Hamida's Hostage (COMPLETE)

Epilogue

30 years later

The cold winds of Kabul froze spines. Autumn was severely cold this year; people feared the winters that awaited them. In a desolate area of Kabul near the borders of Qandahar, one could see a small house. It would look small to every passerby from a distance, but it was a two floored building built in beautiful red sandstone.

Hamida, now in her 50s, lay on bed, coughing. She had grown terribly old for a woman in 50s. Her radiant, fair face was reduced to a pile of wrinkles and her hands were withered. Her azure eyes sank deep and in those eyes were words no one could ever decipher. She could not get out of bed, her back pained all the time. Her long black tresses had turned white as silk. All she wore were clad white robes and a white diaphanous veil. She had been a loyal and dutiful personal lady in waiting to empress Ruqaiyya for almost 30 years. Before her death, the dowager empress gifted her this house to live in, for women after the age of 40 were released from the Harem. The emperor never liked having old women near him. Though she had been extremely grateful to the empress for being so generous, she insisted on spending her last days in her birthplace; the city she had parted from at the age of 16 behind the palace gates, and hence Ruqaiyya begum had her home built here. Three of the palace women were sent to look after the old woman, for she lived all alone.

Hamida coughed again. Ageing had made even coughing difficult. Her chest all congested, it pained whenever she felt the need to cough.

Marah, now 33, hurriedly came running. She had grown into a flamboyant woman, so ethereal and beautiful that even at 33; her face radiated the glow of the sun. "Here, Ammi, some water." She fed her mother and sat on the bed beside her. "Marah, dear, avoid running in such a condition." Hamida touched her daughter's rotund belly and smiled. A heavily pregnant Marah was spending her pregnancy period with her mother.
Marah giggled. "Ammi, you're telling me to be careful? I've given you three grandchildren already." She laid her mother back on bed, caressing her silver locks. Hamida smiled. 3 grandchildren already, she thought.
A cruel wind blew, making Hamida shiver. Marah immediately went to close the window wide open, only to be stopped by her mother. "Sit Marah, leave the widow open, tell me a story."
"But ammi it is so cold.."
"I like the cold. Sit Marah. Talk to me. Tell me a story."

"Ammi? Now you want your daughter to tell you a story?" Marah covered her face and laughed merrily.

"We left the zenana years ago, child. I wish to reminisce about the same today." The old woman closed her eyes. "Do not waste any time Marah. Your Ammi's time to descend has come."

"Shshsh. Don't say that, Ammi." Marah covered Hamida's mouth. "Fine, what do you want to hear? Fables, tales.."
"You."
"What?"
"You, Marah. Your story. Your life."
"Ammi..."
"Marah, please. Tell me I never failed you." Hamida closed her eyes.
"Ammi? Failed me?" Marah couldn't understand. "Fine." Marah finally said.

"Do you remember ammi, Firdausi is my favorite poetess, ever since you introduced me to her couplets at the age of 5? They were so intricate and fine, with an alluring rhythm so appreciable. Her books were my first guide to learning the alphabet. You remember Ammi, you always taught me both Persian and Turkish alphabets, and I always found the Turkish alphabet so difficult. Whenever I complained, you scolded me. Ammi I was a child!" Marah whined like a playful kid.
"And what about the fact that you are much more versed in Turkish than in Persian?" Hamida smiled wider. Marah rolled her eyes. "Yes Ammi. It is only after I grew up I understood what a fine language it is" She said. Cold winds brushed through the room, even the charcoal brazier could not warm it up. "Let me close the window, ammi?"
Hamida ignored Marah's request. "Tell me more."
"At 17, you took me to Ruqaiyya Begum, the dowager Empress. Oh Ammi, of all people I've met, I can never forget her, a woman so ravishing who always spread an aura of authority and purpose. She talked with a class and had an analytical bent of mind. No one could have ever guided me like she did! A thinking so modern and futuristic, she believed in a woman's independence. I remember her telling me, always know Marah, a woman should never be dependent on a man for anything, not for wealth, not for wisdom and definitely not for affection."
Hamida was listening. Empress Ruqaiyya was justifiably His Majesty Jalaluddin Mohammad Akbar's favorite wife.
"Did you forget your wedding day, my dear? We have so many debts to Ruqaiyya Begum." Hamida smiled.

"Of course not Ammi; how can I ever forget that day? Ruqaiyya begum did not want me to remain in the confines of the zenana. Ammi, the only concept of home I had was the zenana, its walls, glitters, fake joys and threatening beauty."

"I know dear. If anyone brought me the news of Najabat Khan as a suitor for you, it was her. She really wanted to get a woman like you married. A learned woman like you perishes in the zenana. If anyone could understand the worth of the same, it was her. I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams that an able soldier like Najabat could be even considered while our hostage in the harem. Marah, you are lucky. He is a loving husband."

Marah blushed diffidently. "Yes, he is, I am very happy, Ammi. All those 19 years my heart ached and itched to leave the harem. Oh that place! Ammi, how could you live there for so many years?" Marah's eyes filled.
"I never lived Marah. I merely survived. I had you, I needed nothing else. Once you were wed, I was rest assured. I could never give you a lavish wedding I know; it was an austere affair..."
"Ammi, I married the man of my dreams. I need nothing more. How many women dream of a happy married life and motherhood in the harem?" Marah started weeping now.
"Hamida held both the hands of her daughter. "Marah" Hamida looked at her and spoke in a feeble voice. The wind blew at a ferocious rate.
"I didn't fail you, did i?"

Marah cupped her mother's cheeks, which were cold as the night sand of the deserts in Jaisalmer. "You made me Ammi; you made a girl a woman, a woman a knowledgeable citizen. Had it not been for you, I would have been serving the Emperor's lust, rearing his children that he has no idea about. You made me the person every woman in this country aspires of becoming, and you ask me if you've failed me?" Marah looked at her mother whose gaze was slowly drifting away at the ceiling again.

"I kept my pledge Allah" Hamida looked at the ceiling, the chandelier of which was moving wildly making violent tinkling noises. The room was cold and so was her mother. Hamida's hands shook as they rose up in prayer. "Allah I kept my promises..." she closed her eyes.

"Ammi!" Marah yelled, terrified at her mother's behavior. Hamida paid no heed to her daughter and mumbled ferocious prayers, her hands raised. The white malmal curtains blew barbarously and the chandelier made vehement noises. Winds did not seem to stop. The coal brazier abated, servants ran around to shut the windows in the adjacent room. A porcelain flower vase fell on the floor out of the blue, crashing to a million pieces. This was the noisiest silence ever. Marah ran to close the window, the cold atmosphere terrifying her.
She shut the window and the curtains hurriedly only to turn and see the lifeless body of Hamida Aslam Zia Ul Banu; her mother, her savior, her everything. A smile covered the lifeless visage and the wrinkled eyes were closed. The hands that rose a few moments ago in prayers now rested on her chest. As the old body of her mother seemed calm and peaceful now, so did the room, now warmer. Silence surrounded again. Marah calmly sat beside Hamida on the bed, the only sound audible now was that of her payals.

"You've lived enough for everyone, Ammi. Live for yourself now." Marah's smiling face dropped a tear as the most diligent woman of her life went for her deep lifelong slumber.

Thankyou so much for being a part of this amazing journey!
I will see you soon with a new story.
Kay, taa! <3
-S