So he resorted to the changer of fates, the writer of destinies, the only true reckoning force. 'Ya mera Allah, meri itni si dua hai. Kay jo yeh chahe, ussey mil jaaey,' he gently whispered into his cupped palms so that only the particles within it could hear his plea, and not a single soul more. ( My lord, my only prayer is this- whatever she wishes for, may she be granted it.)
When he looked up, she was gone. There was an palpable sense of loneliness left in her wake. Soon transformed into an immediate sense of panic. He felt as though he was free falling, as though the floor beneath him simply vanished as he failed to complete the journey together as agreed.
He leapt up and around the veil wall in a frenzy. Scanning the open courtyard as his adrenaline picked up, until he saw the corner of his black pashmina dragging behind her like an oversized cape, slighly too wide and long for her frame. She was escaping as she turned inwards and found the solace of a secluded corner to pray in, a final act of appealing for guidance.
As he approached, he was met with the sight of her in prostration, and it caused his tummy to churn, a harsh reminder than he was just a viewer, watching in on her reality. Or he supposed that 'intruder' might have been more apt from the way he entered her carriage.
After the last salaam, she looked past her shoulder to find him peeking through the veiled wall. Perhaps he shouldnt have been, but he couldnt pull himself away from her adoration, his mind taking in every last detail as though that would be all he had to savour for the rest of his life.
There was glistening water welled in the corners of her eyes, brimming in hopelessness. The dullness of her skin was a tell-tale sign of her mental exhaustion and the blankess behind the eyes meant that her mind was pre-occupied in other decisions. She pushed herself off the prayer mat and loosed the scarf from under her chin, walking around to meet him. The shimmer of her innocence was lingering, the noor lasted of her face long after the prayer had concluded.
This is the point that they would have said their good byes, and departed. Both of them had completed their respective tasks- there was nothing more to be said or done. Which is my she didn't expect him to ask...
'Kahan jaungey Meerab?.' His voice slightly apprehensive, knowing that he had no right to ponder past this, their path was about to propell them away from each other now. (Where will you go Meerab?)
She gulped at his forwardness. The question was perfectly sensible and what she had been searching for herself, during the prayer. She wiped the corner of her eye dry, her finger causing a slight sting from the tug.
An entire train ride had passed providing adequate time to think about where she would go to, when she reached Karachi. She had a cousin of a friend that was willing to let her stay for a couple days. Then she needed income as her's would deplete fast. Maybe she needed to arrange to stay in a hostel and find a job and apply for a scholarship- should she be so lucky. 'Patha nahi. Mera koy ghar nahi raha,' shared in a melancholic tone, accepting her reality. ( I dont know. I dont have a house anymore.)
Her family was powerful and would find her- that's why she needed to carry on with the journey. The guessed that the further out she goes, the harder she would be to find. 'Filhaal tou yeh angooti bechoungey,' she smiled meekly whilst gazing to her hand, knowing that the rationing began from now. ( For now, I will go to sell this ring.)
It was that tinge of sadness that pulled him over the edge, and suddently he succumbed to an overwhelming need to shoulder her, to take her under his wing. Her clicked his tounge and pleaded, 'Na becchou.' ( Don't sell it.)
She had told him in the train that she had no spare cash, so her eyebrows furrowed at his command which she wouldnt be able to carry out. 'Sirf paisay hai. Aur kama loungi,' she reassured simply, trying to detach herself from the pretty thing. ( It's only money. I'll earn some more.)
'Kamalena, par abhi kay liye,' he spoke whilst taking a couple more notes out from his pocket for the train ride to Karachi. 'Ticket kay liye kaafi hai,' he explained, his gaze failing to meet hers. ( You can earn it, but for now... This is enough for the ticket.)
'Murtasim,' she warned, his incessant need to give had spoilt her. An exagerated exhale left her whilst she began to cave.
'Please,' he hissed, as a final plea. He placed the money in her hand so she wouldnt have to pawn off any jewellery- the idea had always irked him as much as he knew gold jewellery was currency, he hoped the nobet would never come.
She reluctantly accepted, the bile of embarressment rising in her throat. The cool of the marble floor was entirely grounding, the slightest bit uncomfortable which thankfully kept her on edge.
The crisp white of his shirt shone like the clean of his heart, his lack of judgement gave rise to a deep sense of belonging. The glint of care in his eyes was evidence of the need to care for her, his upper body instinctively leaning towards her with a magnetic pull.
There was a pause, as though life was giving him a chance, neither of their parting ways just yet. The perfume of burning incense sticks mingled with rose petals, creating a luscious smell that she could only associated with such a place.
When she had no obligation, absolutely no duress or urge her to succumb to him, he thought it right to offer something which had been on the tip of his tounge for almost the entire jouney. 'Tum mera ghar aajau,' he suggesting with a tone that was an equal mix of apprehension and tenderness, not wanting to be rejected or be too forthright.( Come to my house.)
Her gaze lifted off the off the swirls of the marble floor, her facial features contorted in confusion, eyebrows slanting at the idea, slightly quivering. She didnt understand. 'Kya, kaisay?' She scoffed lowly at the obserdity of the suggestion. ( What, how?)
'Humara ghar yaha Hyderabad mei hai. Tum mehfooz rahougey,' he explained in an unusally light voice, carrying an undeniably hopeful undertone. ( Our house is just here in Hyderabad. You'll be safe.)
The short wall provided a little rest and she leaned her body weight backwards on it and Murtasim stood at an angle, looking inwards at her. The path behind him was desolate, the world had provided them an ounce of privacy amidst the bustle.
I'm just adding this picture because I like it. We just need to pretend that the above picture is in the day time, according to the story! Still not over how we were robbed of that scene💔 OK now continue.....
————————————————————————
She shook her head fainlty, gaze lowering, mentally detached from the idea. 'Kisi ghair mard ka ghar mei gusna aur rehana- mera zameer mujhay ijaazat nahi deta,' she explained, highlighting the lack of amy formal relationship. ( I cannot enter a strangers house and live there. My conscience doesn't allow it.)
It almost slipped out, the suggestion to form a suitable relation - but instead he said...'Karachi mei bhe ghair he hai. Aur kisi idaare mei rehna zyada munabis lagta hai tummay?,' he asked, genuinly probing her line of thought. Unable to fathom how strangers could better look after her than the staff at his house, and himself included. There was an undisguisable flair of irritation at her reluctance to take his help, despite how reasonable. ( There are strangers in Karachi too. Is it better to stay in an instituion?)
Meerab pulled his black shawl over her, it felt like her most prized possession in this moment. A blanket like cover which seemed to protect her entirely like an iron armour, but with the fluidity of a waterfall. Gifted by him. 'Jahan bhe joungi, akeli nahi houngi. Umeed hai ka mera khuda mera muhaffiz hoga,' she replied with her voice edged in maturity now, forcing her to face the harsh reality ahead. (Where ever I go, i wont be alone. I hope that my god with me that is my caretaker.)
He wanted to be her muhaffiz. He clicked his tounge. 'Umeed achi baat hai,' he confirmed. 'Par zindagi sirf umeed say nahi guzaari ja sakti. Paisa chahiye hota hai, ya taleem, ya khandaan.' All of which she lacked, he had come to learn and she wouldn't find another Murtasim that would untie her bag, confront a predator, take the crumbs off her face, find her gold chain, fasten it for her and accompany her to the darbaar. (Hope is good but it is insufficent to sustain life. You need money, education or a family to support you.)
She had enough money to carry her for a while, but it would soon depleat and then she would be vulnerable, bare to the vultures of the world to attack. 'Phir bhe. Main nahi aah sakti,' she shrugged, pushing herself off the wall. The time to rest had ceased. ( But still, i can't come.)
A spark of pride showed in her, and he appreciated the staunchness- she was a mirror of him but he was adamant too. 'Insaan kay zariye madat behj ta hai,' he recited the same words as the saint, hoping they would strike a cord.
She felt a little uneven on her feet as he fit into the mould carved out by the saint from his madat. The welcoming sensation that washed over her every-time he spoke and the way listened to her every word, and was ready for her defence. 'Tum meri madat karougey?' She snapped, feeling like the world was conspiring against her, pushing her onto his path.
Murtasim was just 3 or 4 inches taller than her and standing in such close proximity meant that this eyes were just the slightest bit droopy. It gave an air of confidence, and in a last effort to prevent her from diverging, he spilled. 'Mujhay pata hai kay tumhara baba kaun hai. Waqas Ahmed tumein dhoond ley ga,' he warned, completely aware of the force that such a man had at his disposal, half of the Punjab police was probably uttering her name. (I know who your father is. Waqas Ahmed will find you.)
Her eyes flickered, trying to find doubt or bluff in his, but she came back empty. He knew the world, and power of connections and hughlighted the flaw in her plan. 'Tumein kaisay pata?,' she enquired about how he had linked her to her father. (How do you know?)
'Akhbar mei tasveer the, Waqas Ahmed, supreme court judge, aur woh bande ne tumhara poora naam kaha, Meerab Waqas Ahmed,' he explained, dotting the clues together with the ease. ( I saw his picture in the news paper as he is a supreme court judge. And that man said your name, Meerab Waqas Ahmed.)
She stilled, flustered at unveiling her lineage, there might even be ransom offered.
'Tum bilbuk tumhara baba ke jaisay lagti hou,' he added, and his suspicion was affirmed from the way she froze, innocently child-like. (You look just like your father.)
'Par houn nahi,' she clarified. The man had tried to force her into a marriage, and she was an entireley an empath, unable to hurt a fly. (But i'm not like him.)
'I believe you,' Murtasim replied, hoping he never came face to face with the man, knowing that he was a calibre above him.
A couple people walked past in the background, and it reminded them that time haden't infant stood still for them.
There needed to be some convincing, or else his conscience would forever remain in this fleeting moment. He simply couldn't let go of her so easily after she had made a place in his heart, an abode to reside by a handful of weakly woven lies and bitter truths. 'Humaray zameeno par bachay-oan ka school hai ja tum para sakti hou. Ya Hyderabad ki Univserity mei main sifrish kara dounga,' he advocated so that the offer seemed less one sided, impermanent. As though her residence would be temporary and would soon empower her. ( We have schools for children on our land, you can teacher there. Or i can give you a recommendation for a place at Hyderabad University.)
Her mind skipped to the scene of that shopkeeper's boy, and she uttered lowly, 'Bilal.'
His ears pirqued and he asked 'Kya?'
'Bilal woh dukaan wala bacha tha. Tumharay school mei parta hai,' she clarified.
A quaint prideful smirk appeared on his face. 'Tum parha sakti hou,' he said again, this time it seemed more tangible.
Those words echoed through her ears. The boy had said that her looked after everyone, and that he was a nice man. Meerab took the moment to assess about how much she would rely on the boy's words- a stranger, perhaps 14 have given him such a glowing recommendation.
'Kyun?' She whimpered, unable to see the way she had been etched into his chest, how she had sweetened his tiresome journey and had been engrained permanently onto his film. 'Aap mujhay jaantay bhe nahi ho,' she countered his offer. They had only been sat infront if each other for a mere couple of hours, half of which he had spent cowering behind outstretched newspaper and the rest in his fake photographer persona. ( Why? you dont even know me.)
Time has been used effectively in had assessing her for the entire ride, he had deemed her worthy of companionship, then friendship and now, more. Murtasim took a single step closer as he narrated his view point. 'Bahadar ho. Khud kay liye qadam uta sakti hou. Hisaab kitaab ki sakht hou,' he recalled at the way she was so adamant in not accepting his shawl, and now she snuggled into its warmth at it seeped into her body, a source of solace for her troubled, indecisive heart. ( You're brave. you stand up for yourself. You are very careful in give and take.)
Her heart swelled at his observations, realising that these were thinly veiled praises.
'Khudka khaana bhooka ajnabi-on kay saath baanti hou,' he remarked in a chuckle at the way he had unknowingly eating her wedding feast, assuming she was guest a guest and not the bride. It had been absolutely delectable, ironically. ( You shade your food with hungry strangers.)
'Isse kya farq parta hai?,' she asked, a squeak like voice as being so easily read. (What difference does that make?)
'Saaf dil. Himmat. Humdardi. Yeh bohat anmol khoobiya hai,' he explained to her, enlightening her of his view point. The man was well educated, well travelled and well connected and yet it was only left a hollowness in him. Capitalism sucked him dry of any soulful connection, which had been reignited on that train ride. He would let it board a train and depart so easily. ( A clean heart, bravery and bravery. These are rare qualities.)
Meerab gulped, somewhat entranced in the truth of it as she knew herself well.
As if that wasent enough to convice her, he drew a comparison which was undeniable. 'Mujsay zyada hi waqt ka khayal hai- matlab aap punctual hou,' he shared with a grin, highlighting his own shortcoming from the phonecall with his mother. ( You're better at time keeping than me, meaning that you're punctual.)
'What if i'm still lying?,' she asked, trying to find flaw in his praises, teeting on the edge of succumbing to his offer, to reside under his roof. Her gaze catching onto some bunting used as decoration, colourful triangles swaying in the breeze.
'Tumharey jhoot bilkul believeable nahi they. Nahe tumhari aankein tujhay jhoot bholne detey hain,' he confessed, he had doubted her from the first couple minutes in the carriage. She was entirely too naive to think her demeanour supported her fables. ( Your lies are not believable in the slighest and your eyes dont lie ay all.)
Murtasim twiddled with that ring and then fastened the open button of his blazer, waiting for her response to the offer.
'Itna kuch jaan liya hai?,' she asked, her voice laced in amazement as his ability to read people. The were face to face, and they almost felt like equals, unhindered by all the transaction which had taken place. (You have understood all of this?)
He nodded with a tight lipped smile. 'Itne gehntey saath guzarey hai humney, kuch aur kyun na sahe?,' he remarked wishfully, wanting to take her to meet his Noori. (We have spent several hours together, so why not some more.)
The word hum swayed in her mind. Together. Both of them- and strangely it didn't irk her. 'Yeh sab jaanay kay liye kuch ghentey kaafi hota hai?,' she reiterated, catching the way he slyly avoided answering. ( Are a couple hours to deduce thise?)
They started walking outwards together, her decision not yet final but they needed to retrieve their luggage, her tiffin and his suitcase.
'Gehntay hou insaan istemaal karta hai dunya daari nibhaney kay liya. Humaray milna aur waqt guzarna tou muqaddar tha,' he replied in a louder volume, their surroundings giving him a bout of confidence in enlightening her of a divine intervention which led to their meeting. ( Hours are a measure of time used by people to keep up with wordly affairs. Our meeting and spending time together was destiny.)
Meerab scoffed in delight and she supposed he should have been a philosopher, or maybe the saints were wearing off on him. 'Muqaddar?,' she repeated in amusement, appreciating that he had taken their coincidence as a much heavier occurrence than her. (Destiny?)
'Haan,' he stretched with confidence, as thought it was obvious. 'Mera cabin ko derr saray bachay say full hona, badnaseebi thi ya tumhara cabin khali hona, ittqfaq tha?,' he question in a deeper voice, forcing her to ponder on his words. (Was it fate that my cabin was full of children, or was it coincidence that you had a spare seat for me?)
How much weight should one give to ittefaq, she reasoned. 'Mujhay aisay barri baatein ka nahi malum. Zindagi hai, hum bas raasta chuntay hai.' She tried to brush him off but his words resonated in an undeniable manner. ( I dont understand your lofty words. This is just the path of life, and we chose from the few options that we are handed.)
He hummed, verifying her statement and then adding, 'Aur humara rasta aik ho gaya hai. Main bohat arsay baad Islamabad aaya hou. Actually, mei gaari mei safar karna pasand karta hou, par kal socha kay train ticket karwakou aur jaldi paunch jau meri behn ki daawat kay liye. Jahaz fully booked tha.' Any he wished for them to never be separate again. ( And our path became one. I came to Islamabad after a long time. Actually i like travelling by car, but i thought to get a train so get home faster for Mariyum's dawat. The aeroplane was fully booked.)
'Main bhe pehli baar train par behti hou,' she admitted, furthering his point. It did feel like more than a co-incidence. It felt like a sign, like they were the perfect accompaniment to each other- how often did people find calm in another person like this. The idea that she was roof-less almost escaped her mind when walking besides him, not considering herself seperate to him. The idea of sharing more than a cabin appeased her. ( This was the first time i had been on a train.)
They arrived at the entrance and Murtasim retrieved their belongings from the lockers, handing her the carrier bags with the crisps and sweets- it was practically weightless.
'Ghar pe meri Maa Saab aur behn bhe hai, aur mujhay koy expectations nahi hai tumse. Par mehfooz rahogey,' he reassured, irnoning out any doubt. ( My sister is at home and my Maa Saab. I dont want anything in return from you, theres no expectations.)
She slipped her trainers on, and he simultaneously laced his shoes too and when he gazed up, the buzz of the street continued and it way gave to a palpable sense of restlessness. 'Aisay sarkou par khud ko katrey main matt dalo,' he pleaded, knowing that it was easy to get whisked away, lost in a crowd.
Meerab wasen't sure which of his words triggered her into surrendering, but it had worked. 'Agar aap mujsay tang aajau?,' she examined, assessing the conditions and limitations of her stay. ( Any if you get bored of me?)
A soft smile streched on his face, the glow of accomplishment glistened in his eyes. 'Humara ghar bohat bharra. Agar tum chahti hou, tou aik doosra ka na saamna karna bhe aasangi say ho sakta hai.' (Our houee is very big. If you want, you dont even have to come across each other.)
'Main aisay tou nahi chahti,' she retorted, burying the idea away. ( I never said that i want that.)
What a beautiful confession it was, a hint of reciprocation. 'Jaisey tum chahey gi, waisey he hoga,' he said, as he layed all his weapons down for her to use, and now she would be the dictator and not the vulnerable run away bride. ( However you want, that's how it will happen.)
'Meri marzi?,' she teased with the slighest hue of pink on her cheeks, the liveliness returning. He had empowered her by offering refuge, more favourable than a train ride to Karachi into isloation.( My choice?)
He nodded whilst stepping out under the low afternoon sun, his eyes squinting in her direction. 'Meerab ki marzi,' he reaffirmed, discovering the mantra for the rest of his life. (Meerab's choice.)