The Fallen Widow

Chapter 17; The Mark of Qadr

It wasn't long until news of the wedding of the century travelled to the city and fell upon the ears of Dilruba; to begin a new chain of events. Dilruba was Shah Nawaz's chosen and favourite courtesan.  The news came crashing down on her as she relaxed in the bettak with maids polishing her toenails preparing her for the next dance later the evening. Dilruba sat back lathered in luxury. Her face packed with cucumbers on her eyes and charcoal face mask to unblock her pores from days of plastering make up day in, day out. Soon, her peace was broken when a maid came running into the bettak with news fresh from Jahanpur delivered by lorry driver who delivered truck loads of wheat. 
"The young Choudhary is getting married." Announced the maid breathless knowing that Dilruba had lost her heart to the handsome wolf eyed Choudhary.
It wasn't world ending news for Dilruba, Choudhary were destined to marry a subservient wife, loyal and simple. Their thirst for courtesans didn't fade, in fact it increased. Their wives bored them and the courtesans entertained and aroused them like their wives never could. Wives were to bear children; courtesans were for pleasure. Courtesans could stimulate, arouse and turn on the men on which the wife could never. In fact, the news made Dilruba pleased. Shah Nawaz hadn't called her to dance for her nearly a year. What was he up to? Now she knew. He was marrying a simpleton.  Dilruba removed the soft and flaccid cucumbers from her eyes and flipped them on the table beside her. 
"When is he getting married? I guess he will request my service." She smiled to herself, soon the night will be filled with their sweaty thighs, gasping breaths and Shah Nawaz growling like a wolf. The thoughts drove her wild. She couldn't wait. He would only go to his wife when he had to impregnate her, sex with their wife was for breeding. It was love making with the courtesans, wild, crazy and naked.
"There hasn't been a request." The head madam arrived. Lubna was over fifty, but the lip filler, botox treatments pulled her face in unnatural directions and made her look younger. Her hands permanently died with mehndi.
"Do you know who he is marrying?" Dilruba asked the maid. "From which clan?"

"She is not from them." The maid informed her madam and Dilruba.

Dilruba leaned forward with interest.
"She is a widow. She is from the village. News is, Choudhary Saab killed her husband and she ran away. But he kidnapped her and now forcing to marry her."

Dilruba took a deep breath. This wasn't the norm.

"Seems like our Choudhary Saab has found his obsession."

Dilruba darted at the Madam. She kicked the maid awway and pressed her wet feet on the carpeted floor.

"She has eyes green like the sea."

Dilruba's stomach twisted. No wonder there was no news for over 8 months. Something wasn't right. Who was this widow? He'd broke all the rules and the norms of society. Dilruba feared she was losing him.

"Choudhary Saab has locked her in his bedroom- everyone says she is his mistress and now she will have to marry him."

A stab pierced her heart. This was wrong. This wasn't how it supposed to be. She stood up and wiped the black mask from her face.

"Get the driver ready!" She informed the maids. "I must go!"

The madam stopped her. "You have a guests arriving tonight from Lahore, Dilruba. I can't let you leave just to see him."

Her eyes glared at the woman who controlled her life and sold her to the highest bidder from the age of eleven. Today, she wasn't going to let anyone stop her.

"You try and stop me."
****
Sang E Mar Mar Haveli bustled with life, its marble arches shimmering under the golden afternoon sun. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of marigolds and fresh mehndi as maids rushed through the marble-floored corridors, their arms laden with embroidered fabrics and trays of sweets. Servants polished brass lanterns and arranged silk cushions in the sprawling courtyard, where a fountain gurgled softly amidst the chaos. The head maid barked orders in the vast kitchen, where rows of copper pots simmered with aromatic curries cooked for the extra staff to prepare the haveli. Upstairs, a team of decorators wove strings of jasmine and fairy lights along balconies, transforming the haveli into a palace fit for the grand wedding that would soon unfold. Its grand glass-paneled windows reflected the twinkling fairy lights strung across the manicured lawns, while sleek marble floors gleamed under the glow of chandeliers.