Golden Storms | #Wattys2020

1. T H E L A S T D A N C E

A/N: Really short chapter but just felt like writing! Hope you enjoy this intro!
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"اچھا ہے دل کے ساتھ رہے پاسبان عقل
لیکن کبھی کبھی اسے تنہا بھی چھوڑ دے
It's good to guard the heart with reason
But sometimes leave it unprotected." - Allama Iqbal

T A G H R I D,  1 8  S U M M E R S   L A T E R

The eyes were invariably drawn to the two girls dancing in the middle of the floor. They danced as though there were no tomorrow, moving with the energy of eighteen suns. The girls were moving in a fashion that would never have been accepted by either of their fathers. Their hips moved to the beat in a hypnotising fashion, and the fine jewelled chains around their bare stomachs did not help the eyes stray away from them. Their anklets only added a mesmerising chine to the din. They complemented each other perfectly, moving as if they knew exactly where the other would step. With each changing beat their movements altered, and the crowd shrieked and clapped in delight. The older ladies watched with a mixture of admiration and disapproval, but no one could deny they were the life of the wedding. The bride certainly thought so- her sister was one of the dancers after all.

One of the girls had hair that fell to her lower back in brown curls laced with flowers and shone with health. She had beautiful doe-like brown eyes, fair skin and soft, plump pink lips. Her beauty was such that the whole of Taghrid spoke of it. To be in her presence was a blessing. Her fragility was endearing. This girl was Ishtar, princess of her home. In fact, the only moment she did anything un-princess like was when she was in the company of the girl dancing with her now. This girl was everything the princess was not. Her hair fell to her waist not in waves, but in jet-black straight strands which danced like black flames as she moved. Her eyes were a burning gold, ringed with kohl, blinding to the beholder. Her skin was a deep golden brown that gleamed in the fire light. Her brows were sharp and demanding. When she was spoken of in Taghrid it was in a manner of disapproval far from admiration of any sort. She was Falaq the Troublemaker, notorious for her mischief.

"Falaq! Your uncle is calling you!"

The two pairs of feet stopped gracing the ground with their dance, mercifully allowing others to take their place.

Ishtar smiled through her heavy breaths at her counter part- who, she noticed, hadn't broken a sweat. Falaq tossed her hair behind her shoulders, threw on her robes and wrapped her hijab carelessly before turning to say goodbye to her friend.

"We are two halves of the same soul, Falaq" Ishtar proclaimed dramatically, almost wheezing with lack of breath. She laughed as some women stared at them, scandalised.

"Till death do us apart, cousin!" Falaq replied in the same fashion, her eyes shining with mischief, the air around her static with arrogance as she turned on her heels and left the wedding hall.

The Groom's Gathering:

Meanwhile the men were gathered in the splendid gardens surrounding the festive home. The fathers and their fathers were gathered around hookah pipes, chatting and laughing. A group of elderly men sang to each other old wedding songs. Young boys between adolescence and childhood awkwardly hung around each other while the infants shrieked and screamed as they ran around the grounds. All the while the groom discreetly strained to hear the faint noises coming from the female side, hoping to hear something of his new wife.

A smaller group of men stood discreet from the rest, almost hidden from the main group. As men and boys passed them, they felt a chill crawl up their spine and they hurried past quickly. These men were clad fully in black robes and had tall and imposing figures. They were standing or sitting in absolute silence, observing different parts of the scene before them attentively.

It was only when the eldest of them suddenly stood that the father of the bride noticed him.

"Leaving so soon Hussein?" The elite man boomed, sweeping through his guests and approaching the one of interest.

Hussein chuckled, "do not mind us Zakariya, we grow drowsy too fast"

Zakariya smiled a tight smile. Though he was of impressive stature himself with his height, build and proud silvery crown of hair and beard, he had always felt one step behind Hussein. There was nothing to match with a mere blacksmith, yet Zakariya felt Hussein and his boys had a past, one that made them superior. They certainly did not act like the lower class men they were. Their tongue and posture was much too refined.

"No matter" Zakariya replied graciously, determined not to showcase his irritation, "I shall send word for Falaq"

"Shukran brother" and then as if he had just remembered he were at a wedding he added, "I wish your new son and daughter a brilliant future. May Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala make them the coolness of your eyes."

"Ameen" his boys rumbled behind him.

"Ameen." Zakariya smiled.

***

Her uncle and her brothers were waiting for her atop their steeds at the gates of the large estate. The sounds of the wedding seemed to fade away infinitely when Falaq came into their vicinity. Her family did not radiate warmth, especially when they were somewhere they didn't want to be.

"Happy?" Ustadh Hussein asked, unsmiling. He hadn't wanted to come to the wedding- a frivolous waste of time was what he had called it.

"You did not have to come" Falaq reminded him, rolling her eyes. She hoisted herself up atop Batal, her steed, with ease. Her horse nickered at her softly in greeting.

"No, but I would not be able to rest knowing what kind of havoc you would cause as your revenge"

The boys, no, men behind him snickered. No doubt they were remembering how much chaos  Falaq had caused when their Ustadh had refused to let her attend the engagement. She had promptly burnt the dinner they were supposed to eat and served the blackened mess with a smile as Ustadh's vein bulged in his forehead.  The men were her brothers in training: Ali, Ibrahim and Zain. There were four others lucky enough to rest instead, but all of them enjoyed reminding Falaq of her countless trouble making episodes and more specifically- Ustadh's creative punishments afterwards. They were a family of foreigners in this small town. Although Hussein had not revealed much to Falaq about her heritage, he had never let her forget that this was not their home and that one day they would be summoned back to fulfil an important duty. Falaq knew better than to pester her adapted uncle about this anymore even as her curiosity grew. Little did she know the answers were approaching her much faster than any of them could have imagined on that festive night.