You Can Run

Run

Abru had managed to get the dagger back; when she realised she was lost. A scoff escaped her lips in disbelief—how had she managed to lose her way in just five steps? She pulled her chador tight, shivering against the uncharacteristic cold. One hand gripped her dagger firm; she had a feeling whatever was going on had something to do with their unseen enemies. She walked further, reckoning she'd find her way at some point, and if she didn't, someone could always come find her. She'd barely walked ten steps when she stopped—she could hear something faint, the beating of a dholki, and discordant voices singing a folk song that even she could recognise.

Dailhan mein pinaye haar,

Kya khushnuma laga ke!

They garlanded me in a grand hall,

With such auspicious elegance.

She followed the music until she came to a clearing with a woman perched upon a big rock, hands neatly placed on joint legs, legs crossed at the ankles. She was dressed in a bottle green Kanchipuram saree, the lavish textile grazing the floor, and her long, straight brown hair was neatly styled into a thick braid. A bangle-adorned arm reached out to Abru, beckoning her forward. Her austere expressions softened, crow's feet forming at the corner of her eyes.

"Abru," her mother smiled. Smiled. At her, Abru. "meri jaan, idar aao."

Her mother spoke with such softness it made Abru uneasy. She couldn't remember the last time her mother had even looked at her without issuing a harsh remark. She'd forgotten her mother was capable of such softness, it had been far too long since her mother—

No. That was not her mother. Her mother was back home, most likely fussing over how Abru was missing all her lessons. Did she even know where Abru was? Was she worried?

"Abru, I've missed you so. Won't you come here and give your Ammi a hug?" she asked, head tilting to the side as she got up. "It's alright, Baba's here too, and we're taking you home with us. You'll be safe, and no one can ever steal you from us again."

Abru took a step back; unwilling to accept whatever this was. She'd never seen her mother like this and she was sure she wasn't fortunate enough to ever feel her mother's affections, only her scorn. Her mother stepped forward and Abru's unease grew. She could feel tears forming in her eyes as her mother stepped forward.

"Abru, dear, don't tantalise me this way. Come give your mother a hug, is that too much for me to ask of you?" Ammi urged, her tone shifting to one of desperation as tears streamed down Abru's face.

"No," she sniffed. "You're not her."

"Nonsense, Abru, who else would I be? It's me, Ammi! I've come to collect you from this wretched island! Don't you want to come back home?"

Abru did; she desperately wanted to go back to her beloved devdi back in Hyderabad. She did not want to fight a war where so many died on a daily basis, she did not want to be ridiculed for her size, she did not want to sleep on the floor of Dema's hut. But most importantly, she longed for the security of her home. But she wasn't desperate enough to fall into a trap.

Especially not by one set by a djinn.

She gripped the dagger tight, taking a step towards the imposter. She gulped down her discomfort at the thought of what she was about to do and made her way to the djinn's open arms. A heavy sob escaped her lips as she pushed down repulsion and embraced the charlatan, dagger unnoticed. As the djinn embraced her back, she could almost pretend she was in her mother's arms, back at the devdi and her father would soon come home from work, and she could pretend Sanju made mahakhaliya for dinner, and that all was fine.