Short Stories - Tales of Night

The Village is Ruthless

BismiAllahiArRahmaniArRaheem

I adjusted my thick Pashmina shawl in order to revamp my appearance and straightened my spine as I stood, waiting for my friend to pick me up at the Chowmohalla street, as commanded by her. It was a rural sort of area, so after graduation when my friend opt on serving her village and settled here, leaving me in the city and then called me on her cousin's wedding a few months later, there was no way I was refusing!

I kept my gaze on the ground, doing my best to avoid all the stares. Well, my good looks did get in way sometimes. Cheeky much? Yeah!

There was some kind of event taking place on my right, and I apprehended that a formidable presence was among them, who seemed a fairly eminent figure, here in Khajuala. What was taking our lass so long?!

The sudden disarrangement of the crowd had me thinking that the congregation had winded up, and began to disperse. Okay, heads down! You don't want a sixteen year old villager to make sheep's eyes at you. Try not to gawk at anyone, stay low, Khilwat Johar Hashimi.

Just then, I heard a woman screaming at something in front of her. It was rather, someone. Gosh, was she loud or what? Bhai thoda dheere, logon ke kaan badey nazuk hote hain. Bas Allah hi Reham karey hamare kaan par!

"You have no right to adjudicate about my child, you cold-blooded barbarian. Mere bacche ko khabardaar jo mujh se dur le gaye. Tumhei koi haqq nahin kisi ki aulad cheen ne ka!" She screamed at them, her form filled with indignation. She clutched her child harshly to herself, prying him away from the apparently unsympathetic men. I followed her glaring eyes, landing at a particular figure.

A charismatic, domineering young male, garbed in a white Kurta Salwar, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a black leather watch sitting regally on his wrist came in view with his overawing aura, sending chilly chills to my spine. His broad shoulders, clenched stubbled jaw, colossal height and lean yet patently muscular build screamed that he was no joke.

His dark, dominating vibes connoted that he rode roughshod over anyone subjugated to him, in his rule. His RayBan shades didn't allow his eyes to be at the spectacle and as if on cue, his left hand rose to remove them displaying grey thundering eyes, with specks of blue and golden dust in them. All I could see was calm rage, rippling in the grey orbs that held an on-point gaze and boy, was it scary?

The woman seemed intimidated by his gesture and staggered backwards when he took just two firm steps in her direction. He arched a perfect eyebrow and had a smirk playing on his sublime lips. He then let out a smooth velvety chuckle, that had me glance at his pearly set of teeth, and his Adam's apple that bounced up and down majestically.

"Barbaric? We're barbaric? Cold-blooded? Monsters and what else?" He questioned her in his deep masculine voice, that echoed through the silence his men maintained in their leader's awe.