Whoever you are — I am leaving. The me you see now, isn't me I'm just a ghost. - Mahmoud Darwish
The black range rover crossed the wooden bridge that joined Swat and Mushkpur. The streets turning from proper baked roads to broken ones, a courtesy of his family. The money that kept their home running came from their ancestral businesses, but his grandfather was famous for using the tax money of the common man on himself. The corruption rigged the system, making his family immensely powerful, that no one made the mistake of speaking against them.
On either sides of the road was open meadows for miles. Wild grass grew like a large ocean, waves rippling as the Siberian winds blew strong. Markhors grazed the lands, their curved horns glimmering under the warm sunshine. Snow that had accumulated over the weekend finally melting as the sun came out of hiding. Herds of sheep walked beside the car with young shepherd's in tow. As they neared the home, the narrow streets widened into an avenue. Grazing lands turning into well kept orchards ; apples and oranges plenty.
Azmaray observed the market place in silence. The people of Mushkpur all lived lives above the poverty line, or atleast that's how it was made out to be. He stared at the women in their torn jackets, men wearing broken shoes as they tried to sell their goods. In the years he had been gone, the state of these people had declined and it stabbed his heart.
"Who pays for the maintenance of the estate?" He turned towards Asghar.
While the answer was clear, he needed to know how the town was being run. It's rundown exterior ; broken roads puddles accumulating everywhere, bridges missing planks and the broken sewerage system told a story of a failed government.
"Our business ofcourse," Asghar rolled his eyes at the question.
"And what pays for the maintenance of Mushkpur?" He blurted.
"The tax money". The elder brother rolled his eyes.
"Has the tax accumulation in the past few years fallen to nill? The town is practically destroyed". Azmaray announced his distaste.
"The people have fallen lazy," he clenched his teeth.
"How does that make sense? Just because these people are 'lazy', they refuse to pay?" He pushed Asghar's buttons.
"Yes! For fucks sake you haven't been here running this show, so I suggest you back the fuck off!" Asghar shouted, the veins in his forehead bulging.
Azmaray took a deep breath, rubbing his tired eyes. Staring at the 'lazy people'. A part of him could not belive what he was being told. The people of his town were hardworking. They would starve than to eat free food. His family was hiding something from him, and Azmaray vowed to find it out. If he were to hand over the reigns to Asghar, he needed to be assured of his capability. Or the city that was long run by his family, would need to fall into the hands of another.
The car stopped in front of the large gate, waiting for the guards to open the doors. Azmaray stared at the well kept gardens that surrounded the driveway. The mammoth statues that held up lit up candles to light up the pathway seemed like an image out of a medieval painting. And in the distant, their birthplace shone with lights. Warm yellow lights lit up the arched entrance, curved victorian style windows plenty in sight.
"Don't ask your questions inside. They're filled with accusations completely baseless. And we don't need dada to hate you even more than he does right now, do we?" Asghar whispered, patting his shoulder.
Azmaray nodded his head silently following him out of the car towards their awaiting family. Anbar and their aunt Samira were missing. He followed Asghar, greeting their grandfather first and then their mother. The icy cold temperatures on their face were self explanatory.
"Where is phopho and Anbar?" [Aunt] Asghar questioned, his eyes looking for the two.
"Anbar is in Lahore and your aunt is in her bedroom". Azan Khan replied, tight lipped.
"Why did you send her to Lahore all by herself?" He questioned.
"Stop it Asghar. Uskay maa baap zinda hain uski fikr karney keh liye, aur mat bhulo uska eik addad mangetar bhi hai". [Her parents are alive to worry for her, and don't forget she has a fiancé as well.] Saheefa tucked at her elder son's sleeve.
Like an innocent kid, Asghar nodded his head, all attention falling on Azmaray who had been silent till now.
"I'll be heading to bed. Wake me up when dinner is ready". He announced, leaving before anyone could reply.
Inside his bedroom Azmaray flopped onto his bed. Sighing at the feel of home, his sheets smelled of lemon and jasmines. The signature scent of the detergent used. Nuzzling his face deeper into the pillow, he shut his eyes. His bones all of a sudden feeling immensely heavy, the tiredness after the long travel finally catching up. The cool breeze that flew in from the north face window, calmed his warm skin. He could feel the rattling of his bones. Cluttering of his teeth against each other.
His body felt like it was burning. Burning in the weight of his uncountable sins. The nightly ones, as well as all the sins he had accumulated with the verbal abuse. Each day he painted his skin black. Each morning, every night, he earned sins as if they were a precious treasure. He had succumbed — fallen from grace. At times Azmaray felt like an angel fallen. From being the child of love and light he had transitioned into a man of hate and dark.
His body shuddered as his toes began to burn, curling with fire as it spread out like a trees root. He whimpered in pain, his head aching immensely, on the verge of turning into a skull shattering one. Gone was the strong arrogant man, replaced with a helpless boy instead. One that needed his mother to kiss his sweaty brow and whisper to him that it would all be okay. One that would hug him from behind and stay awake with him as he suffered.
Azmaray forced himself to sleep. His eyes too heavy to even remain open. Throat so parched that it was near impossible to call for help. He could only wish that when someone came to call him for dinner, they'd notice his condition. It was God punishing him for all his sins. For all the hurt that he had caused to mortals. For all the arrogance with which he had treaded on the ground. In particular, for the way he had treated the woman Rani.
———
The ground was covered in three inches of snow. Pristine white, with tall trees towering above, their thick lush foliage acting as cover from the open sky. Azmaray tread through the snow slowly, calculating each move lest he fall and hurt himself. His body covered in a thick cherry wood sheepskin sweater and velveteen pants. Leather gloves on his hands that he stuffed into the snow, forming a snowball.
"Behind you!" A silvery voice shouted at him.
Azmaray turned around with the snowball in hand, looking out for the voice when a thick snow ball hit the back of his head.
"You're so easy to fool Azmaray," the voice giggled.
Grinning, Azmaray stalked towards her, grabbing her hand softly, pulling her towards himself. Kissing her forehead as she hugged back tight.
"It's only because I love you," he whispered against her forehead.
"That's so cute! But you lost. Fair and square!" She kissed him squarely on the lips.
"If it's from you, I'd love losing everyday!" He smiled softly.
Just then a soft coo broke them apart. His father carrying a small girl in his arms towards them.
"My princess! Did you miss baba?" Azmaray cooed.
The little girl, of around three softly nodded her head. His wife kissing their daughter's cheeks as his father smiled at them. Suddenly, he travelled from the bright scene to a dark, desolate room. Darkness all around, a small sliver of light entering from the broken window.
"Where am I?" He whispered to himself.
"In your mind". A reply shot back, the voice of his father.
"A-abu ap kahan chalay gaye hain?" [F-father where have you gone?] He whimpered.
"Azmaray stop my star. You're destined for greater things. Dont let the walls you've drawn in your head tap the light out. You are more than just my son!" His father's voice advised.
"Don't worry about your fever. Bukhar sai gunnah jhartay hain! Iss shab jab gunnah jhar rahay hain, eik naye umeed sai zindagi shuru karo!" [Fever washes off sins! In this night when sins are falling, and start your life with a new hope!] It continued.
Before Azmaray could reply, he felt his body being shaken. A gentle voice calling him.
"C-chachi?" [Aunt?] Azmaray looked at Hooriya, puzzled.
"Yes, me Azmaray. How are you feeling now? You were burning up last night". She looked worried.
"I'm better". He smiled.
His hear felt lighter than ever. Mind fresh as everything began to look rosy. His brain running a mind a minute.
"That's good. Now sit up and let me feed you," she held his bicep.
Smiling, Azmaray sat up. Leaning his body against the sage green headboard. His eyes filling up with tears as he thought about the dream he had just had. Maybe he was not all alone, maybe it was all in his head.
———
Azmaray felt better after a day of resting in his bed. His aunt the only one that had bothered to visit him. He knew everyone else was eagerly awaiting for the day he felt well to talk about the pending wedding. Taking a stair at a time, Azmaray entered his mother's bedroom. Knocking on the door before stepping inside.
"Mama I need to talk".
"So do I," Saheefa patted the seat next to herself.
"You first," Azmaray motioned.
"Your engagement with Anbar is in four weeks. Your marriage in two months. Until then, you're going to stay in Swat". Saheefa announced.
Azmaray took a deep breath, he had come here to announce the complete opposite.
"I don't wish to marry Anbar," he calmly stated.
"But you love her—" Saheefa spoke, exhausted.
"As a sister. Please! Just this once fight for me!" He plead.
"It's not in my hands. The preparations begin tomorrow. I expect you to take part, enthusiastically," she spoke with finality.
Hunched shoulders and a defeated look in his eye was what he carried as he left his mother's bedroom. Once again disappointed in being a part of the family he was related to.
Shorter chapter to set the tone for the upcoming ones.
AH YOU ARE NOT READY FOR THE FUTURE ONES
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