I'm crying over here... This is probably the most honest thing I wrote...
Crossing her arms, Sara stared at the short woman, placing one arm around her hand-me-down saree.
« Auntie... Please tell me this had nothing to do with your hatred for my family! »
« It had nothing to do with the Lakhlans... Your great-great-grandmother was such a kind woman, I can't believe she married to a family which was, in short, poorer than she could ever imagine. »
« Oh...You mean, Padma Lakhlan? »
« Indeed... Or, as that side of your family calls her, Safiyya Ashrafi. » Hibiki murmured, eating some of the food that was non-halal.
« I never heard much about her - other...Other than Uncle Al-Tahir feels ashamed he's related to her. That I look exactly like his great-aunt. »
Sun-Ya gurgled as she bit a little of the strawberry, as if to say Sara shouldn't worry. That those matters - that idle gossip - was in the past.
Sighing, Roshini poured herself some mango-flavored chai. The orange and fragrant tea steamed with a soft and beautiful color. As the windows began to glow with the sunrise, Sara could hear the long, solemn azaam.
« Padma Lakhlan long after her uncle was appointed King of Asghari. She was his favourite niece. She never liked her clan's name, nor the name Ashrafi. »
Hibiki shrugged, taking a sip of coffee.
« The only problem is how the rest of the Clan took this. They were furious how both Nur and Safiyya decided to change their names. Ezha did assume a position in the Clan, but her sisters did not. It felt wrong after Safiyya's death. Safiyya's only daughter, Saira, wanted nothing to do with the Telabi'binassad Clan and...well! They just disowned her. They told her she'd better be dead than to step on Asghari land ever again!
Safiyya, Nur and Ezha began to form a resistance group, their uncle issued a death threat, the works.
Judging how the Duke Von Tifon took that diplomatic incident, I can assume he's a kind man. He just doesn't any of those people around Shunamari any more. It's a long story. »
Sara furrowed her eyebrows, surprised at this. She would know her father's side of the family was enormous. They had their own kind of drama. However, judging people decades the Telabi'binassads' dynasty had fallen...That took a special kind of crazy.
« So... my great-uncle won't help his brother and nephews merely because a random asshole he never met - a man who has been dead for over one hundred years! - tells him it's a dishonour?! »
« Told you those people were insane! The King of Asghari has been dead for over one hundred years and they still think Saira "was stolen" from them by the Ker'bhat of Ravinder' own blood! »
« Well... that is more the short version of the story. If you want to know why the Telabi'binassad Clan is so conservative, dear, you should read a book on the History of New Damascus. » Roshini commented sharply.
« Dear Lord...I don't think that will appear in history books, Aunt. »
Sun-Ya was still eating her strawberries.
It did not make any sense how people she had barely met would hate her, simply for the fact Safiyya and Saira had chosen freedom.
« Why----! Why would they hate me?! I'm just a twelve year old... »
Hibiki sighed. For a moment, the kitchen was silent, with only Sun-Ya humming a tune. Roshini averted her eyes, an unknown emotion crossing her features. The old bard fetched the shorter fairy's hands, entwining them with his in a reassuring manner.
Hachirou opened the doors, a small creak echoing.
« They think you're an abomination, a freak. Dear girl...I know this is hard to...to digest. » The man said in his heavily-accented Onisamatzeka voice. « You're the reminder why their "dynasty" fell. I never have met a family as stubborn as yours...but they are persistent. Even through Ramadan, I'm afraid they will try to manipulate you - say this house doesn't belong to you, that it's theirs... »
Suddenly, Roshini wrenched herself from Kato Hibiki's grasp. Both he and the older Oni seemed astonished. Sara almost smiled at the two demons' human expressions.
Bringing her hands to Sara's arms, Roshini exhaled, a tender and soft glow in her eyes.
« Sara, you don't need to worry about those people! It's Ramadan and I want you to be happy. I want you to pray for your grandpa, for your Uncle Abdallah and for Julrihat! »
She could feel a few tears escaping through the scarf. Sara was so happy her godmother had enough time...The kinnaree did not judge her from continuing to believe in a God. She did not say any insult or a bad thing...Despite whatever bad names Roshini might have said about Julrihat or Abdallah, the High-Priestess remained quiet. She just...stayed and cooked for the young girl.
Rushing towards her, Sara pulled Roshini into a tight embrace, her tears falling from her chin.
« Auntie... You know you're a badass, don't you? »
« I'm your godmother, that's what I do, Sara! Know that I'm relieved that...»
Sara realized those words meant more than they ever would said from another person's mouth.
« Come on, Aunt. I...always followed Dad and Uncle Abdul to the mosque. »
« All right... I'll follow you. Sun Ya can come aswell. »
Sun-Ya squealed happily.
The "Amalbana" Mosque was three and half kilometres to the south-west from the town of Petrybloom. Amalbana - the Asghari Alwaelli word for "Hopeful Tree" - wasn't a very religious or a traditional name. The name was based in a Natamsari Syrian saying. Safiyya had designed the mosque in an attempt to find peace.
It resembled a lotus flower blooming. Erect and beautiful breast-like, the dome of this mosque had a transparent stained glass. It was ornamented with carved flowers and vines.
Amalbana - a tree shedding a shade of hope in a desert. Her great-grandfather, a kind Asghari man who had fallen in love with Saira, had his name written on it "Mark Jandal" on one of the first steps of the mosque. At least, Sara liked to think of him as a kind man. He was the one who had painted the prayer psalms and the comforting hymns in the walls. Even though the mosque was middle-sized, many were the people who answered the call to prayer.
Yet, Sara had often found peace in the mosque her ancestors, Safiyya and Saira Ashrafi, had drawn.
« Sara...I had no idea your family...»
« It was a secret. Dad hated how the...How Naguib Al-Tahir tried to control everything we did. »
YOU ARE READING
Simpler times with Sun-Ya
FantasyI decided that since Al-Tahir is left wounded at the end of this one-shot, I'll post it for mature audiences. Sorry for my sense of humor. Basically this is what the title implies - Sara and her adoptive sister Sun Ya back at the Parvati-Suki Inn...
