Meri Pehchan

•the prince of Persia•

"It's a matter of a few days now, we shall see who is right then". Samra rolled her eyes.

"Get ready to loose then," he grinned.

"Why is it that you are so adamant on having a son?" She frowned.

"A son will be my strength. I know daughter's can be strength's too. But I want to have a daughter only when I have son's strong enough to look after her. They will protect her from harm. They will cherish her like birds do to the first few hours of spring. A daughter will fill our life with colors only when our son's manage to erect a canvas too strong for her". He replied.

Samra nodded, her head resting on his shoulder. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of relief. Her muscles ached the spasms on her lower back and upper thighs had not stilled for a single second. Her feet were swollen beyond repair, they made each step full of agony. These last three days Fadahunsi had been forced to carry her around, she had lost all strength. Her breasts were sore to the point that anytime he used a rag cloth to help her wash she was left with nothing but whimpers. Her belly was covered in dark purple-blue marks, that the mid-wife explained were normal. Samra felt ugly at times and tears would spill out of her eyes, but Fadahunsi's soft words and kisses helped her put back the pieces of herself she had lost back together — one at a time.

"I'm scared of labour. I wish my parents could be here. I miss mama," Samra sniffed.

"I'm sorry humdum. I have the riches of the world and yet I am bound at the will of God. The floods have made it impossible for them to come on time, for that I apologize". He apologized.

He kissed the back of her hand repeatedly. His fingers brushed the silky locks of hair behind her ear. His thumb grazed her soft cheeks brushing the ends of her lower lip. He rested his forehead on top of hers. In the dimness of the room he could see nothing save for the wet stains on her cheek. Fadahunsi felt her remorse, the absence of your parents was a pain no amount of time could heal. He kissed her on the lips. Gently brushing them against hers, sucking on her lower lip. The kiss was full of sweetness and emotions, their tears masked each others. Her honeyed mouth and his strong one were miles apart and yet same in measure. They breathed deeply, their hearts racing so strongly that it was impossible.

" خدایا به این همسرم رحم کن زندگی و سلامتی را که برایم مقدر شده است به او هدیه کن."
He prayed in a hushed whisper.

[Oh Allah bless this wife of mine. Gift her my life and the health destined for me.]

⚜️⚜️⚜️

The agonizing pain tore through her body. She hunched over her stomach, welching over the chamber pot. Her water had broken a few hours ago, and since then she had known nothing but pain. Fadahunsi was stuck at court, with an envoy from England. A man had been dispatched to inform him of the labour, yet he was nowhere to be seen. The midwife sat her on a birthing pot, it was like a chamber pot, except it had a proper chair attached to the bucket that was meant to catch all the amniotic fluid. A woman was forced to sit on it until she crowned. And the pain was immense. Samra dug her nails into her thigh, tears covered her face, like a paper mosaic does to a window.

"Mistress should I bring you a rag cloth?" Zarwa fluttered around the room.

Samra felt her vision filling up with dark spots as she nodded her head. Biting on the cloth she could relive herself of a bit of pain. Her head was full of sweat and so was the rest of her body. It dripped down her body as the crowning became more prominent. She was shifted to the bed. Propped up on her shoulders, she grunted. Short, hasty breaths escaped her mouth as her maids and the mid-wife covered her with a cloth. The mid-wife's hands gently pried her uterus and abdomen, assisting the fetus out of the body. Her muscles were fatigued and as a sharp pain tore through her vagina, she cried one last time before feeling relived of all pressure.

As soon as she relaxed, Samra heard the wondrous shrill of a young baby's cry. Her own eyes filled up once more as she held her son to her chest, the loose gown had fallen off of her shoulder and revealed her warm skin. She peppered kisses over the child's stick face, not caring that the amniotic fluid still stuck to it.

"We need to clean him mistress, please hand him over". Zarwa smiled.

Samra nodded, feeling as if a part of her had been ripped away as they moved out of the room with the child. The doors were thrown open and her husband ran inside the room. He sat by her head, kissed her sweaty face and hands. He thanked her with small sobs escaping his own lips. He had caught a glimpse of his son, and that had blossomed a new found love inside his heart. Fadahunsi had never known a feeling so pure, so homely. That child would be his heart after it's mother he knew.

"You won, Fadahunsi. It's a son," Samra spoke.

"I won the day I married you," he kissed her sweaty brow.

"Your son, General Fadahunsi," the midwife handed him over.

He smiled in thanks and asked for privacy. Their son had inherited his olive tone skin but his curly hair and brown eyes reminded him of the woman he loved. He held the young babe's small fingers and kissed each of them, whilst Samra stared in simple awe. She brushed her son's hair and passed Fadahunsi a smile.

"We shall name him Hassan Zaeem Fadahunsi," she kissed his cheek.

"Has—san?" Fadahunsi was surprised.

"After the honorable man that your father was," she smiled.

"Thank you! Thank you so much Samra," he pecked her lips.

"No. Thank you Fadahunsi. For giving me my identity. Meri pehchan. Agar ap meri zindagi mein nahi aatay tou mein kabhi apnay aap sai wakif na hoti," she teared up.

[My identity. If you did not come into my life I would have never found myself.]

"And who is Samra?" He questioned, his hand brushing the soft hair on Hassan's head.

"She is Persia's heroine. Your wife, Hassan's mother. Akbar and Yumna's daughter. Yet most importantly Samra is a woman who writes crooked and spends her afternoon in the bright kitchens. She is not someone's tainted progeny, she is above everything just like everyone else human". Samra smiled.

"That is the Samra I love. The one that is humane. But you got one thing wrong," he whispered.

"And what is that?"

"You are Prince Hassan Zaeem Fadahunsi's mother. Persia's crown prince," he replied.

"What? How?" Samra was startled.

"Alishba announced it today. Even if she gets married, Hassan will inherit the Persian throne". He explained.

"Alishba is a generous woman, already she has spoiled her nephew so much," she smiled down at their son.

It was true, Alishba had defeated them in setting up a nursery for Hassan. She had sent over plenty of jewels for the little boy that was yet to be born. Queen Alishba had not left any stone unturned in spoiling the child. Her love warmed Samra's heart. Realization had filled her in these past few days, that there was more to life than their status and their life. The color of their skin was not a barrier for what they could achieve. Life was larger than this all, it was their small minds that found these constraints. Yet nature was greater, things had so many perspectives. And her identity was one of them.

اختاتام۔
[End]