The Arrangers of Marriage

Illustration: TBS

Few spectacles rival the colours on display in the occasion of a South Asian wedding. The bridal stage, decorated with flowers, was blessed with rose water. The fragrances mixed with clouds of flavoured shisha smoke. Bollywood pop songs blared through the DJ's massive speakers, bass booming in the shimmering breeze. Bright lights lit up the dance floor in front of the stage. The guests were gossiping over coffee and pani puri.

Auban's father had a friend, a wealthy man, also a widower, exiled after a political fallout. His father took Jamila in. When Auban was seventeen, his father died. It was both Jamila's father's wish and Auban's father's dying request that they should get married.

Jamila and Auban were uncharacteristically already on display on their thrones, dressed up with garlands around their necks, before the gate pass ceremony granted them access.

When an immensely adored girl gets married, that night, a lot of the time, it can seem like the weight of the whole world is on her shoulders. Late that night, in their conservatively decorated marriage chamber, Jamila pulled away from the flowery bed as if it was full of thorns, saying he was unworthy of her love. As Auban attempted to put his arms around her, she shrank away, flinching. She resisted as her resentment grew.

"Jamila, why are you acting this way?" Auban said. "We are married now, you must do your duty."

"If we listen to my father, all good shall follow," was Jamila's reply. After marrying teenage Jamila, it was as if Auban's insides were shaking in a way that Jamila's rebel heart could not share. Jamila had gone silent with no intention of fulfilling her wifely duties.

"I will leave this place at midnight, but first there is someone I need to meet," Auban said. He had gone from a fateful union to becoming a wandering outcast. Jamila's angelic face and nymph-like form endured in his mind with vain beauty, for he had lost her. Another will call her his, and he had lost her forever. 

Auban walked, and walked and walked, cloaked by the night down the rabbit hole of despair. He kept walking past neatly painted walls, manicured gardens behind tall gates that turned into urban squalor until each step took him further into a wild and desolate forest. Auban had arrived at his destination, his father's village where he had spent the holidays.

"I've come, please come out and show yourself!" Auban cried. The muezzins had already announced the morning prayer so dawn was fast approaching. "I will perish!" Auban said rejoicing his young heart with the idea of death that came for him the first time blended with that of joy. He wearily lay in the forest watching the sunrise till he fell asleep.

"You called for me," cackled a hoarse voice that instantly woke Auban up not knowing where he was. They were no longer in the forest but had been transported to a cave full of treasure. He beheld the creature whose voice was incongruous to their hideous appearance. 

It was not clear whether or not the figure in front of him was human. The creature's appearance was hideous and Auban went limp in fear, but Auban stayed where he was with a mad desire to possess the riches that surrounded them.

"Don't be frightened," the ifrit beckoned with strong arms outstretched revealing sharp claws. "Tell me, what has brought you to me?"

Auban poured out his soul. When he was done telling his tale the ifrit's cackle echoed through the cave. "Surely, all things are possible for someone as powerful as yourself. All my wealth is at your service, ifrit."

"There is something you possess that I covet. Give it to me and I will change your fate as I have altered mine."

"Anything, name it."

"Give me your handsome face and well formed body and all my wealth will be yours. I ask for a loan. Give me your body and I will return it to you and all your problems will be solved."

Before Auban could answer he felt himself change into a form of horror. In front of him the Ifrit had taken his own form. In shock Auban fainted.

When Auban awoke he felt strength like he had never known. He flew home at a supernatural speed where he saw Jamila holding hands with the ifrit smitten with the unmistakable look of a girl in love. Jamila beckoned her husband to their bed. Before the ifrit could join her, Auban rushed at it with blinding force strangling it with all the might of a phantom.

"Take my life, destroy this body, you will still live. May your life be long and happy!"

When Auban squeezed the life out of his adversary he fainted. He woke up in his own bed looking up at the concerned face of his beloved Jamila.

Auban frantically raced to tell Jamila about the crimes of the ifrit and his own horrific transformation, to which Jamila thought was nothing but incoherent gibberish. Jamila remained steadfast embracing her husband. It was a long time before Auban could admit to himself it was the ifrit's penitence that had allowed him to possess the happiness and fulfilment he would have otherwise never known.

This story is part of a collection developed in a creative writing workshop run by Shazia Omar. If you would like to join the next workshop, please email her: [email protected]