دلگی بھول جانی پڑی گئی
محبت کی راحوں میں آکر تو دیکھو

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Chapter 17 : Kuch badla badla sa

Marriage had been the last of his worries up until a few months ago when Majjo had come up with his mastermind plan of getting wife — for cover. Nothing more nothing less. Though it had seemed to be an idea that thrived well within his head, he had been forced to rethink what it was. For whatever reasons, he could not help but feel his heart harden. The opposite of what he had hoped would happen after tying the knot.

It was becoming troublesome. To wake up to her presence in his bedroom, when for the last three days his family had done nothing but reign terror upon her soul. Forcing her into a recluse. The spark in her innocent eyes when they had had their first by-chance encounter was dimming. Yet, her eyes still found his every time he stepped into the room. Seeking perhaps solace. An emotion he himself had never known, a feeling he could not offer to someone like her.

Not to mention, the scent of her sweet rose ittar, that bubbled down to nothing but a dilute sugar and some spice had taken over his bedroom. The scent of his usual sweat and the thick air of burnt mustard seed oil had drifted somewhere into a far off realm. Out of his touch. He was gripping what little was left of his life before marriage, he was trying all he could to ignore Golnar's existence in his life. Though the fragile woman with her large shawls could barely be treated like air. Despite her sunken head and soft voice that was most often lost amongst the uproar of the crowd.

She demanded attention.

Darab had put up a wall of ice between them. Much like he had done for most of his life. Slipping out of the double doors early in the morning, he returned late. When the hour was dark and dim, nearing the tipping point of the day. She surprised him every time. For no matter what the time, she would be awake. Her fingers holding a deep amber shade pen that ran in cursive loops over the thick leather bound journal. Of which he had tried to make sense — yet he was forced to come to terms with his inability.

Somehow, even then, with all the ridiculing she had gone through, Golnar served him with a dutiful penchant. With a gentle water like voice that resembled the Qurban river in the summer months, she had made him used to her presence. No matter how much he tried to ignore it. Watching her fill his tea cup, serve him dinner or pick his discarded shoes. His hands throbbed to stop her, but the steel within his chest kept him from giving in. From giving her the respect and honour she deserved.

She after all was the daughter of his mother's murderer.

What right did she have of happiness when she had been why his own was ripped away in the age of adolescence.

Even now, seated on the hard rocking chair that had become his bed for the past few weeks following their wedding, Darab shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His index finger drummed into the arms of the chair, before his other hand rose to rub the scruff that har sprouted along his sharp chin. Humour danced in his unfeeling gaze as Husayn murmured words of short curses. Throwing a card on to the table in fury. He chuckled, sipping a cup of warm tea — the cinnamon and ginger brewed in intensified, just the way he preferred.

"Na lar kismet naal Husayn. Tu harna ae aj," Darab uttered in arrogance.
[Do not fight kismet Husyan. You will loose today.]

"Bakwas na kar Darab," he retorted, throwing a piece of walnut into his mouth.
[Don't speak bullshit Darab.]

"Jera haar reya honda ae na, o ahi akhda ae." He replied.
[The one that is loosing, always says this.]

Resting his cards, laying their face down on to the coffee table to save them from the scrutinising gaze of his best friend. Darab stretched his arm over head. His shirt rising a few inches above his well toned torso, the freshly changed bandage already clung to his skin and the pain that arose from the stretch paled in comparison to when the wound had been fresh. Around six hours ago. Pulling it lower with a hand he sipped on to his cup, a small drop of it running down his chin as he made haste. The back of his hand roughly wiped it off, coming to dry against the side of his shalwaar.

"Tenu kine akhaya si unhan naal panga le?"
[Who told you to fight with them?]

Husayn reprimanded with a mother's warmth. Narrowing his eyes — that with a surgeon's expertise ran over the gauze. Underneath his fingernails he could still feel the warmth of his brother's throbbing skin as he added in the final suture. The man was built like a beast — pain touched him barely. How he had managed to get stitched up with nothing save for a cup of tea left him astonished. And baffled.

"Te ki? Unhan dakuan da isteqbal karda? Darab de shehar wich ae nai bardasht huway ga!"

Darab spewed, his deep brown eyes pulled open in anger and fury, red veins popped up and his deep eye bags sweltered. Raising his hand in the air at the inexplainable anger he felt, he gave a startled laugh.

"Aho jian soo goliyan vi manzur ae menu. Unhan nu ki lagya si? O meray Darya nu pharan di khoshish karna gae te Darab dharay vi na? Aiday bura time nai aaya hajay soneyo!" He spat with a dry humour.
[A hundred such bullets are acceptable. What did they think? They will try to capture my Darya and Darab won't even react? Such bad days haven't come yet my beloved!]

"Mera woh matlab nai tha. Darab hun teri eik voti vi eh. Panvay jivay vi tuada viyah huwa, hoeya te hai na? Udhi vi fikr kar leya kar." Husayn sighed, accepting his defeat at the hands of his sharp witted companion.
[I did not mean it like that. Darab you have a wife now. No matter in what conditions you got married, you got married right? Worry about her too.]

The words spoken by a man not him, rose bouts of violent fire inside of his chest. He could imagine the bubbling head of rampant red fury that curved before him. His blood deep beneath his blue veins sparked, as another man — no matter how close, spoke of his personal matters. Pressing his nails deeper into the flesh of his palm, he breathed through his swollen nostrils, suppressing the stomach churning emotions. All he wanted in that moment was to grab the revolver from his bread and aim it at it his best friend's mouth.

How dare he mention his wife? No one was allowed to take the name of that parsa. It was an honour he did not even imagine to give himself.

Turning his gaze away from his childhood best friend, lest he do something in his fit of fury, Darab stared at the unwavering green fields. The rice paddies nearest to his bedroom window had begun to turn a shade of green that was light yet full of an unspeakable might. Much like her. With March just about approaching, the season of harvest was on his head. Pulling him away from his home for hours longer — though that had been his routine for years — Darab's heart wished he could spend more time within the enclosed walls of his bedroom. Around the soft figure of his wife.

Though these were thoughts he negated every now and then. Killing his wants for the needs of his people.

Peace over his pleasure.

The sunlight fell in through the window of his bedroom, it's width left open to allow his mother in anytime she wished to. It touched the patched up duvet that rested over the trims of the fancy cabinet. One that Golnar had fixed as one of her many chores. The crooked stitches were endearing to the eye. Slithering in further it clashed with her glass box of bangles and the wide mouthed comb that had some verse curved into it.

They were not at all compatible.
Him with his brute strength and crude words.
Her with her bellowing smile and contagious hums.

Only thing that they could share was their fondness for the ghazzals Madam Noor Jehan had sung. Darab had caught himself humming along to her at times as the soft sittar streamed it's notes into their bedroom. Yet that was all. Other than it was a faux stale mate.

With her acting as his wife. 
With him ignoring her.

It was working.
It would continue to.

"Ae ziadati ae Darab. Pehlan unho—"
[This is wrong Darab. First she—]

"Chup kar ja Husayn. Udhay baray ich gal karan di ijazat kisi nun vi nai."
[Shut up Husayn. I will not allow anyone to talk about her.]

"Kyun? Vi zinda insaan hai! Unhon cheez di tarah—"
[Why? She is a living being! You can not treat her like a thing—]

His words were cut off once more. This time with Darab's roaring yet silent — paradoxical — scream, "unhay aaj tak kisi mard naal gal nai kiti. Mein kisi na-mehram nun ijazat nai dawan ga ke o udhay baaray gal kare."
[She has not talked to any man not family. I will not allow any na-mehram to talk about her.]

"Te fir aap gal kar la!" He spoke baffled at Darab's logic.
[Then talk to her yourself!]

"Nai, mera jaisa ghaleez aadmi udhi jutti di dhool banan de qabil vi nai. O te khuda na farsh tou arsh kar deta menu." Darab sighed, continuing within a heartbeat, "mein te uss kursi nu vi hath la skada jidhay te uda wajood benda huway. Me jahannami te o—"
[No, a man dirty as I am is not even capable of being the dust on her shoe. It was God who took me from the ground and place me on the sky.]
[I can not even touch the chair she sits on. I am a sinner and she—]

"Jab itni izzat kartay ho tou biwi samjh kar bhi dekh lo."
[When you respect her so much, try to understand her as a wife too.]

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Rubbing the tip of her nose for the nth time that hour, a drop of sweat running down her slender neck, Golnar remained hunched over her chore. The onions in her hand, a sharp knife in the other as diced it. Half an inch as the head chef had instructed her with a crooked grin. Much like everyone in the estate — even the servants enjoyed her pain and her Agha ji had been forced to silence by her. She did not wish for her father to suffer any more hurt as he already dealt with the cancer.

When the news had been broken to her a mere week ago, Golnar's spirits had found home in a closed up space somewhere else. Leaving her alone, in a recluse. She had never known such intense pain. The way it stabbed the side of her ribcage and then came from the very centre. Tears she had shed like blood from an open wound. Hugging him she had slept for hours, despite his weakened physical appearance and withered fingers, they were still his. The only thing that gave her comfort when she so desperately sought it.

Absent minded, she cut the onions with her fingers pushing back as the knife slid forward. It's swishing — crushing sounds cushioned the startling heartbeat within her ears. The tips that had turned a deep red, matched the peach of her cheeks. A shade she had been getting without the use of her tints as of late. Her ears and wrists bare. As duty asked for her. An ache throbbed on to her lower back, yet she pressed on. Ignoring the agony that held her hostage.

"Dekho tou kon aya hai."
[Look whose here.]

The shout of her sister-in-law, broke her reverie and her hand slipped. The knife slid into her palm. Opening the gash physically, much similar to the one that had been given to her spiritually since the day of her marriage. Tears clouded her eyes, their swollen mass throbbed in pain as she made out the bleary figure from behind them. A few hot ones slipping down her cheeks and into her parted lips. The saltiness burning the burn on to her tongue—one she had gotten after Bari bibi had forced her to sip her piping hot tea.

Wrapping her bloody palm into the folds of her shawl, a blood curdling scream escaped her dry lips, and her uninjured hand rose to wipe the drops of agony off of her face and lips, her back pressing into the counters as she stared at the woman before her.

Despite all the years that had passed, she looked just like she had all those years ago. The attitude still sobered her eyes and drowned out the joy from Golnar as she watched the child attached to her mother's hip. Swallowing the weight of her disappointment, sadness tightened into knots inside of her stomach, the queasiness was nothing new to her.

When was mercy going to kiss the pages of her kismet? Golnar wondered as she stared at her mother's moving lips. Sound had fallen out as blood rushed to her face. Only a shrill static sound slipped in and out of her ears. Heat suddenly flew in and around her — and not from the stove.

Even beneath the gold lights her face was pale. Like a sheet of ice.

"Ap yahan kyun aai hai?" Golnar mustered up her courage to question—to finally ask.
[Why did you come here?]

"To meet you my Gol—"

"Mat buliye woh mujhe. Ap ki mein kuch nai lagti!"
[Do not call me that. I am nothing of yours!]

Adrenaline pumped her veins as she glared at the woman she loathed. Fury, rage, sadness, pity and an unspeakable yearning shaded her face in their colours. Pressing her hand into the counter, she rose her injured one to her chest, feeling feverish and sick all of a sudden.

"My child I'm so sorry for all that happened years ago. It was not your fault that you came between a crossfire."

"Kitna asaan hai aap ke liye yeh sab kehna. Par kia aap maafi maang sakti hai un sab taanun ke liye? Un sab zulmon keh liye jo iss muashray keh haath sahay hain menay?" Golnar hiccuped with tears streaming down her face.
[How easy it for you to say this. Yet can you ask for forgiveness for all those taunts? All those injustices our society has done with me?]

Chuckling at the silence, Golnar shook her head, dropping it until it touched her collarbone before speaking again, "meri maa mar chuki hai. Jaiye yahan sai. Aur aj ke bad mujhe apni shakal mat dikhaye ga."
[My mother is dead. Leave. And after today do not show me your face.]

"Sun leya? Meri voti ni akhaya ai tusi javo te javo. Warna meray karinday tuank buvay tikar chad aan gae." Darab shouted, his towering frame even more intimidating with the way he stood with his legs spread apart.
[Didn't you hear? My wife has asked you to leave so leave. Or else my men will drop you off to the door.]

"Tussi saray apnay kam karo, Golnar kamray ich aao!" He addressed the spectators next, motioning for her to follow him.
[All of you do your jobs. Golnar you come to our bedroom!]

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Life is at a halt now and I'm stuck. Pray for me bestie.