Sang e Khisht

باب نہم

رنگ بدل لئے اپنے سبھی رشتوں نہ
پھر حیراں کیوں ہو اگر دعاوت پر دشمن بھی ہو

٭

Chapter 9 : Dawaat aur Darab ka waar

Passing a glance, Golnar went back and forth with the dress in hand and the one on her bed. Ivory or the deep shades of a riveting red. Innocence or the act of seduction. Novelty or the craftiness of a woman scorned? A deep back or a sinking neckline. The choices were between herself and the image of what her mother was. Her hand ran over the silk and stared at the cotton. The differences were stark and agonisingly so.

It was not a simple battle of white versus red. It was one between her desires and what was required of her.

Within her chest the turmoil that leapt around in noiseless waves, crushed her spirits. Damaging until remained of it was a whisper of a cloak. All that was needed was a strong gust to blow the lasts of it over. Shivering under the chilled Siberian winds that had been cruising over head since the early hours of the morning. Her fingers drove over the thread work. Chewing on the swell of her bottom lip, convincing herself to make a choice.

Golnar's soft hands — like the gentlest of snow flakes, rubbed the tip of her nose as it sunk low. Her chin hanging between the sharp length of her collarbones, all but kissed the warm skin. A cough racked through her chest. Her lungs squeezed tight as it splintered through, like a harsh piece of wood nailed into her flesh.

Hot flashes danced between her wavering vision. Tucking her toes underneath her hips as she plopped over the mattress, running her fingers through Maum's spotted fur. Golnar was at a place unreachable. Memories of the silk and gauze spread over her father's bed. Giggles that ran through the kitchen as the chefs worked behind the flurry of her skirts. Sharpening gazes and maroon shades of lipsticks. The sweet J'adore perfume that could not have been done without, the heels clasped around her ankles as she danced with strangers. Golnar remember it all. Despite having left them a time long ago. The woman that Armina Arbaz Naazim had been. Golnar would never forget.

Sniffing the smokey coat of her feline, Golanr puckered her lips in a soft frown. Pressing a kiss over it's head over and over again. A light residue of her lipstick left behind as a result of her actions. Cooing at the mewling kitten she pressed her cheek over maum's abdomen, running her fingers through and over it's slender spine.

In the silence of their breaths and heart beats, the ticking of the grandfather clock kept them company. The brass belt ticked away, brushing the sides of it's enclosure before the pendulum retreated. It's thick arms tipped into the direction forward, not stilling behind for her. From the oil lamps, the shadows around the room fell into the centre of the bedroom. They covered the skins and the cloth, the thick cotton bed sheets were wrapped in it's opium shade.

Rubbing the hilt of her palm against the swell of her eyes, Golnar plucked her feet over the ground. Stumbling, her feet stuck into the blanket that had fallen off, she giggled. Watching the ivory of her dress fall against her on to the floor. The decision made for her, clarity wrapping itself around her head.

"Golnar bibi mehmaan agaye hai."
[Miss Golnar the guests are here.]

Golnar wheezed in laughter, throwing her veil over her bed, raising a hand from underneath the iron frame of her bed, she thanked her handmaid. Running her hands over her frizzy hair.