Beneath a Marble Sky by John Shors Read Free Book Online

fallen aside and that only my thin cotton shirt enclosed my chest. My nipples, dark and hard, were plain to see. “I’d like to squash them,” he added.
    Shrieking in rage, I swung my fist as I’d seen fighting men do. I aimed for his nose, but he twisted quickly and I managed only to strike the side of his cheek. A copper ring on my thumb opened a cut under his eye. When a drop of blood tum bled down his face and fell into the water, he slapped me. The blow was loud and a few women looked at us from the shore.
    Aurangzeb’s lips drew back to reveal his teeth. “You’ll regret that,” he promised, quoting a verse from the Qur’an that spoke of vengeance.
    “I hate you!” I snapped, though it was untrue. “And I hate your foolish verses!”
    “You would,” he retorted before wading back to the shallows. When he was near the shoreline, he sat down and placed some mud against his cheek. I wanted to cry, but such a display would only be a victory for him, so I bit my lip and rearranged my robe. I then dropped into the water until it came up to my neck. I kept Aurangzeb in my vision, however, as his revenge would be cruel. He glared at me, and his glare was enough to make me wish Dara was closer.
    I had decided to return to the harem when I heard a muffled shriek. Thinking that it must have been some ploy of Aurangzeb’s, I turned cautiously, gazing about the river’s muddied waters. At first I saw only elephants and floating debris. But then, farther out in the Yamuna, I glimpsed a small arm waving frantically. I heard another cry. It was a child’s voice and my heart dropped like a stone as strong currents swept the child downstream toward me. I looked for an adult to shout to, but no one was near.
    I hesitated, then pulled off my robe and swam from shore, hoping to reach him. Kicking hard, I pulled at the water with my hands. The child seemed to hold something. As I neared him I spied the submerged log but could hardly protect myself as it hammered into my side. Though my breath was smitten from me, I grabbed a branch with one arm and the boy with the other. He must have been only six or seven.
    I tried to scream as we were pulled swiftly downstream, but my lungs ached, and my pitiful cry didn’t carry far. Aurangzeb, who was the closest to us, looked up. I assumed he’d rush to our aid, but instead he watched us silently. He might have even grinned. Soon we’d wash past anyone who could help us and I shrieked again in terror. Praise Allah, a pair of fishermen heard my call and pointed to me. Their boat was beached and they urgently pushed it into the water.
    The current intensified around a bend. My grip on the tree was firm, as were my fingers as they grasped the child’s clothing. One of his arms had a frightful gash and he was bleeding badly, his face was without color. He began to slip deeper into the river, dragging me with him. The water seemed horribly cold.
    I was desperate when I saw the boat churning after us. The two fishermen pulled upon oars, while two other figures stood at the bow. I realized Nizam was present, as was Aurangzeb, who held a rope. The child started to go under and I thrust him up with the last strength I possessed. My arms had turned leaden.
    Just when I thought I’d go under, the rope splashed beside me. I grabbed it with one hand and Aurangzeb hauled us toward the boat. We struck its planks and Nizam lifted the boy, then me from the water. I collapsed against Nizam and began to sob, tears of relief mingling with tears of sorrow. For I knew Aurangzeb had ignored my pleas and that he’d only come to help when the fishermen saw us.
    I wanted to speak, but the world dimmed as I fell in and out of consciousness. I was barely aware of the oars pulling us to shore. Then I was carried somewhere, shadows falling across me. I saw images, dreams perhaps. A blanket finally embraced me, followed by my mother. She spoke to me and her words came as riddles. I drifted, then slowly,