Captive- Veiled Desires Read online

  Captive- Veiled Desires

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Clarissa Cartharn

  Copyright © Text Clarissa Cartharn 2015

  Copyright © Cover design Cyma Rizwaan Khan 2015

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  CAPTIVE- VEILED DESIRES

  Clarissa Cartharn

  Nora Jennings quits her job as a photographer for a small community newspaper to fulfill her dreams of traveling. First stop- Kashmir, the land renowned as heaven on Earth.

  But dreams have a terrible habit of turning into a nightmare. And suddenly she finds herself bound and gagged in Afghanistan, ready to be wedded to Pashtun warlord, Adam Afridi.

  CONTENT

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  ALSO BY CLARISSA CARTHARN

  A JAR OF DREAMS

  CHAPTER ONE

  HAPTER 1

  Freedom- you don’t know what that means until it is taken away from you.

  Nora Jennings breathed in the cool, Kashmiri air. She had long wanted to visit the little state in India. She couldn’t remember what attracted her to it first. Perhaps, it was the green hills of Sonmarg, or the wintery alpines of Gulmarg. But when she received her first opportunity to travel, of all places she chose Kashmir.

  Her best friend, Amy had called her stupid. “Do you know the place is in conflict?” she had said. “They kidnap western tourists and sever their heads as well.”

  “That was in 1995, Amy. It’s been almost twenty years since.”

  “It still is dangerous, Nora,” she said, shaking her head. “There is so much of the world for you to see. Paris, London, Madrid, Venice. Why not one of these?”

  “Because we know so much about those places, it’s like I’ve visited them already. But Kashmir… Kashmir is unknown. It’s different.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, Nora. You really have.”

  But Amy being Amy, didn’t stop to try and change her mind until she had purchased her ticket. And for that reason, Nora had bought it quicker than she would ordinarily have. As expected, Amy stopped urging her to not go. However, her opinions on Nora’s supposed erroneous decision lasted until she boarded the flight.

  The cool breeze ruffled her hair as she sat back in a floating [1]shikara, watching other colorful canoes pass by silently on the peaceful waters of Dal Lake in Srinagar. Houseboats swamped the lake, operating as houses and stores. This was the Venice of sub-continent India.

  She smiled at the children on the narrow piers that linked one houseboat to another. Some waved at her, while others smiled shyly. She smiled back, readying her brand new Canon point and shoot camera. The price had cut her back on her savings drastically but it was well-worth the investment. Photography was the major reason she had chosen to come to Kashmir. The scenic views, the historic elements- they were a delight for any person with a passion for the stilled arts.

  Her job as a photographer for a small community newspaper like the Chicago Herald hadn’t paid much, but she had loved it. However, there came a point in time in life when you assess your dreams and you realize you hadn’t even lived half of them. She was twenty-eight, graduated with a photography major and working the same job for the last seven years. It was a life she never had envisioned for herself. This was not how it was supposed to have turned out.

  In her little chart of life goals she had drawn out at eighteen years old, she had pinned a gold tack on twenty-two, along with a detailed plan on journeying through Europe. But somewhere along the years, the chart fell off her board and flew under her bed, where it remained buried in dust until she spring-cleaned two months ago. When had time slipped by and taken over her life? For all she knew, she’d be hit by a bus in the busy streets of Chicago and she would never live those goals. Three days later after discovering her lost chart of life’s visions, she had handed in her resignation, ready to take over the world.

  She aimed her camera at the children and they shouted with glee. She laughed and silently prayed at the same time that they wouldn’t fall into the water. She’d hate to cause any harm to them at her expense.

  The sounds of the clicks of her camera entwined with the luscious sweeps of the canoe by the boatman, making her feel alive and adventurous. This was what she wanted to live to do for the rest of her life.

  As the boat veered towards the sunset, she saw the man stand at the end of a platform, his hands on his hips, his eyes peering seriously onto the lilies that bobbed on the surface of the water. His clothes were damp and clung deliciously onto his body. She suspected from his native attire that he was a Kashmiri local. But there was something else that distinctly caught her eye. Perhaps, it was his tall height and well-defined muscles that were transparently obvious through the thin, damp material of his long loose tunic. However the case, she didn’t want to dwell too much on the fact on why he intrigued her. His profile was beautifully mingled with the sunset in the horizon and she couldn’t afford losing the opportunity to take his picture.

  She aimed her camera at him, taking a quick couple of shots before he turned and frowned at her. She immediately set her camera down. He didn’t like it, she thought as she bit her lower lip. His eyes narrowed, focusing on her intently and she lowered her own. She looked away, sneaking a small smile. Regardless of how he may have felt about it, she had found her heroic shot. She could sell it online. It was bound to be worth something.

  She let her dark tresses loose over her shoulders, watching the birds skim over the lake. This was her last day in Srinagar. Tomorrow, she was traveling to Kupwara, the crown of Kashmir. She had spent a week in Kashmir and it had been nothing but heavenly. Amy couldn’t have been more wrong.

  She made certain she had packed everything, double-checking to and fro from the bathroom to the bedroom. Her eyes fell on her camera and she recalled the man on the pier.

  She suddenly had an urge to admire him again and took her camera out of its case. She settled herself on her bed, pulling her laptop eagerly towards her. Hooking her camera to her notebook, she retrieved the file and enlarged the picture onto full screen.

  The golden ball of the sun sat behind him while the ripples of the water were distinct and well-defined. She couldn’t tell exactly how he looked because of the dark silhouette caused from the angle in which she had shot him. But even in the shadow of the sun-set, his body was beautiful to look at.

  She perked her lips as she studied him, trying to remember what set him apart from the men around him. He was well-formed, she supposed. Although not heavily set, he was still defined in his arms and shoulders. He must come from an affluent family because he apparently exercised to retain such a handsome physique. Most of the Kashmiri local men she had met were extremely lean, bordering to thinness if not the plumper side which marked a
ge and maturity. They did not either have the means or the interest to entertain such luxury as exercising. People here had greater needs, such as that to live and survive.

  She turned the picture to a side to get a better view of it in the light. He most definitely was an anomaly and that meant she could possibly get an attractive sum for her photograph. She would have to look at potential travel or historical web sites which might be interested in making her an offer. If not, there were always online photography sites which might give her an adequate royalty.

  She uploaded the picture onto her online database. Although her camera had gracious memory storage, she always took extra caution in safe-keeping her treasured photographs. Cameras could be broken or stolen. And she’d rather have that than lose all her pictures, which she was relying on to meet her expenses on the trip.

  She gathered her bags and headed towards the bus-stop. She didn’t trust traveling alone in a cab. Although she dressed modestly in jeans and a long sleeve shirt; she still wrapped a Pashmina shawl around her shoulders for extra measure, and yet she didn’t think it was enough to keep her safe. There was always more safety in numbers and she knew she would get that in a busload of women and crying babies.

  The manager of the houseboat she had rented told her that the earliest bus would arrive at seven o’clock in the morning. And she was eager to get to Kupwara as soon as possible. She hadn’t traveled all the way to Kashmir to sleep in.

  There were already a few people waiting at the stop. She checked her watch. She was early. There was still half an hour more yet for the bus to arrive.

  She sat alongside an old woman who dug nimbly into a corncob. It was probably her breakfast. It triggered a hunger induced rumbling in her own belly. She had chosen not to eat while traveling because not only did it make her sick, she was also trying to avoid using the public rest rooms. In spite of Kashmir’s natural beauty, the locals had still yet to learn to keep their public conveniences clean and sanitary. It was only a two hour trip Google Maps told her; stretched to a possible three for public transport. She could hold back her hunger for at least four hours until she reached her hotel in Kupwara.

  Shuffling the dirt under her feet impatiently, she hoped the bus wouldn’t take too long in arriving. A car pulled over the side and a man hopped out, walking directly to her. She looked up at him curiously. He was the typical local dressed in a [2]churidhar pyjama and the famous Kashmiri skull-cap decked the top of his head. He mumbled something fast in Kashmiri to her and she smiled, shaking her head. Obviously, he was directing her to the car parked alongside the bus-stop.

  “No, no,” she repeated. Despite his impressible polite manners, there was no way she was going to step inside a car full of strangers.

  He insisted though, not willing to give up on his offer. He stretched on the word ‘taxi’ a few times, alerting her. She looked over at the car but saw no sign that indicated that it was a licensed cab.

  “Mê chunė käshur tagān,” she said. It was one of the few Kashmiri phrases she had mastered over her week there. “I can’t speak Kashmiri.”

  The man slowed down. “You want go taxi. We go Kupwara. Fast. Bus slow.”

  She shook her head again. “Meherbani. Na, na.”

  The man frowned, thinking briefly. “No problem.” He tried again. “Safe, safe. Aurat, women go.” He pointed at the vehicle again. He called out to the passengers in the car and two women dressed in traditional [3]shalwar and [4]hijab, scrambled out of the car.

  They were the typical Muslim women of Kashmir; docile and shy with colorful head-coverings. It would be like riding on a bus. How dangerous could it be traveling with a couple of women in the backseat? The women outnumbered the men in such case. She would be fine, she gulped nervously.

  She looked back at the still empty road, hoping the bus might turn the corner and change her mind. She weighed the pros against the cons and its positivity outshone greatly.

  She scrunched her mouth and decided that an expensive fare would break the deal.

  “Yi kotāh chu ?” she asked, her brow raised and expecting some exorbitant sum.

  “Same, same. Bus fare. Only three hundred rupee more,” he said, bobbling his head.

  That was equivalent to only five dollars. A luxury she could afford. It seemed it even had air-conditioning, and three slim women at the back wouldn’t exactly be a tight fit.

  “Ên. Ok, you got a deal,” she said, picking up her bags.

  The man reached for them, offering to store it away in the trunk and she gratefully let him have it. She walked over to the car and peered inside. One of the women sat by the window and the other waited for her to slide in first. Looks as if she was ticketed the middle-seat. Not quite what she was hoping for. She gave one last look at the bus stop. The woman with the corn-cob was staring back at her with interest. And the bus… well, it still hadn’t arrived.

  She wished she had got the window seat. But the woman standing by the door had been so adamant on sliding in last.

  She shifted uncomfortably on her seat. The driver also kept staring at her through the rear view mirror. Such a perv! She avoided an eye roll, trying to focus on the road ahead. It was growing steadily in traffic and noise.

  Someone turned up the air conditioning and the little whirring sound drummed in her ear. Regardless, it was more comforting than traveling in the stifling heat with a hundred more crammed individuals.

  The younger woman on her left touched her arm slightly. She turned and smiled.

  The woman made a gesture towards her face.

  “I have something on my cheek?” she asked.

  The woman shook her head. “Mkh, aechh.”

  “My face and eyes?”

  “Yes, yes… pretty.” The woman smiled. “Like Aishwarya.”

  “Aishwarya?”

  “Aishwarya Rai,” the woman explained.

  She chuckled, recalling the beautiful Bollywood actress. “Me? No. Aishwarya-too beautiful.”

  The woman opened her bag and pulled out a little bottle of perfume. “Special made,” she said, offering it to her. “You smell. Very nice.”

  “Ummm… thanks.” Nora looked at it hesitantly. “It’s okay. I believe you.”

  “Please, please. Very good,” the woman insisted, almost shoving the bottle into her nose.

  “Uh… okay,” Nora complied. Perhaps, if she obliged, the woman would get off her back and leave her in peace. “Just a little bit.”

  She took a sniff at it. It was strong and almost antiseptic. She held back from scrunching her mouth and handed it back to the woman. “Thank you, very nice.” She smiled politely at her.

  The woman stared oddly at her. The man who had invited her into the car said something to the woman. The woman pulled up her scarf, covering her face. The other older woman on her right scolded her younger companion before doing the same.

  The antiseptic smell lingered on under Nora’s nose. Somewhere between her little conversation with the young woman, the latter had spilt a little of her perfume onto Nora’s shirt collar.

  Nora looked down depressingly at the stain. Hopefully, it would evaporate without leaving a mark. The way in which the younger woman cringed away from her made her feel guilty. But she wasn’t the one who spilt the so-called precious scent on her shirt! Besides, the perfume didn’t seem as popular as the younger woman had thought. Everyone in the car had their scarves pulled up to their noses.

  She sat back. It wasn’t so strong. It was pretty relaxing when she thought of it. She laid her head back against the back rest. Her body grew limp and tired. She really hadn’t had much rest last night. Her eyes fluttered with sleep induced heaviness. She gave into her weariness and closed her eyes, listening to the whirr of the air conditioner. She felt as if a drug had shot through her nerves, shutting down every cell in her body, one by one, as it traveled up her body and to her brain.

  The whirring stopped and then, there was just darkness. And sleep.

  Her eyes opened slo
wly, still trying to fight off the sleep that gripped her body in its tight vice. The first thing she felt was the hard cold floor beneath her. Her body ached as if it had been put through a washer. How long had she been sleeping? Where was she?

  She groaned as she palmed her forehead. She needed to get up and catch that bus to Kupwara or she’d miss it. But how did she end up on the floor?

  She coughed from the dust caught in her throat. She couldn’t remember the boathouse being so dirty. She had to turn on the light. It was dark and she barely could see anything.

  She heard the older woman’s voice from that cab she had hitched a ride in. She was scolding someone again. The cab? She had taken a cab to Kupwara. Reality began seeping in, bringing along with it a surge of anxiety.

  Where was she? What was happening to her? She scrambled about in the dark. This wasn’t real. She had to wake up. She had to get to Kupwara. Someone wake her up!

  A door creaked open and the silhouette of the younger woman who had spilt her perfume on her shirt appeared in the doorway.

  “Oh, thank God,” she croaked. “Had I fallen asleep? Where am I?”

  But the woman said nothing and approached her with sudden brutality. Nora’s natural defenses alerted. There was something wrong.

  The woman growled at her and pulled her head up roughly. Nora fought back, flailing her arms to hit her.

  The woman called for help and the older woman stormed in, heading straight for Nora. She slapped her in the face and then held her chin steady.

  “You bitch!” Nora screamed. “Let me go! Let me go! What’s going on?!”

  But her mouth and her nose were muffled again by a damp cloth.

  That smell again! That antiseptic smell! It wasn’t perfume. It was chloroform! She pushed back against the women but they held her arms still. One stepped on it and pain shot through her nerves and to her brain almost blacking her out. She gritted her teeth, her scream muffled in her throat.