Sikander, Don't Die

chapter eleven: garden

The birds reminded Roshanak of freedom. Them flapping their wings and aiming for the sun, unafraid of getting their feathers burnt. Living in the sky for days, journeying from one end of the world to another. Singing in the dead of the night.

A flock of pigeons came to her balcony every morning and afternoon. Roshanak would watch them tilt their head and scrutinise her, the new queen. Before her, this room was vacant, at least for a considerable time. Maybe the pigeons had found solace in the silence of these four walls. They were dwellers of a free life, unrestrained and wild, so the golden cage could have intrigued them. Seeing that they weren't frightened of her, Roshanak spread her arms and approached them. She was gentle, allowing the birds to roam around her and pull at her dress. Soon, a bond was made.

After having her breakfast, Roshanak sat in the balcony and fed them grains. The pigeons sat on her lap as she caressed their white plumage. They would puff up their bodies in joy.

"You crave affection. All of us do."

Roshanak didn't understand the language of the birds, but she felt their peace. They were safe in her presence. They could forget being hunted by hawks and just rest in cosiness.

"May I?"

Roshanak was taken aback by the voice. When did Sikander come? The man's steps were as quiet as death, never warning anyone of arrival. She was instantly reminded of how she slept through a whole attack back in her maiden home.

She smiled, but she didn't know if it was more out of sadness or bliss.

Roshanak cradled a pigeon in her arms. "Touch it, but be soft."

Sikander knelt beside her and rubbed the head of the bird. Initially, his fingers quivered, probably out of fear. "I think the pigeon likes it," he said. "I am not used to petting them. They don't come to my room."

"Maybe they love this room more. I think they used to come here even before my arrival."

"Perhaps. No one in the recent years lived here prior to you." He brushed back a lock of hair behind Roshanak's ear. "They must be bewitched by this new visitor."

Roshanak brought the pigeon close to her chest, hugging it like her hopes. Not once since their first meeting had the Shah treated her like a slave. He was trying to make her comfortable. From what she realised, neither of them chose this life willingly, but were forced to.

"Now they also like you," she said. "See, one apparently wants to peck at your belt."

Sikander took the mischievous one in his hands and placed a sweet peck on it. "You are brave, aren't you?" He let it fly away. "Beautiful creatures."

His eyes appeared to be full of honey when he stared up at the sky, and his golden hair looked like the mane of a lion. The rays of the sun traced the scar on his chest. Roshanak's fingers found their way to them, fearfully feeling the edge of the wound. Sikander's eyes widened. Roshanak retracted her hand as if she had accidentally touched hot coal. "I am sorry. I was just curious–"

"This is a warrior's pride." He beamed. "It never healed, but I am happy to carry this. Some wounds never completely heal, they remain as scars. You remember them everyday."

"Like you recall how you got this every time you stand in front of a mirror?"

"Yes. A barbarian inflicted this wound upon me when I was fighting and got far away from my mates. I was injured gravely, and even though we won, people were worried that I would not live to see the dawn."

Maybe, if she had heard this on the day when her father was defeated by this man, she would have wished for his death. Now, she was thankful that he survived. He was her husband. Not only that, he also was a good man. Roshanak was becoming sure of it.