Roses and Thorns

by Zeneefa Zaneer

  ZENEEFA ZANEER

  Roses

  &

  Thorns

  Think Publishers

  *****

  Thank you for reading. Please leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads.

  *****

  Also by Zeneefa Zaneer

  Poodinna Idadenna- Let Me Bloom (Sinhala)

  Senehase Ridmaya- Rhythm of Love (Sinhala)

  Nothing but Love- Fiction

  In the Land of Stranger- Short Story Collection

  A Heartless Summer- Kindle ebook (Short Story)

  Unlocking One Another- Nonfiction

  I’m Fasting This Ramadan- Children's Picture Book

  DEDICATION

  To all my readers who have space in their hearts for me and my books.

  Roses and Thorns- Deenitales Series 1

  First Published in 2019 by

  Think Publishers

  Tel +94(77)3113301

  E-Mail: zeneefa@gmail.com

  Website: www.zeneefazaneer.com

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/zeneefazaneer

  Castle Image copyright © www.pixabay.com

  Illustrations copyright © 2019 Zeneefa Zaneer

  Text copyright © 2019 Zeneefa Zaneer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, sorted in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronically, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

  All characters and incidents in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Disclaimer: This is a retelling of the famous fairy tale Beauty and the Beast.

  Author: Zeneefa Zaneer

  Cover Design: Think Publishers

  ISBN- 9781792708145

  Long long ago, far far away in a blessed land there lived a handsome prince named Asab. He was strong like a lion, and handsome like a stallion. But his heart was mean and cruel like no other. He cared for nobody, for he had power. He was corrupted and mislead. Everyone was scared to face him, even the darkness would vanish when he stepped into the place, for such a glamorous life he was spending. He invaded neighboring countries, declared war and won every battle spreading his power all around. Although he was mean his leadership excelled, so the people of the kingdom named him ‘Akbar- the great’. Prince Akbar ran behind power forgetting about his Creator.

  There came a day for the man who stood proudly to kneel down and seek help from the Lord he had almost forgotten about. Prince Akbar was badly attacked during the last battle. His parents, the old king and the Queen believed their only son would not survive. Fortunately, Prince Akbar was healed but he had to live with scars. He was left with scars as a lesson for his cruelness. The ugly scar across his cheek reminded him of the lives he stole with no mercy. The happiness he tarnished from innocent lives began to tail him as he limped around. Every time when he looked into the mirror he heard a distant cry, a cry of a mother and a child. Unpleasant memories made him hallucinate. He couldn’t accept what he saw in the mirror. Prince Akbar hit the mirror with his bare hands, breaking the mirror into pieces and ending up with another cut in his hand. The cries of the innocents echoed in his mind.

  He spent sleepless nights. He spent the day alone. His friends never visited him. None was around him except for his old parents whom he once neglected. Day by day he began to hate the light. The darkness became his rescuer.

  ***

  On the other side of the land, in a quiet and beautiful village, there lived a lovely young girl named Jameela. Jameela was the youngest and the prettiest of three daughters. She was blessed with a beautiful face as well as a kind heart where her sisters failed to have none comparing to her. They envied their little sister. Their father was the Imam of the masjid. He was loved and respected for his loyalty and piety. But as we all know, where piety lays, the poverty tails too. He was poor and had to bring up his daughters alone without his wife. His wife passed away when their daughters were very small. Although he could marry another woman, he remained as a widower for the love he had for his wife and his daughters.

  Imam’s three daughters were brought up well with rightful knowledge of the Quran. Although they were charming, educated and their father was well known for his kind heart, no young men wished to take their hands. That was a time where people blindly followed their traditions. The men who wanted to marry them expected a healthy wealth from their father. Demanding for a dowry from the bride’s side is prohibited so the Imam adhered to the Islamic rulings.

  “Your foolishness will make the girls grow grey hair!” the villagers blamed him. The Imam was heartbroken but he remained strong in his decision. Waiting for so long time, rejected by one after another the faith in older girls’ hearts began to wither.

  “If you can’t find a husband for us then leave it for us, Father!” One day the oldest daughter, Jhaan burst in anger. The Imam’s eyes widened with disbelief. The lessons he learned years ago echoed in his mind. The Prophet (blessings and peace of Allah be upon him) had said: “Any woman who gets married without the permission of her wali-guardian, her marriage is invalid.”

  Imam’s glance moved towards his second daughter, tall and healthy Jazeelah. She nodded agreeing to her older sister.

  “Have you forgotten what I have taught you, children? Allah knows the best for us. Don’t lose faith in him!” he warned them. His voice soaked in regret. The two older girls shrugged and snorted.

  “Nobody marries us, father. Trust me Jazeelah, our skin will wrinkle but this old man will never find us a husband.” Jhaan mumbled hitting a pile of neatly folded clothes on to the floor. Jazeelah grunted.

  “Stay unmarried…rather hurting father!” walking into the house with a bucket of milk Jameela said, her face already turned red. She carefully left the pail and ran to her father whose lips curled with a slight smile.

  “It’s easy to say…” Jhaan snapped.

  “It’s better to stay with Father than going with a greedy man who is after your skin and jewels!” Jameela cut her sister short. She caressed her father’s arms with love. She could feel the burden their father was carrying on his shoulders for many years. Jameela could not remember her mother. Her mother passed away a year after Jameela was born. From that day their father had become their mother and father both.

  “Keep faith in Allah, children, keep faith!” Imam whispered weakly.

  ***

  Meanwhile, the arrogant young prince tried to hide from everyone. He hated everyone and everything. He hated the light. He hated nature. He hated his parents and he hated himself. He refused to come out from his abode. Rather he spent alone in the room, dark and messed.

  The old King and Queen were sad to see their son like that. He was spoiled and corrupted, alright, but he was their only treasure. The healers told the sooner he manages to console himself the better, for he was becoming weak within himself. His physical wounds healed but his mental scars were not. The sight of himself humiliated the Prince. After all, he was the greatest- Akbar.

  “What if we found a wife for him?”

  His mother said one day. His father shook his head disagreeing.

  “Who will marry him?”

  “But he’s the future King.”

  “Not handsome anymore. No girl would like to marry him. Oh! I fear my dear…no one would. Have you seen any of his worthless friends visiting him lately? Why?” The king consoled his wife. How can she hear all these things? It was her son. She remembered how handsome her son had been. Her son was enough proof that nothing stays forever. Her shoulders shook as she sobbed. The king patted her shoulder, he could feel her misery.

  “How eagerly I waited to carry my grandchi
ld…” She continued crying. It was true that there were more serious issues lined up to be solved before that but the king thought not to hurt his wife. After all, it was an innocent dream of a mother.

  “What if we told them they will be rewarded, the whole kingdom and every fortune we have will be given to the woman he marries?” When the king remained silent the queen said. She wiped her tears with hope. The king chuckled.

  “How can we secure the life of our son? They would agree to marry because of the wealth. There must be true love, nothing but love, my dear, nothing but love!” he said. The queen shook her head with disagreement.

  “How to find such love?” The king did not say anything. His eyes were focused out the window. If God put them into this situation then He would take them out, the king consoled his own mind.

  ***

  “Assalamu Alaikum!” The king grinned as he entered the dark room. He paced to the enormous windows which were shut for many weeks. He pulled away from the thick golden drapes. Sooner the sunlight bathed the room. The young prince grunted and covered his face with a pillow, annoyed. He hated light. He hated his father. He hated himself. He hated everything.

  “Ah! You look perfectly well today, my Son,” The king cheered. The prince said nothing. The king knowing his son well sat beside him. The Prince ignored his father and turned to the opposite.

  “The healer says you have recovered fast.” The king patted his son’s hand. The prince did not respond. Rather, his hand turned cold. ‘Who cares what the old wreck says? I won’t get what I’ve lost.’ he thought.

  “You know Son, we are blessed to have you.” The king’s voice was soaked with pride and sorrow. His son said nothing. The king sighed with grief. One more time he thought to speak his mind. It was his fault after all, his inner mind accused. He should have been more careful while he brought him up. He was lenient and had given Asab the freedom he wanted but only after seeing his son in deathbed the king realized where their love for the child has driven him towards to.

  “It’s time I retired, it is time I spent to catch up what I’ve missed so far,” the old king paused. “And it’s time for all of us to realize the truth…the truth that nothing will last forever.” The king said in a low voice. As usual the Prince plugged his ears tightly from his mind, not wanting to listen to his father’s raw lecture.

  “I know the pain you are going through but our land needs a king. I’m getting old. You have to take over!” The prince said nothing. The king watched at his young son with an aching heart.

  ***

  “He’s disheartened, Your Majesty. We have to find a way or I’m afraid he might kill himself” The royal physician said in a worried tone. The old king’s forehead wrinkled. He tried to console his wife. She had been weaker ever since their son lost the battle with a neighboring country.

  “Don’t we have a way out of this?” The king asked, a face that never expressed fear was visible in his face today. The physician looked down, shaking his head sideways.

  The king took a deep breath, his one hand continuously rubbed the shoulder of his wife who already broke in with a cry. His wisdom warned him to advise his son that beauty has no relationship with the soul, the body is just a place where the soul is locked in. The weaker the soul, the weaker the body becomes. In fact, the appearance is handled by the thoughts of a man. Never in our lives have we seen ourselves in our own eyes. We witness our appearance with the help of someone or something. The beauty is seen according to one’s taste. A flat mirror and a curved mirror won’t reflect the same picture. It shows a different ‘you’. It is the same with human eyes. What one person sees and likes is not what the other likes. Although the prince was feeling down because of his scars, his parents did not fear to see him.

  The deep thoughts of the king were disturbed by a harsh scream. He turned to the right corner of the second floor. He knew it was coming from his son’s room and it was obvious that it was his son’s scream.

  “I know the medicine for his illness…the Quran!” The king whispered.

  ***

  The king sent for all the Imams in the country. He wanted the best imam to teach back his son the Holy Quran. He knew it was a challenge, yet he believed someone would qualify to do the job. He promised a fortune. People with different knowledge visited the castle to get the job. They had no other intention in succeeding other than getting the fortune the king had promised to offer. Even those who understood less about the Quran joined the queue. Soon the king and the royal selecting committee became tired. No men could impress the king. The king was searching for one true man who would devote himself to do his job for the sake of Allah. He ordered his men to carry out many tasks so he could judge who would be honest from the lot.

  Once, an old maid was sent with a tray of tea and asked he to pretend to fall in front of the men. The men were too busy or pretended that they were busy reciting the Quran that nobody offered her any help except an old man who helped her gather the pieces of the clay cups.

  During the dhuhar prayers a man collapsed while praying. Everyone was keen on finishing their prayers except for this very same old man who interrupted his prayers and helped the man.

  When it was time for Asr prayers the king summoned everyone to the common room and began to address him. Nobody wanted to take a leave for prayers. But the old Imam with all due respect got up from the crowd and headed towards the royal masjid. The king and his men observed everything very carefully. The Imam looked very old so the king thought this man would not be fitting enough to serve their needs. They needed a young strong man who can be the teacher of their son as well as the guardian. But to the king’s disappointment no young man had patience or knowledge to act upon different circumstances laid before them.

  “Who is he?” The king asked his minister.

  “That’s Imam Abdul Wahab, Your Highness. He’s famous for his piety and the beautiful daughters he’s got.”

  The king nodded. ‘Beautiful daughters of a pious father’ the king whispered as the Imam approached greeting the king.

  ***

  “Father, you can’t do that, please!” Jameela whispered, heartbroken. The older sisters busied themselves with the gifts their father had brought home. The royal gifts shone with glitter and sequins. The expensive jewels and rich silks looked invitingly at the most beautiful sisters of the three, Jameela. Humble as she was, Jameela had no interest on riches her father had bought home. She tried to convince her father to refuse his newest job. Knowing the beastly like prince she feared he would hurt her father.

  “How could you do this, father? He’s no human. How can you become his teacher? He might hurt you.” She cried holding her father’s hands. The older sisters laughed at her. Her father stroked her thick curly hair with love and affection.

  “It’s what I am, Child. I’m a teacher of Islam. My students vary from rich to poor, handsome to ugly. Everyone is my resource to get close to Allah. If I teach them the right and helped them out, the reward would be not just fortunes of this world but the promises of my Creator,” The wise Imam said. Jameela nodded with a sniff. She could understand what her father said but it was difficult to agree and act upon his wisdom. She turned to her sisters expecting them to support her but they were too busy adoring those ruby necklaces and gold rings that they had never seen in their lives before. Her eyes glistened. She leaned her head on her father’s lap and wished that everything would be just fine. Father had sacrificed his entire life for them and little they could give him back in return.

  ***

  The melodious voice of the Imam pierced the silence of the castle. The young prince grunted not understanding what he heard. He walked like a caged tiger with anger. He had never had time to practice what he had learned as a child. Nothing was able to soothe his mind. Not even the melodious voice of the Imam or the beautiful words of the Quran. All he wanted was to get rid of this old man who annoyed him by sitting in front of his room and recited the verses of God from morning to
evening. How can anything be good when everything has gone wrong with him? How he wished to see his ugly face for one more time. But the castle had no mirrors any more. His parents advised their men to remove every reflective object in the castle. The darkness he dwelled in never let him observe his reflection through the water he gathered in his palms.

  “Those will be given their reward twice for what they patiently endured and [because] they avert evil through good, and from what We have provided them they spend”

  The young prince heard the Imam muttering the Arabic verse again. The rage in him exploded. He paced quickly toward the door. His royal robe followed him as tailing as his rage. He picked a ceramic vase and threw towards the imam with a scream. It happily scattered into smithereens. The Imam continued his recitation. When he finished the verse he raised his eyes and met those furious eyes of the young prince. The scar couldn’t hide the handsomeness of his young face. But the anger in him made him ugly. The corners of the lips of the old man stretched to a peaceful smile.

  “Get lost! Get lost and never come back to taunt me!” the prince yelled.

  ***

  It had been three days and the Imam never returned. At first the prince felt happy. But as minutes were added to past he began to feel irritated. The young and unhappy prince couldn’t think of the reason what bothered him this time. But soon he was able to realize. Although he disliked the Imam and his recitation his melodious voice had been a soothing balm to his heart. He now wanted the Imam to come back. But the Imam never returned.

  ***

  “No! Father you can’t, you can’t go to the palace like this! You are not well. I won’t let you go. No, never!” Jameela objected her father. The imam fell sick the very same day the young prince chased him away. He couldn’t return to the palace ever since then. It ached him more to beak a promise.

  “I’ve vowed to work for the king. I… I have to visit the castle, my child. I have to keep my word,” the Imam said in a weak voice. At that very moment a royal messenger arrived with a message.