The Candle and the Flame by Nafiza Azad

Author:Nafiza Azad [Azad, Nafiza]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781338306057
Google: Y0n0ugEACAAJ
Amazon: B07HPF7DW4
Goodreads: 39821312
Publisher: Scholastic
Published: 2019-05-13T23:00:00+00:00

Her rage demands a reckoning, but Fatima Ghazala forces herself to walk away. The rajkumar’s gaze lingers like a particularly repugnant aftertaste, making her feel dirty. The way he looks at her makes her feel like a stranger in her own body. The rage persists even when she prays Zohr; she pours her heart out to her Creator and yet …

Does the rajkumar think she ought to feel flattered by his attentions? Or does he think she will automatically reciprocate his dubious affections? Because he is the rajkumar and she a mere servant, does he think he has the right to treat her without the respect that is her due as a woman, as a citizen of the country his family rules? How many others has he pursued to this point? Does he think submission to his attentions the only viable action available to her?

Fatima Ghazala’s rage becomes complex; it develops layers and depth. Deciding she cannot stand to be in her room one more second, she changes into a pink tunic embroidered with green and blue flowers and a matching shalwar and dupatta and steps out of the room, only to bump into Indra, who was coming by to get her for lunch.

“I don’t want food,” Fatima Ghazala tells the older girl. She can feel her fire react to her rage, simmering under the surface of her skin. “Is there a place I can … I don’t know, hit things?”

“You want to hit someone?” The maharani’s companion looks contemplative.

“Not just anyone. The rajkumar. I want to hit him rather badly, but I gather that won’t be too acceptable to your employers,” Fatima Ghazala says seriously.

“Come with me,” Indra says. She leads Fatima Ghazala across the mahal grounds and through a narrow path between two bushes lush with purple bougainvillea until they emerge into an open space containing a wooden building. Female guards wearing wicked scimitars stand at the entrance to this building. Indra nods at them, and they move aside to let Fatima Ghazala and her pass.

The building is one large hall, sparsely furnished. Wooden floors with some mats for meditation purposes are spread out on the sides. Some of those mats are occupied. Faces Fatima Ghazala recognizes as fellow companions are crowded around one man who is also familiar to her.

“Niruthan?” Fatima Ghazala says, and the man looks up at her. He immediately breaks into a beaming smile and walks over.

“You know our asaan?” Indra asks.

“Yes, he is my asaan too. I have been learning from him for the last two years. Does he teach you kalaripayattu too?” Fatima Ghazala asks. Nirthan is a muscled but slender man a few years older than Fatima Ghazala. The kindness in his face and eyes are at odds with the brutal precision with which he practices his martial arts.

“I teach them silambam too,” Niruthan says, hearing Fatima Ghazala’s question. He gives her a hug and a smile. “Why haven’t you been back to the practice hall, Fatima?”

“It’s Fatima Ghazala now, Asaan. Many things happened.

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