جو جتنا ہنسے اتنا ہی روتا ہے

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Chapter 26 : Kahani kuch yun hai

She wore a shade of white. It was so thin and sheer that the softness of her flesh and the contours of her muscle were fully on display. The thinned volume of her hair spread across her breasts like a curtain. Holding her modesty from the eyes of the onlookers. The ends of the glistening hair curled over into itself, the sheet wrapped over her, clung to the edges of her hip bone. Wide pants that loosely swelled around her ankles — bare foot with nothing but a think anklet over her left ankle.

Her eyes were ghastly, set in deeply. With a dark greyness around her eye brows. Cheekbones sunken into themselves, her — what would have once been thick — lips formed a boisterous grin the closer she got to her. Raising a hand, the skin translucent under the pale blue lights. Tempering her cool skin. Silken, with patches of her skull visible, she brushed a hand through them, setting them over her left shoulder. Crossing the marble stair case, her skirt like trousers washing the width. Hands gently drumming the bannister as she came to a halt before her.

Elderly, the woman, seemed to have been trapped into a time capsule. She was an immortalised beauty, and the way her lengthy fingers coiled around her wrist and moved the thick bangles around, was in itself a seductive show of power. Tipping her head to an angle, raking her gaze over the beauty before her, the ghostly female ran a finger down her face. Pressing her fingertips into her neck, feeling the pulse throb. Humming shyly she sat beside her, crossing her legs, tucking her hair behind her ear she smirked.

"Waqt badal gaya magar woh nahi badli." The woman giggled.
[Times have changed yet she has not.]

Sounds of her light voice rained across the horizon and shattered against the warmth of her skin. It was eerily familiar, reminding her of the sharp screams she had heard in the bridge inside her father's home. Squeezing her fingers around her ebony kameez, Golnar forced her eyes shut. The woman's putrid breath curled against her warm skin and teased the tips of her collar bone, her icy fingers wrapping around the width of her thin wrist bone.

"A-ap kon hai?" Golnar swallowed.
[W-who are you?]

Wiping her hand over her face, she pulled her wrist from the hold. Rubbing her hands against the skin that was all of a sudden turning a deep blue. A muffled sob escaped her lips, deep inside her heart a gentle shudder turned into a thunderous vibration. Spreading from beneath her fingers to the uppermost jargon of her shoulder blade. Like a sharp knife it sunk deep into her back, the flashbacks of her youth and childhood ran like a record before her eyes.

"Tumhe pata hai mein kon hun Golnar, zara zor dalo apnay zehan par."
[You know who you are Golnar, force yourself to remember.]

Golnar's eyes ran over her face and shoulders. The eyes were the same shade of wondering, the same light of inquisitiveness. Those lips that had been the source of her misery first and now the reason behind her hidden joy, the cheekbones and jawline that she had in absence felt beneath her hands. Ignoring the headache that knocked on to her already split skull, rubbing a finger on to the crown of her head, she made herself understand.

It made no sense though — the logic of her brain. The vision she had already had been nothing like this. Instead it was a ravenous beast that had been lapping on to her brightly lit soul to devour her in an instant. To pull her husband away from the little lights remaining in the distance. Yet the woman before her carried an air of warmth. Despite the chilly eyes and un-shockingly icy flesh, the gentleness inside her maternal eyes was not hidden. Patiently as she sat over the couch placed inside the no longer used lounge of her husband's home, the ghost of his mother reminded her of robbed glory.

"Fakhta," she whispered the name, tasting how it felt on the edges of her tongue, raising her fallen gaze to meet the satiated soul's, "ap Fakhta Naazim hain, Darab ki waldah."
[Fakhta, you're Fakhta Naazim, Darab's mother.]

"Bilkul sahi jawab Golnar. Mein uska maa hun aur usko takleef mein dekh kar mera khoon kholta hai." She hummed.
[Correct answer Golnar. I am his mother and seeing him in pain makes my blood boil.]

"Magar wo— phir kia waqai mein kisi nai Darab par—" Golnar broke off.
[But then — does that mean someone actually on Darab—]

Fakhta nodded her head, snapping her bony fingers as the burnt out candles lit up once more. The fires kindled into the side and the intensely lit up chandelier broke the foggy hue out of the room covered in sheets and cobwebs. Instead they painted the cracking pale walls in a shade of sunlight mellow — the lightest of strobes from when the sun just about rose on to the horizon. Tinkling in the air the glass crystals that hung from the classic shaped chandelier branches, danced above their heads to an inanimate tune.

Dangling her fingers into the air, she blew away the covers from the glass cabinets and wiped away the dusty crooks and edges. Around their heads a fire flurried in and out of the gaps between the walls, cracking down the wall that held between the spaces. A small space lead from the lounge towards what appeared to be an alley way, streams of fire ranging inside of it. Dipping her finger into a glass that lay over the table in carelessness, scratching her nails down it's side. The cracks rubbed off into the shards and they fell on to the ground. Covering the soft carpet in hundreds of smithereens.

"Us aurat ka dil bohat kaala hai. Upar sai tou khuda ka khouf hai magar andar sai sab khokla hai," she spoke into the air, wiping a tear that washed the ashen hue of her cheeks.
[That woman has a black heart. She fears God from the surface level yet from the inside she is hollow.]

"Kon?"
[Who?]

Reaching out Golnar placed a hand on to her cold kneecap. The well of her palm lit up in an icy fire, an unbridled pain that leapt like the silent devours of a demon. Yet she pressed on, seeking answers that had kept her up for far too long. Flashes of white light sparkling before her eyes as she continued to stare at the sides of the pale face. Deep scars embedded into the swan like length of her neck. Bleeding, yet the blood never seeming to touch her sheer white attire.

"Wohi jis nai mujhe marwaya. Wohi jis nai apnay hi shohar ko mar dala. Golnar sab saboot isi haveli mein hai, aur is sai pehlay woh kuch aur karay—"
[The one that had me killed. The one that had her husband murdered. Golnar all proofs are in this haveli, and before she does anything else—]

Breathing softly, Fakhta rubbed a hand over Golnar's sharp nose, "us nai meray betay ko takleef pohanchai hai, ab usko uski saza milay gi. Mein uska woh haal karun gi jo kisi nai na socha ho ga!"
[She hurt my son, now she will have to pay. I will do all that to her that no one has ever thought of!]

"Kia huwa hai Darab ko?" Golnar swallowed, hoping that he had survived.
[What happened to Darab?]

"Uskay ustaad ji ko uss sai cheen liya gaya hai. Aur jo takleef usko ab huwi hai, hisaab barabar tou ho ga!"
[His professor has been stolen from him. The pain that he has suffered, will have to make ends even!]

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The uncanny sounds of the hospital machinery beeping into the lengthy corridors could not have been missed. Not even from miles away. The evacuated corridor with it's eucalyptus plants, settled into pots of a silver coated clay, and lengthy benches made from an uncomfortable plastic and metal trims, held sounds of nothing but the smallest of crickets. Glass windows from the private room that opened into the pathway, were covered with thick grey curtains. Only pale white ceiling lights flashed down on to the floors.

Everything about the space screamed pristine. The walls and the floors were an eggshell white and the thin carpet that had been thrown into the way — in a careless manner, covered not even one third of the width. Scent of chlorine wafted through all day and week, the hallways wiped every few hours by the meticulous janitors. Every now and then a doctor walked through the unoccupied space and ticked away at the files in hand before entering the only bedroom in use. No one save for the burly bodyguards standing in the cold space.

Their broad shoulders kept the tiny door covered. Their eyes focused on to the wall before them. The shifts lasted twelve hours for each of them, and under heavy watch did they only change positions. Guarding the door of their owner's daughter, they performed their jobs with a passionate understanding, allowing only those who had been approved by their owner. Hands almost always tied at the waist and the ends of their deep blue shalwar just about kissing the ground. Rifles strapped across their toned backs. Their heads stared arrogantly at any passerby.

Inside the suite the machine beeped with mechanical calculation. Outdoing the punctuality of the clock even. It beeped every few seconds and the thin green lines across the black monitor wavered every few moments. Rising first like a mountain before dropping into a soft hill like curve. The steadiness was much to the severity of the Qurban river's water pressure. Both gently easing through. Curtains pulled shut to keep the lights out and the lights all dimmed. Covering the pale bedroom in a soft grey light.

Inside the dark even, Golnar's skin was just as rosy. Though her lips had withered and the softness of her cheeks had been robbed off of her. Her fingers rested underneath the curve of her breast, though over the thin hospital sheets. As the days crept on, her flesh thinned and the boniness of her limbs only became more pronounced. Never had her hair been as limp and frail as they were in that moment. Wrapping around her head and resting just above her shoulders. Bandages wrapped around the side and top of her face. A thick arm sling held her right hand in place.

Golnar had sustained injuries — though most were superficial they had been enough to send her body into shock. Slumbering deep and in peace for the past four weeks, she had been the cause of her father's worry and doctor's stress. Despite the soft breaths that escaped her nostrils, her skin was like plastic and there was barely any sign of her being alive other than that. Through tests — pricking and prodding away, doctors had noted an increase in brain activity for the first time in four weeks. A sign to be hopeful.

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Crushing the pistachios with the mortar and pestle, throwing them into the kehva the shade of a light fluorescent champagne, the small glass cup was stirred meticulously. Three and a half times clockwise and then four and and half times anti-clockwise. Steam rose from the cup and curled into the chlorine scented air of the hospital's cafeteria. A sprinkling of sugar and a pinch of salt at the preferences of most of Naazimgarh's men — had been an art the mess's chef had mastered.

Placing the two cups ordered by the burliest of men, he slid in the crisp fired dough and a slice of lemon cake. It's top crumbly and dusted with candied pecans. The waiter, dressed in the hospital's colours of cream white and black rushed to the long table placed by the beam on the right wall. Wiping down the crumbs from the previous customers by his worn out linen cloth before murmuring his apologies. Rushing away with his hands wound around his back.

Husayn watched the young man scurry off with a lightness inside his eye, forwarding a cup to his best friend before taking the other in his own hold. The pleats of his brown shawl covered his hand as he rose it far too soon. A corner almost dipping into the glass cup. Both his hands cupped the sides of it, his head angled until the ends of his hair kissed the top of his shoulder. Sliding the fabric higher as he placed the cup to his lips. Taking a gentle sip.

Cardamom and cinnamon. The flavours far more intense than the others kissed his tongue and he hummed in appreciation. Dipping the dried lemon cake into it. Softening it, before he bit into it.

"Dekh Darab, mein ap vakhieya ae, pabhi khuda na chaiya te jald uth jaan ge." He reassured his friend for the nth time since his arrival in Naazimgarh a fortnight ago.
[Listen Darab, I have seen the reports myself, if God wills, sister-in-law will wake up soon.]

Sitting before him, Darab had never looked so disheveled. His knotted hair curled over his broad shoulders and were twisted into themselves. His shawl carried the stains of his many tears that he shed in private, a thin spotting of blood that had resulted from all the torture he had begun to inflict on himself as of late. Even the skin above his knuckles had been torn into pieces of thick skin, red flesh peaking from beneath, and a few healing scars dotted upon the rest of his hand. He hunched over from the pain inside the gash across his back.

Tapping his shoe over the table's leg, he sipped the kehva, biting into the fried dough as he listened to his friend's advice. Darab's eyes ached from the many sleepless nights that he had become accustomed to. The throbbing behind his left eye, gifted him with a blurred vision and his mind had begun to slow down. Every night, as he lay on to his chair, the wood pressed against his stitched wound and created an uncomfortable sensation that burnt like an icy fire. Spreading to his legs. Chill from the emptiness of the bedroom doused out the fires he burnt and he clutched the bottle of ittar she had most often used.

Food no longer offered him pleasure and so much like his wife he had turned to prayer. Though it was voluntary for the first time. Darab no longer feared the thunderous orders that raged down on to him from his mother and sister. All of it had been neglected by him, his days and nights spent searching for the people that had had explosive mines buried into his field.

"Tussi saray eik o gal baki jan dae o. Menu dasso kad unho hosh away ga? Chaar haftay ho gaye ne te hali tikar udhi sehat ich behtari ni aan dai rae. Ya fir tusi saray nikammay dactar jae!" Darab spoke, his jaw clenched and hand wrapped around the glass tightly.
[All of you are spitting the same nonsense. Tell me when will she wake up? It's been four weeks and till now her health hasn't improved. Or is it that you are all incapable doctors!]

"Darab!" Husayn warned, "pichlay das din tou mein Golnar de agay pichay kum rehaya aan teri tasali vastay. Mein te ais cheez da dactar vi nai aan, mera talauq dil nal ae dimagh tou nai par fir vi din raat mein udhay check up kar rehay aan. Aedi nashukri na kar. Khuda ne chahya te unho aaj hi hosha aajaway ga!" He explained.
[Darab! From the past ten days I have been surrounding Golnar for your assurance. I am not even the doctor for this, my work is with the heart not the mind yet still I do her check ups day in and out. Do not be so thankless. If God wishes she will wake up today itself!]

"Menu te ae samajh nai arahi ae sab ho kinvay gaya." He sighed.
[I don't even understand how did it all happen.]

Though the reply he had sought from his oldest confidant seemed to die on to his lips as the pager inside his pocket buzzed. Darab watched with awe as Husayn's face was painted by the blue lights of the screen, his cheeks rising, lips stretching as he turned to meet his gaze.

Chuckling Husayn ran a hand through his hair, "pabhi nu hosh agaya ae."
[Sister-in-law has woken up.]

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Golnar's eyes wandered between the handful of unrecognisable faces. Her hands held on to the starched sheets as a whimper escaped her lips. Her throat had been dry, like a fire had been set on to the sands of the Thar desert. Spikes dug into her oesophagus even as the kind nurse helped her up and pressed a styrofoam cup to her lips. Ignoring the tappings of pain she felt around her head and body, she stared at the unimaginably familiar faces. Yet as she pressed on to her brain, she failed to come up with plausible responses to who they were. Only the soft, now withered face of her father reminded her of home.

"Wh-where's mama?" She questioned, her own accent sounding foreign to her ears.

"She's been praying for you my child." Her father replied, holding back what could only be a sob.

"Who are they? Why's that man in black staring at me like that? He's scaring me abba jaan." She coughed out her words, hunching to side as a wave of them escaped her parched lips.

"He's your husband."

"Why do I not remember?" She frowned, turning to the man who had introduced himself as Dr.Husayn, hoping he could be of help.

"It's okay Mrs.Haakim. Post traumatic amnesia is common. Just take it easy and you'll have your memories back in no time."

Golnar nodded, analysing the sturdy build of her husband. Burning hot streams of red blood rushing to her cheeks as she watched his intense eyes rake over her being. Lay off the stress — the doctor's words rung inside of her head. Yeah, she hummed to herself, she would do just that.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️
Ji besties what is up?
How have you been this week?
What's the plan?
🥰🥰