As the carriage of Shahrazad and his men paraded through the streets of the kingdom, each window was shut and every curious child pulled inside the house by their parents. No one was ready to watch another royal consort have a celebratory walk towards death. To them, it was sheer madness.
And Shahrazad knew he was no less than a lunatic. The world would call him desperate- maybe for name and fame, maybe for glory etched in history, maybe for something entirely different, such as love.
He saw curtains being drawn, doors closed with a bang, balconies being vacated at the sight of his carriage. Colourful houses lined the streets of the capital like lifeless, inhabited nests, the remnants of a civilisation that had long fled.
"They are afraid of me or the fate that I have? I wonder," Shahrazad said, looking at his Baba.
Bagaos had not spoken a word with his son since he had uttered his wish. He had vowed on silence like a fast unto death. Now, he didn't even spare his son a glance. He sat with his fists clenched, eyes guarding the flood of tears behind like a dam.
"I am sorry, Baba. But I had to do this. You knew I wasn't meant to be living in the arms of comfort and security forever. I was meant to be here for a purpose."
"And I don't give a damn!"
Dunyazad flinched. She had never heard Bagaos raise his voice against them or even the servants. She had assumed he was incapable of being loud and harsh.
But today, his son brought out a new shade of him.
"Baba"-Shahrazad lifted up the long pleats of his skirt-"you knew from the very beginning that I wasn't destined to be stuck in your care."
"People don't call you the son of Mah but the son of Bagaos. You are mine more than anyone else's."
Bagaos huffed. Years back, when Damun had first ascended the throne, he had had a dream- of a child draped in waves of silver, sleeping soundly over a grassy bed and Mah himself showering upon him his light. Damun had hoped that would be his son, but...
"That filthy man denied Farah's words. Now like a fool you are going back to his territory."
The fire inside Shahrazad was agitated by those words. He felt anger course through his veins, directed at a man he wished to see so much and to talk to so much.
And more such bloody forbidden wishes, imprisoned in the darkest cells of his heart, were enkindled.
"You are my father and my mother, Baba. You are everything to me. As of returning to him, I will be on guard."
Bagaos shivered at the very thought of the man. Now he was aware of him having a son, he was aware of the existence of Shahrazad. Letters flooded his room. From former servants of the kingdom to distant relatives who never cared to knock at the door, everyone was keen on knowing who Shahrazad was. Despite all the cacophony, one particular person had kept extremely quiet. "He is dangerous."
Shahrazad smirked. He opened his fan, waving it in front of Bagaos.
"We will see."
****
Shahryar paced up and down the hall. His soon to-be spouse was an hour late. Shahrazad kept him waiting. He kept the Shah waiting.
An audacious fool.
A panting Parmenion came running to meet Shahryar. "My Shah, they have come. Please stand facing the mirror."
And like a doll rehearsing this for the hundredth time, Shahryar faced the mirror hanging at the top of the Sofreh Aghd- a low table that acted as a marriage spread and faced the lucky east. Shahryar wanted to get over this ordeal as soon as possible, retire to his bed and wake up to the news of another death. It was all too predictable. A vicious cycle dictated his life.
Sometimes he wished he was still a child, in the lap of his kind mother and being chided by his father for mischief. He wanted to cry freely without anyone mocking him. In his world, crying made a man less of a man and made a king appear weak. With the bundle of expectations under his arms he could never raise his fingers to wipe the invisible tears.
He saw his reflection in the mirror- hair reaching his shoulder, the majestic crown atop his head, a royal red robe studded with yellow topaz reaching to his ankles and a heavy mantle that swept the floor.
He had begun to hate this colour red. He was made to wear this attire every time he married. Sometimes he thought if this attire was the cursed thing that caused havoc in his life. His thoughts were put on a pause when the doors to the hall opened a second time.
It is time. The hundredth prey. The hundredth wife.
Sorry, husband.
He exhaled and rolled his eyes.
I am tired of this nonsense.
All of a sudden, thick and bright moonbeams spiralled into the room from the little oval windows and fell over the mirror. The light glared into Shahryar's eyes and he shut them.
"The son of cupbearer Bagaos- the fateful servant of the Great Shah Damun- blessed by beauty and charm, by health and glory, now stands in front of his companion for life," the priest announced.
Shahryar wanted to spit at those words. No one was his companion for life. Everytime he was marrying not a human but a child of death that brought gloom to his already accursed life. The holiness of the mantras weren't strong enough to banish the evil hiding in Shahryar's life.
He slowly opened his eyes. The glare that had made his eyes swore faded away. From the embrace of the light was revealed Shahrazad, dressed in a white kandys like the full moon itself. The long kaftan sleeves clung to his tanned arms, his fingers adorned with rings. The kandys was embroidered with threads of gold that gave it a shimmering look. A long cut showed off his male cleavage, baring it all just before reaching the navel.
With each step that he took towards Shahryar, the latter's awe intensified. The son of Bagaos had kept his hair open this night too, even put a band of chrysanths to enhance the look. Shahrazad came and stood by his side.
"Shahrazad may lift his veil."
To the priest's words, Shahrazad removed his ivory veil and stared at their reflection in smile. It filled his heart with satisfaction to see Shahryar gape at the sight of them together. The latter quickly averted his gaze though, feeling an urgent need to moisten his throat.
The priest chanted from a book of sacred love poems, woven between whose lines were promises eternal, and the couple listened. At the end of the ceremony the two took their seats in front of the Sofreh Aghd and fed each other a spoonful of honey. A white cloth was brought over their heads and the men present there drizzled over them petals of flowers.
"May the union last more than a lifetime," everyone said in unison.
Shahryar didn't know if this would come true or prove to be a false promise like every other marriage of his. Did the ministers not get tired of chanting false benedictions everytime? Or were their hearts so hollow that the words carried no meaning?
Everyone was going to leave him, much like the time he had left Shahryar... the nameless boy who was his first friend. Shahryar didn't know why but he felt himself drowning in those memories of the past, balancing at the brink of his bursting emotions.
"Let the feast begin!"
Parmenion's words shook him out of his thoughts. He looked at Shahrazad- the young man had not yet started eating. He was probably waiting for him to begin.
Shahryar brought a pastry to his lips, seeing which Shahrazad did the same. They took their first bite of the feast.
But Shahryar wasn't able to enjoy. Not because he knew he was to see his consort die for the hundredth time. Not because he would be labelled as a cursed Shah. Not because he was being a worthless son. They catalysed the pain and took it to the zenith. But the very root cause of it was loneliness- an isolation he had felt since the nameless boy had left. He didn't give Shahryar anything but memories, but they were not enough to start a chase. He prayed to see this friend once, at least before his ponderous life would cease. But would he, ever mistakenly, harm the nameless boy if he ever came close? He was called so many bad names by the people of his own kingdom.
Then maybe Shahryar would love to see a sight of him before death. Laying on his bed, breathing for the last time like his innumerable dead spouses, he would smile at the then unknown yet familiar face of the nameless boy. The only name that Shahryar had given him was equivalent to his own future- Shah.
It rang in his ears. Shah... Shah...
Shahryar missed his Shah. But did his Shah miss him?