گلاب تو مل ہی جاتا ہے
انسان کو ایک یار ہی ملنا ہے
اور وہی یار ڈھونڈنا ہے ایک جہاد

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Chapter 6 : Dar, darya aur darab

He was covered in rain. The thick material of his shirt clung to his skin. Sweat beads melting down his back as the cold pelts of rain gained intensity. Each one like the stroke of hellfire. Despite the ghastly appearance of grey clouds overhead, the rumbling of lightning, and the ferocious growls of the wildlife in the forests running parallel to the Northern half Naazimgarh. He stood still. In the centre of the now empty meadows.

Stillness. It was utterly still, his actions. Stationary, so perfectly, that he looked like a well crafter sculpture. Placed there by the hands of an expert maestro. His chest rose at an awfully slow pace, the movement underneath his left pectoral deathly. Rubbing the back of his palm against his neck, ends of his fingers clashing with the thin chain around it. Darab's hands dropped to his sides, his lips morphing into a pout. A sound — a soft whistle escaping the grounds of his voice box. Into the hollow night.

Failing to hide his grin at the sight of his stallion. It's dark mane, the ode to it's roots that had started fancily in Arabia. He watched with untampered pride as the horse leapt through the tall grass, it's hoofs slashing against the raindrops to run to him. Defeating the pace of light and sound, stilling only until it's face nuzzled into the chest of it's owner.

Darab's usually harsh gaze softened. His calloused palms reaching out to stroke the top of Darya's head. Dropping kisses alongside it's cheek. The horse neighed. He cooed in response at the proximity of his oldest friend. Shivering in the cold, stilling only as Darab threw over it his thick leather jacket. Leading it towards the stables a few miles to the south.

"Ainvi russeya na kar meri jaan," he hummed, rubbing his hand back and forth over the nape of Darya's neck, "ni teray jeya hor disda."
[Do not loose your temper with me my love, for I do not see anyone like you.]

His companion only neighed in reply, hitting the side of it's body gently against Darab's waist. Brushing his palm with the edge of it's slobbery nuzzle.

Gentle orange rays seeped from under the thick doors to the stable. The stained wood, lined with brass and iron nails had stood the testament of time. Rolling with ease as he pushed it open with the edge of his water filled shoe. Light — harsher now, falling on to the beast and his horse. Their shadows mixed in with the murky puddles, above the soil yet below the over grown weeds.

Musky ; smelling of hay and water, the stable was closer to home than anything. A filament bulb flickered, at the foyer and a few feet away a huge entourage of lights burned bright. Candles and gas lamps rested in triangular wooden trims. Shadows danced along beige walls, over the hay stacked floorings. The mares already asleep, their soft snores danced inside the room, despite the loud clash of thunder outside.

Opening the door to Darya's stall — the largest amongst the stable, he placed a parting kiss over the apex of his forehead. He stared at his fingers that were due to the heat, far more pale than he was used to. Contrasting against the inkiness of Darya's skin. Flexing his biceps, he wrapped both his hands around the giant's frame, laying hay over the ground to ensure comfort.

"Saveray milnae an fir."
[Let's meet in the morning then.]

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Marching towards the front of his home, he wrapped his fingers around the brass handle. The heat from his flesh melting as it met the iciness of the metal. Darab did little to hide the shivers that danced over his skin. Like tiny goosebumps, rising one after the other. Tracing his muscles. In an aching, wanton need. Clenching his jaw, he tried his best to put the chatters to rest. An ache rising between his cheeks due to the sinking temperatures.

Stepping into the foyer, the lights in the chandelier dimmed at this hour of the night. He had lost track of time, talking to shivering pet of his, ignoring the burning sensation in his own being. The first rays of the sun had broken over the horizon as he had bowed under the open sky. After a night of wild rain, it's rays were a pleasant gift. He could already hear the sounds of the servants deep in the kitchen. Up and around — preparing for the arrival of Dania. His only sister.

Placing his wet shoes under the wooden stool, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Water had dried over his tan skin, his hair resting sloppily over his forehead. Running a hand through the knotted mess he hissed at the pain before climbing the stairs. Two at a time.

Grasping the edge of his shirt taut, until his knuckles were painted an alabaster white, he pulled the kurta over his head. The flesh of his chest was warmer than usual, and pastier in it's appearance. Tucking the disappointment in his being behind the arrogance of his gaze. Darab fisted the front of his trouser. Pulling it off of his body. Struggling as the fabric clung to him harsh. Naked and alone he could feel the chill from his friendly loneliness dance around him. The air of superiority fleeing but only for a fleeting moment. Returning soon after the sun melted over him through the hazy windows.

Filling the bucket of water until it flew over, he tested the temperature over his palm. Mixing until the boiling water was just enough, he threw it over his figure. The lifebuoy soap slipped between his fingers as he lathered it over himself. In his thirty years, the scent had remained stagnant. Changing not, even as the seasons had. Even when his family had changed, the soap had remained the same.

The thick towel fell short as he wrapped it around his shoulder, running a hand over his jaw, before he pulled the dried branch of miswak out of it's glass enclosure.  Running it over his teeth before gurgling. Spitting it into the porcelain washbasin. Wiping his hand gently, he wore the necklace over his head once again. Placing his lips in a chaste kiss against the ruby ring. Running his thumb around the indents in it's fine gold.

"Darab."

The fine voice called just as he stepped out of his bathroom. Dressed in his white shalwaar kameez. The ends of his hair coiled above his shoulders and water dribbled down — one droplet after the other. Darab licked his lips in anticipation as he smiled at his mother. Her frame, covered in a thick cotton saree, the ends gold and bronze. Contrasting with the plain white. Signature thick gold bangles dancing over her stout wrists as she motioned for him to come closer.

"Amma tussi menu sad lena si." He smiled, kissing her hand, offering her a chair.
[Mother you should have called me.]

"Tu rehn de," she dismissed, staring at his bedroom with distaste, "kithay si sari raat?"
[You leave it, where were you all night?]

"Darya—"

"Teray aus janwar de ilawa hor vi rishtay ne." She narrowed her eyes.
[You have more relatives than just that animal.]

Even as her words dripped with humour, endless rivers of it, he could not find the joy within her eyes to give it it's undertone. Like a stoic mannequin, she ran a hand over his beard and pinched his jaw. Her soft lips set in a straight line. An air of grim surrounding her head.

"Tuaday ilawa menu milna kera chanda ae?" He chuckled dryly.
[Other than you who wants to meet me?]

Stepping closer, he sunk to his knees, his head coming to rest over her legs. Her lips marred with a soft frown, the scent of her gardenia perfume reminded him of home, reminding him of what he had lost. In the blink of an eye.

"Tenu akhya te hai, voti liya mundeya, par tu manen te fir ae na."
[I have asked you, to bring a bride young man, but it's you who does not agree.]

Running his finger alongside the worn out pleat, the span of his palm covered the gold trims that hung over the edges. Brushing against his palm as he ran it through — faster. It was like a strobe, striking time and again, melting into gentle drops until it belonged to the air. The sensation of pain, rushing through his shins, melting in the epicentre of his forehead.

Darab had missed her presence. Gone for the past fortnight, to meet her parents, he had missed her. The touch of his fingers, the care in her voice. Her soft lullabies and spectacular kisses. Even now as she dropped them over his forehead, melting the fever that he had felt brim against the top of his body. A tear, a barely visible one wiped down the side of his nose. Falling above his cupid's bow, and then seeking home over her palm.

Turning in her embrace, he sighed into her stomach, breathing in the softness of her stomach. Her kisses were familiar. Chaste and genteel. Massaging the pain over his shoulders away.

"Teray Darab nu koi nai sambhal sakda amma." He replied after a few moments of silence.
[No one can handle your Darab mom.]

His mother — the wife of his father, giggled. Running her finger around the shell of his ear. The silvery giggles matched the forlorn-ness of the winter air, a breeze blowing in from the window left open. Her grey hair falling over her shoulders as the winds gained intensity. Kissing her palms with tears clouding his vision, tracing every inch of her face with his gaze, Darab peppered kisses over her arm. Tightening his hold around her figure as he felt her hold weaken. With the gaining strength of the winds, her figure blew into nothingness. Until he was once more alone.

Fakhta Haakim Nazim — his mother.

She had left him a handful of years ago and yet her apparition kept him company. Gone missing for weeks at a time, leaving him in a hole of darkness, where there was him and the pride that kept him company. Yet, she would walk in with the prowess of a lustrous ruler, kissing him, reminding him of what life had been before he was by himself. Soon, gone. A gaping, bleeding mesh of broken arteries left behind in the chamber of his heart. Waiting when again, she would come. Gifting him with peace.

"Darab." A stern voice called, tearing him from the visions of his feverish dream.

"Amma jaan?" He turned to face her, Areesha Nazim Hakim, the wife of his father.
[Mother dearest?]

"Thala a, manshi saab aye nai." She hollered, narrowing her eyes at his restless figure.
[Come downstairs, the accountant is here.]

Darab nodded.
Rising to his feet, throwing a broken look towards his open window. Following behind her stout figure, burning in a high fever.
Of his past.
Of his present.
Of his future.

➰➰
And we're back in business babies! I hope you enjoyed this update. Keep an eye out for the second update coming out tomorrow <3.