Hamida's Hostage (COMPLETE)

Chapter-2

Hamida caressed the child’s hair as she sucked her thumb. The moment Hamida put her hand on Marah’s forehead; the child woke up and smiled. “Am… ammiiii”, Marah gurgled. My precious, Hamida smiled. The child was her mother's prototype; the same brown eyes that looked like they were smeared with Kohl, carmine lips and milk like fair skin. Even at 3, the little bundle of joy looked ethereal and glowing. She was a beautiful girl, just like her mother was. Hamida smiled. “You naughty girl, pretending to be asleep?” She took Marah in her arms.

“Ammi is right here sweetheart.” Hamida hummed the lullaby that her mother used to sing to her. Just a melody, yet so many memories. She reminisced of the time she lay smiling on bed in her home and her mother sang to her. Those were the times when she slept without a crooked brow or wet eyes. She was with her family.  With glistening eyes and a tender smile, Hamida rocked the baby in her arms.

"Precious are you, my tiny heart,
My entire being is you.
For time may stop, and you might not hear tick tock,
But eternal will be my love for you."

Marah closed her eyes, while Hamida sang her to sleep. Although too little to make sense of the lullaby, Marah smiled and cuddled close to her mother. Finally, both of them dozed off.

The next morning, Hamida had to wake up early for work. Nauroz was approaching and there was a massive hullabaloo in the Harem. Queens, princesses and concubines, all wandered here and there, getting their dresses stitched, their makeup fixed, the best ornaments and jewelry ordered or made.

“Where is my pashmina shawl?”
“I need a new box of kohl.”
“Get me my lehengas for the night!”
“Flowers, only flowers to adorn my braid!”
“Who took my bangles?”

For Hamida, Nauroz meant more work. She cleaned her chambers and put new cushions. She changed the bedcover and put on new drapes and curtains that she specially reserved for Nauroz. She took a quick bath and put on her attire for the day, while carefully setting the attire for night. She bathed Marah and dressed her in a red skirt and green blouse with sequins attached to it. But the additional work for the day was, she massaged Empress Ruqaiyya’s hands and feet and put henna on them. The dowager empress was very choosy when it came to her servants. She wanted the best, someone who could put up with her foul temper. Hamida was a naïve and silent woman, yet educated and smart, most importantly, with suave manners and impromptu skills. The woman suited the plump Empress perfectly.
Hamida was applying henna on the Empress’s feet when Marah, who was seated on the stool right beside her with her toy horse, started crying. “Ammi… barfi…” Marah pointed out to the silver bowl filled with barfi kept beside Ruqaiyya begum.

“Marah, no!” Hamida immediately felt embarrassed. “I will give you barfi later. Look, Ammi is working” Hamida shushed the child, who only ended up crying more.

“Why are you refusing the little girl, Hamida? I keep these barfis for prince Khurram anyway. Here child, have it. Come to me.” Ruqaiyya smiled and held out a barfi. Marah clapped her hands and ran to the Empress. “Barfi!” she smiled, and took a huge bite. Ruqaiyya laughed.

“I’m so sorry, your majesty. Since morning I haven’t had the time to feed Marah. She must be hungry.” Hamida said.

She turned to her daughter. “Marah, what have I taught you? What do you say when someone gives you something?”

“Thank you!” she smiled and jumped to Ruqaiyya. “Haha! You’re most welcome child. I remember Khurram this young. He loved barfis too. You have taught the girl well, Hamida. I can see a good future for your daughter already.” Ruqaiyya caressed the child, who was gulping down the sweetmeat.

“Your generosity is all I have, your majesty.” Hamida, holding Marah’s hands performed the kornish and went back to her quarters to get dressed.

"I remember Khurram this young" said the plump Empress, looking at the little one who was munching on barfis. "He was a mischievous little boy!"

Ruqaiyya begum had taken the custody of her grandson ever since he was born. Khurram never called the dowager Empress his grandmother, he affectionately called her badi ammi. The handsome prince had more of his badi ammi since childhood than his biological mother, the chief queen of Emperor Jahangir, Empress Jagat Gosain. Ruqaiyya, who too was childless, nurtured the boy like he was hers.
Hearing Khurram's name, Hamida had a twinkle in her eyes. "He has grown up to be a fine young man, your grace."

"Indeed! Does he look his age? Look at him Hamida, even at 12, the boy is so talented." Ruqaiyya begum had pride glistening in her eyes. "Yet he is still my precious little boy"

"He owes all his talents to his badi ammi, doesn't he?" Hamida smiled, completing the last pattern of henna on the empress's soft feet.

"You flatter me, Hamida." Empress Ruqaiyya laughed. "Go now. You have a majestic evening to attend. Take some rest and feed the little girl, look how she hungrily munches at the barfi!"

"Yes, your grace" Hamida left, performing the kornish.