Chapter Five

It was humid. The air was thick and heavy and settled into one's lungs like a sticky film, exhausting even the strongest warrior. The night was still enough that though the ocean was a mile away, the crashing of the waves could be heard, pounding against the earth like restless horses, threatening to rush up the hill and trample everyone and everything in its path.

For Dilras, this night was little different than many other nights for the past seven years. When she was fourteen, she had been snatched from her fishing village and sold to the king of this city, where she immediately became one of his concubines. At the time, she had never been with a man, and in fact had still been gangling arms and legs and no hips, but that apparently didn't matter. At first, he only required her every few weeks, and she had been able to spend time with his other women, learning to read and dance. She missed her family, but dared not try to escape to return to them, and  had accepted that this was now her life.

On nights when she really missed her former life, she would place her fingers on a dark pearl that she wore at her throat. It had been given to her by her father one early evening when they were out in the boat pulling fish in from the nets. At the time, she didn't understand why he had been so somber while giving the gift. He had told her it was important that she never lost it, and to always wear it around her neck. It became the only token remaining of a simpler life, a life without glamour, but a life of freedom and genuine affection. Often she would blink back tears, and sigh with resolve. There was no going back, no choice but to harden her heart.

As she devoured literature and philosophy, she began to increasingly resent her enslavement. Bhakti poetry proclaiming equality not only opened her eyes to new ways of thinking, but fed the seeds of bitterness. Though she did not become a devotee of the spiritual movement, she learned the songs, and as she would sing them, she would fantasize about breaking free of her bondage. Each night she was summoned would further cement her hatred for the king, and her determination to escape would magnify.

One night, after she had danced for the king and his friends, the king, wanting to impress them with the power he had over his household and the delights he was able to indulge upon his whim, commanded that she wait for him in his bedchamber.

Dilras, whose head had been bowed, quietly, but firmly replied, "No."

The room had fallen silent. Every person was shocked that she would even imagine to defy the king. His smug smile faded. "Excuse me?"

Keeping her head bowed, Dilras raised her gaze defiantly and stared straight into his angry eyes. "No."

That had been the night that the fisherman's daughter had learned to hate without reserve. That had been the night she realized she needed to learn patience, and endure odious entanglements to enact revenge. That had been the night the king made the decision she must be subdued regularly. 

When she had humiliated him in front of all his friends and servants, he rose from his seat, and slowly walked to her. His face was inches away from hers when he spat, "I am the master. You are the slave," and without breaking eye contact, he said, "Hold her down."

Three of his guards had descended upon her and forced her face down on the ground, one of them holding her head so her cheek was pressed into the floor. The pearl from her father dug into her neck, and the sense of helplessness as stronger hands dug into her wrists and ankles was overwhelming. Dilras was struggling to free herself, losing her voice shrieking, but the king calmly knelt down between her legs, rearranged his dhoti, and forced himself into her. 

At first, there had been uncomfortable silence, save the screaming of Dilras, but then some of the men seemed impressed and started to goad the king, cheering when he tore at her hair and bruised her hips. When he was done, he offered her to anyone who wanted a turn. She had stopped counting after three, eventually too exhausted to struggle anymore and just laid there, waiting for it to be over. When they were done, she had been forced to stand, and the king said, "Do you know your place now? You will do as I command." 

The following days, she had felt hollow, and could not bring herself to eat, or read, or do anything other than make her way to the king's chamber, since he suddenly required her several times a day, where he would force her to do degrading things. Then one day, she was returning to the women's quarters and the king's guards, who were in the courtyard doing martial exercises, caught her eye. She hid behind a tree and watched intently as they moved through various katas, their muscles flexing and sweat glinting in the morning sun. She realized it wasn't so very different from dance, and for the next several years, she would sneak to watch their drills and then practice them along with her dancing. 

One of the times she had been watching, Dilras was caught by one of the guards. It was the one who had held her head down.  Her throat constricted in terror, and she lurched back, raising her arms in a defensive posture.

"Don't be afraid. I understand why you want to learn to be a warrior, and I will help you." After that, Mahir had met with her in secret whenever they could, and trained her. He had apologized repeatedly for his part, and Dilras understood that the king would have had him put to death immediately if he had not obeyed. She learned that he, too, had been kidnapped and enslaved while still young. Their friendship, though tentative at first, started to flourish, and they began to plot for this very night.

Dilras was on her back, and the king's sweat was smearing all over her skin. After all the humiliating things he had forced her to do, this fact hardly perturbed her. Over the years, she had tried to be compliant, and while his anger toward her never seemed to abate, the more she pretended to enjoy his attentions, the less denigrating his choices were. 

She was tense, and trying to seem relaxed. She had procured a potion that she had poured in the king's wine, that would cause him to fall into a deep sleep. The effects had not yet taken hold, and so his belly, stuffed with years of self indulgence, pressed into hers, his pinguid face inches from her own. He was getting winded from his effort, and Dilras could tell he wanted to stop, but also wanted to prove she was nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure. His eyes began to droop, and the woman found herself pinned under his unanimated weight. She managed to squirm out from under him, and retrieve the cord he had used so many times to bind her wrists. She knew he was too  drugged to awaken and fight back, and she wrapped the cord around his throat and tightened as much as she could. His body thrashed about and she thought about her body thrashing against him and his friends, and his merciless assault. Resolve strengthened her grip, pulling ever tighter, hate flowing through her, emboldening her, and then he lay still. 

Dilras was exhilarated and scared, and ran as if the king's demise had already been discovered. She made her way down to the ocean, where Mahir was waiting for her, along with a boat they had taken six months to build in secret. Though much of her knowledge from helping her father fish had faded, Dilras was still able to get them out past the waves, and the pair hoisted a sail and soon were far from the city which had held them each as slaves for so many years.

She began to cry, and discovered she was unable to stop. She sobbed the tears pent up for seven years, and Mahir pulled her into a comforting embrace. At last she was free of that wicked man.

Chapter Four

Sohrab had discovered a new instrument. It was in actuality a stone that he was striking on the floor, moving effortlessly between a surprisingly impressive rhythm and chaos, but he played with such delight in his own cleverness, there was no doubt he fancied himself quite the musician. Tahmineh buried her face under the pile of pillows, attempting to dull the noise so she could take a nap to make up for the hours of sleep she had lost the night before feeding her ravenous son. She discovered she could not move, for the cat had settled on her back.

The young woman fought back tears. Earlier in the day, she had had another argument with her father. She'd walked out to the garden where he was playing with her child, and overheard him telling Sohrab that one day, the boy would help him rule Persia as well. After running over and yanking her son away, she spun on her father.

"I will not have you using my child as a weapon!"

"He is Rostam's child as well. It is inevitable."

This was an unending refrain with the king. Each day it became more evident that she needed to find a way to protect Sohrab from his own grandfather. He doted on the child more than his own sons, who themselves were spoiled and encouraged to be arrogant. He lavished gifts on the toddler, laughed at his tantrums, and indulged his every whim. The boy adored the king.

One fleeting moment when Sohrab was still an infant, Tahmineh thought there was hope her father might develop true affection for him. He was holding the boy and smiling down at him, and whispered, "Yutab."

At that, Tahmineh's heart ached with the same beautiful sadness she recognized in the king's demeanor. There was none who knew her mother and her quiet dignity who did not love and miss her. Sohrab's enormity alone was inherited from Rostam, but the green of his eyes were the same striking color of his grandmother's. That her father had invoked his late wife's name while gazing upon his grandchild told Tahmineh that he saw her mother in her son. But then, she watched as his expression changed from tenderness to greed, as he went on to say, "You have her wisdom. You will make an excellent general."

The cat stood and stretched on Tahmineh's back, then leapt off. As she pushed herself up, Sohrab waddled over to her, stone outstretched as a gift. Upon thanking him, he waited expectantly, and she handed it back to him. His face brightened as he accepted it, and then he generously handed it back to his mother. This exchange happened several more times, and Tahmineh felt her sorrow being crowded out by the intense love she had for this boy. 

"Leeder fet ack," Sohrab stated matter-of-factly.

"You think so? I rather enjoyed the music myself. But your ear for it is so much sharper than my own."

"Veel my nobba. Nobba wes do!"

"Well, now, I cannot argue with your logic, my love."

The boy sagely replied, "Monna muh monna. Ma."

"Then it's settled. Off to Zuman we shall go!"

Suddenly, Tahmineh's fears and the constant sensation of being trapped by her father's whims were replaced by steely resolve. Why had she not realized before that this was the only solution? Her father was never going to change, and his lust for power obtained through her child was only increasing as Sohrab continued to grow. And grow. Her mother's uncle was the vizier in Zuman! She would send word ahead that she was coming for a visit, and once she was there with Sohrab, she would beg for great-uncle's permanent protection. Yutab was a favored niece, and Alexan held no affection for Tahmineh's father.

Apprehension seized her, but did not overpower her resolution. She scooped up her child and hugged him tightly. This was the only way to protect her son from her father. She would pack only what they absolutely needed.  She had never ventured out without a full escort and servants, but she did not want to risk any of them telling her father what was happening, nor did she want to be slowed down by a large caravan. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew the king would come after her, so she wanted to get to Zuman as quickly as she could.  And they were going to leave that very night.