EHSAAN

Mehndi

The Gillani house was filled with the chatter and laughter of women, and why not? It was the mehndi night of the eldest daughter of the house. The house was bright and welcoming, adorned with vibrant lights that twinkled like stars and fresh flowers that filled the air with a sweet fragrance.

Some women were busy applying intricate henna designs to each other's hands, the earthy scent of mehndi mixing with the aroma of jasmine. Others were engrossed in animated conversations, their bangles clinking melodiously with every gesture. A few were serving steaming cups of chai, accompanied by plates of delicious snacks like crispy samosas and syrupy jalebis. The laughter of children echoed as they ran around chasing each other through the house, adding to the festive atmosphere.

The men of the house had already left and gone to Hazem's house to avoid any free-mixing, one of the things Zafar hated the most and his sons had inherited.

“Anya beta, tum ja kar Mira ke mehndi laga do. Kab ka kaan kha rahi hai meri,” Sumayya, Hazem's mother, requested Anya with a warm smile, gently rubbing her arms in thanks when she saw Anya nod and smile back. Anya, ever the obedient daughter-in-law, rose gracefully, her heart heavy with unspoken worries.

[Anya, my child, do me a favor and do Mira's mehndi. She's been eating my brain for the past hour]

“Yeh Hazem ki biwi hai na?” Anya heard a woman whisper to another, receiving a nod in response. She ignored them and walked past, sitting next to her sisters-in-law.

[That's Hazem's wife, right?]

Samira, as if she had been waiting for years, immediately placed her hand in front of Anya to get her mehndi. Anya smiled and went to grab the mehndi cone from the adorned basket, but halted when she heard the lady talk once again.

“Wese rang thora sanwala nahi iska?” the same lady spoke after minutes of scrutinizing Anya. It was one of her deepest insecurities, thanks to the negative comparisons her fair-skinned cousins always made. These comparisons had left her feeling useless and unattractive.

[Isn't she a little dark for him?]

“Haan waise, Hazem toh bara gora chitta hai. Mujhe laga biwi bhi koi gori le kar aayega,” another commented. This added to all the negative emotions she felt—was this why her husband never approached her? Because she was unattractive?

[Yeah, Hazem is so fair-skinned. I thought he'd find himself a pale woman.]

“Suna hai maine taras kha ke shaadi ki thi isse, bade naseeb hain iske jo Hazem se shaadi ho gayi warna maine to suna hai ke lower middle class hai iska maamla,” the first lady added yet again. Anya grabbed the mehndi and started applying it on Samira's hand. As petty as it sounded, she really wanted Samira to hear their remarks, as she was the one who always replied back to any disrespect that came towards her.

[I heard he married her out of pity. She is blessed to have Hazem as her husband; otherwise, I heard she belongs to a lower-middle-class family.]

Not to say everyone else didn't stand up for her—they did—but Samira was the one who accompanied Anya most of the time because they were of similar age and studied in the same college year. Unfortunately, Samira, being the chatterbox she was, was busy talking with her cousin.

“Haan par naseeb kharab toh Hazem ka hai na. Ek yeh bojh sar par char gaya aur na hi yeh usse 3 saal mein aulaad de saki,” another whispered. Anya kept her head low, trying to hide her tears. She knew it was true—she was nothing more than a burden to him.

[But it's the ill fate of Hazem that he's stuck with this burden. She couldn't even give him a child in three years of marriage!]

Samira always scolded her and told her to stand up for herself—but how could she? Unlike Samira, she didn't have a loving family to support her. Anya's own family had shunned her after her marriage to Hazem, considering her unworthy of their attention and support.

She was scared of taking the wrong step and everything going downhill for her. What if the Gillanis abandoned her like her own uncle's family had? If the Gillanis abandoned her, she'd have nowhere else to go. So she tried staying as quiet as one can be, and followed like a shadow.

A few hours later, the women started leaving one by one as the night grew darker. The vibrant decorations that had once seemed festive now felt somber in the dimming light. Anya remained quiet and calm, ignoring the chaos inside her mind. She felt relieved as they began to depart; all she wanted was to retreat to a room and sob at her fate.

She did not share a room with her husband, so she had the privacy to cry her eyes out without anyone knowing. This small mercy was her solace; she didn’t want to seem any more helpless to others than she already was.

Kawthar, the bride-to-be, noticed the sadness and the look of loss on Anya’s face. She wanted to ask her about it but got distracted by the other ladies calling her for pictures and final farewells.

“The mehndi and you are both looking beautiful!” Anya was pulled from her thoughts by her mother-in-law’s voice as she took a seat beside her, her eyes crinkling with genuine warmth.

Anya stared at her henna-adorned hands, a slight smile forming. Henna was something she loved—its smell, its color—everything! Though she hadn’t wanted to get it done tonight, her mother-in-law and sisters-in-law had insisted, their enthusiasm infectious.

“Hazem doesn’t like its smell, but loves its color!” Sumayya revealed with a chuckle. “He used to lock himself in his room whenever I applied mehndi, but he was always the first to compliment its color in the morning. He still does that often,” she laughed, reminiscing over old memories.

Anya straightened at the mention of her husband, paying close attention. The way Sumayya spoke about Hazem, with a mix of fondness and nostalgia, made her heart ache with longing for a connection she feared she would never have.

“I’m happy you got some mehndi done today. I’m sure he’s going to shower you with compliments tomorrow, Insha’Allah,” Sumayya added with a wink, teasing Anya. Anya smiled awkwardly, not knowing how to react. Her heart was heavy with unspoken sorrow.

His parents did not know that they lived like strangers under one roof. In fact, most of their interactions took place at his parents’ house. They were under the illusion that their son and daughter-in-law had the perfect marriage, when it was quite the opposite.

“Hazem will be coming here soon, once everyone leaves,” Sumayya informed Anya, who was shocked at the new information. Her plan of having a sobbing session had been postponed. She did not know how long she could hold it inside, but she hoped she didn’t cry in front of her husband.

“Can I sleep in another room so he isn’t disturbed?” Anya requested, trying to make an excuse to not share the bedroom with him.

Sumayya frowned but continued with her teasing. “I’m sure he’d want to be disturbed by his wife.”

***

Anya moved around the bed, then sat up excitedly as she slowly started taking the mefix tape off her hand to reveal the color the henna had left. Dark red! She smiled as she saw the vibrant color, a fleeting moment of happiness that quickly faded.

The smile did not last long when she realized she was on their bed, instead of the living room sofa. She remembered sitting on it at night after praying  her Fajr salah.

Anya sat alert when the bathroom door opened, and Hazem, her husband, stepped out. He was already dressed for the nikah in his crisp white shalwar kameez. He was the most attractive person in her eyes, like the ones she read about in romance stories. Finding him attractive only made her feel more guilty about this marriage.

“Utho, wudhu karo,” he said, his tone firm yet not unkind. Embarrassed at being caught ogling him, she immediately got up and walked to the bathroom. She stopped as she heard his voice again.

“I’m leaving for Dhuhr Jama’ah. I’ll come back for you, stay ready.” Anya nodded and went into the washroom, her mind racing with thoughts and emotions. The cool water on her skin did little to calm her racing heart as she prepared herself for the day ahead.

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