Fools

"They are so filthy! Why did you bring them in like this?"

"Atike Hatun, as if you first came here looking like a cute princess. Go send them to the hamaam!"

The woman just sighs, slightly smiling, and replies something back in Turkish. I realize she was speaking in Arabic first on purpose. She is short and plump, middle aged, with sandy hair mixed with grey, but I can see she was definitely pretty when she was younger. Although, she has a slightly too much of an upturned nose. Her dress is black and modest, a contradiction to all the other girls in the room.

As the ginger haired eunuch, whose name I hear is Salim, continues some sort of half argument half discussion with her, I get distracted looking at the surroundings. Everything is so gorgeously set, the lush carpets and furniture. It could, with no doubt, outshine my own room back home. Royal life...is unfair.

My best friend is equally distracted as me, a few paces behind. The ceiling of the room surpasses two storeys, and the floors above have a balcony attached. I see beautifully dressed women peering down at us lot. For some reason, a fair haired girl catches my eye. Her tall stature, though probably not as tall as I, and her frail figure makes her stand out among others. Also the fact that she's wearing some sort of crown-like ornament on her head. She catches my gaze and blushes, unsure of what to do. It takes her a moment to ultimately give me a timid wave. I wave back, weakly smiling, but the other girls accompanying her glare at me.

Suddenly, my smile soon turns into a grimace, and I feel like reeling. My left calf is burning. The gunshot wound still hasn't dried. The wound on the wrist is not as bad, atleast.

"Come, follow me, now! Stay in a proper line, or you'll get a good whipping!" Can they not give threats for once?

While walking by the halls, all of a sudden a man comes running and the elderly lady orders us all to stand by the side and bow our heads. I try to tilt the head the least I can. I look at Fatma who's doing the same thing, looking at me and crinkling her nose to make a mocking resemblance of Atike Hatun's nose. I burst out laughing.

"Quiet! Gulbahar Hatice Sultan comes!"

A woman, walks in confidently, head held high, followed obediently by two girls,. She's tall, and has dark hair and eyes like mine. Her age is probably around 40. She's followed by some men and women with their hands folded, looking down. She stops to look at us all, smiles at Atike and mentions the names "Mahirunessa" and "Mahmut" while talking, then struts to leave.

...

"I have to wear this?" I look at the ugly plain white dress- or more like a uniform- with disgust.

"Still better than what Zaifa wore in her party, she looked like the british flag."

I snort. "It's her fashion choice." But soon we both fall silent. Zaifa, along with all the girls we knew, were probably never going to see us again.

"My, aren't you a tasty treat. You could just wear the towel and leave, you know." That's Raysha.

I smirk. "Likewise, big sister." She put her hand to her heart and gives a dramatic gasp. She is quite strange, she isn't as upset or sad as the rest of us, but she plays big sister, teasing and advising all, so it's fine.

I just got cleaned up in the bathhouse. The tiles are extremely slippery. The wound in my leg aches a lot and I was careful not to let water touch it.

"How long will you all take? Get dressed up and hurry to the door!"

I sigh, and change into that hated dress.

"Open your mouth- good. Do you have lice?" Atike Hatun, along with a younger girl whom she calls Nur Khalfa, an even shorter girl with very curly hair, walks in front of each girl and checks them. Forcing their mouth open, lifting their skirts and other very uncomfortable things. It looks like some cow hut, and I feel disgusted.

Nur Khalfa turns to me but I slap her hand away. "Don't touch me! Do you think we're animals?!"

"Shut up, or you'll get a good whipping."

"That's better than having your filthy hands on me-"

This earns me a good slap.

"Hya Allah! Nur, git su getir!"

"She fainted?"

"Razia! Answer me!"

The slap, along with my injury, sent me off reeling and losing balance. The leg pains like hell now, and I lie on the cold floor, dazed. I don't think I can bear it much longer.

Atike Hatun is roughly trying to bring me back to my senses, slapping my cheek, sprinkling the water Nur Khalfa brought and shaking me like a medicine bottle. "What happened to you?"

"Meri- pae-" oh sh*t, they don't speak Hindi. Before I can repeat, someone from behind pushes through the crowd and approaches me. The voice sounds very familiar. It's the cook?

I really don't have any energy to be surprised. I lift my skirt up to show the wound as he crouches down. Everyone grimaces.

"Fool, why were you hidin' this?" the old man says. For some reason I remember Ammi.

He holds my ankle and narrows his eyes at the wound. He looks slightly funny when his face is serious, but it isn't really the time to laugh. "Tis infected. You need to go to the physician! Do need to carry, girl?"

"No- thank you." I make a huge effort to stand up, but fall again. He sighs, then hooks an arm under my knees and the other to my shoulders. Oh well.