Meerasim Ki Dunya

Chapter 25. Worry

Malik Mukhtar, his face a mask of shock and disbelief, finally found his voice amidst the turmoil. His words, a trembling yet resolute command, cut through the air, igniting urgency within the opulent walls.

"Get the men, call for help!" Malik Mukhtar ordered in a voice that rang through the ornate hall. His orders set a flurry of activity into motion, as loyal servants rushed to action. They knew the gravity of the situation, and they acted swiftly.

The grand doors of the residence were flung open, revealing a world beyond the opulence. Malik Mukhtar's servants, in a choreographed display of efficiency, began making calls. Their voices resonated with an almost musical urgency as they summoned a team of men who would be tasked with transporting the ailing Malik Zubair to the nearest medical facility.

In the midst of this organized chaos, hidden from the commotion in the grand hall, Murtasim's right-hand man, Bakhtu, and his guards moved with purpose. Their actions were swift and discreet, guided by an unspoken understanding of the gravity of the situation.

Bakhtu, a pillar of strength and vigilance, took the lead. With practiced finesse, he guided Murtasim through a side door that led to the serene courtyard, washed in the intense light of the noon sun. The ancient stone walls that framed the courtyard stood as silent witnesses to the unfolding drama.

In this brief respite, Murtasim leaned against a weathered stone wall, his face etched with the lines of pain, his eyes reflecting a deep resolve.

The wounded Murtasim knew that time was of the essence. Every passing second could spell danger. Bakhtu, a man of quick thinking and unwavering loyalty, spoke in hushed, urgent tones to Murtasim. "We must leave now, Maalik, before they return."

With Bakhtu's assistance, Murtasim managed to regain his footing. Every step was a painful endeavor, sending waves of agony through his wounded shoulder. But the group, moving slipped away from the opulent Malik residence, settling inside their cars as they made their way towards the Khan Haveli in the village.
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In a room adorned with heavy drapes and well-worn furniture, Mayi sat beside the antique telephone, her eyes consumed by worry and fear. The room exuded an eerie stillness, the air thick with anticipation as the recent events hung like a dark cloud over her thoughts.

The wall clock, its ornate hands moving with excruciating slowness, seemed to resonate with the room's heavy atmosphere, its relentless ticking amplifying the weight of the wait.

Then, finally, a resounding ring shattered the silence, sending a jolt through Mayi's heart. She seized the receiver, its cool, smooth surface a stark contrast to her trembling hands. Her voice wavered as she engaged in the conversation with Murtasim's loyal messenger.

Their words were terse, punctuated by a grave sense of urgency. Mayi's face, once etched with anxiety, now bore the marks of somber understanding. The room, once draped in stillness, seemed to close in on her as she listened.

After the brief conversation, Mayi gently placed the receiver back in its cradle, its echoing click resonating like the closing of a heavy door. The room, now shrouded in a deeper silence, was filled with the heavy realization of the message she had just received.

With a heart weighed down by the gravitas of the news, Mayi turned to face Haya and Meerab, who sat in the adjoining living room. Their expressions ranged from anticipation to dread, mirroring the spectrum of emotions that had coursed through Mayi.

Taking a deep breath, Mayi began to convey the devastating news, her voice quivering with raw emotion. "I just received a phone call about Khan." Her words were measured, yet heavy with a sense of impending tragedy. "Khan ko goli lagi hai bibiji."