Arziyaan

The Pagdi and The Queen

Dil Mein Ab Yoon Tere Bhoole Huye Gham Aate Hain, Jaise Bichhde Hue Kaabe Mein Sanam Aate Hain

Ek Ik Karke Huye Jaate Hain Taare Roshan, Meri Manzil Ki Taraf Tere Qadam Aate Hain

Raqs-e-Mai Tez Karo Saaz Ki Lai Tez Karo, Su-e-Maikhana Safiran-e-Haram Aate Hain

Kuch Hamin Ko Nahin Ehsaan Uthaane Ka Dimagh, Woh Toh Jab Aate Hain Mail-ba-Karam Aate Hain

Aur Kuch Dair Na Guzre Shab-e-Furqat Se Kaho, Dil Bhi Kam Dukhta Hai Woh Yaad Bhi Kam Aate Hain

                                                                                                                                                 -Faiz Ahmed Faiz

Murtasim was driving back from the village to the Haveli in the evening. He has spent the entire day listening and solving problems- big, small, and mundane. Armaan introduced him to people as they came to him with their problems and tried to guide him through the decisions that seemed too forward for the people. These people appeared to be as wary of him as he was of them. His choices were too contemporary for their archaic ways.

He did not understand why these people needed someone to rule over them. Why was there a need to have a Patriarch to make all their decisions for them? How can these people give away their free will to another human? These people just went through the motions of life with no ambition and no goals. He was expected to help those who had stood quietly when his parents were killed, who were okay when he was banished. So many lives were ruined that day, and it was all a show to these people. He was gossip fodder.

Murtasim felt like a ticking time bomb. He was expected to guide, safeguard and precede people he wanted nothing to do with. Yet, he could not bring himself to ignore the hope and desperation they had in their eyes when they looked at him. It clawed at his heart. They were the victims of an ancient system, but so was he. He did not want to be anyone's messiah. He just wanted to be Murtasim Khan, who ran his business with an iron fist and jet-setted worldwide on a whim. What irritated him the most was that these people had the choice he did not have- leaving this system.

There was nothing more Murtasim wanted to take his family and move to Karachi. But, if he did, he would not be able to see himself in the eyes. That was drilled into him from the day he was born into this dominant social system. Duty and legacy took precedence over dreams and personal identity. Once the Pagdi is tied on his head tomorrow, the Murtasim Khan he is today will cease to exist. He would no longer belong to himself.

These people will have the first right to him. Their needs will come before his. Their families will come before his. The Pagdi will give him immense power and take his freedom away.

Murtasim felt suffocated. He wanted to be left alone to be Murtasim one last time. He has an errand to run. Something that would satisfy Murstaim and the Khan of the people. It was private, and he didn't want to share it with anyone. He knew that there was only one thing in his world now, which was ultimately his—and refused to share anything related to it with anyone. His wife, his partner, was his balm. She was his angel who had freed his soul. She had calmed the seven-year-old storm inside him.

The following day after the visit to the graveyard, he moved his team to his father's office, now his office. It was more functional, and they were grateful for a proper working space. He had felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Her quiet strength had finally given him the courage to grieve. Her words had absolved him of the guilt he had been carrying for years. She had anchored the lost Murtasim.

The constant ache in his heart had finally subsided. Now when he breathed, he felt no longer felt its hitch. The safety of her arms allowed the tears to flow, which washed away his pain. Meerab was the sunshine that followed the storm, and she was okay. Her bangles were replaced with two simple Kadas, one in each hand.