ایک سرخ آنچل تھا
اور اُس کی لپیٹ میں وہ تھی
اُس کے دور جاتے ہی نکلی ایک آہ
شاید — نہیں،
ہاں وہ اُس خدا کا ہی ایک فرشتہ تھی

Chapter 2 : Eik alamnaak jageerdar

٭

Sweat washed his tan forehead. The back of his hand wiped at it, his rolled up sleeves brushing against the curl of his lashes. A huff escaped his lips, the cigarette rested between his teeth in a loose grip. Rolling it between his index, he crushed it beneath the soles of his slipper. Raising the thick brow that was darker than the eyes of the devil himself. His gaze — murky and mellow stared at the shivering figures before him.

The winter sun burned holes into his back, despite the soft gusts of air that blew threw the papaya tree, over his silken hair. In the distance the low purring of a sleek tractor covered the screams of the begging figure before their owner. Like tiny ants they shivered under their dusky shawls, begging for mercy. Just making a tangent with the makeshift hill behind them, his shadow covered the vast emptiness. Bright white clouds dipped lower, the sun with it's might sprung splashes of heat.

Running a hand over his starchy collar, the ironed creases stilling over his broad shoulder. The tan lines from standing under the summer sun were more than ever, highlighted, now that the winter sun had begun to loose it's intensity in the village nearest to the border of the Northern province. The end of Punjab as most would say. He chewed on his bottom lip, uncrossing his leg, the shalwar pooling to his ankle at the action. The width of his palms slammed over his kneecaps.

"Eik qasam deti si tenu," he grumbled, rubbing a hand over his beard, smacking his lips over one another, "o vi tu tor deti, hun mafi keri mang reya e tu?"
[You were asked to make one promise, you broke that, now what forgiveness are you asking for?]

"Sa-saiyn maaf karde ainda tou nai—nai huve ga." The man pleaded, wiping his eyes from the ends of the turban that hung above his head.
[Master forgive me this will not happen again.]

Scoffing, Darab stood up. Startling the crowd as he made his way out of the building throng. His men followed behind him in silence. The thick bangle on his wrist shone under the sunlight as he fixed the shawl over bis frame. Chewing the poppy seeds he had retrieved from the thin silver box. Turning his head, dipping his chin low at the still shaking frame of the man. A lowly farmer who had sold his wheat to a rival screamed for forgiveness. His men waited in silence for an answer.

"O vakai nai e kar sakay ga. Aj rat unhon te udi aulaad nu khatam kar deyo." He murmured, nodding.
[He will truly not be able to do it again. Tonight kill him and his children.]

"Jo hukum." A unanimous reply rung through the air.
[Whatever is your order.]

Marching to his sleek black Cruiser, he rested his hand over the handle. Running the back of his fingers against his cheek he felt the sweat that dripped down his face. Despite the winter that claimed the rest of the city, his village had to wait a bit more. It's rugged terrain and the mountainous slopes in the distance were signature elements. The brown in his eyes — matching the profound mocha of the earthy soil, lit up with wilderness.

A small road parallel to the ground ran with heavy traffic till his sight ran. Motorcycles whizzed by, carts and small cars following in between. Wide leaved trees grew in large numbers next to the fast flowing canal, the perfume of the sweet flowers mixed with the light airiness of the clean water. Untouched from the hands of the factory owners, the air still breathed free, the smokiness from the brick factory a few yards away not enough.

Pride filled Darab's figure as he pulled the car door open, sliding into leather seat. His ruby glinted over the span of his left index finger. Through the tinted windows a dim sunlight washed over his face, the air conditioning in the SUV lit up with force as the drive rolled the car on to the carpeted road. Slipping the bottle of water out of it's glove, he guzzled it. Ravaging the coolness, spilling mouthfuls over his beard and the front of his shirt. Droplets spilling over his chest through the open buttons.

Lost in a riverine reverie, his eyes spanned the length of the road before him. Never ending, coursing in and around the tree beds, the car followed. His finger tapped on to the door handle, the metals on his arm making sounds. Musical — as they added a touch to the low rumbling ghazal playing on the stereo. Darab's jawline length strands curved over his forehead, sticking to the planes in the decapitated anxiousness his own heart faced. A toxic fume from the second cigarette he had lit up formed warm curls in front of his eyes, though the saw little. His ears caught on to the whispers of his God fearing driver, though he heard.

Sharp jingles played and distorted the illusion, that of Madam's voice. Shaking her pain into a remorse, as he frowned gripping his small phone between his large fingers. Words over the broken screen were gibberish to him and he had given up trying to understand them. All he knew was only people of importance rung him up. Though his siblings had played the part of a cruel fate, naming them rather than just leaving numbers in it's place.

"Salam amma ji," Darab murmured over the phone, rubbing his finger over his lip. Taking a guess on who it could be.
[Greetings mother.]

"Wa alikum assalam Darab. Rati khanay ta na ain, Faiq aj hi aya aye, mein te Amina kuj vaqt udhay nal guzarna chanday an." She ordered.
[Greetings Darab. Tonight do not arrive for the dinner, Faiq has arrived today, Amina and I want to spend some time with him.]

"Jo hukum." He mumbled in reply, cutting the call.
[Whatever you say.]

٭

Beer flew through their glasses, clinking together as they cheered on. Their eyes leered at the sight before them, soft eyes full of a glassy sharpness as they stared. Sipping on the soiled glasses, their oily fingers wrapped around the indented glasses, surely to leave behind imprints. Proof if there were to be a roaring accident — or something of the sort. Orangish lights hanging above the roof slanted over the air, the heat in it still throbbing. Pivoting to the left of the large audience.

Clutching his glass, he pressed his back over the round pillow. It's crushed velvet cover brushed against his boski kameez. A stray strand of illustrious gold threads brushed over the back of his hand, tracing the throb of the veins within his palm. Flinching under the curious glances, he toyed his mouth into a mirthful grin. His shawl covering his broad frame, draped lower to put on show the tanned skin of his chest. The ringlet of his hair, flopping above his forehead.

Chenab — named after the river that ran through their country, was his favourite. Her passionate eyes and the grin, floored him with ease. Darab watched her with easy eyes, raking them over the georgette black dress she wore. It's back in particular missing and he could feel the skin. Beneath his finger nails. Burning, raging with life. The pazeb on her ankle panted along with the tunes of the small drum, bringing to life the fire underneath his chest.

He needed her.
She knew.
Despite the act of her having power over him, she knew, as well as he did, she was just another prostitute warming his bed until he found a wife. After which she would be just a soiled name from his past.
Yet — a woman could dream.
And Darab, he indulged in her dreams.
Fulfilling his own.

"Chenab." He spat in the face of the pimp, crisp notes smacking the man's wrinkled face.

"Tussi kamray ich jao saab."
[You go in to the room sir.]

Darab grunted in reply. Walking through the beaded separators. His fingers brushed aside the strands, and his shoes rubbed over the thin carpets strewn across the chipped floor. It was a building cheaply made, hanging on with a thread. Through the thin walls, he entered the familiar room. Empty and aching with wanton need, the place was akin to his life.

An ode entirely to his name.

"Haakim saab." The silvery voice called from behind, her skirts flushing into the cardboard sized room.
[Haakim sir.]

Mechanical in his actions he punched his fingers over the switchboard, covering the bedroom in an illicit dark. The depth of the inky blackness hid his insecurities from sight, as he felt around for the familiar warmth of Chenab's flesh. Fingering the string that held the deep neckline in place came undone, his palms snaking around her, tearing the dress off. He heard the creak from the centre of the thin bed, a soft groan from her lips.

Darab pushed himself inside of her, thrusting the ache inside his chest away. His hips met hers. His lips hanging above her breast, a finger teasing the taut flesh. Despite the raging of blood within his flesh he withdrew, only to force himself from leaving halfway. Her nails dipped into his skin, a thick hand reaching out to keep them away. Those were pleasured reserved for lovers — and he loathed her wanting to take liberties over him.

"Aj ethay e ravo." She whispered, rustling over the sheets as Darab dressed the dark.
[Tonight stay here.]

"Chenab." He warned, not hiding the warning even in the slightest.

The blood of his veins had been procured from a nobleman, he would not allow it to mix with the kinds of hers.

In the centre of the mansion's foyer the clock struck three in the morning as he stepped in, his shoes crunching the fallen leaves, dragging a few in. His body was heavy on his feet, eyes rimmed red. Each step was a pain as he stepped into the home that was still warm. Daraab cleaned his mouth with the edge of his shawl, stepping towards the large kitchen that he hoped would have some leftovers. It smelt of rich spices, the closer he got, and hope lifted it's head high within his heart.

"There's nothing in them." A soft voice countered as he tried to lift the hood of the dishes.

Darab stared at his younger brother, failing to understand what was being said. The difference between them stark as he stared at the young man's trousers and bare chest. His own shawl appearing unethical.

"Kuch nahi hai khanay ko, sab baant dia tha mama nai." He repeated.
[There is nothing left to eat, mama gave away everything.]

The flicker of hope in his chest, stubbed far too soon.

✨
Hi guys. Kind of forgot about this update sorry bur I blame it on my eye that's been so itchy 😭😭😭. Send prayers.

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