Faajal curled her fingers around the hilt of the sword. A chainmail armour of over 25 kilograms wrapped her entire body. The sun blazed above, threatening to liquify the metal. The heat of Jodhpur was crueller in reality than in the tales she had heard. An army of thousands of dressed troops stood on the sand. They didn't dare move a hair, as if a real war were impending.

Yusuf was inside the faux dungeon Feroz had made in the basement of a palace. Today, he had to wear the very chains that had cut into his skin —longer this time.

A stuntman helped Faajal clamber onto her white horse. The horse posed proudly with its silky mane flitting in the occasional air Jodhpur had to offer.

Faajal twined the lead rope around her fist, targeting her ruthless eyes towards the front.

Feroz yelled 'action', and the imitation of a bloody war began.

"Utho!" Nurjahan rode into the dungeon where Mahtab was banished. [Rise!]

Mahtab winced at the loud breakage of the door, the iron chains clinking in his shake. Fright and hope sparked in his facade. Nurjahan disembarked the horse and lifted his chin. "Abh tumhe mujhse koi nahi chheen sakta! Aao!" [Now no one can snatch you away from me! Come!]

Mahtab lifted his arms to show the manacles. She withdrew her sword and slit them apart. Leaping on the back of the horse, they raced out of the brick fort.

As the horse continuously sent them bouncing back and forth, Faajal sensed a firm wrap around her waist—Yusuf was grasping onto her. His hold was so tight that it nearly knocked out her breath. His cheek rested on her shoulder, his warm exhales slithering to her exposed nape.

A large stone clogged her throat. Her hand found his in a reassuring grip. She wanted to mouth 'hold on', but the sentence vanished from her voice.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Suleiman trod to the tent where Nurjahan was loading her weapons. His eyes carried nothing of the mighty emperor, but the plea of a father. "Aaj yeh baad naseeb baap shehenshaah nahi, apne beti se mohabbat mangne aaya hain." [Today, this unfortunate soul is not the emperor, but a father who has come to seek love from his daughter.]

Nurjahan clenched her jaw, disgust painting her face. "Jo mohabbat chheen ta hain, use mohabbat mangne ki kya zaroorat?" [One who seizes love has no need to ask for it.]

Suleiman clasped her from behind and kissed her shoulder, tears spilling from his wrinkled eyes. "Nurjahan, yeh jaang na ladho! Apne iss baap ke waadon ka amtahan na lo." [Nurjahan, do not fight this war! Do not put your father's promises to the test.]

"Phir aap mere mohabbat ka amtahan na lo." [Then, you do not put my love to the test.]

"Nurjahan!" Suleiman begged. "Yeh mohabbat nahi, junoon hain! Yeh tumhe be bas kardegi! Yeh woh Mahtab ka ek chaal–" [This is not love, this is madness! It will rob you of all control. It's another of that Mahtab's tricks–]

Nurjahan wrested her sword from the sheath and aimed its tip at Suleiman's chest. Suleiman froze, realisation sinking in him. Nurjahan removed her glare from his face, retrieving the sword.

"Bohot khub!" Suleiman's voice grumbled up to the skies. [Very well!]

"Yeh Jaang hogi" [This war will happen!]

Soldiers and knights flooded the battlefield with horses and elephants under their rein. The father and daughter, who had fought alongside once, marched into the dusty arena—ready to strike against each other.

Suleiman aimed for Mahtab, who was riding with a fellow soldier of Nurjahan to safety. But Nurjahan blocked him, extending her sword to divert the elephant he had mounted. The creature lurched back, twirling its trunk. Suleiman flinched on its back, trying to rein it while swishing his spear defensively at Nurjahan.

Dust blew up to the sky. Nurjahan signalled her trusted soldier to escort Mahtab to the east. Nodding, the soldier pulled his horse to the east. Mahtab glanced at Nurjahan, fear overwhelming him for her well-being. Nurjahan quickly gave him a reassuring nod and reverted to the duel.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Faajal lowered into the cold pool of the bathtub. Blisters had formed all over her body after wearing the steel armour for 6 hours straight. As she submerged up to her neck, the sting of her weals seemed to ease away. She would have preferred ice to soothe her burns. But neither could she have a huge amount of ice, nor was it medically recommended. Breaths shuddered through her hoarsely. Welts had carved themselves onto her palm from the sword-wielding. Now, Bombay's notorious heat seemed fair in comparison to this.

She left the bathtub an hour later, fastening a bathrobe around herself. A letter had come for her beneath the main door of her room. She tore off the red seal and unfolded the letter.

Dear Madhu,

I know how hectic it's going for you. The continuous shooting under the scorching sun, the dedication towards this project, the heavy schedule—all of this must have imposed much pressure on you. But, if you can make some time someday, we can have lunch and tour around Jodhpur just for leisure.

Kailash.

Faajal pressed her lips together in vexation. Kailash Lodha, the deputy commissioner of Jodhpur, had been chasing her since she had arrived. He would roam the shooting set for hours, intending to light up a conversation beyond formal courtesies. The day she had arrived, he had sent her a bouquet about the size of a

bed. The last thing she wanted was his uncanny interest after sustaining wounds over every inch of her skin. But, he could be put to use. His signature could accelerate certain legal proceedings. Not that Faajal could not seek signatures from Bombay. But, collecting his would save her time.

Faajal wrote a 'yes' in reply and sent it to him. On the weekend, she took her route to Kailash's residence. Thankfully, Ravinder chose not to accompany because he had other, more influential people to lick their feet off. She reached the government bungalow of the commissioner by lunchtime. As she walked to the foyer, Kailash Lodha met her from the staircase. His eyes stuck on her face for the briefest moment. His jaw parted loose. His orbs traced every crease of her face. Faajal revelled inwardly. Her plan to wear the richest red shade of lipstick was working effortlessly. "Mr Lodha, pleased to meet you again." A grin flashed across her mouth, ravishing but forged.

"Madhu, the pleasure is all mine!" He bounced down the flight of stairs. "How is your time going here this far?"

"Pleasant. Though the heat is an issue."

"It is! Also, the heat has increased after you arrived! People are crazy to catch a glimpse of you, after all." His lips stretched in an unbridled smile that made his flattery look more like comedy.

Faajal chuckled, though her inside sulked in boredom. Her acting skills would be of practical use now.

"Shall we start for out trip then?" Kailash asked.

"Yes." Faajal agreed to a tour of the historical city that spanned till the evening. Kailash arranged a lunch at the most expensive and ancient restaurant in Jodhpur. He babbled on the cultural interests of the city, buying her artefacts despite her refusal. Wherever Faajal alighted from the car, people would ripple over one another. Some even asked for her autograph. She scrawled her name on the papers and posed for pictures with them. Kailash watched her, an unsettling admiration in his visage.

By nightfall, it was time for farewell, to Faajal's relief. She twirled her finger around the hem of her dupatta, sitting on a divan in the living room. Kailash sorted the gifts he had bought for her. Now was the time to fetch what she needed. "Mr Lodha, I have given so many autographs. But if you like, could I get yours? Such respected you are, I must have one."

Kailash chuckled. "Why do you need mine? I don't even come close to you, Madhu."

Faajal breathed a laugh. "You should be the real celebrity for your sense of duty and honour, shouldn't you?" She extended a paper and pen towards him. Not wasting a second, Kailash signed the paper. Mirth sparked through Faajal. Although she tried to contain her excitement, her trembling lips betrayed her with a smile. "Thank you very much, Mr Lodha. It was indeed a pleasant experience."

Reaching the hotel room, Faajal mailed the signature to Meher's address.

Here's the signature of the Deputy Commissioner of Jodhpur. It may help with certain procedures. How's everything going? Has Deshmukh visited the banks?

3 weeks flew by, and Faajal returned to the comparative cool of Bombay. She had sworn never to visit Jodhpur in her lifetime, even if someone promised to reward her a million rupees. Her blistered feet, inflamed palms and scarlet cheeks were the proofs. Yet, the experience wasn't for her alone, but the whole crew. Many had suffered, including Feroz, who had shed his sandals in respect to the cast. Yusuf had to pace around the dune for a single shot, bearing dozens of iron shackles. Elderly actors had struggled with the constant storm of sand and the torrid blaze of the sun. Yet, they persisted. Such interaction between the production team was far rarer than the entire industry combined. Everyone shared a single dream, and that was about to come true in a month and a half.

"I don't understand! You could have done that too." Faajal clucked her tongue, reclining on her bed. Meher practised Kailash Lodha's signature for the 7th time in a row. "The banks are quite strict, might I remind you?"

"Well, it shouldn't be with 2 lawyers. How did baba get access?"

"Well, baba can do many things by adulation. We couldn't do that."

Faajal cracked her knuckles, exhaustion dawning on her. "That has a point. I have to pay a little visit the day after tomorrow, then. Are you coming, or will I take Deshmukh?"

"I am afraid I have important lectures this week. Take him with you." Meher capped the pen, finally satisfied with her imitation of the signature. "Wear a good perfume to lure the general manager. Albeit, I shouldn't teach the master." Meher chuckled.

"Leave that to me." Faajal laughed back, pulling the blanket around her. The door creaked close after the younger left, submerging the room in emptiness.

Despite slumber weakening her senses minutes before, Faajal felt wide awake. Misusing her outer charm to enthral men seemed like selling her dignity to corruption. She had always thrived on her wit and gut to survive until now. She was enarmouring herself in bodily appeal just to buy freedom. These bewitched men would chase her for a few days before their interest faded. They worshipped her exterior. But, Yusuf, he cherished her soul. Even at the cost of his own. How much pain her rangrez might have lived through after sending that letter! How many nights of solitude might have mocked his relented heart!

I would revive his heart again. Faajal vowed to herself. I wouldn't let him walk to his grave willingly.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

A bucket of water was thrust onto Mahtab's face. He jolted awake, drenched shocks of hair clinging to his forehead. He was back to the dingy dungeon of the palace. Manacles had again fettered his limbs.

"Woh jinda hain. Woh jinda hain." Suleiman grumbled slowly, tucking his hands behind his back. [She lives. She lives.]

Mahtab laughed in elation, clasping his hands together. "Zil-e-ilahi! Zil-e-ilahi," He crawled to Suleiman's feet and kissed the ankles. Suleiman shirked his feet away, grimacing. Mahtab rose on his feet, lifting his palms. "Zil-e-ilahi ko Saheba-e-alam ki zindagi mubarak ho!" [May the Shadow of God be blessed with the life of the Lady of the World!]

"Aur tujhe tera maut." [And for you, your death.]

Mahtab lowered his head, already defeated at the hands of fate. Yet, a mild smile persisted on his lips. Nurjahan's death sentence for treachery against the Emperor was forgiven—that was what mattered.

"Le jao iss khubsurat anghi ko! Le jao iss rangeen fitne ko! Aur deewar mein zinda chunwa do!" [Take away this beautiful captive! Take away this alluring temptation! And have him walled up alive!]

Suleiman flounced away. Mahtab struggled to stand poised on his feet, his hands cupped on his chest. "Jahapana ki hakmat ka suraj hamesha bana rahen. Mere Saheba-e-Alam ke umr chand sitaron se bhi lambi ho." [May the sun of Your Majesty's rule never set, and may my Saheba-e-Alam live a life longer than moons and stars.]

Mahtab nearly collapsed on his knees. Two guards dragged him in front of Suleiman as he mumbled, "Meri zindagi puri hogayi. Meri zindagi puri hogayi." [My life is fulfilled. My life is fulfilled.]

"Mahtab," Suleiman sighed. "Maut se pehle marnewale ki arzoon puri kiyi jaati hain. Hamari rehmat itni tang nahi hain ki ek agha ki akhri arzoon bhi na sama sake. Bayan kar!" ["The wishes of one before death are always fulfilled. My mercy is not so narrow that it cannot contain the final request of a servant. Speak!]

Mahtab moved his gaze to the ground and closed his eyes. "Mujhe Malik-e-Alam banna hain." [I wish to become the Master of the World.]

Suleiman smirked. "Tere dil ke arzoon abhi bhi labon pe hain?" [Do the desires of your heart still linger on your lips?]

Mahtab met Suleiman's stern glare, shaking his head. "Agha ke majboori ko arzoon na samjhe. Saheba-e-Alam ne mujhe apne shohar banane ki wada kiyi thi. Hindustan ke hone waale sultana ko puri zindagi adhuri wade ki sharam se na jeena pare isiliye." [Do not confuse an agha's compulsion with longing. The Saheba‑e‑Alam vowed to make me her husband—and I only speak now so that the future Empress of Hindustan may never live her life haunted by the dishonour of a broken promise.]

Suleiman arched a brow. "Hum aisa nahi hone denge! Iss anghi ko ek raat keliye rihakh kardiya jaye! Magar mere iss rehmat ko azadi samajhne ki bhul maat karna." [I shall not let this happen. Let this captive be free for a night! But, don't mistake my kindness for freedom.]

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"The song will end. Yusuf will be out of the darbar hall. And, just like that, your final shot will be done." Feroz explained to Faajal, sitting on the edge of a table in the makeup room.

Faajal huffed, fisting her fingers below her white chiffon dupatta. It was the last scene she would film with Yusuf. The last time his breath would caress her before she managed to piece everything back together.

"It feels strange." Feroz rose from the table.

Faajal frowned. "Why? Things have gone just as you wanted."

"A project of 6 years is ending today." Feroz licked his bottom lip. "I never imagined this day." His tongue poked his inner cheek.

Faajal smiled, her cheeks rounding at the corners. "Live this day thoroughly, Feroz. It is a wonderful day for all of us."

"I am having tears just imagining the ending, Faajal." Feroz dabbed at the corner of his left eye. "I wish you good luck for acting this."

As Faajal braced herself to act in the last intimate with Yusuf, a life and death drama unfolded in another tale.

Suleiman dipped a rose in sedative and handed it to Mahtab. "Tujhe yeh Nurjahan ko subah hone se pehle sunghana hoga. Taaki woh tere aut se nash na hojaye. Aur hamare pehredar tujhe behosh deewani ke pehlu se leke maut ke aghosh mein gum karde." [You must make Nurjahan smell this before the morning, lest she fall doomed to your death. Our guards will then seize you, from the side of the senseless lover and cast you into death's embrace.]

"Maut mohabbat se kareeb hogayi." Mahtab lifted his blue pupils to Suleiman's face. [Death has come closer than love.]

He took the rose. "Aisa hi hoga." [So it shall be.]

Suleiman grasped the gem-crusted crown of the Master of the World. With trembling hands, he placed it on Mahtab's head.

Mahtab let out a soft breath; his features eased as if serenity awaited him, not death. "Shehenshah ki yeh behisab bakshishon ke badle, yeh gadar, Salim Uddin Suleiman Khan ko apna khoon maaf karta hain!" [In return for the Emperor's immeasurable favours, this traitor pardons Salim Uddin Suleiman Khan, for his own death.]

Mahtab pulled the curtain of the throne over his face and slowly dropped his eyelids. Then, he backed away, leaving Suleiman in finality.

Faajal drew the chiffon dupatta up to the crown of her head. The platinum jewellery on her ears, neck and hands tinkled as she walked down the throne of the darbar hall. The diamonds, rubies and sapphires shed halos on her fine white chiffon kameez. Her heart pounded above her stomach as she cultivated herself to perform the last intimate scene.

The camera lenses glared from their positions. A minute after, the mirror-gilded double-leaf door parted, and Yusuf plodded into the darbar hall. Draped in a carolina blue coat embellished with sapphires and pearls, elegance could be defined by his stance. He resembled those royals in oil paintings, but the anguish in his eyes made him heartbreakingly more enchanting. Muslin curtains fluttered as he stepped onto the rotunda. Dancers began twirling, and the music commenced. Cameras swerved, shooting the second-to-last song sequence.

Faajal walked to the rotunda as Nurjahan, to greet Mahtab. But, she felt herself more expressed through her facade than the character. Yusuf smiled at her, trying to guise himself as Mahtab. But, instead of Mahtab's grandeur and beauty, a vulnerable man looked at her. His hands slowly found her arm—at first, hesitant, but eventually eased. She returned his touch with a grip on his hand.

They perched on the throne together. The dancers gave them salam and twirled in cadence. The actress, who was portraying the cunning courtesan and Suleiman's spy, sat on the front. A sitar rested on her lap. Her frame glowed in a kameez of raven black. "Yeh dil ki lagi kam kya hogi, yeh ishq bhala kya kam hoga." The first line flowed from her crimson lips. [How will this burning of the heart lessen? How will this love ever diminish?]

Faajal held her gaze on Yusuf, tracing the curves and slopes of his face. She had memorised them by heart, yet his magnificence was a chasm she could not ever get tired of. Yusuf didn't meet her eyes. His chest rose and fell, barely imperceptible.

"Jab raat hain aisi matwaali, phir subah ka alaam kya hoga." [When the night is so intoxicating, then what will be the state of the morning?]

Yusuf flinched at the lyric and snapped his gaze to the actress. Fright engulfed his expression. Faajal gripped his arm, hoping to ease his anxiety. Finally, Yusuf aligned his blue irises with hers, his lips stretched apart. This time, he wasn't imitating Mahtab. He was himself with sorrows heavier than Mahtab's.

"Naghmon se barasti hain masti, chhalke hain khushi ke paimane. Aaj aisi baharein aai hain, kal jinke banenge afsaane." [Ecstasy rains from melodies, measures of joy overflow. Such springs have come today, whose tales will be written tomorrow.]

Faajal tried to forge a smile too, but the longing in her chest rescinded the attempt. She closed the gap between them by an inch. His breath crept onto her cheeks like the gale of spring. Blood twinged beneath her skin.

Studs gathered on his eyelids. In those azure pupils, the Yusuf she had met in 1943 blossomed. The same innocence of a baby deer, the same brilliance of a full moon was there, except the palpating blaze of the sun was amiss. Whatever gleams of bliss he had still were waning. One piece a day, until death knocked down his ribs.

"Halat hain ajab deewanon ki, abh khair nahi parwanon ki. Anjaam-e-mohabbat kya kahiye, lay badhne lagi armanon ki." [The condition of the mad lovers is strange; now there is no mercy for the moths. What to say of the end of love, the rhythm of desires has begun to rise.]

Yusuf leaned closer, his eyes on Faajal's lips. Faajal parted her lips, the taste of his lips looping in her senses. They should be acting. But, yearning was too powerful to ignore, just like the joy they had shared before the night—the night that tore them apart. What if their destiny wasn't doomed? Months of silence would not have surfaced. Bouts of weeps would not have scarred their throats. Thorns of grief would not have encased their hearts.

"Aise mein jo payal toot gayi, phir ae mere humdam kya hoga." Bringing out her ankle, the actress ripped off her payal. [If the anklet breaks in such a moment, what will happen, my companion?]

Yusuf jerked back. The distance between them grew again. He brought the rose to Faajal's nose, contorting his forehead in agony. Faajal sniffed it, slipping into Nurjahan's character at last.

"Jab raat hain aisi matwaali, phir subah ka alaam kya hoga." [When the night is so intoxicating, then what will be the state of the morning?]

The crescendo of the song blared. Dancers whirled around the hall, their gowns fanning out. A male kathak dancer emerged into the spot and performed a series of intricate footwork on the rotunda. Faajal rose from the throne, pretending to be unsteady on her feet. She bumped into the glass pillar as the tune of the sitar roared. Her pale reflection floated on the pillar. She pushed herself aside and knocked down another glass pillar, feigning Nurjahan's intoxication.

The dancers stopped and exited. The actress gave a salam, wearing the wickedness of the courtesan. Then, she left. Her ghungroo chimed with her steps.

Faajal leaned on a pillar near the throne. "Aisa kyu kiya tumne?" [Why did you do this?]

She didn't only ask as Nurjahan. She asked as herself why he had lied to her. Why he had sent that letter to her.

She slipped his hand into hers, eyeing the bony fingers. "Yeh khubsurat haat mere saath aise bewafai kar sakte hain?" [These beautiful hands could betray me like this?]

Yusuf paced to the opposite side, removing his hand. His gaze remained elsewhere, as if ashamed to twine his eyes with her like before.

"Mujhse munh na phiro. Mere pas aao. Batao ki tum mujhse bewafai kar sakte ho." Faajal clutched the muslin curtain around the throne. [Don't turn your face away from me. Come to me. Tell me that you were unfaithful to me.]

Minutes ticked by. Yusuf ultimately turned to her and stepped closer. He cupped her cheeks. A wide smile graced his lips, but tears infused it. "Main apne zindagi se bewafai kar sakta hoon. Lekin tumse nahin–" A weep stalled his speech, but he muffled it. [I could betray my own life. But not you–]

"Zindagi se? Kaun tumhe zindagi juda karna chahta hain?" Faajal stuttered, her own heartbreak bleeding through the line. She knew his answer, but she wanted it from his voice. [From life? Who wants to separate you from life?]

"Koi nahi." Yusuf muttered, hurrying away, but Faajal caught him. [No one.]

Faajal rested her forehead on his chest. "Mere hosh aur havas isiliye chhen liye gaye, taki tum mujhse juda kardiye jao." [My senses and sanity were taken from me only so that you would be separated from me.]

Yusuf shook in her embrace. "Taqdeer ka yeh hi faisla hain." [It's the decision of destiny.]

"Taqdeer ko apna faisla badal na hoga." [Destiny has to change its decision.]

Faajal peered at the double-leaf gate. "Mujhe dikh rahe hain, yeh shehenshaah ke pustr gulam, jo tumhe lene aa rahe hain." ["I can see them, these royal slaves of the Emperor, coming to take you away.]

She let go of Yusuf, marching forward. "Samne aao!" Her soft voice billowed like a lion's. [Show yourselves!]

"Mahtab mera hain!" She pounded her chest with a fist. [Mahtab is only mine!]

"Use koi nahi chheen sakta!" [No one can snatch him away!]

Faajal trudged towards Yusuf. Guards in black leather uniforms strode towards the throne.

"Mahtab! Main inn janwaron ko tumhare iss paak jism nahi chhune dungi!" [Mahtab! I shall not let these beats touch your sacred body.]

Biting his knuckles, Yusuf fell on the throne. The muslin curtains cascaded over him. She lurched at the throne to block the guards, but two guards deftly caught her. She wrung in their grasp like a trapped tiger. Regarding Nurjahan's intoxication, she collapsed on the floor.

The guards peeled off the curtain to reveal Yusuf hunched over the throne in the face of Mahtab. Silence hummed in the hall. Nurjahan might have lost her senses in the scene, but Faajal was wide awake, listening to the boots on the floor. The camera was focused on her for a beat before shifting to Yusuf.

A knell rang twice. Yusuf looked up to see the carriers of death surrounding him. More shadows moved across the walls as guards poured into the hall.

The wistful tune of sitar echoed. Then, the last musical sequence of the highest budgeted film of Hindi cinema followed.

"Woh aayi subah ke parde se maut ki awaaz. Kisi ne todh diya jaise zindagi ka saaz." Mohammard Rafi's voice begged from the soundbox. [The call of death came from the morning curtain. As if someone broke the tune of life.]

Two guards pulled him up by the arm. Yusuf wiped a tear from his sunken eyes, his face devoid of expression.

"Khuda nigehban ho tumhara, dhadakte dil ka payam le lo. Tumhari duniya se jaa rahe hain, utho hamara salam le lo." [May God keep an eye over you, take the message of a beating heart. I am leaving your world, get up and accept my farewell.]

Yusuf slipped off his rings and threw them on the very rotunda Faajal had danced on.

"Uthe janaza joh kaal hamara. Kasam hain tumko na dena kandha." [If tomorrow there's a procession of my death. Then, promise you will give a shoulder to it.]

He ripped the pearl necklace from his neck and let it glide down. His feet stumbled forward, but the guards stabilised him.

"Na ho mohabbat hamari ruswa, inn ansuon ka payam le lo. Khuda nigehban ho tumhara, dhadakte dil ka payam le lo." [May my love never get upset, take the message of my tears. May God keep an eye over you, take the message of a beating heart.

He glanced at Faajal's fallen frame for the last time. Tears dried on his cheeks. Wearing a mask of indifference, he stepped out of the door, his fate sealed. The guards marched after. Then, the door closed. A thud thundered across the hall.

'Deewar-e-ishq' was completed.

Faajal lifted her head to see the hall empty. The crew stood frozen at a distance, their faces stricken with tears. Their eyes were anchored to the door, as if the ghost of the scene still lingered there.

Faajal sat upright, the weight of realisation soaking into her. The film that had witnessed the biggest storms of Bollywood was over.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"Are you sad?" Gurbani instructed the maids to sweep the floor.

"I don't know. It just feels strange. I mean, I shot this film for years. How time passes." Faajal nibbled on her lower lip. She was waiting for her car to arrive. Deshmukh must be awaiting her in the bank.

"Everyone had tears by the end. Except for your husband." Faajal taunted.

"He would have had emotions if he were a human," Gurbani replied in undertone.

Faajal stifled the urge to cackle. A trio of horns resounded from the gate. She boarded her car and zoomed to where millions of her rupees lay.

Deshmukh was leaning on a pillar when Faajal's car stopped before the bank. She alighted from the car, wearing sunglasses. "Hello, Mr Deshmukh. On time, I see."

He straightened from the pillar. "Had to be. It needs to be quick. We could barely tackle a thing without you."

Faajal's heels clicked on the tiles as she stalked inside. "Haven't you gotten that commissioner's sign?"

"Yes, and I have already attested the bank statements." Deshmukh followed her, his portly belly bulging from his shirt. "Well, we also need your father's signature here for the paperwork. If they ask for it, what to do?" Deshmukh halted his steps.

Faajal glanced at him, feigning boredom at his alertness. "I haven't come here unprepared, Mr Deshmukh. Baba will return home in an hour. We need to be quick."

She approached the receptionist to book an appointment with the general manager of the bank. It didn't take her more than 15 minutes to haul the manager himself to her.

"I wonder how you do this," Deshmukh whispered in her ear when the manager's secretary called for them.

"Just like my father convinced you to take the case." Faajal smiled, unpinning her hair to let those voluminous curls charm.

The door was opened, and Faajal entered first. The manager shot up from his seat. "I can't imagine it is you." He extended his hand.

"I had some important business to do myself." Faajal shook his hand and sat.

"What do you want? Tea? Coffee?"

"Your cooperation, sir," Faajal said.

"Don't call me 'sir', please!" The manager took his seat, looking all giddy.

"Well, you know, I have kept my savings in your bank's care for years. My father used to handle most of the things." Faajal exhaled. "But now, he has grown too tired of managing my accounts. So, I will be handling them from now on."

"As you wish. From what I know, the accounts are in your name. So, you are free to do whatever you want."

"The thing is, sir," Faajal hung the sentence midway, unsure of the manager's reaction. "I also want to change the nominee of my accounts. I suppose it's my father now, isn't it?"

The manager laughed, looking more nervous than convinced. "Well, it's a bit lengthy procedure. A number of legal matters are entwined with this."

"You didn't say it was impossible, did you?" Faajal tapped the table, poise overtaking her uncertainty.

"No, no! Of course not. I see you have brought along your personal advocate." The manager nodded at Deshmukh.

"Yes, sir. We also have the papers attested. If you help us change the nominee, it would mean a lot."

"Does the to-be nominee have a steady source of income?"

Faajal steepled her fingers, the question stirring her stomach cold. Meher didn't have a job yet. "She is to graduate as a lawyer. But my father doesn't have either. How did he become the nominee?"

"Oh, I know something else then." The manager led them to a room lined with lockers. He opened one to gather Faajal's files. Flipping through pages, he displayed a line regarding Ravinder's financial status. "He seems to tell us that he works as your manager. That's his source of income."

"Sir, that's not true." Faajal faked a grin to mask her distaste. How far would that monster go to deride himself. "I am the only earner of my family."

"I see. No wonder the accounts are in your name. If the to-be nominee can show a steady income source, the legal procedures will be smoother."

Faajal glanced at Deshmukh, scouring for a resort. But Deshmukh himself seemed lost.

"Well, the to-be nominee is soon to be a practising lawyer. She has gotten a job offer." Deshmukh spoke, tucking his files into the crook of his elbow. "From all I know, a job acceptance letter is all what we need."

"Then, provide the letter and the procedures will be done within 2 weeks." The manager closed the locker. "I should give you the needed forms and papers to fill out." He gazed at Faajal. "Your father's signature is needed as well."

Faajal breathed in a smile. "Thank you very much."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"My passport! Good lord, that I secretly renewed it this month!" Meher squeaked, flapping her passport on the table. "Here's the acceptance letter." She slid the ivory letter to Faajal.

"Have you practised baba's signature?" Faajal scanned the letter.

"Put my heart into that. Even skipped a whole chapter just to learn forgery. My exam didn't go that well because of it."

"Sorry for that. But, your brain is enough to paste answers, Meher."

"Thank you." Pink stained Meher's nose. "Can you believe how close we are?" Her voice turned breathless, her throat shaking.

Turning the assets to their names would require approximately 3 weeks. Freedom was weeks away now.

"Then, I would get my Yusuf, too. I would pull him to my embrace and never let anything happen to him." Faajal closed her eyes. A snippet of his eyes sparked in her mind. A familiar pang retracted her chest once more, but with it, mingled hope this time.

"So, ma's passport is on the way. We went to the passport office 2 weeks ago to check on it. Then, we will have pretty much everything set up. Deshmukh has taken the responsibility of obtaining succession certificates."

"Ma is thinking of appointing all 4 of you as nominees—you, Chanchal, Harleen di and ma."

"Land mutation will be hard for that, then. Like, 4 nominees. And, getting Harleen di and Chanchal di to understand the whole thing will take long. Can't we do that later?"

"I explained the same thing. Now, we have another thing to think about, Meher." Faajal leaned forward. "The divorce. Deshmukh assured to hire a lawyer for it. But, he said, we need evidence of the failed union. What about that?"

"Medical reports. Ma has countless scars all over her body. She even has a fractured toe. Witnesses are easy to gather, and clerks can be bribed. It costs a lot, though. No need for alimony. Usually needs 3 months with all that bribery and pressures." Meher plopped beside Faajal. "But, I have an idea." She scooted close to Faajal's ear. "What if we create fake documents?"

Faajal widened her eyes, contemplating how wicked her seemingly naive sister could get. "You mean, not use the real legal papers? Not seeking the official papers from the court?" She stared at the floor for a breath. "What if we get caught?"

"Deshmukh has told me about the black market. Anything is possible, di. I have an imprint of Advocate Roy's seal." Meher rushed to rummage in her cupboard for a lump of rubber putty. "Look at this thing!"

"That's," Faajal half-smiled, half-gaped. "Genius!"

"I am getting Deshmukh to do this, because lord forbids, I am going there. Unsafe for me. This week, we will be getting a no objection affidavit if things go well. The clerks won't need verification anyway. Ma just needs to be called in the court for a 5-minute hearing. That's it."

"About this house and the assets in the vault, Meher, do you know someone interested in buying this bungalow?" Faajal questioned. Meher nodded sideways in denial. Faajal pursed her lips. "I will look into my circle. I don't want to stay in the house Ravinder has tainted. I have seen a cottage in Zuhu."

"I will preferably go for a rented flat and take ma with me," Meher exclaimed. "Just weeks now. We should have done this years ago." She unfolded on the bed, tucking her hands behind her head.

"We would have had Chanchal on our side then. And things would have taken wilder turns." Faajal dared to wear a genuine chuckle. Even on the brink of confinement, she was allowed a little happiness. "We don't have any official photo of ma. Have to click them tomorrow."

"At home?"

"Hmm. Baba is staying home tomorrow. We will finish this during his afternoon nap. I can click fairly good photos."

"Alright then."

The following day, Faajal and Meher set up a white sheet over a wall of Faajal's bedroom. Gurbani added a few touches to her face and tied her long strands in an updo. Grey streaks striped her wavy hair. As Faajal lifted the camera to her eye, she witnessed the quiet clemency of her mother through the viewfinder. People spent their dictionary lauding Faajal's beauty. But Faajal owed her beauty to her mother. Years of this wrecked marriage had inevitably drained her mother's charm.

"Lift your head a little," Faajal instructed. "Wear a slight smile."

Gurbani did as she was told. Within 4 takes, they had a perfect photo of her for the passport. Meher mailed the film negatives to Deshmukh with a signature of Gurbani. The following week, Deshmukh forged Gurbani's passport and an objection affidavit for the divorce. Meher submitted the cruelty-based petition while Faajal collected the land deeds from the vault.

The week after, a suitcase of fresh bills was distributed among the clerks of the district court. A sympathetic magistrate decided to lend his aid in the procedure. Meher forged Ravinder's signature on the 'no objection affidavit' and submitted it to the court. The case was placed at the top of the list for only a single hearing.

In the third week, Gurbani entered the wooden bar with fragile bravado. As the judge opened the file, sitting within wooden panelled walls and rows of other officials, Faajal felt the stale air shift with a promise. 2 ceiling fans chirred above. Gurbani stood before the judge, gaze lowered.

"Petitioner—Gurbani Kaur," he read, voice flat. He briefly looked at Gurbani. "Present?"

Gurbani nodded. "Yes, Honourable judge."

The court seal on the petition gleamed faintly where it had been pressed only two days ago. The judge opened the file. His movements were so fluid, as if he didn't hold someone's freedom and revenge on his hand.

"Respondent—Ravinder Singh."

A meaningless pause.

He looked at the acknowledgement form. "Served. No objection filed."

Meher cleared her throat beside Faajal. Faajal could still recall the jagged letters in Hindi, jotted by Meher—the perfect forgery of Ravinder's signature.

The judge continued scanning the papers without interest. "Grounds: cruelty."

Another flick of paper.

"No claims of maintenance or alimony?"

Deshmukh stepped forward before Gurbani could speak. "No, sir. The petitioner only seeks freedom."

Freedom—the word echoed strangely in the stale air. The judge nodded once and scribbled a series of rough strokes on a paper. "Very well," he said, closing the file with a thump. "Decree of divorce is granted. The marriage between the parties is dissolved under Section 13 of the Hindu Marriage Act."

A single declaration, stamped into existence with a stolen signature and bribery. Years of abuse ended with a single declaration.

As Gurbani left the bars, Faajal and Meher encircled her in a trembling embrace. "It's done." Meher swallowed, her eyes glassy. "You are, you are free."

Gurbani didn't respond. A tear traced a path down the cheeks that had endured undeserved slaps.

Faajal's hand closed around the edge of Gurbani's dupatta, offering her silent solace. The world felt unreal now, as though a single step could undo their efforts and shatter their hopes.

Sunlight cascaded through the corridor windows. Court officials left the room gradually. Then, walked Deshmukh. "Uhm," He stopped in front of the women. "Now that we have a good beginning, everything will end well." He gave a reassuring smile and left.

It had taken less than 30 days to undo a lifetime of torture.

Gurbani clasped Faajal's wrist. A smile finally bloomed across her wrinkled face. The first real breath heaved through her chest.

She was free.

They were free.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

2 weeks swept by. With Deshmukh's relentless dedication, most of the assets were under Faajal's thumb, save for an acre of land in Chandigarh. She wasn't as lowly as him to rob him of a possible scope for livelihood.

"How's your family life going, Nargis?" Faajal swilled her tea, smiling through the smoking sips.

"Well, my little one is taking the hell out of me. My house has been a literal mess. But, I guess, that's a part of motherhood." Nargis straddled the sofa Ravinder had made countless deals on. "This bungalow is wonderful and quite close to the studios. Why would you sell it?"

Faajal breathed, the words culminated on her tongue. "I have grown tired of it, honestly. And, doctors recommended Yusuf to stay in a quieter place."

"You two are, uhm," Nargis faltered. "Has everything been solved?"

"Yes." It would be a matter of days before she would run to him and regrow their lives. So, her answer wasn't a lie.

"I am happy. You don't know how stressed I was during all this drama and court scandals. His health has become a great concern now."

"Thank you very much, Nargis. By the way, when should I send the documents? My advocate is ready for the transfer."

"I am all ready, Faajal." Nargis picked a biscuit. "Your father was heard to be dealing with business affairs. I didn't know you were a shrewd dealer yourself."

"When the situation demands, we have to be things we aren't expected to be." Faajal set her empty cup down with a definitive clink.

That night, Faajal, Gurbani and Meher descended to the vault for their final raid. Faajal opened the dial lock in a pattern her fingers could swiftly retrace now. They penetrated the vault with bags and suitcases. The stacks of gold bars and neatly arranged papers glowed at them to be reclaimed. The smell of rupees condensed in the air.

Meher and Gurbani began by packing the gold bars and bundles of rupees. Faajal shouldered the task of organising the documents. The laden clunk of gold bars, rustle of bills and screech of locker doors were the only accompaniments of the raid. None of the women mouthed a single word. The cold resolve in their blood sufficed the need of utterances.

Dawn bled into the sky. The sun of a new beginning peeked from the horizon. Faajal pushed the door of the vault shut. Behind the dial lock lay a hollow void where the instruments of oppression had once rested. They carried the last case up the stairs and locked the basement.

Movers had been working since last night to vacate the bungalow. Ravinder had been drugged to sleep. So, he would not wake up to his doom before 10 in the morning. Half of the small and ignorable appliances had been shifted to Meher's new address—her rented apartment. The other half had been delivered to Harleen's home. The majority of the large furniture and household items had been loaded into a string of trucks. All that remained now are the items in Ravinder's room.

When the sun rose above everyone's head, Faajal guided Gurbani and Meher to Harleen. Harleen would escort them from the remainder of the horror in her car.

"Are we ready?" Harleen tried to smile through her trembling lips. Hesitance warred with fear in her expression.

"Absolutely," Meher said in a hushed tone. She gently guided Gurbani to Harleen's car, but Gurbani didn't move. Two fountains marked her cheeks.

"Ma," Faajal whispered in her ear. "Go."

Gurbani choked, letting out a strangled gasp. Ages of agony ripped through her lungs. A heartbeat escaped. She eventually regained her senses. "I-I, will I ever see him again?"

"No." Faajal wiped her mother's tears, unable to retain her own.

"Will he ever beat me again?"

"No." Faajal caressed Gurbani's hair, her touch gentle yet firm.

"Will he ever torture my children again?"

"No, ma. It's over. It's all over." Faajal pressed her temple on Gurbani's. Meher and Harleen's palms grazed Gurbani's back. Then, they wrapped their arms around each other. A wind galloped past them, as if Saira's spirit had joined them, too. 

"We are free." Faajal exhaled.