Jauhar watched Asha approaching and let her hand slip over the shoe hidden in the folds of her dress. A shock struck her. Jauhar yanked her hand away, narrowing her eyes on Asha. Asha knew, didn’t she? She knew Jauhar had the slipper. She was attached to the magic somehow.
“Sabra,” Jauhar said without taking her eyes off her husband’s favorite. “Would you see if you can find Hadhi? She shouldn’t be sulking in corners.”
“I am sure she isn’t sulking,” Sabra said gently. “But I will be happy to check on her.”
Sabra walked away just as Asha came to a stop before her.
“Wanted her out of the way so you can chastise me in secret?” Asha taunted cocking her head to the side in a perfect imitation of her father.
Jauhar carefully drew in a breath. Asha wouldn’t see how her games effected Jauhar. She despised this child. She existed only to torture her. Asha’s every movement was reminiscent of one of her parents.
“What should I have to chastise you for? Have you been disrespectful to our hosts?”
“Of course not, Mzaa.” Asha expelled the word like a dart, her eyes tearing into Jauhar’s flesh. “But you’ve never needed reason before.”
Jauhar’s soul laughed bitterly, but her face gave nothing away. “Have I not? Tell me Asha, do you think I should not defended my daughters from you?”
Asha smiled smugly. “They need more defense from you, Mzaa. Do you remember when I was little, Nuru wasn’t born yet, so I must have been four, making Hadhi nine. We were preparing for the Service of the Sands, you had pulled Hadhi to you, to adorn her for the festivities. You painted her eyes for the desert, her cheeks for the jungle and her lips for the sea. She looked so happy.”
Jauhar caught her breath audibly; her body felt as though it was being sucked back into that moment. Her hand fought to reach into her pocket, fought to crush the beads of the slipper, hoping it would take Asha’s power away. But Asha spoke on, as though it were merely a conversation, as though she knew nothing of the magic forcing Jauhar to relive the moment.
Hadhi was a chubby warm bundle on her lap, sitting in the light outside the hut. Already Hadhi was a bit dourer than her age should have made one, but still sweet. Still hopeful enough to try time and again to please her parents. She sat still as Jauhar painted golden sweeps around her eyes, and a cluster of green dots on her cheeks, and the single strip of blue right in the center of her lips from the top to the bottom. Didn’t fuss or fidget when the beads got caught in her curls and pulled a bit. She made a twisted little face, but she didn’t complain.
And Jauhar was soaking in the sweet moment as mother and daughter. Then out of the corner of her eye, Jauhar saw Asha poke her head out of the hut to watch with her bright, hungry eyes. Rama’s eyes.
“I watched as quietly as I could,” Asha said. “I didn’t make a noise or a mess. I wasn’t in your way. I hadn’t insulted Hadhi, nor stolen Baba’s attention. But when you were all finished and I asked if you would dress me, do you remember what you said?”
Jauhar set Hadhi away, ripping her eyes away from Zuberi’s other child and focused on her own.
“You look lovely, Hadhi. You must dance the desert dance tonight and not be too shy, alright.”
Hadhi began to bite her lip, rather than answer, and Jauhar’s hand flew out of the air, slapping her daughter on the shoulder. “Do not spoil your paint.” She’d snapped. Tense all over and angry for no reason she could explain. She glanced out the corner of her eye and saw Asha waiting silently at the entrance to the hut.
She was usually such an obnoxious, loud thing. Always underfoot. Always eating up everyone’s attention. But when she was at her neediest, she was quiet. Then she came to you and sucked you dry, stealing every bit of your energy. Just like her mother. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair that she have to look after that woman’s child.
Jauhar barely even heard Hadhi promising to stay clean and neat. Hardly heard her own words as she dismissed her. But she could remember quite clearly the redness in Hadhi’s eyes and the downcast look, when only moments ago she’d looked happy. They’d been alone and happy together. Then Asha stuck her head outside and ate up every joy.
"Mzaa, ”Asha said sweetly as Hadhi crossed to the hut. “Will you dress me too?”
Jauhar remembered Hadhi smiling at her sister, urging her towards Jauhar as though they were real sisters. And even that had enraged her.
"I haven’t time. It takes an age to make Hadhi look presentable. Have her help you.” Jauhar snapped. Hadhi flinched at those words, though she’d not flinched at the slapped shoulder. Hadhi took her half-sister’s hand and led her away. Jauhar wanted to scream, and rant, and sob. She wanted to rush over and pull that little girl into her arms and kiss her and tell her how sorry she was. She wanted to tell her she was safe and loved and protected, that nothing would ever harm her. And what had made Jauhar the angriest was that the child she wanted to comfort was not her own.
Asha smiled at her now, as if she knew the truth of the story. The truth Jauhar would never say. That as much as she hated how well Zuberi loved Asha, what built the most distance between them had very little to do with him. Jauhar looked at this girl and she saw her mother. She saw the sweet woman she’d hated for four long years. The woman she’d wished dead every day until she died. She looked at Asha and Jauhar saw only her own ugliness, and she hated this girl for that.
“Do you know what I wished all—” Asha broke off as Bayo interrupted.
“What are you two discussing so intently,” Bayo interrupted the pair cheerfully.
“Hadhi’s wild success of course,” Asha said sarcastically, and at once, the other woman chuckled. Jauhar said nothing. She was able to move again and her hand shot into the folds of her dress to squeeze the slipper with all her might. It stung still, but Jauhar did not let go. She waited until both women stopped laughing to look Bayo in the eye.
“We were discussing a family matter.” Jauhar nodded away, not even addressing Asha’s quip. Bayo raised a brow, but departed quickly, offended or afraid; Jauhar didn’t care which.
“What I remember,” Jauhar snapped. “Was you, from the time you were born trying to eat up all the energy and attention of anyone around you. You wear a being out, Asha. Try to win the prince; I challenge you. You might even manage it. Though it would be easier if you still had the second slipper.” Jauhar waited for her quiet taunt to strike. Asha showed only vague interest. And Jauhar rushed on. “Even if you manage it, it will make no difference to you. His love will never be enough for you. No one’s love is. Your hunger will wear him out, just like it did your mother.”
Asha should have flinched, should have been cowed and broken and weak. But she smirked, and Jauhar felt old and dried up and ugly. The only thing that kept her standing was how brittle her bones had become, stiff from years in this same angry pose.
“What I remember,” Asha said, leaning in next to Jauhar’s ear, as they both saw Sabra approaching. “Is that I loved you once. But love just slides right off of you. I don’t think there is anyone who loves you now. Don’t you wish there were?”
Jauhar wanted to lash out and strike Asha across the face, but the shoe she gripped wouldn’t let her, and Asha kept right on talking.
“I used to wish I could change things between us. But I make better use of my wishes now. Tell me, Mzaa, what do you wish for?”
Sabra stopped beside them, speaking without even waiting to see that she was interrupting a conversation. Jauhar barely heard her, shaken within. She hated Asha so much. Would she never be free of her?