@Acidicperson24 I'm so sorry! I meant to update, the comment thing was a joke but I put my phone on DnD and just slept for the last 2 days.

سُننے والوں سُنو ایسا بھی ہوتا ہے
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Chapter 25 : Dastaan

It was all red. Searing hot, plainly blusterous in it's carnal red shade. The centre of the fire a cherry streak, and at it's outskirts it was a fiery orange. Vermilion like the sun's longest rays, burning claret red at the end over the soil. It had spread around in haphazard shards over the cut open crops and the water logged fields had though stopped it from spreading too far, the explosion had led to destruction. Raging tall into the heights of the sky blue sky, the fire fumed in circles.

Dust rose in the air above the fields and rounded like a whirlpool — sinking down over the shaggy dense trees. Painting the bright green leaves in a sodden grey and particles of soil. The once perfumed air had turned into an amalgamation of slashed metals. Thick and heavy the burning iron from the explosive mine and grenade, married to the fumes of blood. Above the sky had turned a shade of deep silver. Dried soil had painted the soft clouds and over the soil it was in it's whole self been painted maroon.

Blood lapped into the open potholes along the sides of the latticed fields. Flesh, bone and carnage alike — had been stolen from lives far too soon. Shards of the metal had flown into lands distant, stabbing the barks of the shadowy trees and a few sliding into the thighs of the cattle. It was a howling mess the lands that were moments ago pieced in one large sense of harmony. Farmers lay over the soil injured and the vortex. The eye of the storm continued to rage on as help seemed to have lost it's way.

Screams of pain retorted into the chilly air. Shaking the drowsy men from their beds as the sun was still not bright enough. Embers of fire smoked and fell on to the linen shalwar kameez, a tray of food lay on to the ground. The bread was muddled into the bloody ground and ants had rushed over to ravage it. The gravy and eggs had fallen inches away from the hole of the fire. Painful screams still elicited from the fainted figure as hands rose to grip her out of the fire. It still burned and found no sufficiency to end so far.

His broad body lay at a side, on top of his stomach and the deep gash on his back was free for the air to infect. Grunting, his spit dribbled down his chin and melted over his sweaty throat. A painful ache gripped the front of his forehead and teared through the sides of his mouth, stabbing the centre of his jaw. Slamming a palm along the side of his warm face he rubbed his fingers together, feeling the warmth of his blood coat the hot flesh of his limbs.

Tiny — millions of tiny stabs struck Darab's upper back where an opening had found it's way. The flesh of his mouth had dried and splinters scratched the inside of his throat. Pressing a hand helplessly into the soft ground he forced his neck upward. Groaning as the effort succumbed him to a darker abyss. Peeling his eyes open he stared at the pale face of Golnar. His vision had blurred from the sheer intensity of his own pain, the back of his hand rested against the burning hot skin. To stop it from feeling.

With a thick numbness surrounding the lower of his back, his legs no longer feeling, Darab pushed himself forward. Sweat dripping from his forehead, agony threatening to take him into a world that was not of his. Sliding his weight over his forearms he crawled over his stomach. Lowering his head as the deadly ache once more held him hostage. Reminding him of his weakness as mortal flesh. Cutting the distance between himself and his wife, the fire surrounding them like a blizzard, he pushed his toes into the ground.

The white of his pristine shalwar kameez had been stained by the slow of his and her own blood. The two mixed on with the soil and wreaths of grass at the front og his kurta. The back torn as he had fallen over a sharp piece of shrapnel. It's weight he could still feel embedded inside of his flesh, and each movement was an alarming agony. Stretching an arm over his head, he wavered his hand around in the air, reaching out, cooing her name above his lips in a soft whisper. Like a reverting sinner, he smiled though only shortly as he touched her skin.

Golnar's skin was paler than it was usually and her smile had been pushed into a straight line. Blood oozed out of a cut below her lower lip, and his thumb fought to wipe it off. Her hand lay below her face, her forehead and hair had been painted the shade of bright red. As it flew from her skin it painted her sky blue shirt, cuts and slashes laced her skin, and the stillness of her body shocked him. The strands of her soft hair, knotted with the deep shade of her blood, moved in the waves of the air. Kissing her own skin softly.

Even in her state of unconsciousness — Darab hoped — she seemed like serenity personified. The moon shaped baalis inside her ears and the small diamond stuffed nose ring still remained in place. Her glass bangles painted white and light blue had broken over her wrist, tiny scratches kissed her flesh. The bone of it angled awkwardly. With her bosom pushed into the soil, he could hardly make out how softly she was breathing.

Only that he prayed she had lived.
Only that if death was written then it be his.

"Golnar?"

Darab coughed out softly as he felt his life slip from beneath his fingers. A cold fire set ablaze around his wound and the blood from his forehead slipped into his open mouth as he read her name like a broken record. Closing his eyes with the last vision before him being her eyes opening.

Then darkness took over, and he let himself go.

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Beeping.
Bellowing screams.
Bright white lights.
Bumps of electricity.

Crowding over his figure above the operation bed, the doctors and nurses alike murmured to each other. Whispering orders, assigning pointers to the staff as the gripped the scalpels and the threads. The man's heart beat had stilled for a moment — almost scaring them before it settled. Beeps from the machine as they continued to pull out the shards of shrapnel from his flesh, gave them reassurance. Treating the owner of Naazimgarh was no easy feat and their hand shook from the immense pressure they found themselves under.

The man had been brought into the hospital twenty minutes ago and since then strings had been pulled to bring him to an OT as soon as possible. Blood had been ordered for the patient and a backup team of doctors was already paged to arrive and be of help. The hospital was alarmed and security had been beefed up by Arbaz Haakim.

Darab's skin was cold to the touch and the last piece of the metal had been pushed an inch and a half deep into his flesh. Holding onto it, the doctor's breathed in relief as the camera they had inserted showed it had been removed in one large stroke. Luck or their rigorous hard work — the team was glad they had managed to do it all successfully.

Pale white lights flushed his deep tan skin, the red scars around his flesh had formed ribbons, clots had already begun to form around to seal the deep wound. Stapels and sutures were neatly stitched into his cut, their gloves came off next and with a nod of their head, Darab was wheeled off to the regular room.

The bedroom he was moved to was painted an egg white colour and the trims a deep cream. Paintings of flowers hung on one of the walls and adjacent to the occupied bed was a large window covered by thin curtains that moved along the soft breeze of the March morning. One side had been pulled apart and sunlight washed the insides of the room in a plain florentine manner. Vases on the canvases with realistic sunflowers, streaked with gold polish added vibrancy to the otherwise sterile room.

In a low volume the tv had been switched on and the news mumbled to the fain figure. A steady beeping sounded from the ECG machine, adding only to the many white sounds inside the bedroom. The cream hospital bed had mechanical buttons to manoeuvre the height of the mattress. It's wheels tied to the floor, and barred back pressed into the exposed brick wall. A small side table covered in liquids and injections of all sorts was already crowded leaving no space for the medicines that the doctors had planned on administering to the patient.

Darab's scarred hands rested over his abdomen and the light hospital gown he wore had been tied loosely lest it press over the deep wound on his back. A gauze wrapped over his forehead, and the thick topical creams covered his face where many tiny scars — similar to paper cuts had resulted from his fall. Breathing deeply even in his state of unconsciousness, the doctor's remained sceptical still about the extent of his recovery.

Coughing, Darab opened his eyes. Squinting at the sudden attack of the bright lights on to his sensitive corneas. Stretching a hand, he let out a yelp as the stitches on his back moved — each of them still fresh enough to be felt by the nerve endings there. Raising a forearm, he covered his eyes before blinking profusely. Cursing his fate he brushed his hands over the side of his thigh, turning his neck to the left at a bearable pace. Watching the bottle of clear fluid attached to his hand, explaining the slight pain he felt above his palm.

Rubbing the sides of his head, he felt the bandage and winced, reaching out to grab the bottle of sealed water. Darab's wide frame lay in the bed — awkwardly. His broad shoulders pushed against the side handles of the bed, the sturdiness of his biceps pushed the soft plastic to their maximum extent and his legs folded at the heels awkwardly from their length. Only his trimmed torso fit in well and the thin blanket covered him. Not stopping the winds that flew in.

"Darab ab tabiyat kaisi hai?"
[Darab how is your health now?]

Arbaz, who had just stepped into the bedroom, was visibly surprised at finding his son-in-law already awake. The doctors had not been full of plenty of hope, and had made special note of letting him know that death might be the easier way out for both of the people brought in. Stumbling forward, his weight pressed into the ground using the wooden stick, he moved towards him. Stopping at the foot of the bed, he tucked in the loose ends of the blanket as Darab murmured incoherent sentences.

"Kuch tou kaho! Yeh sab kaisay ho gaya?" He enquired, keeping his thunderous rage in check.
[Say something! How did this happen?]

"Menu ki pata huway," Darab choked on his own breath, each word the hardest he had ever spoken.
[How would I know.]

Darab's neck and shoulders ached as he rose it with his back still pressed into the mattress. Staring at the worried frowns on Arbaz's face, he could understand the frustrations somewhat. Despite the fogginess inside his head with the exact chain of events, he remembered enough to recognise it had not been an accident. It was planned. Though he did not know if he was the intended victim or Golnar.

Had she just fallen prey to a turn of misfortunate events?

"Us-Golnar?"
[Pr-Golnar?]

Staring at the old man for answers he gripped his sheets tight. The linen dug into his hollow palms and felt like a calming cool against the hot coals of his own skin. His thumb sneaked into a wedge and pressed into the sides of his ribcage. Darab's brows rose in frustration as he forced himself to remember if Golnar had spoken to him any words when her eyes had poked open. The flesh above his brows crumpled and the pain inside his head that had dulled kicked him with full force. Crushing air out of his chest. Like a man under water. He struggled to breathe.

"Usko hosh nahi arahai. Koi khas umeed nahi hai," Arbaz spoke each word with pain dripping down his tongue, his eyes frozen in place, failing to meet his gaze, "ghalti kar di usko tum sai biyah kar. Kisi shehari sai karta tou meri bachi aaj in halat mein na hoti."
[She is not gaining conscious. There is no good hope. I made a mistake marrying her to you. Had it been a man that lived in the city then my daughter would not have been in this place.]

Wiping his eyes with a finger he sighed, staring out of the window, "magar shaid yeh uski kismet thi aur us par mein kuch nahi keh sakta. Magar Darab agar uskay khoon ka hisab na lia tum nai tou mein khud tumhe dafan kar dun ga!"
[But maybe it was in her kismet so I shall not say anything about it. However Darab if you do not seek justice of her blood then I will bury you myself!]

Darab's head whizzed into a thick grey fog as he heard the words of his father-in-law. Focusing only on the part of her not waking up. His head spun and the world before him turned into a mess of bleariness. A tear fogged inside his eye and bled down the planes of his cheek before watering the ends of his dead beard. Clenching and slackening his jaw he pushed his head deeper into the soft pillow, feeling it press the top of his head until a pain dribbled down his broad shoulders.

The reflection of her face inside his eyes ran like a broken record. Her eyes that had pulled open one last time and the red that clouded her usual joyous orbs. The lips of hers that he had imagined kissing a multitude of times yet had refrained for the sake of his promise, watching them settle into a straight line did his heart in. Like a bullet had shot through his valves and managed to pierce through the bones of his spinal cord. Darab felt his limbs were poisoned. Each one of them turned against him one after the other.

"Vada karda an tudaya naal, menu Golnar day khoon di kasam. Udhi takleef kadi vi zaya nai huway gi. Duniya chan maran ga te us banday no apnay hathan naal maran ga jinhay unho takleef pohanchai ae." Darab nodded, his resolve solidified.
[I promise you, I swear on Golnar's blood. Her pain will never be wasted. I will search the entire world and find the man, kill him by my own hands he who dared to hurt her.]

Arbaz grunted in reply before sending his servant off to fetch for the doctor. Slipping out of the hospital room himself — excusing — as he went to check up on Golnar himself.

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The skies outside were painted a Prussian blue and an odd star sprinkled every few feet around. Stringing around, above the heads of the trees the deep green leaves of the trees were painted a startling silver. A full moon night. The moon in it's bright white vision had painted the centre of the sky with it's innocence. It's glow reigned in power a few feet away. Slipping over the roof of the hospital that stood in the outskirts of Naazimgarh. Next to the Qurban river, the water rustled down the river bed and it's droplets glimmered like millions of diamonds with the moon's light.

Inside the well lit hospital rooms the garlands of white flowers, smelling like the first of summer's sugars, they drowned out the clean smell of Clorox. Sterile and scents of lemon that had been intense in the morning, were cleared out. Windows pulled open on the insistence of the occupant to allow in fresh breeze. They aired out everything. Washing away the sterility and the intense scent of roses. Until all of it remained in gentle moderation.

"Haram zade teray honday ve ae sab kinvay ho gaya?" Darab roared.
[Bastard how did this happen under your presence?]

Clenching his fingers and mouth he screamed away at the pain. Holding them deep within his chest he stared at the figure of Majjo with nothing but anger. His hands shook from the untapped rage that swam between his limbs and stretched down his legs, tickling the ends of his fingers as he held on to the measly plastic spoon provided to him by the hospital.

Moon's light and the pale lights of the hospital room melted over the side of his face in a large pale amalgamation. They were strong enough to drown out the rich tan hue of his skin and the shade of inky black from his hair and beard. It patched up his colour and the bandages over his forehead pasted the strands of hair against his scalp and a few unruly strands curled over his shoulder blade. The nape of his neck had been wiped down by the rough hands of a male nurse, and only a dried patch of blood remained beneath his jaw.

Majjo stood at the end of his bed with his shoulders hunched over. His hands had been tied over his stomach, the flesh of his back bulged around his back in a soft cylinder. The braided strands of his grey hair had been tied and the baby hairs that escaped the hold fell over his wrinkled forehead. Freckles dusted down the side of his face, his lips pursed into an inch of a deeper frown. Rubbing his thumb carelessly against the thick material of his kameez, he apologised underneath his breath. Failing to raise his gaze to meet his.

"Kuj bol Majjo! Tu meray eitemaad da ghalat faida chukya ae!" Darab spewed in fury.
[Say something Majjo! You have misused my faith in you!]

"Enj na kavo sain. Mein sab kuj eimandari naal kita si. Menu ku-kuj nai pata." Majjo replied.
[Do not say that sir. I did everything with honesty. I do-do not know anything.]

"O lan kha mera!" He cursed.
[O eat my cock!]

Running his fingers through his scalp Darab let out a frustrated groan. Taking a sip of the frothy soup that was a far cry from the rich flavour of his wife's special corn one, he chewed with a slow method. His tongue feeling each of the crunchy vegetables against his molars. It was lukewarm by now and the black pepper flavour inside of it was far more palpable than any other. Coughing softly, he sighed, taking another sip from the bowl.

"Majjo char din ne teray kol. Sari maloomat lia meray kol." He spoke in a soft tone, reminding himself of the man's age.
[Majjo you have four days. Bring the entire information to me.]

Majjo nodded his head, staring at moon that had sunk low enough to just before the open window. It was time to prove his loyalty — Majjo decided. Smiling at Darab before making his promise. Something he intended on keeping.