ہاں وہ نہیں خدا پرست جاؤ وہ بوفا ہی سہی
جس کو ہو دین و دل عزیز اُس کی گلی میں جائے کیوں

— مرزا غالبؔ

٭

Chapter 11 : Inteqam aur aag

Resting the crook of his finger —the edge of his finger bone joint's scarred— underneath the icy showers of the Qurban river, his eyes stared into the distant. The majority of his weight rested over the shambles of his ankle, and though a dull throb smudged the rest of his outer thigh, it was a sensation wholly ignore. Dipping the rest of his hand into the icy water, he smile. Raising the ends of his plump lips. Using muscles he did not know existed.

Shrouded in ire and mischief. The eyes that were like pure gold, mixed in with the shades of their soil, filled in with desire. Plans of great ferociousness roamed the vast emptiness of his brain. The cells stemming around in fast haziness. Beating the strength and speed of the winds that tore through the foothills of the mountains. Between his roaring thoughts and the harsh sounds of the river water slashing against the smoky rocks, there was little that he could hear. It was this gracious silence full of chaos that brought him peace. Closer to heaven.
The only heaven he would ever have ; perhaps.

Darab's motions were rusty as he swiped his calloused palm over the back of his other hand. One sides of his flesh like hellfire, and the other like hell had frozen. The collision of which brought him an inch nearer to rapture. Sniffing, his hand wiping the back of his sharp nose — a reminder of his blue blooded ancestry, Darab filled his mouth with the cold water. His gums screaming in pain. Though his nature ; sadistic in all forms won.

"Darab." The voice full of contempt, won over his attention.

Turning his built frame, stumbling as his feet slipped, he rose. Taller than the stout frame of his mother, his head bowed suddenly as she stepped nearer to him. The fury that coursed around her head, gained a physical presence as she breathed in harshly. Gripping the lapels of his collar, the thick tweed material slipping from her grip. A drunken grin slithering on to his mouth as he offered her a seat on to the rusty bench, kneeling on the ground before her. His hands around hers.

"Ae ki bakvas we?" She snarled.
[What is this nonsense?]

Darab feigned innocence. An act that last barely a few seconds as she threw the maroon page into his face. Despite being made of the finest cardboards, the card struck his cheek. Leaving a thin paper cut in it's place. A bashful smile slipped over his lips, a finger touching the burning mark. He hissed in pain, staring at the lips cursing at him. Though he drowned out all voices, picking up the card.

His wedding card. Though he could not read a single word. It was all an amalgamation of gold over maroon, the swirls were pretty no doubt. Though undefined digits to him.

"Tu us haramkhor di thi nu meri bahu bana chanda ae? Meray tou puchay baghair?" Amina spoke in a tight tone.
[You want to make that betrayer's daughter my daughter-in-law? Without even asking me?]

"Amma ji," he chuckled shamelessly, as if the funnies of jokes had just been cracked before him, "uss kudi nu voti bana kar lian da eik maksad ae. Uss Arbaz di jaidad tai qabza. Udhay baad o eik kamray vic band raway gi te tusi apni marzi naal bahu lena koi eitraaz nai kare ga."
[Mother dearest, the only reason behind marrying that girl is to get control over Arbaz's entire property. After that she can live in a room and you bring a daughter-in-law of your own choice, no one will object.]

"Vada?" She spoke, her tone as skeptical as the frown she wore.
[Promise?]

"Vada." Darab nodded.
[Promise.]

He stared in silence as she stood up, turned wordlessly, and marched through their rice fields. Her fingers brushed the top of their almost ready to cut off crops, before tucking them underneath her shawl. Straightening her shoulders. She wore confidence like her armour. No one had ever survived before her, a single glare and you would melt before her. Darab was her son, it already gave her a soft spot.

Returning to the waters, he wiped his hand and tucked them beneath his knee, resting his cheek over his kneecaps before mindlessly ridding himself of the leather slippers he wore. Tipping his feet into the cold waters, and watching until his skin became numb to the assault. Turning his head towards the skies. The thick dark locks over his head, flopping down his forehead and over his left eye.

There was much to marvel at in the plains of Naazimgarh.

The first of the sun's rays, with an unobstructed strength fell on to the river after a long week. Like diamonds, the water droplets glimmered. A thin rainbow danced over the water's surface as water bugs ran towards it. Creating an array of noise on their own. Their innocence blearing. Tearing the thick air of seductive planning, washing with the water their own shortcomings. Ignoring the appearance of two beings — not their own next to them.

Just then, grey flickering clouds began to gather overhead. Rumbling through their stuffed bellies, the sounds came muffled. The cranes and Hawk's, out on an early expedition flew back to the tree tops. Brushing their patterned wings into the cold water, breaking the surface tension in their show of artistic flair. Their beaks bubbling a gulp of water, before singing in a cry, uglier than most were used to. Incomparable to the nightingale's sweet sounds that had not been heard for years, the birds grouped together. Flocking into the skies.

The sun still, albeit shyly, rounded over the screaming clouds. It's strength falling softly. Yet it's generosity was known. For giving. Without getting. It gave and gave, gave and gave, gave and gave until it had nothing to give. Similar to the pure lands of Naazimgarh. A piece of land that had once been untouched by feuds and wars. Once had been one. Though when it had been torn into two, it had broken apart families and homes. Decades of friendships had been washed into the river that had just newly formed in the dried up cracks. This very land had been ravaged by murder and families had lost everything to the waters that had no mercy. Giving it the name Qurban — sacrifice. In honour of all the daughters, mothers, sons, and fathers.

Three decades later, the stars and moon were coming to the position they had been at the fateful day of the falling out. It was aligning, in the cosmos and the land was set to enjoy too.

Darab hummed in his coarse voice. Watching the animals crowd one another as the time, unbeknownst to him, ticked forward. Though slowly. Yet surely. The beast watched the deers near him, though the sound of his thick syllables perhaps scared them for the ran to the back of the Fir tree. Chuckling, letting a little bit of his humane side slip through, he pressed his back into the tree's bark. Picking up his knife — it's blade curving into the hilt of his palm, in the other a block of wood. Shaving it.

The sound of Noor Jahan's melodies slipped through his barely parted lips as he began to work on the wood. His legs spread before him and the thick, worn out shawl discarded on one side. The contours of his face became far more prominent as he worked his hand over the side and blew to get rid of the dust. Blinking as some found itself into his eye.

Through the south of the abandoned edge. The distinct sound of the Adhan rang through. It ran over his skin like goosebumps, one after the other shredded his burning skin. Though his hands never stopped over the wood. Even as tiny splinters, like jargons of metal slid into his flesh. The muezzin's voice was like the calm, deep and intelligent as he pronounced each word with softness. It's melody outdid the song he hummed in the back of his throat. A tiny bird, flew before him and pressed it's small skull into the ground. As if prostrating.

Marvelling, his eyes lightened and the stress lines on his forehead slipped. Pressing his finger into the small head, he rubbed it against the iridescent green feathers. Though the bird rose slowly, setting flight again as the cries came to an end. The peace that had surrounded him, lost in almost a second. Unease gripping the toned edges of his chest. Shadows wrapping around him like a cloak of misfortune.

Calling him further into the darkness.
To stray.
To stay.
To slay — his heart that still found itself yearning to return his head over the velvety prayer mat.

What had that ever given him?
Nothing.

It was in the mystery of the dark when his mother would come to him. Not on the prayer mat.
It was in the glass of alcohol and the unspoken parts of a woman that had given him the peace he sought. Not the words of God.

And each day, he was slipping further away from the words of his father.

٭

Arbaz's hands rose before the open bedroom window, placing them directly into the orange light of the setting sun. Wrapped around his tired palms, the thick ruby red rosary slid around. Delicately his thumb swirled around each bead before slipping it away. When that became too much, he sunk his nail into the flesh of his fingers. Murmuring each verse he had learnt with attachment. Whispering the words, in a mismanaged melody. The gaze of his eyes focus on to the trees in the distant before occasionally falling towards the grounds of their haveli. The place already being set up for the beginning of his lakht-e-jigar's wedding.

Taking a deep breath, he turned over, slipping his hand under the thick prayer mat he crossed the edge over. Making a neat slant, triangle. A bittersweet smile smeared over his lips as his childhood best friend slipped into the room with a tray of silver. The frail man had turned even more older in a fortnight. The pending wedding of their beloved Golnar, had turned everyone of their servants into mourners. Abraz smiled at the sight of Agha, he was not the only one that wanted to follow behind her. A train of his guards had been begging to be made part of their Golnar bibi's wedding dowry.

"Ao Agha." Arbaz motioned towards the sofa seat.
[Come Agha.]

Slipping into the grandfather chair, laying his back against the deep ember toned fabric he moved the chair with the end of his foot. Running a hand over his face as his list of wishes—all to do with the wellbeing of his dil ka tukda came to an end.

Taking the cup of tea in his hand he thanked the manservant before taking a long sip. Relishing in the flavour of the smooth tea, cardamom and cinnamon tones coursing in after the strength of the tea leaves ran out. Another sip, breathing in the calm aroma of his tea, he rubbed his thumb around the edge.

"Agha ap ki tiyari puri hai?"
[Agha is your preparation complete?]

"Ji sahab," he nodded, sipping his own tea, "Golnar bibi ka jahez bhi bhijwa dia hai, aur kal unkay zaiver bhi ajain gae." He spoke, mulling over his words for a moment before continuing, "bas ab Allah unka naseeb acha karay."
[Yes sir. Golnar madam's dowry has been sent, and tomorrow her jewellery will arrive as well.]
[Now I hope Allah blesses her with a good destiny.]

"Ameen." Arbaz responded, indulging into his thoughts before speaking, "mein nai yeh rishta isiliye kia hai keh meri beti meray saamne rahay. Amma ji keh inteqal keh baad Islamabad jana munasib nahi. Umeed hai ap pal pal ki khabar dein gai. Aur agar Amina begum ya Darab nai koi bhi ghatiya harqat ki, ap ussi waqt Golnar ko wapis le aain gae."
[Amen.]
[I agreed for this match so that my daughter can stay in front of me. After the death of mother dearest it is not feasible to go to Islamabad. I hope you will keep me updated. If Amina madam or Darab try anything sinister, you will bring Golnar back that very instant.]

"Jo hukum."
[Whatever you say.]

٭

"Uss keh par katnay parein gae," murmuring into the receiver of the phone, the voice snarled, "uski shaadi uski barbadi."
[Will have to cut the wings. This wedding will be their destruction.]

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