This is the English translation of the first chapter (Part One) of the novel "Aurang" (آورنگ), translated with a focus on its literary and emotional tone for publication.
AURANG
PART ONE
The darkness of my being is bent on my destruction, and I feel with all my soul that I am gravitating from existence into nothingness. I know I am being destroyed bit by bit, chained in a maddening way. I wish I did not exist.
A basement is, without exception, cold and dark for everyone; it is no different for me. Am I not one of you? Here, no sunlight shows itself; the realm is surrendered to absolute darkness and cold, as if the sun has handed its crown of sovereignty to these two and vanished within its own flames.
Tell me, do these two words not terrify you? Why is it that upon hearing them, the only thing that rushes to my mind is a place called the grave? My mother constantly speaks of her faith in divine justice and the retribution for sin. Hah—justice... I do not see it. Do you? Tell me, is there even such a thing as justice and retribution for evil, or are we merely living in illusions? My father, who always has the phrase "the fruit of patience" on his tongue—is that fruit even sweet, or is it a deception, a ruse?
Where, then, is my hidden legend of Aurang? Ryan was right when he said the world is an "Aurang"... but what it gives you depends on you and the lines etched upon your forehead. Truly, Ryan is like the horizons of Aurang to me, but to which meaning of the word should I refer? The Throne, or the Deception?
"Yas, the Khan is calling for you, girl! Move before he gets angry. Go to him".
Upon hearing the name "Khan," a mocking sneer played on my lips. What a strange contradiction I am trapped in. I am stuck, not knowing which side to cling to, which feeling to believe in. Is it the word "Khan," for whom I have a burning hatred, or Ryan, my childhood friend and companion?
"Yas! Girl, have you lost your hearing? The Khan is waiting for you. Why are you delaying?" For the second time, my mother's heavenly voice caressed my ears. How broken that voice was. How much I worship this gray-haired woman. Why did her hair turn white before its time? Why did her delicate hands lose their softness? I know the answers to these "whys" very well, but I have a killing fear of remembering these truths. My mother lost her youth here. My father's back broke in this destructive palace. And in exchange for what? A debt and a mistake.
Without delay, I was once again the one who left this lost battle and stepped toward the Aghazada (the nobleman's son). I crossed the flights of stairs in seconds and found myself in front of his door. I released a heavy breath and knocked. His voice called me inside. "Come in!".
I pushed away my ragged thoughts and entered Ryan's sanctuary. Who is Ryan Ehtesham? He is the eldest son of this aristocratic family, a perfect model for his brothers—Esrar and Isar—and his peers. He is the ideal man for every girl in this city. If I were to describe him, I would say he is flawless and towering.
Clearly, even I envy Ryan's beauty; it is another grievance to add to my list of complaints. "Why are you standing there? Come sit beside me". Ryan was sitting on his black and white bed, holding a notebook. He stared at me with a pleasant smile—at me, who secretly has nothing but grievances against him. Why should he even say, "Sit beside me"? It is as clear as day: he is the master and I am the servant. For what reason should I be his companion? Is it not against custom?
"If that was the reason for your request, I must say I have work. I must help my mother". I turned to leave. Only a few steps remained between me and the door when I was intercepted. In a fraction of a second, my wrists were in his grasp, and he had me pinned against the wall. I was a prisoner. Due to our height difference, Ryan towered over me, leaning down significantly. I was not pleased, and my brow bore witness to my anger. In a harsh tone, I said, "Sir, it won't be good if someone sees... let me go".
Ryan still had that seductive smile. "Ah, Mon Coeur! Firstly, let everyone see; I fear no one, nor am I committing a crime. Secondly, I am not your 'Sir,' Yas. Why don't you call me Ryan? This ill-temper doesn't suit you. Aren't you my little Yas?"
No. He wasn't Ryan to me, and I wasn't his little Yas. This era is as different from ten years ago as the earth is from the sky. Why doesn't he know? "Let me go. You have always been 'Sir' to me, and you remain so. I am nothing more than your servant. It would be better if you accepted this truth!". I stared defiantly into his elongated eyes. I knew this was insolence, but today I have been drawn into the chains of madness; let me see where they lead.
The calmness of moments ago vanished from Ryan's eyes, replaced by a storm of frozen anger. I knew I had squeezed his heart in my palms; perhaps I had wounded it, and its blood was hidden in his chest. He tightened his grip on my wrists. My face contorted from the pressure, but I tried to maintain my composure.
"I am 'Sir' to you? Since when? Why don't you know that I am the same Ryan from ten years ago? The Ryan who used to embrace his little Yas and break the rules of this palace. Why have you become so averse to me? Have I made a mistake?". I had no chance for reflection. I was used to Ryan's kindness, but to me, it felt like pity—the most burning sensation possible. "Why do you speak like this? Do you feel sorry for me? Do you see how wretched I am? Do you see that nothing remains of the Yas from ten years ago? Do you see that this palace has destroyed me?"
I was so drowned in my outburst that I didn't realize when Ryan began to caress my cheek. A seal of silence was etched on my lips. His finger danced on my cheek with a particular rhythm. "Have I been away for so long? I would give my life for you, like the water of life. You cannot be destroyed in my presence... You should feel sorry for me; the way you hide my little Yas behind your hatred, I am more in need of sympathy. Do you know what I'm saying? It seems you've forgotten... I am the Aurang of your legends".
I was stunned. What was hidden behind these words? Which "Aurang" exactly? The throne, or the deception? "No, it's not acceptable to me. You're very late—so late that even these words do not reduce my resentment; they only add to the callousness of my heart".
A crooked smile appeared on my lips. "Don't you think these words are nothing but nonsense and sophistry, Nobleman? Neither do you need me, nor do I need you. We are independent of each other. So it would be better if you didn't mention our childhood ignorance. I have forgotten those memories; they aren't worth a grain of millet to me. And as for the 'Aurang of legends,' it is beautiful only within the legends themselves, not in the middle of my life".
The pressure of Ryan's hand gradually decreased until he released me. His expression was vague and cold. He stepped back, pace by pace. I took the opportunity and fled the room. The last thing I heard echoing in my ears was: "They have no value for Yas... then what happened to Aurang?".
I reached the kitchen where my mother, as always, was busy cooking for this aristocratic family. Why can't I accept this truth? They say one eventually gets used to everything, even pain, but for me, it was the opposite. Every day, a greater sense of alienation from this palace awakens within me. My mother was the head cook; my father, the gardener for Dawood Khan. Who was the transgressor in all this? My father, or the Great Khan?.
Let me tell you about myself: a girl of plain appearance, average build, twenty-one years old, yet still delicate like a child. The only benefit of this basement was the pale skin resulting from a lack of sunlight. I was more like a boy than a girl; short hair and loose clothing. Life here is lived in the style of Europe—France or England. There is no veil, no face-covering. Dawood Khan and the noblemen of the capital embrace this lifestyle. In the midst of this, only my mother and I have remained "colorless" within the colors of this palace.
"Yas, why are you standing there? Go and clean the salon".
"Yes, my queen. But when is Tahmina coming?".
"Tahmina or Tuba? I know you are more eager to see your 'look-alike' than your sister. Maybe next week".
I hurried to the salon. The palace was so massive that newcomers often got lost. After half an hour of dusting the "monster" salon, my back felt broken. I sat down to rest, but was interrupted by Isar, the ill-mannered youngest brother. "Where is my brother?" he demanded, without greeting. "He's in hell; you go after him too, you intrusive brat," I thought. But aloud, I replied with composure, "He is in his room".
Isar left with a mocking smile. Ryan, Esrar, and Isar were born to a French mother and an Afghan father—a mixture of beauty. Their mother, Madam Helen, had passed away three years before I was born, during Isar's birth. Even though I never met her, I can envision her Western beauty. My mother always speaks of her kindness and fine character.
END OF PART ONE