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Chapter 10 : Biyah tou dhoom sai hi ho ga

"Pagal ho gaya hai woh Agha ji!" Arbaz spat, mapping the length of his study in fury.
[He has gone crazy Agha!]

"Sahab agar yeh ho jaye tou Naazimgarh eik ho jaye ga." Agha responded.
[Sir if this happens then Naazimgarh will become one again.]

"Aur iski qeemat?" He roared, staring at the man who had proved to be a loyal servant and a better friend. "Apni ikloti beti ko dushman ke hawalay kar dun?"
[And the price of it?]
[Should I hand over my only daughter to the enemy?]

Flickering over his cheek, the rays of fire danced to the tunes of the chill. Even as the wind ran over to dull it's intensity, it burnt heavily still. The candle not giving up. It's orange and rust hues matched the worn out paint of the study, and over the maroon polished table, inside the white porcelain cup. It's fluid brightness was singled out. In the room shrouded in a mist of melted dark, there was only a shard that remained elusive.

Arbaz stared at the fire. Rubbing his finger above his upper lip, he wiped the bouts of cold sweat with his finger. Replacing the thin frames on his nose with a flick of his wrist. He sighed. Tipping his weight into the wooden rocking chair, he tightened the grip he had around the shawl over his frame.

The fire it reminded him of his offspring. His first born. His only born. Squeezing his eyes shut, running a hand through his hair, Arbaz took a deep breath. A vivid kaleidoscope of her figure ran before his vision. Like a dream. The days of her childhood as she rushed up and down the stairs, holding his glasses and dipping the expensive collection of his pens into water. Ruining them. The sounds of Golnar's fleeting giggles and the list of her wishes that was never ending. Every inch of his life reminded him of hers.

Now, the world was asking of him the unimaginable. To cut his heart out and place it in a glass box — a task much easier than handing her over to the fires of their enemies, knowingly. His heart and mind both ; disagreed with a burning intensity.

"Nahi Agha. Meri Gol wahan nahi reh sakay gi." He murmured, in a state of disbelief.
[No Agha. My Gol won't be able to stay there.]

"Arbaz sahab mein nai is waadi k do mein battay dekha hai, bhai bhai ka dushman ho gaya hai. Agar Golnar beti ki shaadi, is batay huway khitay ko eik kar sakti hai tou—"
[Arbaz sir I have seen this land break, brother is the enemy of his brother. If Golnar daughter's wedding, can bring the land together then—]

"Samjho is baat ko Agha. Mein bhi Naazimgarh ko eik karna chahta hun. Magr us Darab ke saath apni masoom beti kaisay biyah dun?" He spoke in a dejected tone.
[Try to understand this Agha. I want to see Naazimgarh one too. Yet how can I marry my innocent daughter to that Darab?]

A shiver of displeasure ran down his spine. Disbelief almost filled his veins, like an icy stroke down him. Impaling him into two — as he imagined his docile daughter with that over bearing drunkard.

"Mein Golnar beti ke saath jaun ga. Unko har dukh sai bacha kar rakhun ga."
[I will go with Golnar daughter. I will save her from every pain.]

Arbaz sighed, speaking gently, "ap khanay ki tiyari karein. Hum nai Darab ko bulaya hai. Jo baat ho gi, ussi ke saamne, Golnar karay gi. Yeh faisla lene ka haq usi ko hai. Ap ko ya mujh ko nahi."
[You should go and prepare for dinner. I have invited Darab. Whatever it is will be discussed before him, and it will be done by Golnar. She is the one who has the right to make that decision. Not you, not me.]

The man nodded his head, wrapping his wrinkled arms before him in respect before slipping out of the slightly ajar door. A thin strobe of light instantly running into the study, the singular candle flickering as the cold leapt at it in vicious jagged attacks. Like a sword against flesh. Scarring it.

Arbaz ran his finger over the spine of the book he had owned for a bit over two decades. The embossed names on the sides, sodden with dust, reminded him of when he had himself stood in the very same crux. Of decisions and indecisiveness. He could hope only, whatever Golnar chose for herself, would give her peace far more than what his decision had given to him.

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It smelt richly of perfumed cardamom. Hints of honey and the warm scent of boiled milk bubbled through a fine iron mesh sieve. The strained aroma of tea leaves and the comforting remembrance of the oven baked dough — it's layers like floss, crisp and yet soft inside, the bakarkhani had been baked by novice hands. It was evident from the disarrayed shapes, corners on one side crooked and the other, smooth with sharp cuts. Imprints of her fingertips left behind since after it had proofed.

Bright yellow lights inside the hand painted chandelier placed within the tulip bulb shaped holders, reflected light over the orange carpets. Hand woven, with deep black and maroon details, a spray of beige clustered over and around it, the carpet had taken over eighteen months to weave. By the finest hands in Naazimgarh. At the orders of the nawab, commissioned by the well loved daughter of said ruler, it had been made with great care. It reflected. As their shoes rested over it, and the trolley was brought to a stand still.

Parallel to the guest of the evening, perpendicular to the host, the hands of the woman in question tightened around the wooden handle of the trolley. Thick glass had been embedded to form two layers, the top half covered in after dinner snacks and a kettle of tea. Fine chinaware in the second layer. White and smoothed over, with paintings of a polo ground on them, drawn with a felt tipped paint brush, they were a part of the ever growing collection of Golnar.

"Cheeni kitni dalun?"
[How much sugar should I add?]

Golnar stared, side-eyeing the man. The weight of the tea cup turned burdensome as she kept her hold around the saucer's plate. Shivers danced around her thin wrist and the soft peach glass bangles rubbed against the rim of the clay plate.

"Teen chamach." Darab grumbled, toning the explicit loudness of his voice down.
[Three spoonfuls.]

Gulping the words of her displeasure, she nodded in silence. Focusing her gaze over the rim of the saucer. Adding a splash of milk in, stirring it softly before forwarding it in his direction. Pulling her fingers back in a sharp retort as his thick ones brushed against hers. Golnar narrowed her gaze, staring at her fingers as the flesh of her lips tipped south.

Deliberate or not?
Golnar wondered. Slipping the tassel stuck to the button of his cuffs, loosely out of the hold. She felt her cheeks burn like a sharp riveting assortment. Smelling the sugariness of the honey and crushed nuts, she offered the plate to him, watching as he tore the delicate bread with an ogre like deliberateness. Raising it next into her father's direction, she slipped in place beside him. Hiding her frame from the burning gaze of the man everyone had been calling her potential husband.

After all, Naazimgarh did not do fiancée's.

"Arbaz saab gal eik jae. Tuada dhi menu pasand agayi ae te mein aenu aadi voti banana chaunda aan." Darab spoke, his mouth full, the crumbles of the bakarkhani dusting his beard.
[Arbaz sir there is only one thing. I like your daughter and I want to make her my wife.]

Hearing the words spoken out loud with the man dressed in an opium black, Golnar felt out of place. Choking on the lukewarm cup of her tea, she wiped the corners of her mouth with the tip of her still bare ring finger. A glow spilling inside of her eyes as she watched him sip on his own. With indifference. Gripping the expensive saucer like it was a metal cup, gripping it with his hand, using brute like strength as he did so.

"Par mein yeh kyu honay dun? Dushman ko beti?" Arbaz scoffed.
[But why should I let this happen? My daughter to an enemy?]

"Mein te dushman khule aam aan. Menu beti de kay kathay da sauda nai. Ki pata tussi aena nun kisi lukay huway dushman nu de davo."
[I am you enemy openly. If you hand me your daughter it will not be an unfair trade. Who knows you might give her to a hidden enemy.]

Darab chuckled, throwing his cup into the trolley with disarray. Picking up another piece of the baked bread, he bit into it. Caring for not so much as a short micro second as bits of it fell on to the thick carpet. His shoes crushing them, before the left ankle came to rest above his right knee. Straightening his starched collar, he waited for a reply. Assurance already gripping his heart.

The man would give in and hand over his daughter to him. The thought of the well rounded deal would be the perfect trap. A bait to lure him into his trap. Lands of Naazimgarh, and it's princess would soon rest on his mercy.

"Ap ko Urdu aati hai?"
[Do you know how to speak Urdu?]

Golnar's silvery voice rang from behind the silhouette of her father. Only the sight of her deep green eyes peaked from the crook of his neck, offering him no sight of the reaction she held over her face. Her hand came out to wrap around the stout fingers on her father's hand, waiting for the answer in complete silence.

"Nahi." He replied, licking his lips in arrogance.
[No.]

"Tou hum baat kaisay karein gae?"
[Then how will we talk?]

Golnar mulled over her words in silence. The prospect match had been brought to her in the afternoon by her father's trusted servant. His words had been strong enough to offer her some sense of reality. The day had passed since then in a flurry of emotions as she tried to look for reasons to reject. His smoking, the crass attitude he held against the female gender, and his frankness to touch the flesh of a woman not his wife, gave her all the reasons to reject. Yet the thought of supporting her father — reducing her burdens solidified her resolve to play home with the enemy.

"Zaban da ki ae? Sikh lavan gae." He chuckled.
[What is of a tongue? I will learn it.]

Her father's head, turning towards her before he nodded. Understanding what she had to say, wordlessly.

"Tou theek hai teen mahinay baad ho gi shaadi aur dhoom dhaam sai." Arbaz nodded, feeling his heart bleed at the sacrifice of his daughter, before continuing, "aur meri beti ka eik ansoo nikla, usi din tumhein aur tumharay khandaan ko cheer dein gae."
[Fine then after three months exactly the wedding will take place with pomp and roar. And the day my daughter sheds one tear, on that very day I will destroy you and your family.]

"Qabool ae."
[I accept.]