Sikander, Don't Die

chapter one: dancer in a day

The silence woke her up.

She couldn't hear the usual chiming of anklets filling the room when her mother would walk in like a tempest to wake her up. Neither the servants' bickering nor the passionate cries of the practising soldiers made their way to her ears. Unlike any other day, she woke up alone in her room, surrounded by nothing but the crimson and purple furniture.

The curtains were still drawn. They hid the sunshine. Perhaps it was noon already.

Roshanak bit her lower lip. It wasn't good for a princess to sleep so late.

She climbed down the bed and opened the window. A heavy ache ate away at her heart. An uncanny pain weighed down on her. She poured herself a chalice of water and drank it.

The window oversaw a garden below. Even if they lived atop a rocky cliff, her father created this garden for her. The first seeds were sown when she was still in her mother's womb. Her father, like every other father, had wanted a son, but her mother helplessly desired for a girl. At the end, her mother was granted the fulfillment. Her father, Omkara, had put up a strained smile. After that, Omkara and his queen didn't bring any more kids. Roshanak was their first and last. Despite not being a son, she was pampered well. Maybe that was because she wasn't a son. Her father was very hard on the boys in his army. They all had blistered red backs, consequences of being flogged as a punishment. Roshanak felt scared of her father often.

Yet, this same man, whether he loved her deeply or not, nourished this garden for eighteen long years. Omkara wasn't very expressive with his love. He wasn't used to kissing and embracing his daughter. But he showed by his actions how much dear Roshanak was to him.

The garden, however, was in ruins today.

From a young age, Roshanak had come to associate the essence of the garden with her soul. She believed that the withering of the flowers would be a sign of her own farewell, maybe from this palace or perhaps the mortal realm itself. So when she saw the garden, with the flowers not only trampled but with spots of blood and dismembered limbs scattered around, a haunting black cloud hovered above her head.

Spears lay around like pebbles. Armours broken and trousers torn apart lay here and there. The sun shone above the scene of destruction, showering its merciful light over the bloodbath. The sun as if tried to bring Roshanak's attention to the calamity that had occurred when she was asleep peacefully.

The princess staggered back. Was this really then her end? Maybe she had already died and this was her soul thinking in the afterlife. She looked back at the bed- no, her body wasn't there. She pinched herself and blew a breath. Yes, she was alive.

She closed her eyes for some moments. Utter darkness engulfed her. She waited, hoping to wake up from this nightmare. A faint shriek disturbed her meditation. She jerked back to reality, the truth about the situation hitting her.

"This is true."

Those were her first words this morning. On other days it would have been- Maa, let me sleep a little longer- or maybe- is my bath ready?

Alas, the tranquility of commonplace happenings and the ease of a well-established life vanished. She was welcomed in the territory of horror.

Roshanak peered through the window again. This time, she tried to recognise the remains of the corpses. She had never seen so much of blood and severed limbs and legs. It made a knot in her stomach. She covered her mouth, stopping the urge to puke. The men, she realised from their now dirt-laden attire, were from her father's army. There were some other men too, dressed in black and red, unlike the ones from her side who wore plain brown.