the strength of
the crocodile
is in the
water
– proverb
THE IMAGERY OF DEATH TRAPS
Aisha in an agonizing silence as she anxiously observes the waters. The burning sun peeks from the clouds to reflect onto the opaque river snaking through the land like a silent cobra. For all its serenity, more danger lurked in its depths than Aisha cared to know. A constant reminder of the brother she lost and will never replace, no matter how many sleepless nights suffered and forlorn mornings endured. Her fears only worsened; and being near water triggered the spells.
The rains brought forth rich harvests to patient farmers. A thicket of olive trees color the land, while the blooming desert flora gave way to oak woodlands.
However, the great flood had also brought clear waters as crocodiles now littered the lagoons. Aisha overheard whispers of people being eaten by the waterborne beasts who were a constant threat to livestock. It was why shepherds frequented rivers during the dry season. Cattle was their livelihood, so they could not chance them being dragged downriver—nothing left of their flesh but skull and bones. Meanwhile, human remains vanished, never to resurface again.
"Zeeb ukhti, can you fetch us more water," Marwa asks, hand washing a pile of linen.
Aisha sits farthest from the banks, accompanied by Marwa and Zeeb, a slave of Persian descent, who was older than Aisha's twenty-three summers. As Zeeb leaves for the creek with a clay pot in hand, Aisha fills a water basin to the brim. She wraps her headscarf securely so that only her eyes are visible, then proceeds soaking fabrics for what seems like ages.
In the distance, Zeeb squats down
to scoop out fresh water.
"Ya Aisha?" Marwa prompts, her sheepish grin obvious.
"Yes?"
"Have you apologized to Shams?"
Aisha screws up her nose with a shrug. "Should I have?"
"Why not? Would it kill your pride to do so?"
"No," she smirked, using her hands
to stir the liquid until it froths at the head, and some stains fade. "It would obliterate it."
Marwa throws her head back in laughter.
Aisha then places a stone on the linens and rubs mercilessly. Time after time, she scours and scrubs and scrubs until an ache starts in her wrist. Her palms numb under the pressure and the soft skin of her finger tips prune from having soaked in water too long. Still, Aisha sand washes the silken fabrics separately before arranging them into a basket.
With a huff, she rises to her feet, sleeves tattered and water drenching the hem of her dress. Placing the basket between her armpits, Aisha starts for the village. When she nears a shrub of trees, an ear-splitting shriek rattles her bones.
Alarmed, Aisha pivots in time to witness the ghastly scene...
Ya Allah!
Zeeb was attacked!
"Zeeb! Ya Zeeb!" Aisha screeches, running to the path where Zeeb last traced. She remains near a bush just above the steep beds. To her horror, Zeeb's arm is caught in the mouth of the crocodile—her piercing cries ruffling the winds in every direction.
Suddenly, a horde of knights on the other end of the creek catch her eye. The clamour of horses drowns out Zeeb's cries as the men vanish, leaving nothing but dust in their wake. Aisha stumbles and falls on her back from the impact, the contents of the basket spilling all around her. Ignoring the sullied clothes, her head darts around to see no one else in sight, save for the shrill echo of ravens cawing in alarm. She was far from the village, and there wasn't a single soul roaming the creeks.
Aisha whirls her head in the river's direction. Zeeb is no longer to be seen and young Marwa has fainted. She covers her mouth. Her eyes fill with horror as a rivulet of tears stream down her face. She can hardly swallow, choking on her own resolve. It feels as though burning coals journeyed down her throat to scorch her piteous heart.
Once again, the vivid memory of death strikes her voiceless and all she can see is Noor's lifeless body floating toward the shores...
Breathless, Aisha hyperventilates, unable to look away. Her efforts are futile; as her body attempts to fight a battle it had already lost. Terror engulfs her veins like wildfire and sends a chill down her spine, paralyzing every nerve-ending as it renders her frozen.
Why weren't her feet moving?
Why was she not running to save Zeeb!
As if they heard her fear, the horses slowed to a trot as one of the knights veered about and hastened for the river with unnatural speed. Simultaneously, a woman sprints over the dunes with a giant sword in hand. Aisha did not notice her before in her hazy spiral of dread and heaved in a breath at the scene.
The gutsy woman bounds across the banks with the grace of a gazelle—yet with the power of a lioness—punctures the eye of the ravenous beast causing it to release Zeeb's hand.
Just as it struggles to fight back, the lone knight arrives at the scene. Swerving, he slightly bends down on his horse to yank the sword out of her grasp before slaughtering the head of the crocodile. Aisha watches flabbergasted as the jaws of the headless beast continue to snap even as it lands on the grass, blood spurting everywhere.
The man pulls a bloodied Zeeb from the waters and awkwardly, but carefully, lifts her weightless form to place her onto the beast of a horse. He feels her wrists for a pulse. Zeeb is unconscious, Aisha soon realizes from the limpness in her damaged arms that leak profusely. They had lost a lot of blood.
"Safwan!" bellows the knight, snatching Aisha from her thoughts. To her left, ambles another knight on his horse followed by several more.
"Yes, ya Bakr."
"She has gone into shock," Bakr surmises. "Take my horse and bring her to my mother. She will know what to do. You must make haste, else she will bleed out and die."
"Yes, sheikh."
Safwan takes off without another word and the brooding man whom she now knows as Bakr, sets his sights on the fearless woman. It all happens so swiftly, Aisha's nearly misses it when she blinks. Bakr had long dismounted his horse and in a matter of seconds, his blade sits at the juncture of the woman's throat.
She gasps, her wide eyes bulging from their sockets. The chilling steel gleams with hunger, eager for a taste of her flawless skin. His harsh growl causes the earth to vibrate, and the birds to take flight. "Never snatch the sword of a brute" Bakr looks ahead, glancing at Aisha as he finishes, "unless you are prepared to die."
The sword! She had robbed his sword!
Aisha did not move from her spot near the bushes, nor did she recoil. Bakr lifts the sword from her neck and turns to walk away.
She lunges at him.
Instinctively, Bakr seizes hold of her hand before it could smack his cheek. His size doesn't deter her as her freed fist strikes his chest. The force of the punch isn't enough to make him budge but his reaction frightens her. She is quick to pry her hand from his hold with a wince.
Her eyes narrow with fury. "Mercy is noble." Aisha watches Bakr's jaw set in anger as his sharp gaze flits away from the stunning woman. "Even a dog with its tail between its legs would know that."
"Says the daughter of a hound?"
Aisha had not a clue what was being implied but nonetheless gathered it was nothing kind from the frown marring the woman's brows. She looks away, shaking her head. "No, says a servant of God."
Those words cause his harsh scowl to soften a fraction. Sheathing his sword, he uses the opportunity to maintain their distance as he utters, "Samehni."
The woman caresses her exposed arms in a conscious gesture to shield them from male gazes. "All is forgiven." The shift in tides grants her courage. "May I speak plainly?"
Bakr merely nods.
"I assume these women work for the palace? They have toiled near the rivers for hours without escort. As you've witnessed, it is dangerous to loiter outland unattended and I cannot help but wonder," her gaze sears into a rigid Bakr. "Is there safety not a priority?"
His temples tense at the accusatory tone, and Aisha suddenly wishes to flee. Eyeing the basket of strewn clothes and glancing at an unconscious Marwa, Bakr addresses Aisha. "Who has tasked you to the creeks?"
"B-baraka," she stutters in a shallow breath.
Bakr frowned. "Very well. Adnan!" Aisha's gaze rests on the adolescent boy with a broad build who shares a distinct, yet uncanny resemblance with Bakr.
He dismounts his horse. "Yes."
"Lend me your horse. Accompany the women back to the palace and inform Hussam of my whereabouts." Adnan nods as Bakr turns to addresses both women. "What happened today shall not happen again. I will speak with Baraka's father upon my return." Mounting the horse, Bakr takes off, his knights following in tow.
The land stills once more, yet the stubborn winds rejoice. As Adnan lifts Marwa onto a stray horse, the fickle winds snatch the veil covering the lower half of the woman's face before floating away in the river.
Seeing her for the first time, Aisha's breath hitches. Adorned in kundan jewels and a luxurious silver attire, the woman was past prepossessing. A beauty unlike Aisha has seen, who appeared to be of Mughal descent. Kohl lined her almond shaped eyes, making them appear larger. A rose shawl drapes her bust and encases her bare midriff, the hand-stitched crystals glimmering under the glare of sunlight.
The woman had drew closer to Aisha until they were facing each other. She was even prettier in person. Aisha inhaled the scent of jasmine and coconut. Not a speck of blemish mars the smooth, milkish white of her skin and her lashes, long and featherlike, brush against flushed cheeks. Aisha eyed the red bindi on her forehead as tinted lips raise in a sultry smile.
A Hind?
Was she perhaps among them?
"Are you—"
"A slave? No, I am a harlot." She says, mulling over her words. "Although a slave would be a better title, no?"
Aisha gapes at her, astounded by her bluntness. Words sink down her throat, and she is left speechless once again. Her mouth falls agape, but nothing comes out.
The woman chuckles breathlessly. "It seems I have startled you."
Oh. Oh! She was not joking. Aisha blinked. "No, It's just..."
"Do not pity me now, I was just starting to like you." She chuckles, a sound so graceful yet so pained it caused goose flesh to riddle Aisha's skin. She shuddered. "I expect you to judge, it is only human nature."
"It is no nature of the believer to judge." Aisha said earnestly. "That is not my nature. I cannot condemn another creation, for its creator will condemn me."
That stuns the woman as her brows hoist with interest. "You truly believe that?"
"Indeed. It is not just I, rather every Muslim believes it so."
Foregoing a reply, the woman puts her hands together and bows her head in greeting. "Namaskar."
Aisha stalls, baffled. "You are not... Muslim?"
"I am not."
Aisha suddenly feels self-conscious under the woman's knowing gaze.
A smirk teased her lips. "Her highness does not lie."
"Pardon?"
"She said you'd be stunning; that
your eyes weren't one to miss. She was not wrong."
Aisha winced in confusion. Or was it flattery? Perhaps both? She was not sure.
"I have come on behalf of Sheikha
Bilqis. Your aid is needed in the infirmary, Aisha." Just as she turns for the pathway leading back to the village she says, "Call me Mehrunisa."
The moment Mehrunisa sways past her, all Aisha could think was: how did she know my name?
A/N: ʀᴀᴍᴀᴅᴀɴ ᴍᴜʙᴀʀᴀᴋ! may allah
shower mercy and blessings upon us and our families, forgive our shortcomings, and accept all of our efforts in this very blessed month!
thoughts? constructive criticism is welcome! idk why I feel insecure about this chapter *hides* anyways, please do vote & comment! xoxo