Izzat An-Nisa (Pakistani Short Stories)

Hadsaa Part 1 🌸

Almas had been running for what felt like ages. Her breath was coming out in strained gasps, her feet were aching as the thinly soled sandal hit the ground again and again. What was worst of all was the bridal dress she held with her hands, the veil flying behind her as she desperately ran, completely drenched by the rain.

That morning she had sat completely subjected to her fate. She had let the mehndi decorate her delicate hands and gotten her nose pierced for the nathni she'd wear that night. Her shoulder length black hair had been twisted into a chignon twist and adorned with jasmine flowers. 

Her grandmother, Zulekha, had spent thousands on the artificial jewelry strung around her neck like a noose, hoping Almas' in laws would not notice. Only the red dress she wore looked expensive, the pishwas' neckline threatening to expose a hint of cleavage and accentuating her waist, the back held up with a crystal dori displaying creamy soft skin. Almas felt disgusted by the lewd looks thrown her way from her cousins, the men her grandmother loved more than her only granddaughter. The men Almas hid from, barricading her room night after night to protect her chastity. And now she was to be handed over to a man three times her age who would use her to fulfill his sexual desires.

Almas had been as grim as a corpse. Not smiling, not crying. The way her grandmother prepared her felt as if she was a tawaif. The over excessive payal on her ankles that twinkled with each step. When she made up her mind to run away after witnessing Zulekha begum pocket the money she had received for her, she had taken off the disgusting metal first.

Cracking open the window of the servant's quarter where she had resided, she had slipped out right before the barat could come. The night was signified by the disappearance of the sun over the horizon as Almas left behind all her measly belongings and slipped away unnoticed through the back gate. 

Then she ran. Ignoring the tell tale signs of impending rain as she went down the street, aching to get to the main road before her empty room was discovered. She clutched the few thousand notes in her fist tightly, trying hard to cover herself with her dupatta, the chiffon material doing little to hide her.

Almas managed to get a rickshaw to a train station, and then ignoring the questioning eyes of the people around her, slipped the jewelry from her body; the bracelets, necklace, and earrings. Her nose still stung from the fresh piercing and she knew if she took out the metal it was bound to get infected.

Shaking, she approached the ticketing counter. "Ek ticket, Islamabad k liye."

The man narrowed his eyes, smirking at the way she tightened her dupatta around her, and held out his hand for the fee. She placed it right in front of him, refusing to make eye contact as he tore off the ticket.

Some of her luck must have jump-started for the train arrived in a few minutes and she boarded it, hiding away in one of the cars towards the back. The jewelry she had taken off was now in the bottom of the trash, covered by banana peels and cigarettes and loads of other garbage.

She breathed a sigh of relief and tried hard to not think too much during the four hours the train took to reach Islamabad. By the time she set foot in the city's station, it was well past nightfall. The station emptied out and she was nearly out of money, with just enough for a rickshaw or for food to satisfy her stomach.

She could feel the jeering eyes and was only emboldened to run faster when she saw a group of men look her up and down, anxiously running to the main street, her mouth parting in anguish as she noted the lack of auto rickshaws. It must be after midnight she thought to herself. 

Almas, shivered, fear seeping in at the long deserted road, the streetlights illuminated the foliage on either sides of it, the few shops and pharmacies boarded up and closed for the long night. She occasionally heard footsteps besides her and her muscles ached for rest yet she persisted.