Jahaan-Ara

Chapter Nine: Cataclysm

"He passed on and ascended the stairs, still holding my hand, and still beckoning the gentlemen to follow him, which they did. We mounted the first staircase, passed up the gallery, proceeded to the third storey: the low, black door, opened by Mr. Rochester's master-key, admitted us to the tapestried room, with its great bed and its pictorial cabinet.....He lifted the hangings from the wall, uncovering the second door: this, too, he opened. In a room without a window, there burnt a fire guarded by a high and strongfender, and a lamp suspended from the ceiling by a chain."

-Jayne Eyre

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The door squeaked open leading into a pit of darkness. Rohail Saab stepped in and absorbed in the darkness. The second she stepped in, a plume of dampness and dust entered her nostrils. She sneezed out the dust that collected in her nose.

"Close the door." Rohail Saab ordered in a commanding from the ocean of darkness.

She trusted him and closed the door engulfed in darkness. Jahaan-Aara took in a couple of deep breaths to regulate her breaths. The room was large. She knew this because she could hear an echo of Rohail Saab's heavy footsteps.

When he lit the first oil lamp her eyes, like a moth, collected around the dressing table. The dressing table was an antiquated old table with an oval shaped mirror. On the table there were creams, perfumes, and a brush with hair coiled around the bristles. The room belonged to a woman.

Then he lit the second oil lamp shining light on the large double pine bed, unmade like the person had only just stepped out to the bathroom; layer a thick pristine dust covered the bed. The colour in the bed sheets had been bleached by the sun. The orange no longer glowed, but was a rusty brown. The bed was not pushed up against a wall but more central with an elaborate mahogany headboard. On the night stand was the book Jayne Eyre, a small red ribbon dangled from the book where the reader had left a bookmark. On newspaper was a pair of black boots still with residues of mud on the sides. Beside the bed, two straight-backed chairs, a washstand, a bureau and a small table.

Jahaan-Aara stepped forward closer to the bed, when she heard a shuffle and stepped back. Her back hit someone.

"Oh!" She turned around to find she bumped into Rohail Saab.

Then, he lit the third and final lamp dousing the deep brown oak wardrobe with a glimmer of light. One door was open revealing a row of light shades of clothes, feminine attire. The woman dressed well. Unexpectedly envy bit into her. Dirt encrusted beige wallpaper was peeling of the wall near the dented floorboards. The curtains are only opaque because of the grime.

To the right of the bed was a meanly proportioned window layered in aging mould and dust, covered old net curtains. A big fly was buzzing angrily at one of them now, up and down, up and down, trying to get out. She heard a swat. The buzzing stopped dead.

Not a footfall had disturbed this room in some time. Her face wiped of all emotion as she stood in the room.

"Whose room is this?" She asked, envious of an invisible person.

"My parents."

Secretly she sighed a breath of relief. Looking around the room, she noticed a light bulb, electric wires and up above a green ceiling fan.

"Does this room have electricity?

The entire haveli depended on oil lamps, candles, battery torches, but this room had progressed. It had electricity.