Gunnah e Shab

تعارف • Prologue

"Tch! Salma naive then, naive now. I love to see you beg. Par ab apnay is ganday mun sai mera naam mat lo. Tum apni aukat par aagai ho! Eik sasti bistar garam karnay wali randi!" [But now don't take my name from your filthy mouth. You have reached your true place! A cheap bed warming whore!] He spat at her cheek.

Salma wiped the spit off of her face, Nasir Waheed was an animal, like the man he followed blindly, Sadiq Ilyas.

Salma had met Nasir at her father's home as a young teenager. At that time, seeing a man ten years her senior give her his attention, Salma had felt on top of the world. She thought it was love. Her father had refused to marry her off. And so at seventeen, Salma had thought the best idea was to elope. Three days later, Nasir divorced her. Salma was shattered and her dreams broke. Snapped into two. He sold her into prostitution, and for all she knew, her family had disowned her.

While Salma reeled in the dreams of the past and what if's, Nasir snaked his arm around her back. Yanking the thin zip, tugging harshly until the maroon chiffon fabric tore. He ripped it off of her body, the zardosi work and snapped zip, leaving a cut on her skin. Nasir's hands were cold against her raging hot skin. Flushed still from the performance downstairs. His hand printed on her upper arm, where he had gripped her flesh so tight. Mercilessly, he ignored Salma's cries to stop.

As he continued to repeatedly torture her through his brutish ways, Salma silenced her voice. Tears dripping down her cheeks. She wished she had never ran away. She wished she had listened to her elder brother and father. Her heart felt like it had been stabbed a million times. Salma would have let a hundred men have sex with her without crying. But a night with Nasir Waheed was like being handed over a sentence to Hell.

Nasir unlocked the heavy door when the sun's first rays were already spreading out on the Earth. He fiddled with his trousers, exiting the room, sated. Not even once did he turn around to look at the woman he left behind. The woman whose breast and lips were stained red. Salma stared at his back. Not a tear leaving her tired eyes. Turning her head with great pain, she stared out of the large window.

Dawn was here. Light covered the land and everyone was out. Cheerful. The dark was gone and so were their nightmares. Yet what about her? What about her as she lay in a puddle of her ex-husband's semen? Her whose vagina felt like it had been torn in half? Light only brought the sin of the night to the front. She would have to look at the mirror, at her bruised body.

Painstakingly, Salma got off of the bed. She was no longer the daughter of a rich man. She was a prostitute. No one would come to help her. Placing her weight on her forearms, Salma dragged herself. Trudging towards the dress, tattered beyond repair, she donned it. She was hysterical as she wrapped the bedsheets around her body. She was a tawaif [dancer] and a randi [whore], to society. To herself, Salma was just a woman defeated by fate. And the cruelty of her heart.

—

Nine months. Nine months of pain and humiliation. Nine months of fear. Salma had no idea why life and time were acting with such insensitivity. Going against her at each end. She wanted to forget Nasir's existence. Yet the night he ravaged her, he had left his seed inside of her. For nine months, Salma had carried the seed, letting it blossom in her womb. Try as she might though, feelings of hatred for the child could never be fostered. It was not her baby's fault.

For three months, Salma had been confined to the bed. Six months of her pregnancy spent having sex with men who wanted her curvier body to themselves. The beginning of her third trimester had come with dizzy spells. Asma Bi had ordered her on bed rest since then. She was after all, carrying a girl. And that mean more business. More business meant a happier brothel. However, Salma could not help but cry. She had her dignity but for how long?

The women in Heera Mandi may be prostitutes but they enjoyed better positions than her. Women here married their pimps, and only then would they get pregnant. The pimps didn't mind having to share their wives. To them, they were a source of cash. This was perhaps the only place where a daughter was truly a sign of happiness and relief. A son was just an extra mouth to feed.

Salma stared out of the small window. It overlooked the tiny, crowded, broken streets of the old city of Lahore. Water accumulated in puddles. Men driving carts laden with fruits through their tiny street. Placing a hand on her stomach, she exited her tiny room. She had been here for a few years and had used the little allowance she got to decorate it tastefully. It was nothing like her room back at home.

Home, was a word foreign to Salma's world now. She had no home. She had no place to seek refuge in. And now her daughter would not have it either. Her daughter would never know a father's love, a brother's care. All of which she had basked in. Halting her sobs, she stepped out into the courtyard. The yard was surrounded with large walls and brick floors. Day beds and garden chairs were arranged haphazardly. Salma smiled at her only companion, a prostitute in her forties, Sarah.

"Kaisi ho?" [How are you?] Sarah gave her a soft smile.

"Kaisi ho sakti hun?" [How can I be?] Salma gave a bitter laugh.

"Hush!" Sarah threw a peanut at her.

Salma shielded her face. Despite the upsetting look on her face, Salma's eyes twinkled with mirth.
"Give me some," Salma forwarded her hand.

Sarah was only happy to comply. Taking this young girl under her wing had been Sarah's best decision.

"Sarah whenever I have my baby, promise to take care of her". Salma held Sarah's hands.

There had been a fear lingering inside Salma's heart. It was like something was holding her by the throat. She feared death. Salma did not want to leave her daughter alone, amongst the vultures were something to happen to her.

"Iss tarah ki baat mat karo. Par vada tumhari beti, meri beti". [Don't think like that. But I promise your daughter is my daughter.] Sarah reassured.

Oh how Sarah hoped she could have taken Salma out of the dark world that lived in the streets of Heera Mandi.

If only they had known that was the last time they would sit together. That night, as a storm tore through the city of Lahore. Tearing trees from their roots and flooding the basements across the city, Salma went into labour. It was impossible to reach the hospitals and so a midwife who lived nearby had been called. A daughter with midnight black hair and a beauty to rival that of Queen's was born. Salma kissed her forehead. Eyes rolling to the back of her head, life draining out of her. The baby of a few minutes was thrust into Sarah's arms. A maternal feeling waking inside of her. That night, the young child lost its biological mother but found a spiritual mother. No one but Sarah shed tears on Salma's cold corpse. Holding the letter she had left in her hands tightly. Tomorrow would be a new day.

LET'S TALK

DID YOU GUYS LIKE THE PROLOGUE?
I'M GOING TO GIVE NASIR A PAINFUL DEATH

ALSO.. Most information I have about prostitutes and their lives comes from the book "Dancing girls of Lahore". It was written by a woman who lived with one prostitute in Heera Mandi for years <3

THOUGHTS & COMMENTS

See you on 27 October <3