Bride of Sultan ~ The Forgotten Rose

1 ~ Seven Years

Happy Diwali, Lovelies.

Just because it is Diwali, I thought of dropping a chapter. May this Diwali bring you utmost light and show you the path that will lead you to greatness. ❤️❤️❤️

Year 1657

Sultane-e-Miran

Rehana POV

"Saat saal ho gaye hai, Rehana, Kaun hai tumhare shauhar, or ab aaenge tumhe lene?"

"It's been seven years, Rehana; who is your husband, and when will he take you with him?" Shefali asked, and I sighed deeply, lifting my gaze from the embroidery patch I made.

"Pata nahi, Shefali, hum bhi intzaar kar ke thak chuke hai, khuda jaane unhe hamara khyal bhi hai ya nahi,"

"I do not know, Shefali. I am also tired of waiting. God knows if he even remembers me," I replied softly.

"Magar unke baare me kuch to jaanti hongi, aap. Humne to esa kahi nahi suna ki ek naujavaan aaye, aapse nikaah padhle or aapko ek choti si sultanate me chhod jaye, jaha koi unke baare me baat bhi nahi karta,"

"But you must know something about him. I have not heard that a young man comes, marries you, and leaves you in a small sultanate where no one even talks about him," she said, folding the clothes. I left the overcoat and stood up to look at her.

"Nahi suna to dekh to rahi ho na. Ab esa hi hua hai to kya kare. Or tumhe hamare yaha hone se koi dikkat hai kya?"

"You have not heard but are seeing it, are you not? It is real. What can I do? And do you have any problem with me being here?" I asked, teasing her a little, and she smiled.

"Khuda kher kare, itni pyaar hai aap, hume aapse bhala kya dikkat hogi, lekin han bass hume ye baat hazam nahi hoti ki aap shadi shuda or apne shauhar ka naam takk nahi jaanti,"

"May God be kind. You are so loving; how could I possibly have a problem with you? But yes, I cannot digest that you are married and do not even know your husband's name," she said, sitting beside me and passing me the plate of fruits. I pushed my hair back and smiled.

"Bas naam hi nahi jaante hum, baaki unki tasveer se achi tarah wakif hai. Or naam me kya rakha hai, hamare liye to vo hamare Jaan-e-jahan hai,"

"I do not know his name, but I remember every detail of his face. And, what it's in the name, he is my Jaan-e-Jahan (Soul of the world)," I replied, placing my elbow on my crossed legs' knee and smiling at her.

"Ohoo, to kese dikhte hai aapke Jaan-e-jahan, or kahi vo sach me kisi Jahan ki jaan hue to?"

"Oh! So, how does your Jaan-e-Jahan look, and what if he is a soul of a world (Sultan)?" she asked, and my smile weakened along with the inside tips of my brows nearing, furrowing with disbelief.

"Esa kese ho sakta hai? Vo to behad hi Khoobsurat, shant or saade libas me the. Ek mamuli sa kaale rang ka Kurta, or unko dekhkar koi keh hi nahi sakta ki vo Sultan ho sakte hai. Vo to sirf hamare jahan ki jaan banne aaye the,"

"How can that be? He was beautiful, serene, and dressed simply—just a plain black kurta. Looking at him, no one could say he could be a Sultan. He had only come to become the love of my life," I replied, remembering the seven-year-old memory still as fresh as if it had been yesterday.

"Or sach batae to, Sultano or Sultanato se nafrat hoti hai hume. Inme rehne wale sirf insaan par fateh karna jaante hai, hume Kothe tak pohuchane wali wajah bhi ek Sultanate hi thi. Hamari jindagi bekar to thi hi, lekin ek Sultan ne usko bad se badtar kar diya tha. Or agar vo hamari jindagi me na aate to na jaane, kitne kadam hume apni hawas ke tale raund chuke hote. Dil de bethe hum unhe, unhone hamara haath tak nahi pakda, or jese hi poocha ki kya hum unse nikaah karenge, to hum pehle to unhe dekhte hi reh gaye, or fir na jaane, kab hamare muhh se khud hi han nikal gaya,"