4 Chapter 4

The dark roiling river looked sinister as it snaked through the deep valley; the current bashing against black jagged rocks as a storm brewed in the murky skies above and the air resounded with an ominous clap of thunder.

The headlights pierced through the inky darkness to reveal a set of large carved wooden doors that screeched violently, grating on rusty hinges as they opened to admit them. A tall dark man, with a long black curly beard, appeared, ordering the two men opening the heavy gates to hurry, as he bowed slightly in deference, his eyes low cast as he raised his hand in greeting towards the car.

Asfandyar nodded, raising his own hand to return the greeting.

The gates opened completely, and the man stepped aside, to let the cars pass. A small narrow unpaved road stretched out before them, vanishing into the gaping abyss beyond. The car rushed through, roaring almost defiantly as it shot through the darkness.

They traveled for a few minutes before the car stopped abruptly and Asfandyar spoke without turning back, "We're here," And got out of the car. Following suit, Hooria grabbed her bag and warily slipped into the inky darkness.

She couldn't see her surroundings that were draped by an inky darkness, however as Laila and Taimoor's car came up behind them, the headlights provided enough illumination to see the towering stone archway in front of her, with thick vines crawling over and around it, covering it possessively. A narrow-paved stone path lay beyond it.

"Come on," Laila whispered as she ushered her forward, "It'll rain anytime now, best to be inside as quickly as possible."

Hooria eyed the path ahead uncertainly, a deep sense of foreboding settling like a heavyweight inside her stomach. Laila grabbed her arm and ushered her forward, as the same man as before rushed before them holding an old-fashioned lantern that infused the air with the pungent smell of kerosene.

The path lead through a garden, wild and untamed that cast eerie shadows all around-the low hanging branches of trees reaching forward like long inhuman fingers some intertwining with each other and others reaching forward, beckoning. Weeds grew tall as they entwined with nameless shrubs. An old stone fountain sat forlornly in the middle, bereft of water, as weeds tall and insidious strangled it.

Hooria's sense of dread only increased at the morbid surroundings, before her gaze landed on the looming structure that happened on them suddenly-furtively. Stained glass latticed windows peered imperiously at her, illuminated from inside. The entire building was made of stone, with  arched multifoil latticed windows and intricately carved wooden mashrabiya's guarding a long balcony.

The building was illuminated from inside, and as she gazed awestruck at its old-world grandiousity, she felt a flicker of movement in one of the windows, a shadow with the silhouette of a woman looking down on them.

Hooria watched the shadow, unable to tear her eyes away from it as if entranced. The woman calling to her in a strange inexplicable way.

"Watch your step," Laila warned, breaking the spell, Hooria looked down to see a set of stone steps leading to the tall wooden doors to the palace's entrance. Climbing the first one, she looked up again, but the shadowy figure had disappeared.

"Hooria, Phupho Ja can be a bit…" Laila whispered in her ear, sending a cautionary look to Taimoor who stalked ahead of them, "A bit intimidating and blunt she's very critical about…certain things, so try not to take whatever she says to heart, okay? I would recommend learning to ignore her as much as possible."

"That's okay," Hooria whispered back thinking of her own grandmother and her imperiousness. It seemed perhaps that Phupho Ja was just another tyrannical matriarchal figure. And after a lifetime of living with Rehana, Hooria felt confident she could deal with the sort.

"I'll be fine," She smiled reassuringly at Laila. Laila smiled back but Hooria could see the uncertainty lingering in her eyes.

The wide wooden doors opened, warm golden light spilling out. A young girl-somewhere in her late teens, Hooria guessed, in a black peshwas, adorned with multi-coloured embroidery stood with barely contained glee, her pleasingly plump apple-like cheeks pushed up in an exuberant grin.

"Salam, Sahib," She greeted Taimoor who strode passed her with barely a grunt of acknowledgement. Probably used to his brusque behaviour she turned her attention towards Asandyar with the same level of enthusiasm, and Hooria barely contained a wince-scared that the poor girl's enthusiasm and cheeriness would receive another blow. But to her surprise, Asfandyar giving her stopped and gave her a small but warm smile.

"How are you, Chammi?"

"I'm good Asfand bhai. I've been dying to meet your new Dulhan. Congratulations," She said cheerily. Hooria saw the smile slip from his face as he nodded at her politely, before he straightened and walked away.

"Salam, Laila bibi," Chammi greeted, however, her eager eyes were fixated on Hooria, "Is this Asfand bhai's new Dulhan?"

Laila laughed, "Haan, Haan. This is his new Dulhan. Say salam to her."

"Salam," Chammi said, as she stared at her, starstruck.

"Walaikummasalam," Hooria replied smiling at the girl.

"You're very beautiful," Chammi said shyly.

"Thank you. You're very beautiful too," Hooria replied earnestly, smiling at the way her eyes shone from the compliment.

"We've been waiting all week to see you," Chammi prattled excitedly falling in line with Hooria as they made their way inside the palace, overcoming her initial shyness, "We've all been so excited to meet the new Dulhan."

They passed a wide set of doors on the left, "That's the baithak," Chammi pointed out. "I'll show you the entire place tomorrow," She promised.

Another set of doors and they entered the main courtyard. Hooria stared awestruck-the rustic stone-faced outside had cut a deceiving image, for inside, the splendour of the palace seemed surreal, something straight out of a film. Every corner dripped with history and grandeur, giving her a peek into the past when stately prince and princesses had walked the same floors, lived in the same rooms she could see now.

A large gleaming marble fountain spurted water in the centre, and long arches led to wide spacious galleries that ran on three sides of the courtyard and the walls were decorated with painted tiles that ran in the middle, in beautiful greens and reds. Large brass candelabras sat between the wide arches, while leafy plants in gleaming copper pots decorated the edges of the courtyard.

There were three stories above the courtyard, the second and third stories had four-panel arched doors made of lustrous mahogany that opened into small individual balconies cordoned off by beautifully chiseled fences made of stone.

However, it was the topmost story that caught her eye; for it was perhaps the oldest part of the palace, covered entirely with an endless stream of beautiful jali-carved to perfection in an undulating pattern.

The twisting lines seemed to flow like twines-twisting together to form mystical patterns that gathered together in the middle to form the shape of a tree, with long spindly branches casting off in different directions blending with the other pattern in such a seamless fashion that she couldn't understand where the pattern began and where it culminated.

It was an endless story with no beginning or end.

And Hooria felt an incorrigible urge to run her fingers through it-to figure out the puzzle behind it.

"Where is Phupho ja?" Laila asked Chammi.

"She's in the zenana baithak, waiting for you."

"Chammi, the driver will bring in our luggage make sure you send them up to our rooms." Laila instructed before she turned to Hooria, as Chammi went off, running a critical eye over her, adjusting her dupatta and smoothing down her hair, before sighing, "You'll do,"

They went down a long corridor, with old fashioned lamps guiding the way, their golden light reminiscent of the candlelit lamps, that had graced the walls before the advent of electricity. The walls held portraits of tall men in stiff sherwani's and thick curled mustaches staring somberly into the camera-their light eyes lifeless. While the women, laden in jewels, with silk dupattas on their head, stared with glassy eyes; some vapid in their privilege, while others hid a stark piercing sorrow behind forcefully unaffected faces.

The zenana bethak was a vast hall with a vaulted ceiling, from which hung a shimmering red-stained crystal chandelier that seemed to rain glittering ruby rain. The walls were made entirely of lancet-shaped jali's that looked out onto the river and were covered with long sheer white curtains that drifted in the wind that carried in the earthy smell of rain.

A large divan, covered in colourful pillows and drapes with a silver pandan engraved with an ornately crafted peacock, resting on it, stood in the furthest end of the room, opposite the door.

Asfandyar sat on one of the chairs lined next to the divan a bored expression on his face, whereas Taimoor stood dutifully next to, who Hooria assumed to be the infamous Phupo Ja.

She didn't live up to the image she'd crafted of the woman in her mind-she'd imagined her o be much like Rehana, tall and erect, comely even in her advanced age. However, the woman seated on the divan was frail with sagging skin rippled with age.

And yet when she turned her hereditary grey eyes towards her, they held the same sharp intelligence as Rehana's. They held the cool confidence of years of unbridled power and dominance, eyeing her with a strange feral delight, that immediately put Hooria on edge.

"So," She spoke, her voice clear, strong and hard, "She's the daughter?"

Taimoor nodded, "Yes, Phupo Ja. She's Asghar's youngest daughter."

Her paper-thin lips quirked up at the edges as she appraised Hooria, beckoning her with the flick of her finger. Hooria swallowed thickly, her feet glued to their place before she felt a slight nudge from Laila. Slowly making her way to the old woman.

"Come closer," Phupho Ja whispered.

Crouching so that she was eye level with her, Hooria barely contained a flinch as the woman's hot slightly rancid breath that spoke of too much paan, swept across her face.

"Hmm," Phupho Ja appraised, "You've inherited your mother's beauty. I just hope you haven't inherited her penchant for infidelity," She smirked at her, a wickedly pleased gleam in her eye.

Hooria stiffened, her hands curling into fists by her sides as she clenched her jaw; biting her tongue, trying to stop herself from lashing out at the old hag.

"I always knew she wouldn't be faithful," Phupo Ja continued, "Women like her rarely are, always on the hunt for the next man to suck dry. I told Rehana, warned her that her son would regret his decision, and he did."

Hooria stayed quiet, her throat burning, and she could feel angry tears prick her eyes, however, she kept her expression neutral. Reacting now wouldn't do her any good, she was in a strange place with stranger people, none of whom she could count on for protection or support. So, she had to play safe.

"I would have never agreed to this marriage," Phupo Ja continued, "But your grandmother insisted and pleaded that our familial relations could be restored through this union and that your mother had no influence on your upbringing. So, I will forget the past, forget your…lineage. But you are now part of this esteemed family, and I will not have anyone bring disgrace to it. So, I expect you, as a member of this family to uphold the family's honour and not do anything that would bring shame to it. You shall have to follow all the rules of decorum and behaviour expected as the wife of this family's heir, or else suffer the consequences,"

"And," Her voice dipped ominously low, "I warn you now, that I will not be as gracious as your grandmother was with your mother. Failure will be met with swift and brutal punishment."

She leaned back, settling regally on the pillows behind her, "But don't worry, I'll groom you well enough to fit your role as Asfandyar's wife. I'll train you so well that you wouldn't recognize any strain of your mother inside of you."

Hooria could feel herself tremble with helpless indignant fury; however, she lowered her eyes to hide the soul-deep loathing she felt for the woman.

Just my luck, she thought to herself bitterly, to escape the clutches of one mother dragon to fall into the lair of another. She'd escaped Rehana only to find herself stuck with a worse version of her grandmother.

"I appreciate your concern and support, Phupho Ja," Asfandyar's deep baritone drawled from behind her, indifferent and cold as always, however, now it held the sharp edge of a serrated blade.

"But I don't think my wife would be in any need of your assistance. Her status as my wife grants her the privilege to disregard any and all social dictates as she pleases," He paused, and she could feel him stand up behind her, however, she didn't dare look back at him.

"And for future reference, since she is my wife, I'll be putting forth any expectations I have of her. And I would not appreciate anyone interfering with that."

Hooria could feel the indignant fury that rolled off of Phupho Ja's stiff form as she glared at Asfandyar, her grey eyes narrowed into slits.

"Asfandyar," Taimoor warned, "This is no way to talk to your elders-apologize. Now."

"I haven't said anything remotely disrespectful, for which I may need to apologize. And one more thing… any insult to my wife or to her family would not be tolerated. So, I would suggest you watch what you say around her. Any insult to her would be seen as an attack on my own person." His voice dropped dangerously low, "And you know, how I deal with people who come after me and mine."

With that she heard him walk out of the hall, his footsteps unnaturally loud in the outraged silence he'd left behind.

"Phupho Ja," Taimoor began apologetically, "I'm sorry for him, you know how stubborn he can get."

But Phupho Ja wasn't looking at him, her eyes were intent on hers, disgust clouding the grey, "Better men than him have been blinded in the face of beauty," Her voice slithered across her skin like hundreds of snakes, making her want to pull away.

"And her beauty is especially poisonous," Her lips twisted into a hideous smirk, "She's inherited it from her mother. She knows how to lure men her way, enticing them and beguiling them with that innocent face."

Hooria stiffened and unable to take any more of the hatred being spewed her way, she straightened and walked away, her vision suddenly blurred with the tears she'd tried to hide, ignoring Laila's sympathetic expression as she made her way out.

Her body aflame with humiliation and searing hatred, she wanted nothing more than be somewhere-anywhere else, alone so that she could lick her wounds.

"But don't worry," She heard Phupho Ja gloat, "It's only the beginning, soon Asfandyar wouldn't bear to look at her any longer. He won't have a choice. And nor will she."