mental wherewithal to deal with that at the moment.
“Abbu hasn’t even given his permission yet and you already have cold feet?” Adila grins, coming to sit beside her. “Do you love him?”
“Not yet. If he walks away from me right now, it will hurt, but it will be nothing I won’t recover from. If I marry him, I will have to trust him with not just my body but also my heart. That scares me more than the Shayateen do.”
“Am I supposed to have answers for you?” Adila pokes Fatima Ghazala.
Fatima Ghazala grins. “Is that your way of telling me I have to decide this all on my own?”
“Yes. But no matter what you decide, I’m here for you.”
Fatima Ghazala lays her head on Adila’s shoulder. “Thanks, Adila.”
“You are welcome.” They sit in silence for a few minutes. “By the way,” Adila says suddenly, “I told Azizah that you are getting married to the Emir. When I left, she was planning your wedding.”
Fatima Ghazala gives Adila a look of abject horror and leaps off the wall. “How could you?” she wails, and takes off running.
Adila smiles serenely and turns to the view of the city.
Zulfikar is somewhat prepared for this meeting. He didn’t eat breakfast so he won’t have the temptation to throw it all up. He also knows to refuse refreshments for the same reason. If he were in Al-Naar, his parents would have arranged everything, but here, he is the architect of his own fate. Zulfikar wonders when he should tell his parents about their new daughter-in-law. If he tells them before the wedding, he will have to deal with a lot of correspondence; his mother and sisters will want to cross over, and that’s definitely not feasible at this point. No, he will tell them when it’s too late for them to object or interrupt.
Zulfikar realizes he has been standing in front of the Alifs’ door for a while. Flushing, he raises his hand and knocks firmly. The door is immediately opened by Fatima Ghazala. Zulfikar feels his edges grow soft at the sight of her in a simple blush-pink embroidered shalwar kameez. He hands over her oud; Fatima Ghazala’s belongings were moved to Northern Aftab early this morning.
She looks at him without smiling, and he returns her gaze equally seriously. “Have you changed your mind?” He wouldn’t blame her if she has, but he wishes fiercely that she hasn’t.
She shakes her head once, definitively, and Zulfikar exhales. He knows it is a bit too early to feel relief, but as long as he is reassured of her consent, he can face the
grumpy bear who functions as her father.
“I’ve battled monsters, you know. Faced the enemy in wars. Defended my country and life against seemingly insurmountable odds. However, I have never been as terrified as I am right now.” Zulfikar confesses in a low whisper. Fatima Ghazala reaches out and, after a slight hesitation, pats his cheek.
“Fatima, what are you doing? Bring the Emir here,” Asma’s stern voice calls from the living room.
Zulfikar follows Fatima Ghazala to the living room, pausing to smile at the Alif sisters, who are poking their heads out from a room at the end of the corridor. Then he takes a deep breath and enters the living room, faltering when Ali gives him a distinctly unfriendly look.
Asma and a woman Zulfikar recognizes as Fatima Ghazala’s sister sit on either side of Ali. They all look at Zulfikar as if they’d much rather he wasn’t there. Zulfikar swallows. Exchanging greetings, they sit: Fatima Ghazala and Zulfikar on one side of the room, the Alif parents and Sunaina on the other.
“You are here again,” Ali says. “And this time my daughter tells me you have something to ask me.” Yes, definitely unfriendly.
“I do, sayyid, sayyida.” Zulfikar nods at both women. He stops, his throat dry.
“Fatima, bring the Emir some sharbat,” Asma commands. Fatima Ghazala leaves, and Zulfikar immediately feels abandoned. She returns a little later carrying a jug of sharbat and some glasses. Zulfikar drinks the sharbat gratefully.
He tries again. “I am here to request your permission to marry Fatima Ghazala.”
The couple exchanges looks while Sunaina narrows her eyes. Fatima Ghazala remains silent beside him. He is going to get no help from her.
“Why would the Emir of Noor want to marry a simple girl from Qirat?” Asma asks.