'Maze' by Abida Akram

In my dreams my anxiety surfaced. I was running fast, sweating, lost in a maze. Dark brown mud walls hemmed me in. I tried to climb one, falling as it collapsed. It disintegrated into tiny chocolate vermicelli; they were all over me. Then orange and dark brown paisley patterns tattooed my body. Intricate swirls and graceful curlicues with elongated tails, delicate feathering, tiny hearts and teardrops. I searched them frantically, but I could not find his name, not in English or Hindi. 

Running swiftly again through murky air, as if in a Saharan desert storm. Green dupatta pulled tight across my mouth and nose. My eyelashes weaving together into a lattice, a purdah screen. I look for my parents and sisters but the wind is too strong. 

I wake in a dusty bed with twisted orange-stained sheets. In the long-awaited shower, mendhi dissolves, falling chocolate strands, some gathering in a pile - blocking the plug hole.  A maze revealed again on my skin.

Later as I dressed, friends danced around me, finishing up my hair and makeup, oohing and aahing over the mendhi patterns.

‘Oh Shera, it really has taken…’ Sayeeda said enviously.

‘Don’t forget to rub oil on every day so that it will last longer.’  Reminded the ever-practical Anita.

‘David will never be able to find his name. The bridal artist has done a good job,’ said Ursula, the groom’s sister.

I glowed with hope and with my love for David. I knew I was doing the right thing. I was honouring both of us. In a white wedding dress then later in a red silk sari. 

Surely my family would come. I waited with excitement rising.