Part 2

       قلب بارد

          ( The Cold-Hearted)

A story of flesh, blood, power and Ishq.

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The first look.

It took only the first look and two days later, Syed Asfandyaar Hameed Akhoonzada , the son of a well-known politician and himself working up the dark stairs of politics and power, a feudal lord, philanthropist and a business man was no longer the same man.

طاقت، شہرت، دولت۔  

Syed Asfandyaar Hameed Akhoonzada was now a gone man.

اب صرف وہ کالی آنکھیں اور ٹھوری کا تل۔

The world had mysterious ways of working and the most unexpected things could happen at the most unexpected times. To unexpected people. Asfandyaar never thought he would ever go through something like this, this absurd feeling. He was a powerful man, he had seen ups and downs of life but in his 32 years of life, he had never been this disturbed by his own self. And the reason was the thin band of gold sitting safely in the cushioned metal box placed on his study.

That gold ring.

Or that woman, for that matter.

What took place at the mizaar he went to, as his usual monthly visit,  was unexplainable. He went to the mizaar to pray, like he used to since he was twelve years old. First with him Dada and then his Baba. His grandfather was dead now, May God rest his soul, but his father was too busy now to take him there. Too busy in the dark world of politics for these harmless traditions, everything, everyone. The party and the business, the seats and the impending election.

Since he had came back, he had been extremely disturbed. The soulful experience usually inspired him spiritually but this time it had rattled him in such a manner that his night's sleep was cursed.

He couldn't sleep.

He couldn't eat.

He couldn't think.

Everything he did was distasteful and when he closed his eyes, images burned behind the curtains of his lids. And his heart would thud in his chest in an unfamiliar manner, hard and desperate.

That ring.

The mole on her chin. Tiny, black.

The flick of her wrist as she folded her sleeves.

That black chaddar.

Those eyes looking at him questioningly.

He ran a hand through his bearded jaw, reclining back in his office chair as stretched his neck. His suit jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, eyes tired and red with tiring work of several days. Hard he picked up a crystal weight in his hands. A prism. Clashing of light.

Scattering.

He mulled over his thoughts. It was impossible. Even if he accepted that he, somehow, liked  the woman, it was impossible to find her. It was very unlikely that they would ever cross paths again.

Who was she? Where did she come from?

Where did she go?

He came out of the castle of his thoughts when he heard his door knocked. It was time to get out of contemplation and get to work, again.

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          Two months later

       وہ شعلا تھا یا آندھی ،
خاک بنا گئ، خاک اُڑا گئ

" Asfandyaar, kya hota ja raha hai aapko?" 

Syed Imtiaz Hameed Akhoonzada sat at his power seat, a man of power and honour, staring at his only son with his eyebrows pinched. His son had gotten weaker and he could visibly see his skin paler than before. Eyes red shot, hair unruly and his rough beard. 

Asfandyar worked the kinks of his neck out. What could he tell his father? That he was still not over it? Over her?
" Elections ki wajah sey pareshan hain ya Salehha ki wajah sey?"

Asfandyar could only go with this excuse. Salleha was his fiance, the daughter of a family friend.
" Jee bus elections, Baba sahab."

Elections were not even on his mind. Granted, he worked hard day and night, but he was not stressed about them. The party, politics were a daily task for him.

سیاست کا کھیل اس کے کھون میں شامل تھا

( Siyasat ka khail uskay khoon mey shamil tha)

" Pareshani ki koi baat nahi hai, aap bey-fikr rahain. Apna check up karwayein ya kuch dino k liye kahin chalay jayein."

What was he going to explain to everyone? Why was Syed Asfandyar suddenly gone? No one, no one would believe the true reason. No one.

" Aur yey mizaaron kay iss qasrat sey chakkar laganay ki wajah pooch saktay hain hum?"

Asfandyar clenched his fist. He knew his father wasn't that ignorant. His bodyguards would have told him or maybe even Hassan, his secretary and friend. He had been going to that same mizaar every day twice, in hopes of seeing her, finding her. He had searched everywhere. But all in vain. She was like a khyaal, that came once and then poof, it was gone. Anger bubbled inside him and he casted one straight look at his father before getting up, as calmly as he could and giving a fake smile that was the quality of every politician.

" Chalta hun, Baba Sahab. Office mey miltay hain subah."

He turned around and with fast strides left his father's home, getting into his black rover, he lit a cigarette and put it to his mouth, driving with one hand and as fast as he could.
     
                    ////////

                A month later

      The darkness of the room was illuminated by dim red lights. The smell of alcohol shifted through the air like poison and burned the lungs. There was a chatter of people, numerous men sitting on the seats, some on the floor. In a round circle some men sat who emanated power and cunningness. Among those men sat Syed Asfandyaar who looked furious.

" Yahan bulanay ka maqsad, Shah Yaqoob?"
He asked in a furious yet controlled tone, since Shah Yaqoob was a well known politician and also an asset to his party. He was annoyed because he was sitting in a brothel and he knew it was a common activity of men in their league, even his in the past but now he was a changed man. He was a changed enigma, altogether.

" Baat karni thi aap sey, Syed Sahab."

" Baat kahin aur bhi hosakti thi."

" Arey, aap bethain tou, aisi cheez aapnay kabhi nahi dekhi hogi."
His face morphed into a cunning smirk and Asfandyar had no option but to sit and watch.

The red lights suddenly dimmed more and under a red spotlight a figure emerged from behind the curtains. Music started dramatically. Asfandyar rolled his eyes. It wasn't the first time he had seen this. He took of a swig of his drink.

The woman was dressed in a red number, her top small enough to let the fleshy mounds of her chest be visible, accentuating every nook and cranny of her upper body. The plunging neckline fell deep into her cleavage and her swan like neck was lined with a golden choker necklace. Skin glistening with something, maybe oil. Her torso was bare, absolutely spotless skin and a tiny stud hung from the piercing in her belly button. The red fish lehnga hung barely at her hips, encasing them so perfectly that they presented a supple bottom, creaseless and then flared down to her ankles.

Men, everyone, the ones sitting next to him were clapping and whistling, hooting. Asfandyar let one of his arms hang of the sofa and took a sip of his drink again, eyes unreadable at the display of vulgarity.

The woman stood still until the music gradually fell into a rhythm,  loud as to pierce their ears and then with a beat, the lights turned on and she started her dance.

ان آنکھوں کی مستی کے
مستانے ہزاروں ہیں
دیوانے ہزاروں ہیں

Asfandyar let his hand holding the drink fall, too. His breathing stopped as he stared at the at the figure making her way forward.

The black mole on her chin.

The same flick of the wrist.

The same magical black eyes.

He felt his nerves suddenly stop working, brain dead, frozen. He was probably seeing an illusion. He was too obsessed with her and he was seeing everywhere, in every face. Surely. But he knew it was the truth, what he seeing was the truth. She was right in front of him, after months of searching, he found her here, in one of the most notorious Khota (brothel) of the country. Everything was the same but that black chaddar was gone.

He watched in disbelief as she came forward, swatted a man's hand who trying to pinch the felsh on her waist playfully. The whole room full of drunk, disgusting men swooned with the lachak of waist. On the beat of the music, she came forward and a man stuck some money in in the belt of her lehnga and she smiled. Seducingly, she came forward, right in front him and he could only watch with burning eyes as she sat in Yaqoob Shah's lap right next to him. He laughed full-heartedly, a grown man of about fifty, presented him with some cash which she tucked into her cleavage, winking as her eyes met Asfandyar's.

His blood boiled, leaving him enraged that he could not sit there for a mere second anymore. Glancing at her for the one last time, he was walking out of the place.

Nearing his car, he kicked it once, then repeatedly. He wanted to end the world tonight or end himself. His hands fisted and unable to control himself, he stared his car window when his friend and secretary, Hassan came running after him.

" Asfand, Asfand! Kya hua? Ruko!"

Asfandyar breathed heavily, his chest heaving.

" Jaldi chalo yahan say."

He ordered with pieces of broken glass stuck in his hands and bruised knuckles.

Mard aur uski anaa k liye chaar auratain sab sey ayham hoti hain jis par wo kisi ki nazar bhi nahi bardasht karta,
Maa, behn, beti aur mehboob.

اور آج اسنے بھری محفل میں اپنی عزت لوٹتی
دیکھی تھی۔

( And today he had seen his honour being looted in a crowd.)

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