Two Cities

Sana meets Rangeela

It was her first day at the site. Enough was enough. Sana had spent too many days watching her father

come home with red brown stains all over his clothes, sweating out his life force. No more. She had left him at home and told him strictly not to argue with her. 

It was simple really. A simple bind around her chest, cloth wrapped tight and pinned. She'd opened the cupboard and taken a loose salwar kameez of her fathers. Chopped her hair a little shorter. It would work. As long as somebody showed up from the Ahmed household. She would pose as her father's nephew, come to pay off the family debt. It would work. Even her mother had not protested too much after seeing the fire in her eyes and the weariness in her husband's bones. Just six months more of labor and they were through. They could pay off the house. They could live in peace. The landlord claimed to protect them from extorting thugs, but acted no less himself. It was infuriating. But just six more months of playing his game, laboring in the construction of some wealthy wretch's home, then she could free her family. Then she could be free to be with Saima. A bubble of anticipation jumped in her middle, rising up somewhere inside her throat. 

Today she would take over for her father. Today she would—

“Raza? Raza Ahmed.”

“Ji.” She scrambled to run to the overseer. A drip drip of sweat began down her back. Had she

bound tightly enough? Would he notice? Only men here, only men, of all ages. The overseer was

heavily mustached, his khakis crisp, a hat on his head to keep away the sun. Her hair was short

already, carefully pinned behind the cloth she’d tied carefully with the appearance of casualness

around her forehead. One wind and a tie to the side. It should do it. Just keep your head down and

work. The overseer barely looked in her direction. He pointed to the bags of dirt to his side and

indicated that she should start emptying them into the barrels. She could see other workers pouring

water into the barrels, and others mixing. She nodded and approached the first bag. It was…huge.

She gulped. The heat made her a little faint. But she had to do this. Even if she’d never done it

before.

“Oi! Hurry up, will you?”

She glanced behind her and saw a young man, about her age, sauntering over in her direction. There

was an easiness in his gait that she didn’t recognize. How someone could experience ease she didn’t

understand. It felt each of her days there was a cloud surrounding her, one that dusted her with—

“Hello?” The man waved at her, mouth turned down slightly. She jumped back into reality.

“Oh. Oh yes. Sorry.” She hurried to bend down to pick up the sack. It wouldn’t budge. She pushed

and pulled and got under it. The man behind her tapped his foot. It made her skittish. Sana didn’t

know what was wrong with her today. She felt skittish and nervous and jumpy, and it wasn’t helping

her grip.

“First time?” The same man, but his voice was gentler. She was surprised as he took one end of the

bag and didn’t waste time lifting the other. With no more words between them, they lugged the dirt

over to the barrel. He took a knife from his waistband and slashed the bag. A cloud of dust appeared

and Sana tried not to cough. There was a certain beauty about it. God’s dirt. She found herself

admiring the soothing sound, the way the dust caught in the sunlight. Another laborer poured water

and she enjoyed the light splashes on her face.

“Thank you.”

“What’s your name?” he said in response.

“Sa-Raza.”

“Rangeela.” He gave her a strange look. “You’re going to have to get faster if you want to stay

around. Sait doesn’t like it slow.”

Sana’s eyes narrowed. “That won’t be a problem.”

“Oh-ok.” He held up his hands in defeat. “Whatever you say.” He started to walk away.

“Wait! Uh, wait. If we pick the bags up together it will go faster.”

Rangeela gave her a strange look and shrugged. They quietly picked up the bags, dumped them,

picked up the bags, dumped them. Slowly the day turned into a dusty rhythm. There was something

comforting about the work. She was able step out of the dull ache in her chest. That special mix of

exultation pain and joy named Saima. Oh how she yearned for her. Every day it was as if her laugh

touched the edges of her skin, made her fingertips buzz. She missed falling asleep in her arms, head

tucked under her chin. She missed smelling her, that rose and jasmine ithar. She used to make fun of

her for using both. But now the slightest whiff of either sent tears to her eyes and a jolt of life

straight up and down her body.

Soon it was time for food. She had wrapped some rotis in a cloth along with some achar. It would

be enough she had thought. She’d rather her parents eat the rations. But now she wished she had

packed something a little more substantial. There were six more hours of this. Her thoughts swirled

around her, palpable as the dust. She sat to the side of the site, away from the clay and mixing and

the bricks for a while. There was something surprisingly pleasant about the smell of earth and water,

mixing. Two elements. There was a tiny bit of shade and Sana allowed herself a small sigh of relief.

Rangeela sauntered over and sat down near her. Sana shifted uncomfortably, but he didn’t say

anything, so she allowed herself to fall into her quiet meal. Spreading the achar over her roti, she

savored each bite, but it was gone too quickly. She’d started to fold up her cloth when in a flash

something dropped into her cloth. A roll of something. The scent of chicken wafted up at her and

she couldn’t help but gasp. She looked up quickly and saw Rangeela already walking away.

“No—I—but—”

“I’m not hungry. Just eat.” All she could see was the back of his head as he left, black hair full of

sweat just as much as hers was. Maybe—maybe Allah had sent her a friend.