میں تو خواب میں ہی اُن کا دیدار کر کہ خوش ہوں
ورنہ مُجھ نا چیز کی کیا مجال، جو مہبوب سے گلا کرے

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Chapter 8 : Darab — gulshan mein

Bouncing over the balls of her feet, with the flesh of her lips tucked between her front teeth, Golnar fought her way through the crowd. Or well tried to. Huffing, pushing her elbows into herself, plummeting into fleshy sides with her shoulder blade. The flurry of lights and organzas flashed before her, glimmering underneath the lights of the venue, holding her captive. Reason why she had lost sight of her father, and despite it being het cousin's reception, Golnar felt lost.

Retrieving the phone from her clutch, a frown marred her features as the 'no signal' flashed before her eyes. Like a blaring taunt. Teasing her. Even the mint gum between her teeth had begun to loose it's flavour, replaced with something far more bitter. Coating the inside of her cheeks as she swallowed the tears that burnt her tear ducts. The flesh of her bosom, underneath the wrap of her veil, sinking by the second.

Loose auburn ringlets sat in the crook of her neck. Stroking her cheek as the soft gusts of wind blew back and forth. Sticking to the matte of her peach lipstick, even running over the sharp liner. Emphasising the hazel-green tone of her eyes. The boat neck of her peach kurti, gave her broad shoulders an illusion of docility. Thick gold gota running over it in jargon patterns of fine geometry. Matching the double wrapped gota of her gharara. Sewn just above her kneecap, from where the trousers flared into a pleated skirt. Lapping over the grounds of upper Naazimgarh.

Golnar's eyes turned, and her cheeks flushed at the open mixing of the two genders. Despite having attended her fair share of weddings in the federal capital, it was baffling to find a part of her land, so different. Albeit it should have been a given — Golmina, who had returned after her masters from the US, had been touched by the modernity. Far more than she had been ; despite being born on British soil. It was a foul comparison, potato po'tato. Nevertheless, it existed. The sounds of which made way to her ears.

"Golnar?"

A woman walked up to her, a friendly smile perched on the wholesomely Naazimgarh features.

"Ji?"
[Yes?]

The frown over her lips sagged lower, until the bottom of her lip all but kissed the ends of her chin. Rising shortly after, her eyes trying to match a name to the figure before her.

"Mein pata hai kon hun?" She teased, tearing into her personal space, pinching her cheeks, "pehchanay ki koshish karo."
[Do you know who I am?]
[Try to recognise me.]

An ache spread inside her head as she tried. The flesh between the length of her brows, scrunched up, rising in tiny wedges. Hiding the raging displeasure between her veins, tears bubbled in her eyes.
Of frustration.
Of anger.
Tipping her head a few inches back, moving at an unnoticeable pace, Golnar shook her head.

"Usko kaisay yaad ho ga? Maa hoti tou rishton ka ehteram sikhati na." A woman nearby—her father's paternal aunt, shook her head from the ivory sofa.
[How would she know? If she had a mother then she would have taught her the respect of relationships.]

"Ai-aisi baat—" Golnar choked on her breath.
[It-it's not-]

Her words cut off. Palms laden heavy with henna and jewellery rose to silence her. Big doe eyes, like that of a Bambi's and yet lacking it's innocence, offered her a snarky glance. The stout woman loosing interest in her, remaining unnamed as she walked over to her distant grandmother. The two whispering into each other's ears, laughter ripping through the frozen air all of a sudden.

Singling her out amongst familiar faces.

The breath inside her nostrils, and the tears that she held between her eye lashes burned the fire brighter. Stroking the curling orange hues of self loath, setting ablaze the temperature of her skin, warm. Even the ice of early January amongst the foothills of terrorising ice caps could not cool it. Her heart raced, pumping venomously into her veins as she tried to muffle the sobs that were ready to escape. A soft tear already running on her waterline.

Familiar faces all for nothing.

"Golnar beta."

Passing a last sniff through her lips under the guise of cleaning her nose, the napkin cleaning the stains of her tears. She turned. Facing the man she withstood it all for. Her father. In his khaki shade shawl, wrapped over his hunching shoulders and the loose fitted shalwar kameez. A rose garland hanging from his neck, signifying his role as the bride's guardian.

"Ap kahan chalay gaye thay?" Golnar whispered.
[Where did you go?]

Stepping closer to him, her french tip nails ran over the fresh roses. Aroma of a sweet freshness perfumed into her nostrils, reminding her of the home she was looking for. Yearning for. The dew drops on the soft petals kissed her warm finger tips. Taking a deep breath, she rested her forehead over his shoulder. Seeking stability.

"Kia ho gaya hai?" He whispered.
[What has happened?]

"Nothing." Golnar offered him a short smile before speaking, "was just scared for a short moment."

Gripping her father's elbow, she rested her weight against his body. Following him, walking in step as he lead her over to the stage. It's floor perpendicular to the dance floor, was made of glass. Dried flowers thrown between the glass and it's top, created an image of vividness. The usual opulent maroon rugs ditched — for good measure. A roof of flowers hanging low enough to kiss her father's head. Marigolds strewn in between the white Lilly's and pink Roses. Each shade matching the strokes within the bride's dress.

The videographers followed their every move as they moved through the generous crowd. Catching moments. Eyes trained on to their figures as they took a detour, stepped off of the walkway and into the soft grass. Covered in peach rugs. Chairs with tasseled covers, gathering in circular arrangements. Densely surrounded by men and women, the lounging chairs made of crème upholstery, covered the area beside the stage. Reserved for the immediate families.

Pressing a soft kiss into her hair, Arbaz guided Golnar to a spot right beside the gas heater. It's warmth comforting the goosebumps that arose as a result of the falling temperatures. The organza veil over her shoulders saved her, not, and a thin freeze covered her shoulders. Making a statue out of her. Golnar felt the tiny tremors on the ends of her toes first. Racing up her lower calf one after the other, screaming at the nerves within her knee as the chill began to dull. Her heartbeat softening too. The shock of the conversation ending.

Gusts of soft win blew over the low hanging flowers, the thin fairy lights danced around. Their light weight making it all possible. Her minty breath fogged before her, the elaborate rosiness of her cheeks only darkened as a group of unknown men made their way to where she was sat. It was unheard of, the fast beats of her heart, the clamminess of her palms and the soft surprise inside her throat. Mumbled prayers murmured between her lips as she hoped for her father to appear from wherever he had gone off to.

Their frames came with the overbearing smell of smoke and ash. Generously accompanied by their leering gaze as they ran them over her frame. Disgust spread over her body as she gathered the falling hem of her dupatta. Placing it above her shoulder again, hiding the pale bony flesh. Golnar found herself loosing the strength in her voice as the group of men stepped over the threshold. Perhaps in their early twenties, they were everything she would raise her sons not to be.

"Ap idhr nai beth saktay," Agha jaan — her father's loyal servant appeared.
[You can not sit here.]

"Kyun?" One of them, spoke, "tu janta hai mein kon hun?" Adding the latter half with unhidden arrogance.
[Why? Do you know who I am?]

"Na mein janta hun, or na hi zaroorat hai. Magar yeh Haakim saab ki beti hai aur yahan sirf unhi ke khandaan ke log beth saktay hain." Agha added with disgust dripping from his words.
[I do not know, nor do I find the need to know. But she is Haakim sir's daughter and only his family is allowed to sit here.]

Underlining his words, he pulled at the ends of his shawl, giving them a view of his recently waxed pistol.

٭

"O phenchod!" He murmured.
[Oh fuck!]

Hiding behind the dense foliage of trees, Darab was forced to act like a thief at his own best friend's wedding. He snapped his hand in the air, murmuring profanities as he walked towards the lit up stage. Looking over his shoulder, he caught sight of the woman in peach once more. Pulling his lip between his teeth, rolling the butt of his cigarette between his thick fingers he held the crass sigh inside his chest.

The aura of innocence that surrounded her fit the image of a docile, mute wife inside his head. It had ticked all boxes. Leaving him with a small task — convincing her parents to marry her off to him. Yet in the flick of a wrist, her diamond bangles covered wrist, his plan had been undone. She was the daughter of his enemy. His father's enemy. His grandfather's enemy.

"Darab tenu aida time lag gaya?" The groom and his best friend, Husayn rose from his seat, slapping his back as the two hugged.
[Darab you took a lot of time?]

The simple phrase, framed like a question.

"Lambi kahani ve."
[It's a long story.]

Passing a smile to the bride, he passed over a thick envelope made of silk. It was filled to the brim with crisp rust notes. A gift from him to his brother's wife. A token of his generosity—a trait he kept famously to woo women around him.

"Tu vi hun meri pabhi lab la." Husayn smirked.
[Now you should find my sister-in-law as well.]

"Kutteya! Tenu pata si o us haraam zade Arbaz di teeh hai!" Darab roared under his breath, fisting the collar of his best friend in anger.
[You fucker! You knew she is the daughter of that bastard Arbaz!]

"Assalamualikum Husayn bhai." A third, softer, far more breathier voice pulled their heated game of stare.
[Peace be on you Husayn brother.]

Husayn smiled at his sister-in-law, coughing at the bubble of laughter within his chest as he watched the color drain from Darab's cheeks, and eyes.

Maybe something was changing after all those years.
Maybe Naazimgarh would be whole soon.

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So like I heard on the streets that there's going to be updates three times a week.
Friday, Saturday & Sunday.
I don't know about you guys but I think that's pretty dope ;)