Wedding in the Sandcastle

By Sayed Rohani

Wedding in the Sandcastle is the riveting story of two youths who assign their friends to secretly inquire about their suitors to make sure if they are worthy of marriage.

Farha falls in love with Rozee, Sahra’s suitor. She plots to rob Rozee from Sahra and weds with him, with all possible expedition. Furthermore, it is her wildest dream to have a perfect wedding. As her wishes have always been granted by her parents, she assumes that her dream wedding will also come true; however, she needs to exert herself to reach her goal. By availing herself of different means and avenues, Farha conspires against Sahra to turn her relationship with Rozee in a shambles, to win Rozee’s heart, and to persuade him to have a beautiful and indelible beach wedding. Farha successfully gets under Rozee’s skin. Her conspiracies work, and Rozee is persuaded to reserve a very rich and romantic wedding place on the beach and to make preparations to wed in the near future.

Does their marriage consummate? Will Sahra, with all her magnanimity, end up with frustration and failure?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sayed Rohani
• Release date: Apr 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311667786

Sayed Rohani

Sayed H. Rohani was born in Afghanistan and has spent most of his life in the United States. Currently, he lives in New Jersey. He has published a number of literary works including novels, plays, short stories, and poems. His writings reflect social injustice, political corruption, and psychological dilemmas, focusing on the universal qualities such truth, justice, humanity, freedom, etc.

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WEDDING IN THE SANDCASTLE

SAYED H. ROHANI

Published by Sayed Rohani

Copyright 2014 Sayed Rohani

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this boo, please encourage your friends to download their copy from their favorite retailer. Thank you for your support

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: A Red Rose

Chapter 2: A Mission

Chapter 3: A Suitor’s Escapade

Chapter 4: A Dilemma

Chapter 5: Mission Completed

Chapter 6: A Tense Moment

Chapter 7: A Conspiracy

Chapter 8: Deception in Progress

Chapter 9: Paradise Island Beach

Chapter 10: A Web of Intrigue and Deception

Chapter 11: Emotional Blackmail

Chapter 12: Farha Needs a Little More Wind to Sail Through

Chapter 13: In Pursuit of Her Dream

Chapter 14: A Moonlit Night

Chapter 15: Cognition, Emotion, Volition, Spirituality

Chapter 16: The Sandcastle Reserved

Chapter 17: Dawn of a New Life

Chapter 18: Secrets Fall Apart

Chapter 19: Engagement Announced Annulled

Chapter 20: Farha Collapses

Chapter 21: Farha’s Letter

Chapter 22: In Pursuit of Relationship Renewal

Chapter 23: Our Future was Approaching Beautifully Brightly, and Benignly

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Chapter 1

A Red Rose

They played with my emotions here and there when I was a child. If I had been at the mercy of my emotions, I would have had the lowest self-esteem. However, I availed myself of my reason more than a person with highest self-esteem would do. This was a token of surprise for Farha, my classmate, who had good self-esteem, but appearing before the public was a daunting experience for her. I listened more to my reason than to my bruised emotions, by engaging in a variety of activities that involved challenge and courage, such as raising my hand ahead of everyone else to answer the teachers’ questions, presenting speeches in conferences, taking part in debates, etc. I did not feel intimidated to speak in public; rather, I felt encouraged. As my reason grew, I took courage and braved the obstacles.

My high school graduation speech went so well that a young man whom I had never seen before approached me with a red rose and said, I am Rozee. I was so impressed by your speech that you would deserve the most expensive gift, if I had your permission to offer it. However, nothing can represent me better than this red rose.

I gave my speech exactly as recorded below:

God told the angels to bow before Adam in adoration. The angels said that he would make mischief and shed blood. God convinced them that Adam knew names of the things that they did not know, and thus they glorified God and bowed down to Adam. Satan refused to obey God, saying that he was created from fire and Adam from mud. God cursed Satan for

being arrogant and expelled him from heaven.

These divine words explain important truths: First, trial is an important strategy of God.

Every single soul is tested—even prophets, even angels. Second, freedom is an inalienable component of testing. One is qualified for testing only when he or she is free. Third, each human has unlimited potential and opportunity to grow in goodness so that he or she can emulate even angels in virtue. Fourth, knowledge is so sacrosanct and high-priority that it penetrates and excels all such phenomena as race, color, skin, pedigree, heritage; social, political, and economical advantages; elemental aspects such as human, angelic, and other natural or supernatural elements. That is, one who has knowledge can surpass angels, as Adam could. Fifth, arrogance is so abominable that it brought down Satan from heaven into the abyss of damnation.

Farha, who was present at the ceremony, also praised my speech. In the first place, she admired my speech under the impression of others, and in the second place, she wanted seemingly to pay tribute to the memory of our having been a one-time classmates. That day following the high school graduation, we met and recognized each other and remained on the school campus for a while. I do not know why she had participated in that graduation ceremony; perhaps her friends or relatives were involved. After she left my school as a third-grader, she went to some private school. She was living somewhere in Woodside, New York. We would see each other here and there sometimes and would greet each other as two strangers, but there was nothing in common between us to be connected. Despite this sense of detachment, I was surprised that she was interested in me following my graduation speech. To find a way to improve her relationship with me, she delved into her past and started the following conversation.

Do you remember, Farha inquired, one day when we were in the third grade, a bully flew an airplane paper in the class and used you as a scapegoat?

I remember it as clearly as if it happened yesterday, I confirmed. I emphatically defended myself. The teacher tried to involve other students as witnesses. Everybody was quiet—including you.

He was the bully of the class. He was threatening everybody.

Farha’s story reminded me of many other incidents that left me out as a third-grader. I was born in New York. I lived in Woodside, New York. It was around 9/11. My classmates assumed that my parents and I were from somewhere in the Middle East. I hated my life. Children were strange toward me, some even hostile, without any cause, though I was peaceful, complaisant, and reserved. As I was calm and respectful, they thought I was stupid. People treated me as if I were the immediate spawn of those terrorists who attacked the Twin Towers. Strangers were looking me up and down, whispering things behind my back. One day during morning recess, I was playing by myself, running after the butterflies and dragonflies, having a bit of fun. Three children backed me into a corner of the school campus to extort answers or a certain confession from me.

Now, little terror, William, a classmate of mine, accosted me, "where have you come

from?"

I’m not a terrorist, was my response. I was full of fright, my heart beating hard, and the children were laughing. I’ve nothing to do with the terrorists. My dad and I swear at these murderers all the time, and we’d beat the hell out of each of them if we had the power to do it.

You bring terror if you have power, said Scott, another nine-year-old boy.

Yes, you little terror, said Iris, my other nine-year-old girl classmate.

You all lie—I’ve nothing to do with bad guys, I responded. The children were laughing.

Lying is popular nowadays, added William, but creating terror is a punishable crime.

I curse terrorists, I said emphatically.

You belong to them, Iris said.

I’m going to complain to the principal about you, I threatened.

If you complain, we’ll create more problems for you, Iris said. Even if you complain, the principal will listen to us because we’re in the majority, and you’re in the minority.

I’ll complain to my parents, I said with frustration and tearful eyes.

Your parents will see the principal, who will ask us about you. Again, the principal will listen to us because it will be three against one.

I’ll take legal action against all of you for your harassment and accusations, I said while losing patience as time ticked by.

In the first place, William said, that’s a long process. In the second place, you’ve no proof of what you’re talking about. You don’t know how the law works. You see right now how much you’re suffering, so that you’re desperately crying, but even so, the law cannot help you because it has no tongue to defend you.

But a lawyer will defend me, I added with frustration.

You need money to hire a lawyer—and besides, you have to show proof to the lawyer. After all, what will be your complaint about us?

That you accuse me of being a terrorist, I said emphatically.

But we didn’t accuse you of being a terrorist, William said, while the rest were laughing. We said you’re a terror against the innocent insects. You have to improve your English. That’s why you’re in the Special Ed. class.

Frustrated and exhausted, I was so embarrassed that I bit my finger, and my tears dried up as soon as I heard William’s remark. Despite my good speaking and writing, I was receiving special education in English, which left me at a loss. The children dispersed, laughing. I moved listlessly toward the school building. I said nothing to my mother about the incident because I thought my English was messed up, and therefore I was responsible for the confusion. In fact, my low self-esteem at that time necessitated that way of thinking. Subsequently, more old memories crammed into my mind, trying to terrorize me. Now I was confronted with such a mortifying memory that I completely forgot myself. I recalled that few days after the incident, the same children accused me of having head lice, which made me the talk of the whole school.

These troublesome memories of the past paraded before my eyes like a dazzling montage in a horror movie, leaving me thoughtful and hurt. When Farha observed the change in me, she understood that I felt uncomfortable.

I didn’t want to hurt you by reminding you of your childhood, Farha explained. I just wanted to relive our childhood for a moment to enjoy that experience together.

We were different from each other in many respects. She was very active and alive. I was quiet and shy, perhaps shy to meet strange people and start a friendship with them. Thus I was susceptible to others’ criticism, feeding their gossip. I was more attractive than Farha. She was showing herself off with provocative clothing, which was unacceptable for me. In fact, I wore dresses that covered me well enough to keep strangers’ lustful looks at bay, not provocative dresses to draw their attention.

Later on, when Farha and I attended Fairleigh Dickenson University, we would chance upon each other now and again. She was studying pre-law, and my major was journalism. One day in college, we met each other for the first time, and she wanted to know me better.

Where are you from, Sahra? Farha inquired.

My parents are from Afghanistan, I answered, but I was born in New York.

Which part of Afghanistan did they come from? Farha inquired.

Kabul, was my response.

My father, who is also an Afghan, claims that Afghan names are usually meaningful, for they link to meaningful roots.

Do you know what your name means?

No, I don’t. What does it mean? she inquired.

"It means delight," was my response.

Beautiful. What does your name mean?

"It means desert," I answered.

Your name can translate your personality, because you’re calm, soft-spoken, and reserved.

They’re all virtues in Afghan culture, I commented.

I’ve been ambitious to learn my parents’ language, but with no success. In a way, I’ve been deprived of this free and available opportunity.

Why? I asked.

This deprivation is not something inevitable. I mean there are ways to learn it if I apply myself a little bit, but the way I want to learn isn’t available.

I’ve learned it easily, and for free, was my response.

How? Farha inquired.

My parents communicate with me in their native language, I explained.

If my parents speak their native language between each other, and they involve me in their conversation, I’ll learn it also without extra effort, she explained.

Where’s your mother from?

From Iran, was Farha’s answer. As far as I know, her parents were wealthy and prosperous, and so were my father’s.

But they speak the same language, only with different accents, I explained. Don’t they speak in their own language?

No. They always speak in English.

I scowled at her to assert my antagonistic and derisive feeling toward their parents. This was the strangest idiosyncrasy, which I was hearing about for the first time. If I were cautious and prudent enough, this weird behavior could have explained more than what I had discovered about her family. This understanding was very significant. It could give me the opportunity to explore her and her family, and therefore could have warned me against her prospective manipulations. But my absurd feeling against her parents was temporary. I did not take it seriously, and even forgot about it. Her parents, as I learned later on, were very self-indulgent, a legacy passed down to them from their parents.

What are your parents? Farha asked.

They have been very ambitious to be highly educated. In her homeland, my mother was a nurse. Later on, she wanted to be a medical doctor and she became a medical student, but we left the country because of war, and her education was disrupted. My father was a teacher. They had a very easy and comfortable life. They wanted to continue their aspirations in the United States instead. My mother wished to continue her education—to attend medical school.

Then what happened? she inquired.

Just keeping up with daily life kept us so busy that we forgot what we knew before. To pay off our expenses, my mom became a sweeper. My dad’s education was not enough to get him a job. So he went to college to get his master’s degree. He finished college successfully and wanted to be a teacher. He was accepted as a per diem teacher in New York City public schools. For several years he tried hard to be a permanent teacher, but to no avail. As a per diem teacher, life was so hard that he quit his job and applied for retail stores as a cashier. His salary was so low that he could hardly meet our expenses, and he had to quit his job….

What does he do now? she asked.

I did not feel comfortable telling her all our secrets. But as a friend, I felt obliged to answer all her questions as accurately as I could.

He’s a cabby.

And your mom is still a sweeper?

"She had the time and opportunity to take a few short-term courses to become a bank teller.

And now she’s working at the bank."

How can you manage the college tuition?

I got scholarship, was my answer.

That day we wrapped up our discussion and departed.

Chapter 2

A Mission

A few days later, Farha and I met again and continued to meet occasionally as time went by. Rozee, twenty years old, had openly expressed his love to me and was one of my persistent suitors. Farha, nineteen, had not yet met him, but she was very interested to know about our relationship and hear our stories. By now she was seemingly a very close friend of mine. One day, she came to me with her dream to interpret for her. Although she appreciated my ideas on most other issues, she disagreed with my interpretation of her dream.

Last night I had a dream, she said. Though it seems funny, I’m very interested in it and want to know about its meaning.

What did you dream? I asked.

I dreamt that I was holding my wedding party in a sandcastle—in fact, a real castle made of sand, even with its turrets, built on the beach, and I was marrying a very handsome young man.

Did you dream that you were getting married in a sandcastle? I inquired, while smiling

sarcastically.

Yes, she confirmed emphatically.

"I don’t want to irritate you or break your heart, Farha—but the sandcastle, I suspect,

symbolizes something unstable, something on the rocks."

What are you talking about? I see my dream full of fun, excitement, novelty, elegance, and magnificence.

That is my opinion. You have the freedom to give it whatever meaning you want.

She not only disagreed with me about my interpretation, but she was also irritated.

A few days later, we met again. She mentioned nothing about her dream or my interpretation of it. She appeared to be very friendly and warm. She invited me to her house, which was in Fort Lee, N.J.

You’re a beautiful girl, she commented. If you get stylish, you’ll capture a lot of hearts.

What do you expect me to be? A girl who tries to win the people’s hearts?

What’s wrong with that? she inquired with surprise.

I have a suitor—I’m fed up and don’t know how to cope with him. Don’t you know I’m a Moslem girl, and I have to know my limitations?

Oh, you’re too much into religion, Farha added. You deserve to enjoy life, too. I’m very practical, as far as what I’m talking about. Why don’t you try on some of my hip-hop clothes, and I’ll give you a little makeup and fix your hair a little bit—then you’ll see the difference between what you were and what you’ll be. I’m sure a big change will happen in your appearance. Let’s do it and see the difference.

I’m sure I will change a little bit, I confessed, but what’s the significance of that?

The significance is that you’ll find out for yourself how beautiful you are. Let’s do it for the fun of it.

How do you know if your clothes will fit me?

I have some clothes that I know for sure will fit you.

She went to her closet, picked a few sexy outfits, came back to me, and put them

in front of me.

They were very stylish, sexy dresses, all above my knees, sleeveless, backless, and low-cut … the types of dresses that I had never worn before. They were so provocative that I once again refused to try them on. However, she insisted, and for the sake of her friendship, I tried one of them on. She put some makeup on me, and styled my hair a little bit. Of course, I was a different Sahra. She took a lot of pictures of me wearing that sexy, stylish dress and look.

Months passed. One day I met her on the college campus. She sounded very happy and successful. I thought she wanted to share her happiness with me, but soon I realized that she needed my help.

I got a boyfriend, she said happily and proudly.

Are you allowed to get a boyfriend? I asked.

Oh, absolutely. My parents are very open-minded. My father came to the United States before the Communist coup of 1978 and married a broad-minded woman. I’m their second child. My mother seems to have been more Western-oriented than my father, and by now they are both on the same page.

The more I heard from her, the more I was astonished. This astonishment mostly struck me when I compared my life and situation with hers and noticed the wide gap between us.

Where is your boyfriend from? I asked

He’s American.

What’s his name?

Borhan Barrahee, she answered.

That’s a name I’ve never heard, I said.

His parents are from Iran, but he himself is an American. He’s very sophisticated, Americanized. He intends to marry me. Before agreeing, I’ll find out if he is the right match for me. He says he loves me a great deal.

When did you first meet your boyfriend? I asked.

A few months ago, Farha answered.

But that’s not enough time to make such an important decision, I said.

I know that, she said. That’s why I have a plan to deal with this situation.

What’s your plan? I inquired.

I need the assistance of a beautiful girl to help me with my plan.

How?

I’ll tell you everything. First, I have to find my favorite girl who can help me with my plan. I think you have both the beauty and charisma to bring results.

How can you trust me with such important business?

I trust you because we’re from the same college and have the same roots, with parents from the same culture and country—and most important of all, we understand each other more than most college students.

How can I help you?

First I want to make sure you’ll be ready to cooperate with me.

I want to know, I said, what kind of help you need, and if I can fit your need.

You perfectly fit my need, she said, "because you have the brown eyes that