میں دنیا تو ہور کی لینا
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Chapter 23 : Panchayat, Pachtawa

Grazing her knuckles over the soiled paper that had been dipped in the silver shade of her tears, and the disappointment of her father's words, she willed her heart to turn ever still. To become of clay stone ; unfeeling. With eyes cast down on to the jaded page, her bones made out the ghost of words rubbed on to it. With an opium shaded ink. The crusade of words blurred before her vision and then stumbled across each other the longer her fingers held on to the torn edges.

The nude of her finger nails matched the pale page and the bright logo printed on to the page had yet to settle completely. The doctor's writing had been smeared from hasty touches and pushes back and forth. Only the mumbled loops of the medicines and their dosage remained, the signature on the bottom of the page a callous reminder of her father's ailment. As she continued to hold on to the note. Her eyes continued to take in the truth ; their reality.

Whilst the doctors were hopeful of the chemotherapy showing results. The metastasising of the cancerous cells having been curbed rightfully, they had with a heartless smile informed them that it would take time to pinpoint the exact locations the cells had travelled to. For now, her father was off of chemo and on to heavy medicines that kept him from feeling the reeling after affects of the treatment.

Some good in a lot of pain.

Golnar placed the file on to his cluttered side table, the prescription's corner still jut out from one edge of the file, striking the back of her palm as she took hold of the saucer. Slipping in a cube of sugar, her fingers gripped on to the silver metal spoon with a heart cut into it's stem on one end. It's mouth dipped into the steaming tea and the sounds of metal striking the porcelain made for white noises. Her thumb rubbed the china plate and felt around the painted on scenery of a cottage. It's grey trims and crème shade had been made by the hands of a long dead man. Though the cups remained as good as new.

Man had a capacity to build objects that would out live him. A heart achingly true reality.

With the sun setting outside her father's bedroom, behind the Fir trees that notoriously surrounded the village of Lower Naazimgarh, everything seemed to have stepped out of a fairytale. The yellow ribbons of light that washed over the laminated flooring had long since died out. Bright and raging the hues of orange and red dyed the clouds that landed before them. Painting the sky in a monotonous shade of orange. Though it's intensity varied throughout the open horizon, and the calmness of the air made for an ingenious contrast.

Taking a gentle sip of her tea she observed the frail figure of her father. Just two weeks had done him in — leaving him in a worse position than ever. The bones beneath his jaw and above his fingers had protruded against the the thinning stretch of his skin. His every so rosy cheeks had been left in a multitude of dull shades and the lips once full of life and valour had begun to shrivel. With his back nuzzled against the plumped up pillows and his figure covered with a thick white duvet Arbaz Naazim remained a ghost of his former glory.

Golnar bit back a sob as she brushed her hand over her father's hairless head. Pressing a kiss to his palms as he continued to smile at her. Even with all that he was going through the man managed to show her love and kindness. Not abandoning her for so much as a moment. Lowering her gaze she fixed the shoulder of his kameez as it slid down his bony shoulder, the tips of her finger pressing against his warm flesh. Tracing the scars from a surgery he had had as a child. Only smiling softly as he pressed a hand into her hair.

"Betiyan roti huwi achi nahi lagti." He spoke with great difficulty.
[Daughter's do not look good crying.]

The tone of his voice was soft and behind his stern words was that signature adoration of his. Inside his eyes — the satisfaction of watching her smile glimmered. Raising his weak fingers he pressed the pads of them into her cheeks, sliding them down to clear them of any.

"Tou phir ap itna rulatay kyun hai?" She complained.
[Then why do you make me cry so much?]

Golnar tucked her legs beneath the curve of her ass and placed the cup on the side table. Resting an arm around his waist, she pressed the side of her face onto his chest before nuzzling into his grip. Sighing in relief as he helped her slide into the duvet and threaded his fingers through her hair. Stroking the dying out auburn strands. Pressing a soft kiss into the top of her head every now and then.

He still smelt of the eucalyptus and jasmine. The feel of his ribs against her face was the only thing new about their position. Added to which was the fact that she was now a married woman. Having long discarded the heavily embroidered and sequinned veil on to the ottoman, Golnar felt her walls drop and eyes droop. Peaking open her eyes despite the internal struggle to doze off in the arms of her father, she smiled as he toyed with her jhumkas. Making music with the back of his throat.

The air stilled all of a sudden as he focused his eyes on to her face. On her cheeks was a delicate peach hue and the thin streak of her winged liner carved out the shape of her eyes. Golnar's ever so mischievous eyes peered at him with a grown maturity. Watching the ends of her lips fall into a comfortable smile and her muscles slacken inside his hold made the stretches of his heart widen.

"Golnar ap nai jo kaam kaha tha woh ho gaya hai." Arbaz spoke, staring down at her with seriousness.
[Golnar the work that you asked to be done has been done.]

Staring at him her eyes traced the flesh of his skin, the weight on top of his forehead had sagged the skin into horizontal frowns just above his bushy brows and his lips twitched. Swallowing, she wondered what news it was that he came bearing, remembering the feel of the bronze locket against her palm as she had handed it over to him in Islamabad. Away from Darab's eyes. Sitting upright she nodded, sensing the reply, though still she sought his verbal approval.

"Agha le kar gaya tha," he sighed, pinching his eyes before continuing, "ap ka shaq bilkul theek hai."
[Agha took it, your worries are absolutely correct.]

It was as if air had been knocked out of her lungs, the ground slipped from beneath her feet and even with the seated position that she had Golnar felt her knees give in. Trembles laced their way through her flesh and ran down the side of her figure, an untapped energy slithered against her open palms and her mouth dried all of a sudden. Splinters pierced the warm flesh of her oesophagus, her molars bit harsh enough to taste the iron from her blood as it filled up her mouth.

Resting a finger over her head Golnar tried to still her body. Everything whizzed before her vision, the temperature of her skin falling drastically as she imagined the outcomes of all that had gone on. With her hands and feet numb, the anxiousness crept up her back and lungs, squeezing them tightly until it felt as if she would burst into plenty of pieces of warm flesh from the pressure.

"Pa-par yeh sab kon karwa sakta hai?" Golnar spoke out loud.
[Bu-but who could have had this done?]

Wordlessly her eyes found her father's and stared in the dark eyes where her reflection was clear. Inside the obsidian emptiness her frowns and worries were spoken clearly, the tears that had stopped, seemed to have arrived once more with full force and washed down her cheeks. Painting her flesh a searing shade.

"Pata nahi beta magar Naazimgarh mein bohat kam log aisay hai jo yeh kaam kartay hai." He spoke.
[I do not know my child but in Naazimgarh there's only a few people who do this.]

"Da-Darab kabhi bhi mera yakeen nahi karein gaye kyun keh woh unka maa ki akhri nishani hai. Unhon nai bohat eitemaad sai mujhe di thi."
[Da-Darab will never believe me because it is the last reminder of his mother. He gave it to me with so much faith.]

"Uska hal hai meray pas," Arbaz spoke, staring out of his bedroom's window, "jo us nai ap ko diya hai usko darya e Qurban mein dafan kar dein aur sonar sai eik naya banwa lein. Agar puchay ga tou keh dijiye ga aap nai polish karwaya hai."
[I have a solution for that, the one that he gave you bury that in river Qurban and buy a new one from the jeweller. If he asks let him know you had it polished.]

"Abba jaan mujhe tou yeh soch kar ghabrahat ho rahi hai ke unka koi karibi hi unka dushman hai." She muttered, her heart bleeding out for her husband.
[Father dearest I feel sick thinking about someone close to him being his enemy.]

"Yeh duniya bohat matlabi hai Golnar. Aur ab jab ap nai Darab ko eik aur mauqa dia hai tou iss sab sai ap ko larna ho ga, sirf Darab ko nahi." He spoke with an undue calmness, caressing her hand in reassurance.
[This world is very selfish Golnar. Now that you have decided to give Darab another chance then you'll have to fight all of this, not just Darab.]

Nodding her head she lifted the cup of cold tea, taking a large gulp before tearing into the crisp dough of a samosa. It crumbled into her warm mouth and coated her tongue with it's oiliness. Smearing even her dried lips with it's moisture and the odd cumin that she liked to throw into the dough, crunched underneath her teeth. Dipping the filled end into the sauce she lifted it to her mouth, chewing on it softly as she thought of her husband. All the while chewing on to the spice filled boiled potatoes. A recipe she had long since mastered.

It was not hidden from her that Darab had married her for her inheritance. The hefty amount of it at that. In the beginning it had annoyed her — to be seen as nothing more than a piece of her father's wealth. Yet she could not blame him. Her own intentions had been to assure Naazimgarh would once again be whole. The land of her forefathers had long since bled into the river Qurban to save it from propaganda. It was her duty. Something not expected of her out loud, yet was much appreciated.

Her selfishness and Darab's had reunited long separated homes. It was working out for the best.

"Ap khush hai na?" Her father enquired after a heartbeat of silence.
[Are you happy?]

Golnar's fingers traced the pattern on her shirt and she toyed with the loose threads every now and then. Happiness. It was a term perceptive to each and everyone. Her marriage had started with a bed full of thorns — someone had plucked off all the roses. Initially she had been filled with rage but now?

Watching her husband elongate the time he spent on his prayer mat, raise his hands for supplication and ask her of stories of her own childhood. That was joy.

Despite the tight hold of her mother-in-law over the accountant. Despite his sister's taunts and the presence of his younger brother, watching Darab force to set time aside for her. That was what it felt to be loved. To watch his un tamed fingers sew and stitch for her, to piece together gifts of all sorts to watch her smile.

Golnar nodded. Yes, she was happy. Maybe things still needed to be sorted out but for the time, she was full of peace.

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"O penchodeya ae ki we?" Darab thundered.
[O sisterfucker what is this?]

Running his sun burnt hands into the tweed bag filled to the top with grains of rice, he produced many broken ones. The usual length of them had been compromised.

"Ek vari kasht nai vekhi mein te Majjo sari fasal tussi tabah kar deti ae." Darab continued, eyeing the panchayat and his loyal servant that he had left in-charge.
[The one time I can not supervise the harvest Majjo the entire crop has been ruined.]

"Sain maf kar dey." The servant pleaded.
[Sir forgive us.]

Shadows of the trees that surrounded them on all four sides fell on to their figures as they remained seated on to the day beds and odd sized chairs. A thin mat had been thrown on to the dusty floor, it's blue colour had been washed from the decades of usage, the tassels on the end though once a light peach, matched the colour of the dry soil now. The towering barks covered their faces as the sun continued to lower over the horizon. Only increasing the intense darkness of the shades of black.

Dim light from the one gas lamp that hung by a pole slipped around the group of men. The old men with their hunched backs, and the young ones with their legs shaking. Resembling leaves on a windy day in the town's centre. Murmurings amongst the council had died down a bit, only the still cooing of the zephyr crept through the branches, making sharp striking sounds. The rustling from the wind had leaves falling on to the grounds and above skins. Some sticking on to the plump sweaty faces as they awaited their sentence.

Long grain rice had been a specialty of the fertile soils of Naazimgarh. For as long as any of the men could remember, their area had produced enough of a surplus to sell to the cities and rake up a hefty income. It had een what helped sponsor the harvest of the next season, and now, in the haste of the council and farmer's alike the crop had been pulled out too soon. The tiny saplings had collapsed and the long grain and turned into a dwarf like size.

"Tu kadi Naazimgarh tou baar nai gaya te hun ki karan gayan si?" A man from the panchyat spoke.
[You have never gone out of Naazimgarh then why did you go now?]

Darab turned his face towards the seven men that sat around him in a semi-circle. The one that had dared to speak belonged to the family of his living mother. His shaggy hair curled over his forehead and the lips that had dared to question him sat in a smirk. Razi Naazim had been his sole enemy from day one — and the quirk of his brows told him enough.

Running a hand through his slightly trimmed hair, he scratched the skin beneath his jaw, picking at his neatly trimmed nails before he hummed out a reply, "meri voti di solan jamatan mukamal ho gaiyan ne. Unhe top kita ae. Udhi takreeb ic gayan sa."
[My wife completed sixteen grades (masters). She has topped. I went to attend the ceremony.]

"Waqaye sain?" A farmer gasped, unable to hide his surprise.
[Truly sir?]

"Aho!" He murmured with pride.
[Yes!]

Grasping the ends of his starch sprayed collar he straightened his kameez and sat up a bit taller. Puffing his chest in pride, his shoulders rose an inch or two as he placed his arms in either side of himself. With a feet placed above one of his knees he took a sip of the extra sugary tea, grinning with pride at the thought of his wife's achievement.

A first for any woman in his town.

"Udha ustaad unho aedi izzat nal mil raya si," Darab continued, "udhi te far far angrezi ich unhe ediyan tareefan kityan ke meray kan thak gaye par udhay hont nai ruke."
[Her professor met her with such respect, he praised her so much in english that my ears got tired but his lips did not.]

"Ki faida?" Razi mock challenged.
[What use?]

Darab tightened his fists, his nails struck into the wells of his palm and he could feel them dig deep into the warmth of his flesh the longer he stared at the man before himself.

"Kehn da maksad si jad viya udha anparh nak hoeya te ki faida?"
[My purpose of saying was that if she was to get married to an uneducated man then what was the use?]

"Aurat nu parhna chaiye da. Takey o kisi di mohtaj na raway. Menu apni biwi te fakhar ae ke o saday pind di pehli kudi ae jinhay solan jamatan paas kityan ne," he addressed the other men before offering Razi a curt nod, "menu unha mardan vicho na samjh jera kam tar mehsoos kare ga. Agar meri voti meri izzat ae te udhi kamiabi vi menu apni kamiabi to boti azeez ae."
[A woman should study. So that she does not remain dependent on one. I am proud of my wife that she is the first woman from our village to do her masters.]
[Do not think I am one of those men that will feel inferior. If she is the source of my respect then her respect means far more to me than my own.]

Addressing the farmer's on the issue at hand he took a bite of the still warm jalebi's, it's thick warm syrup dripped down his throat and warmed of the slightest bits of chill that remained around his heart. Dipping it into his lukewarm tea, Darab took another bite and slurped the sugar that covered it, licking his fingers as the rush warmed up his skin. Staring at the crowd before him, he nodded his head, waving a finger around his head to indicate the end of the day's meeting.

Marching down the streets he bit back the face splitting grin as he watched his staff distribute the jalebi's amongst everyone in the town's square whilst they praised loudly his wife on her marvellous feat. Darab's heart hastened in the palpitations he felt as the air of celebration rose inside the village he had grown up in. Men and women of the working and even upper classes nodded to him, in silence.

Golnar had well and truly proved herself to be better than him — and now that she had begun to teach him on how to sort himself out. Darab felt even more indebted to her.

Still buzzing from the feelings he stepped into his bedroom, closing the door softly before he turned to watch his gentle spirited wife. She sat on the bed and the yellow lights of his bedroom gave her skin a toasted glow. They warmed her skin and kissed the halo around her head — seemingly fulfilling the image of her as an angel. Taking soft steps towards her Darab sunk to his knees. His wide kneecaps sinking into the plush carpeting that she had just had installed, his fingers gripped her hand before laying a soft kiss on to them.

They exchanged their salam's in silence and he stared at the silver anklet between her fingers. The delicate moon's and stars that hung from it matched the new bangles she wore he noticed. Wordlessly he pried them out of her fingers, tucking the ends of her trousers over itself he placed the cool metal against her ankle. With a narrowed gaze Darab focused on fastening the clasp before he lightly pressed his warm lips into the cool flesh of her feet.

"Darab!" Golnar hissed, scandalised at his actions.

He only chuckled, kissing her other feet, "jeray insaan de qadam menu sai rastay te laye hon ustaad ji, udhay paun chumna gunnah nai akeedat ae."
[The person whose feet have brought me to the right pathway miss professor, kissing her feet is not sin it is an honor.]

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Personally this is my favourite chapter! It's so raw. 75 comments or no new update next week ;)