How cruel, your veins are full of ice-water and mine are boiling.
— Emily Bronte
☾
"So, tell me about your bride."
The statement brings a sour taste in his mouth and a dull ache in his heart. This is the last thing he wants to talk about-- think about. That part of his life has already wilted before even blooming. He doesn't want to wander down the memory lane and end up in places that sizzle their way to his soul.
"How is Zimal?" he asks, dodging the original question.
"Good, but she misses you."
"I miss her too, dearly. Is she around? Can I talk to her?"
"It's her school hours, remember?"
"Oh yeah, I forgot." He rubs the skin between his eyebrows. "Give her lots of love for me."
"I will. Now tell me about your bride."
He looks skyward, standing in the balcony of his hotel room. His sister is not the one to let go.
"What about her, Mina?"
"Everything." He can hear the excitement in her voice. But what does she know? He's sure the truth will send her sanity haywire, and he doesn't want that.
"Larmina--"
"Mikael," Larmina cuts him off, not letting him dodge the question again. "Now don't tell me you feel shy."
I don't like shy men.
He blinks and shakes his head, as if trying to shake her off his thoughts too.
"She's," he pauses, not knowing how to actually describe her except what any eye can see, "beautiful," he finishes.
"I know," Larmina says as an obviously. "Hurairah told me so."
"When did your husband got time to make introductions with my wife?" Mikael bugs lightheartedly. "I thought he was busy dancing all night."
His sister laughs. "You know he knew your in-laws long before they became your in-laws."
And he still arranged their marriage, Mikael thinks. Why? Hurairah has known him too; he knew Mikael didn't want that kind of woman, neither is he the kind of man Banafsha wants. If he knew both him and his wife's family well enough, how could he still let this happen.
Something in the picture doesn't fit and he's troubled by the fact that it's his own brother-in-law.
"Mikael?" Larmina speaks after a moment of silence.
He hums in response, letting her know he's listening.
"Are you happy, brother?"
A smile naturally forms on his face at her concern. "Of course.Why would you think otherwise?"
"Because you don't sound happy to me. I sound more enthusiastic than you even though it should've been you. Don't men feel ecstatic about their weddings?"
He chuckles at her last statement. "My wedding is yet to take place."
"You will be happy then?"
He licks his lips, again pushing away any negative feelings. "Well, hopefully."
If the said wedding is to ever take place, he wonders.
My family only married me to you not for you but your father. I was kept in the dark about your past and present until today. I feel like you've the right to know the truth so you won't suffer like me. There's still time; we can do something. I don't want to be a cheating woman in this marriage by using you for my family's games but never loving you, because I don't-- I can never. Because this is something I don't believe in. So you should free me.
Larmina sounds distant on the phone as his musings scatter once more thinking of that night.
Will you not give me my freedom even when I'm asking you for it?
Her freedom? He ponders over her question. Is he her prison? If so, then how? She doesn't even know him to make such assumptions.
I've everyone telling me that you're a very good man, Aurang. But those telling me this aren't good enough people in my eyes for me to trust them. If you really are so good, then I'm only asking you to prove it to me. Don't let the wedding celebration take place; divorce me before then.
"Mikael?" Larmina cuts through his thoughts again.
He hums once more without responding in words.
"You aren't listening to me, are you?"
"I am now."
She huffs on the other end. "I asked if she's anything like Shirin?"
The sky slowly starts to blend into shades of pink and orange at the sunset, soft to watch and soothing to the heart, promising another world of eternal comfort. He follows the rays from where they are faded to where they become brilliant when sinking in the sun, a shade darker, like those of her eyes-- Banafsha's eyes under the golden lights that night. How could eyes with such warm glow be so cold?
"Nothing like Shirin," he replies to his sister.
"Then how is she?"
"I still don't know her well enough, Mina. Why don't you ask your husband?"
"Hey now, don't be so raw. Didn't you already meet her?"
"Once."
"And once ain't enough for you?" He hears the teasing in her voice but doesn't reply. "I can ask Hurairah to arrange a second meeting for you," she suggests.
"Don't," he refuses quickly, then lightly punches the handrail at the urgency of his denial. He doesn't want his sister to suspect anything.
Larmina goes quiet on the other end and he let it stretch a minute before clearing his throat.
"People here mind it," he excuses uneasily.
She sighs. "You don't want to tell me what she's like except what she looks like; you don't want to meet her another time; you don't sound happy about your nikah. I get that you don't want to talk about her so I won't ask you anymore questions about her. But you can talk to me if something is amiss, okay? I'm always here for you, Mikael."
He now traces the handrail with his index finger, not knowing what to say. "Thank you," he mumbles into the speaker.
After a few more exchange of words, Larmina ends the call. He stares at the phone screen for a while, his daughter's photo on display, and a small smile graces his lips before he pockets his phone. He looks back up at the sky, the darkening colors of it reminding him again of her.
How could he even have described her to Larmina? She's like the blunt edge of knife, apparently not cutting sharp but knows how to inflict pain. She's a woman who makes a man commit hypocrisy with his eyes; his eyes admired her but his heart died when she spoke, those metal hard words still weighing heavy in his chest. There's no perfect description for a human made both from the light of the angels and fire of the devil-- the clay of such human might be beautifully bright but burning to touch. Banafsha is one such tragic fantasy to him.
He scrubs his face, rubbing his eyes in circular motion, and exhales heavily, feeling the cold metal of his wedding band against his cheekbone.
I'm sorry, but you and I are worlds apart. And it's nothing personal, but I just don't need anyone in my life, a good man or a bad one, neither. I'm complete on my own, without you-- without love. The concept of it is foreign to me.
"Dr. Banafsha Humayun." He twirls the wedding band on his finger, staring at it. "Why so heartless, doctor?"
☾
The hour is early when he arrives to meet his father-in-law upon his request the next day. A servant takes him to the garden at the back of the house where Humayun Asad sits with son, both of them having tea. Mughis stands up to greet Mikael upon seeing him.
"Salam (peace)."
"Salam," he greets back.
He repeats the greeting with his father-in-law and he gestures for him to take a seat; he sits down besides Mughis.
"Aurang, how are you?" Humayun asks him.
"I'm good." Mikael smiles at him politely. "Thank you."
Something about that man instills fear in others, like a forest in distress when lions go hunting. His eyes are sharp and icy, resembling winter frost that hasn't ever seen warmth. They remind him of Banafsha's eyes.
"Mughis?" Humayun directs to his son.
"Yes, baba?"
"Go asks your mother to make preparations for lunch. Our son will be eating with us today."
"Okay, baba."
His head jerks up at the order. "Oh no, don't bother yourselves with that. I won't be staying so long."
Humayun turns his gaze to him, assessing his response. "It's no bother. You're our guest-- son of this house. We cannot let you go like this. Let us treat you."
"I appreciate it but--"
He lifts his hand to shush him. "This is your first time coming here, and we honor our guests. Besides, you'll be leaving for Dublin soon so why not spend some time with us? There's a lot we need to talk about. It cannot be done over a phone call, now can it be?"
He only smiles half-heartedly but cannot help the anxious feeling settling in his bosom. Humayun gestures for Mughis to leave and he excuses himself. Mikael watches the peacocks scattering as Mughis makes his way towards the inside of the house. Do even the birds see the chaos these people carry around them? He wonders.
"So," Humayun begins, stirring a spoon in his tea cup, "I was thinking of the wedding dates and thought the end of the year to be the best. What do you say?"
Mikael shifts his attention to him. "I'm ready whenever Banafsha is," he replies smoothly.
Humayun looks up to him and smiles fleetingly. "Of course, it goes as Banafsha pleases. If it were up to me, no one would be waiting for the wedding so long." He straightens and gestures to a servant to prepare a tea cup for Mikael too. "Banafsha wanted to practice abroad for experience so she delayed the wedding."
He simply nods, not knowing what to say, and knowing her reasons which probably the man sitting in front of him doesn't.
"But it's not only about Banafsha being ready," Humayun points out. "It's about you too."
He tilts his head in question, not quite grasping his meaning. "Pardon me?"
"Mughis told me you've an eight year old."
The nerves in his body jump at his statement, suddenly alerted. "Yes?"
"Who takes care of her?"
"I myself do."
"But when you're not available?"
He bites the inside of his cheeks, not liking the conversation sliding into a dangerous territory. He's sensitive about his daughter, and he knows Humayun Asad is insensitive to sentiments.
"My sister does sometimes. But she's a school going kid and I work during those hours, so I manage."
"For now. But what after your wedding?"
He only stares at his father-in-law, half puzzled and half troubled. "I don't understand."
The servant hands him his tea cup and he thanks him but continues to hold Humayun's gaze passively.
"I mean to ask how are you going to keep the balance when Banafsha is part of your life too?"
"I don't think it's going to be a problem. If you're bothered by Banafsha having to look after Zimal--"
Humayun laughs, shaking his head, as if finding his statement entertaining. "Ah, no, Aurang. I think we both know that it goes without being said: Banafsha isn't used to looking after anyone, let alone a child. In fact, you'll not only have to look after your daughter, but mine too." The mirth leaves Humayun's orbs as they harden. "I want her happy, at any cost."
The hidden warning in his words doesn't go unnoticed. Mikael exhales slowly through his nose, trying to keep his emotions at bay and remain calm. He's afraid there are probably way too many expectations Humayun Asad and Mughis have from him than he can meet.
"Anyways, the easy solution could be that you hire a caretaker for your child," Humayun Asad suggests easily, leisurely sipping his tea. "That way it wouldn't come to you neglecting your duties to your wife. And maybe find a better job, improve your way of life. You can manage, but Banafsha cannot; she's not raised like that. Not that she'll ever financially depend on you, I can still fulfill all wishes for my daughter even after her marriage. But we're a noble family, Aurang, and people look up to us. I don't want to answer any judgmental or critical questions of them regarding who I've married my daughter to for her to compromise her way of life because of him."
Mikael clenches his jaw and swallows, trying to swallow the bubbling fury birthed from Humayun's bitter words too. His patience needs a booster dose but he painstakingly manages to bite back his tongue.
"Also," Humayun casually continues, "I hope you resolve whatever disputes you have with your family before the wedding. I want to see Idris and your family at the wedding. It shouldn't be how it was at the nikah. The walima (wedding feast) should be grand. We're inviting all the upper class and don't want to be embarrassed. But even before you take over your father's seat at his political party, I want you to arrange good maintenance for my daughter. Mughis will help you in any way possible; you can ask him if you need anything."
He remains silent, busy staring at the steam rising from his tea cup, just like Humayun Asad has ashen all his dignity and self respect within a few minutes.
"Aurang?"
Mikael meets his empty eyes again.
"Before you were married to my daughter, I wouldn't be bothered with all this. But now you're like a son to me." Humayun places his cup on the table and adjusts his shawl, leaning towards him. "You understand whatever I've said is in your good will too, right?"
Suddenly, whatever Banafsha told him that night runs through his mind again. Suddenly, her demand of divorce isn't so heartbreaking but rather a mending before his heart really breaks.
And he realizes she really will always be a fantasy to him than ever a reality.
☾
Who's ready to read Banafsha's thoughts when she sees Mikael for the first time? Let us have them meet more formally in the next chapter.
The original Muslim greeting is 'asalam alaikum' meaning 'peace be upon you'. For convenience, the short form, 'salam' (peace), will be used throughout the book.
I've exams in February so unfortunately the next update will have to wait until I'm free again. See you guys in March then (or the end of February if we get lucky).
Don't forget to share your love and thoughts. Much love back.
Until next time,
Take care.
☾