It’s been raining all night and I have been sitting by the window waiting for dawn, waiting for the skies to clear up, waiting to see the first rays of the morning sun beaming through the clouds.

I lay on my bed and see the shadow of a raindrop on my cheek as it glides on my window pane. Is it me crying? Am I hurting? Suddenly it seems like the skies reflect the canvas of my life. I am forced into a recluse I want to be in my happy place. “Go and cocoon yourself in the warmth of happiness, where your mind is without fear and your heart soars above the fields of joy”, my inner voice tells me.

“Sabah..look ahead I am holding onto you”. “Pa don’t leave me, I’ll fall”

“Rehman! Wipe that smirk off your face, soon my daughter will be racing you off”.

Every morning Pa would take me to the poppy fields where he would teach me to cycle. Abdul, the village grocer would loan the cycle to Pa for half paisa a day. Pa had to deal with a lot of rebuke especially from the elderly village folk who chided him for being so liberal with his daughter.” It’s time she sets her foot on ground and does what girls her age are supposed to do”, they would say. Pa always brushed their remarks off with a boyish smile. He looked so handsome his auburn hair and beard that shone in the sun, blue eyes and a smile that could warm the coldest of hearts.

My brother Rehman was 16 and I, 14 when we moved to Mumbai. Pa had gotten a job as a carpet weaver for one of Mumbai’s traders. Mumbai was like a dream city in the 80’s. It was almost like we were put up in a fairyland. We landed up in a neat apartment in Colaba. It was a small room with kitchen attached; the toilets were common for the whole building. “Never mind the toilets”, said Pa looking at Rehman’s sullen face.

“Come Sabah, look out the window you can see the sea, look at those tiny fishermen boats” I looked out with a gleam in my eye, start struck that I already was. “Pa look at that building. It’s so pretty, what is it?” Pa took me in my lap and held me tight. I could still smell the fine silk on his hands.” That my dear is the Taj Hotel, it is one of the most prime hotels of this city.” “Pa can we go in and have a look?” I asked with the innocence of a child. He smiled looking into my eyes and holding my tiny hands to his lips, “Someday my dear we will have lunch there.”

From that day on I was engulfed with the thoughts of this majestic hotel looking proudly into the ocean. Almost as if challenging the waves, like a fort that was made to protect it’s incumbents. I would sit for hours every day looking at people walk in and out of the hotel in their finery. Years passed away, Pa got busier every year and business flourished we soon moved into a bigger apartment few blocks away. I completed my college and Rehman joined Pa at his weaving business. “Sabah, have the flowers arrived for Rehman’s outfits?”, shouted Pa from his room. He was very particular that Rehman’s wedding preparations be very immaculate.

“And are you ready yet, the nikaah is just 3 hours away.” “Daijaan, please check on Rehman, he should have been ready by now”. As I stood in the door way dressed in a pink lehenga, my hair tied in almost a diva styled bun, adorned in the finest of jewelry, I could almost sense Pa’s eyes on me from the moment I stepped out of my room. He was beaming with pride for Rehman was right behind me looking every inch handsome in his three piece Sherwani. So much so for dressing up, it takes me an hour to get ready and Rehman catches Pa’s attention. The baraat left our home, Pa was a visionary in every sense, he had the ability to plan ten years in advance and make his dreams come true. He checked his watch, it was 12.00 P.M, he looked at me and winked, “Ready for lunch at the Taj my dear?”, I smiled and hugged him almost in a child like manner. Rehman’s wedding was at the Taj followed by his reception at 6:00 P.M.

7:30 P.M. The Taj, the dais is set for the newly wedded couple. The guests are pouring in dressed in their best to congratulate the couple and as all Indian weddings are we are running two hours late. The room is decorated in purple, it almost smells purple. Fresh grapes are arranged with purple olives on every table. I pluck one from the bunch on a table near me and put it in my mouth, only to be greeted by a warm sweet sensation, it smells purple. The sound of people laughing and talking is echoing in the ballroom, the music the orchestra it all seems like a symphony of celebration of life defining our purpose of life and yet it is just a phase of life.

“Boom!!!!!!” everyone is screaming, there is chaos, and the orchestra goes up. “Here comes the bride, here comes the bride” Amidst the crackers and guests teasing the couple, I see my Pa playing the perfect host. My cousins are dancing around the couple, I look out of the window of the ballroom, the moon is shinning in the waters below, and the night is calm and serene. It’s almost as if it is whispering a secret into someone’s ears. I feel the breeze tickle my face just as I am about to walk away. Something makes me wait longer that I had wanted to. It was almost as if from the waters below, it came into me, I don’t know where it landed but it was not a part of me. In a fraction of a second, this person, an unknown face pulls me to him.

I am relieved someone has seen me get shot. I can feel the blood trickling down my knees. I look into his eyes, I see no fear no desperation, I can sense the fear creeping in mine. No one notices me being slowly pulled away by his other accomplices. I am too weak to speak, I look at him pleadingly. “Hurry up, we need to be strong today, this is for our religion and our God. Our sacrifice must not go waste”, he shouts, I whisper my name into his ears but there is no sound coming out, I am being locked into the bathroom. The marbled floor is white as snow; I can feel it cold against my cheek. It’s been long I can hear sirens and screams from inside and out, the water is lashing out at the bathroom window, the fire brigade is trying to douse the fire out. My pleas for help are drowned by all the hell that has broken loose. “Am I alive? I don’t know.” I am lying not on my bed and it is not raining outside but I am waiting for the break of dawn and I am waiting for the sun to shine through.

I hope my family is safe, I have been clutching something in my hands for long, I look down to see it, a smile lights up my eyes. It is my brother’s wedding card. It reads, “Rehman weds Heena, 26 November 2008,The Taj Ballroom”

This story has been contributed by Vijeta Gawdi who has been regularly contributing stories on our site. One of her most popular contribution is a short story titled – Olive Green Eyes.  ShortStoryBook.net is thankful to her.