.
Chapter 9 Fana's cooking.
---
Fana set the pieces of wood into the man-made kitchen stove. It was built from mud and smeared with a mix of dried and fresh cow dung. She added a few chunks of burnt coal and lit the stove using the lantern's flame. The area surrounding slowly glowed with a warm yellow light as the fire came alive.
She placed a cooking bowl over the flame—darkened over time, its steel and iron surface stained from years of use. Pouring in groundnut oil with practiced precision, a sharp sizzling sound rose immediately. The stove was too hot. Calmly, she pulled out a few burning coals to reduce the heat.
Then came the mustard seeds and jeera together. As they crackled and danced, she added curry leaves, chopped tomatoes, onions, and bright green semines—a low-cost substitute for green chilies, since chilies were rare and expensive in some parts of Vin'ash.
Everything hit the oil at once, bursting into a rich sizzle. Sitting cross-legged on the floor in a comfortable posture, Fana stirred the mixture with steady hands. The vegetables soaked in the oil, releasing their flavor. She added garlic paste and coriander powder—the aroma instantly deepened. A small pinch of turmeric followed, giving the dish an earthy warmth.
She stirred slowly, letting every ingredient blend, every texture merge into one. The rising heat made sweat form on her forehead, but she didn't stop. At the right moment, she added the cut and lightly pre-burnt dry fennams—a yellow vegetable similar to ladyfinger, but needing slight burning beforehand to reduce its heavy mucus. A small cup of water followed, softening the fennams as they absorbed the mixture.
She covered the lid, knowing exactly when it would be ready.
Without wasting time, she moved to her next task. From a ration bag in the side room, she took out ground wein seed flour—measuring three large cups. Sitting again in a different posture, she spread the flour onto a wide wooden plate. She added salt, a little oil, a pinch of sugar, and a small cup of goat milk she had bought that morning.
Slowly, she began kneading, adding water bit by bit until the dough turned smooth and non-sticky. In between, she would get up to stir the fennam curry, making sure it didn't burn.
Once ready, she set the dough aside, took the curry off the stove, and added fresh saorn leaves—a finishing green that gave the dish its final aroma and flavor.
Then came the bati.
She took a small portion of dough, rolled it between her palms, dusted it with dry flour, and pressed it carefully on the wooden plate. Her hands moved with precision—too much force would break it, too little wouldn't shape it. Years of experience guided her touch.
She flattened it into a thin, round bati.
Adjusting the fire again by removing excess coal, she placed a blackened pan on the stove, sprinkled a little water over it, and placed the bati. A bit more water kept it moist. As it puffed naturally, she flipped it, then removed it and stored it in a stick-woven container. Then she started the next one.
---
"Hmm… smells like home. What is it?"
Laryoal inhaled deeply, enjoying the aroma. His hair was still wet and messy, a thin black robe on him with a fluffy white towel around his neck.
"Well, what do you say? She's the chef of Vin'ash. Just wait for the taste," Arifoam said proudly, even though no one had asked him.
"It's nothing special…" seeing arifoam in the same outfit "dear, you should bath too," Fana said, wiping sweat from her forehead.
"No… I'm not in the mood."
"You haven't bathed for two days and you've been roaming outside. That's not good."
"I washed my face and legs. The only dirty thing is these clothes. If I change, I'm fresh. Right, Laryoal?" Arifoam said, eyes twinkling.
"Well… I am fresh," Laryoal replied awkwardly.
"And brother Laryoal, you should dry your hair more. It's winter in Vin'ash, and it gets very cold. It won't be good if you fall sick for your meeting tomorrow." fana gave her advice in half inamon and in half vaerman.
Laryoal looked at Arifoam, confused.
"She's saying dry your hair," Arifoam explained. "Our land is high on plane , so winters hit harder."
"Ah… yes," Laryoal nodded.
---
They sat cross-legged in front of Fana, each holding a brass plate. After washing their hands, they placed the plates before them. Fana served fennam curry, raw onion leaves, groundnut powder, and two hot wein batis each—still steaming.
Arifoam sprinkled water around his plate and lightly over his head. Laryoal noticed but said nothing.
He broke a piece of bati, feeling its warmth. Dipping it into the curry, he took a bite.
The taste exploded.
Flavor filled his mouth, rich and earthy. His mouth watered instantly—it was the best food he had tasted in a long time.In his home he usually eat in his own room alone ,though his mother and father tell him to join them,he always preferred so saviour the taste and enjoy every bite without getting distracted by dinner time chitchats ,where his mother was full of talk and stories and he and his father had to respond her everytime she lays her eyes on them in between her stories.So he always ran to his room taking his part of dinner.
And now after many years of lonely dinner,he actually liked the conversation going on table and only face he was remembering in his mind for now was his mother though he tried not to .
well may be because she always took his side on anything.
___
As he finished his second bati, Fana immediately handed him another, still hot from her bare hands.
"Isn't it too hot for your hands?" Laryoal asked trying to distract himself from his mother.
"It's nothing… I've been doing this since I was… six… no… seven," Fana replied, flipping another bati, her fingers slightly red from the heat.
"You see," Arifoam added, "she lost her parents in a fire. Only she, her brother, and grandmother survived. The grandmother passed away soon after. Since then, she and her brother Manam were alone. So basically she started these all things by then , because it's not good to boy learning making bati right . don't get wrong Idea ok it's only because for beating bati into a thin and prefect circle it's need something soft and until I came. We don't have children yet—she wants her brother to settle first."
"That's harsh… but where is your brother?" Laryoal asked.
"They fight often," Arifoam shrugged. "He stays away until things cool down. I don't interfere."
"That's enough, Arif," Fana cut in. "Here, take another one, brother Laryoal."
Though he didn't understand everything, Laryoal realized she was offering more. He gently refused. Fana didn't insist—she quietly gave it to Arifoam instead.
After finishing, Laryoal drank a full glass of curd milk, feeling refreshed. Then he stood up.
Walked through the oily wooden door.
"I'll go for a walk. You both enjoy your dinner."
"Ok,take care and tell ,just tell my name if someone ask anything"arifoam gave a caution in his way.
But laryoal got out with no words to reply.
"Arif , I think you should go with him too"
"Come on , he came all the way from different swarg and from that empty barn and horrible land all alone, he is good"
"But still,we should care the guest right"fana touched arifoam's hand with a small smile.
"Ah ,ok but first can you do a favour for your hungry husband "
Arifoam quick kissed fana on her chicks.
Fana was shock a little and smiled keep her hand on her cheek as she told smiling"Well no more bati for you"
---
Land of Sonsal — bordering Agaony kingdom.
In a building which stretched wide rather than tall—only a single story—but its design carried the weight of something far older and greater trying to imitate the royal palaces .Broad steps led up to its entrance, each one worn slightly at the center, as if countless feet had passed with purpose over the years.
Its walls were coated in smooth lime, painted a quiet white that caught the sunlight and softened it, giving the entire structure a calm, almost sacred glow. The surface wasn't perfectly polished—fine textures and faint irregularities made it feel lived-in, grounded, real.
And in the big hall centre of the building.
The sound of tabla echoed through.
Dum… thom… dum… thaa…
A woman was dancing in the centerof the stage which was level high in the middle of the hall—dressed in a red blouse and flowing red trousers edged with gold. A golden ring rested in her navel, chiming softly with every movement. Her eyes were lined dark with kajal, stretching toward her temples making her imitating. Jewelry covered her body, and her ankles had a bangle like chain which was oven with small bell like buds , which rang on her every step.she was bare foot and her foot was crimsoned with paint with some handly designs as were her fingers which were flickering with every beat .
Her movements were the only life in the dull hall. The small audience stared, captivated on her beauty then her performance.
"Well… you seem interested, Xenon," Alimer smirked. "I can arrange something , like you can taste her ,but offcourse first me ."
"It's culture," Xenon replied coldly.
"Culture, religion… same nonsense."
"Culture is not religion." Xenon's voice sharpened slightly.
"Fine… but she looks tempting," Alimer muttered, eyes fixed on the dancer.
At that moment, a man approached—thin, bald, with a long brown beard and a crow tattoo on his neck.
"Alimer, my lord. You took your time. I heard the Sahir's blood was truly red."
"Maggrix," Alimer grinned. "I brought you a souvenir—the axe, still stained of his blade ."
"I'll gladly take it. But the king is waiting."
"King Gorian… the king of my land " Alimer chuckled.
The three of them moved toward the chamber.
---
The End
---