He slowly drifted into consciousness and saw only images drifting in his view; a paint-peeled ceiling, the leering face of someone in his face, flickering candles and the sign of struggle. He finally woke up to find himself in a musty bedroom whose walls had shadows moving across it, courtesy of the candles dotted around the room. His head was throbbing with pain, as if there was a blackhole inside it that was pushing waves of pain to his brain. He could feel something like a soft cloth around the wound and tried to move his hands to feel it, but they would not budge. He tried to do the same with his legs and realised that they were tied to the bedposts. His wrists and ankles felt sore courtesy of how rough the rope was tied to him. He turned to look at his ankles and was shocked.

What the hell was he wearing?

He looked like he was wearing a male wedding gown, called a sherwani that looked like a decorated shalwar kameez. It was off-white with golden designs and bands around the edges, and a small brown scarf that hung from his shoulders.

He remembered what the landlady had said and the events following his loss of consciousness came flooding in. Was she really going to force him to get married? How was she going to manage that after the maulvi had been shot dead?

Something else was bothering him a lot too. His body felt like it had been cleaned and he could feel that the wounds he had received from the chases had been disinfected and cleaned the way they stung. The faint smell of musk was emanating from his body through his collar. He remembered how the landlord’s wife had knocked him clean and had some very faint images of being dragged by her.

He was starting to feel violated.

That’s when the door slammed open and in came Mrs. Malik, looking bright and cheerful and it looked like she had changed into fancier clothes as well, and she even wore really heavy makeup that he knew was customary in the villages.

“Ah, you have finally woken up,” she said and started to shuffle around the room, arranging all the various decorations and candles, and also making sure the pillows around him were set up properly. “Plenty of space for you and your, well… she’s not your wife but it’s okay, you can simply take the punishment of the hundred whips after you guys are done.”

Punishment? He was so confused, his head hurt so much. Then he remembered how the punishment for fornication before marriage was a hundred whips for each one of them. She really was determined to go through with it, thought Faizan. He could not see the daughter anywhere and he hoped that it would stay that way.

“Are you ready?” she asked. Faizan did not reply and instead began to struggle against the ropes. The rope dug deep into his wrists and deepened the wounds but he did not relent. “Aha, looks like you have plenty of energy to release. You will give my daughter the time of her life then.”

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Faizan stopped, disgusted by the thought. The only person he had had sex with was Hina and he was fiercely loyal to her. He would not cheat on her, least of all with someone who was not even willing to do the same.

The landlady turned towards the open door and shouted. “Inaya! Come here, it’s time for your wedding night. Come here, my love. Don’t leave your husband waiting when he is ready.”

He heard loud sobbing coming from the corridor which was followed by the sound of quick shuffling feet as she ran away. Mrs. Malik sighed and chuckled as she turned to look at Faizan. The laugh was clearly forced and there was menace in it which was confirmed when he saw her face as she exited the room.

His heart sank when heard the sounds of violence as her mom began to beat up her daughter. She was screaming at her madly while the poor girl screamed and begged for her mom to stop. Eventually, he heard her the sounds of their approaching footsteps, the daughter scrambling while her mom forced her through the doorway.

The landlady came in beaming with pride and happiness as he brought her daughter in. Inaya was dressed in a very bright red gown, with even heavier makeup than her mom, the foundation so white that he could clearly see the point where her normal brown skin resumed. The cheap mascara she wore had begun to mix in with the tears and was wearing, forming cascading lines across her face. Some of the foundations on her reddened cheeks were gone and he could tell she had been slapped hard there. He felt terrible for her. She really did not deserve what she was going through.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” the landlady asked, presenting her daughter to him, like she was a slab of meat. Faizan continued to feel disgusted at the treatment she was receiving. Inaya continued to look down at the floor, tears dripping down her face.

“Well, then, Inaya. Your future husband is waiting for you. Normally, he would have to be the one to strip you but I think in this case, we can make an exception. Go on dear, go take his clothes off.”

A surge of panic surged through him and he began to struggle with the knots on his wrist. “Why are you doing this?! This isn’t right! What the hell is wrong with you?!” he screamed as he fought against the knots.

“Now, now, I know you are nervous and angry, but once Inaya is done with you, you will be happy and satisfied. Soon enough, you will have plenty of kids and live a happy life in the city.”

“But I don't want to marry her! I love someone else!”

“I know you do. I’ve seen how you look at that girl, Hina I think her name is. Seems more like lust than love, the way she dressed like a whore.”

“How dare-”

“Why do you worry, son,” interrupted the landlady. “You can just marry her later on. You are, afterall, allowed four marriages and you are a rich boy from Islamabad, why do you worry?”

Faizan had had enough. “Let me go!” He began shouting and struggling even harder against the rope, his wrists turning purple from the stifling blood flow. His tantrum was cut short, however, when the landlady slapped him, so hard that the sound of it shook the whole house and Inaya stopped her sobbing out of sheer surprise.

“I have been nice with you,” said Mrs. Malik with such a terrifying look of anger on her face that Faizan completely froze. His face stung so hard that he felt it was burning and he would not be surprised the sheer force of the slap would bruise it. “I have given you and your friends shelter in your time of need, food when you were hungry and even my daughter with no expectations from you. And you still act like this with me. Enough is enough. Inaya, take off his clothes.”

Inaya gave her mother a side glance, her whole body shaking as she avoided looking at Faizan. She did not move.

“Inaya! I said take off his clothes!” she repeated in a booming voice and Faizan was scared she would slap her like she had him but she stayed her hand. “Do it! Think of him as your husband, it is your duty to satisfy him so that he can give you a son! Inaya!”

Inaya still did not move.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself!”