Humayun found himself in a vast yet lusciously rich garden. Every blade of grass, every flower reflected the vibrant spectrum in the brightness of the day. The air was filled with sounds of laughing children running back and forth flying their kites in the swift breeze. But in the midst of such glorious color and vivacity, he was immediately drawn to a dark, shadowy figure sitting on a bench at the far end of the garden. His curiosity guided him with every step he took towards this unusual void. A woman, no, a young woman. Where are her hands? Buried in her lap. Why, she has the elegant posture of a princess, but her skin tone and facial expression suggests not of royal blood. She looked strangely familiar…what beauty! Can beauty like this be replicated? No, of course not! It was the same girl he saw in the fruit market earlier that day! The dark void suddenly filled with light.
He overcame his shyness with a smile, “I have seen you before.”
She looked up. “Have you?”
“A charming face always remains etched in memory.”
She studied him from head to toe. “Then I must have forgotten ever meeting you.”
But she smiled; an invitation to join her company. There was room on the bench for one more, but he chose to kneel in front of her on a patch of grass. They exchanged looks and smiles throughout what seemed like hours of conversation.
“What is your name?”
“Farideh.”
“You are of age, but are unmarried. Is that true?”
She nodded.
“Then what do you look for in your future mate?”
She turned her gaze to the ground and drew her veil over her hair in shyness to the question. She submerged herself in deep thought then lifted her head, her eyelids unraveling synchronously. It was like soft velvet cloth sliding off of crystal balls. He saw himself in her pupils. Her full, warm smile recoiled and her lips pressed tightly together. Surely, he thought, that held back behind her vaulted mouth contains such a great secret.
Breath made its escape. “Someone who has overcome ‘takleef‘.”
Takleef? The prince did not even know the meaning of the word.
She drew her hands from her lap and proceeded to caress his face. They felt rough against his pampered skin. He had never known the touch of blisters or calluses. In his whole upbringing he had only felt the softness of delicate hands; his mother the queen and the women in his father’s court. Although very uncomfortable, for some reason he remained glued in the cusps of her hands. They feel so different, he thought, so mysterious. Mysterious. What is takleef?
Humayun awoke suddenly from his slumber in a sea of satin bedsheets. He was back in the luxurious decor of his chamber room. The fields of green were replaced with finely woven rugs and the voices of children diluted into the still of the night. He had even forgotten the sweet smell of the flowers. Only one sensation remained; the unusual touch of her palms tingling on his face. He lay back down in the softness of his mattress and sheets staring at the ceiling. How he missed the touch of roughness on his skin.
–naveed ahmad 2007
Posted by naveed 
reconnected 