Then Murtasim casually dropped the quartz bracelet into Meerab's hand. The gems clanked as her fist closed around them, and Mai watched the exchange, unbeknownst of how invaluable two dozen stones could be.
They adorned her dainty wrist, a cool tingle tickling her as a reminder of the most beautiful promise, comprising of an impending lifetime of togetherness, shelter that was more comfortable than her childhood house, a family that was more supportive than the one she left behind.
The warmth of his pashmina shawl that she had once worn, was now a glimpse of what he intended to share with her, fingers soon intertwined. Everything was sweetened under the lens of being his fiancé, just the idea felt like a cosy hug. A delicious nectar coated his words, his actions and his presence. As they walked through the halls of the hospital, the border of her dupatta occasionally brushed his hands as if it too grasped for any semblance of a tryst, a deep need for more.
When they entered the hospital room, Mariyum was livelier, returning their smiles with a welcoming warmth emanating from her smile that reached her eyes. ''Itni der se intezaar kar rahe hain hum,'' she teased, watching them as they flooded with relief the her happy state. (We have been waiting for ages.)
Noori squealed just slightly too loud as she caught sight of her Moomoo, eyes mirthful and excited as she introduced her new guest to them. ''Moomoo, Meero, mere baby ko dekho,'' she chirped, gesturing towards the baby in Naurez's hand, a bundle of a sky blue blanket with a sleeping doll cocooned in the center. (Come see my baby.)
''Yeh Noori ka baby hai?'' He asked in a playfully exaggeration, watching as the bubbly girl skipped around the hospital bed, too much energy coursing through her to sit down. But truthfully, they enjoyed their little entertainer, lighting up the room. (Is this Noori's baby?)
Mai handed over the Tupperware of soup to Maa Saab, and whispered sincere prayers of health over Mariyum. ''Shukria Mai,'' she whispered in return. (Thanks Mai.)
Murtasim came to squeeze Mariyum's hand, and there was no canula to be wary of anymore- it was a positive sign.
Both of them said their salaams and naturally settled onto the soft, onto the seat besides Naurez. Meerab took a chair besides him, close but with enough distance that she didn't seem clingy.
''Ab kaisi ho?'' Meerab asked Mariyum, her voice laced in a hopefulness, witnessing her fresh colouring that was an indicator of her revitalised health. Mariyum was sat up, not leaning onto the cushions behind her anymore. A fresh burst of energy gave her strength, the power of medication - she didn't seem achy and languid. (How are you?)
''Behtar. Aap ki duaon ka asr hai,'' she joked, her entire presence emanating a sense of being content. Her two babies apparently got along, her husband and mother at either side of her like angels and her brother had a zest to his presence, she was bubblewrapped in her family's love and doting- there was no option but to recover. (Better. That's the effect of your prayers.)
''Dargah se ho ke aaye hain hum,'' Meerab replied, and her two prayers silently repeatedly whispered in her ears; beseeching for Mariyum's health, and for her marriage to Murtasim to work out, but that was only a concealed vow yet, waiting to come to light. (We just came from the shrine.)
''Acha, wahan mera liye dua ke thi?'' Mariyum iterated, focusing on the camaraderie and kindness of the act. She appreciated the friendship, the guest that had conquered their hearts, joining into their sway, mixing into their family as if the house was awaiting her return. (Oh you supplicated for me at the shrine?)
''Haan, aur aapke baby ke liye,'' Meerab replied in a chuckle. The entire atmosphere was light, sun rays filtering through the blind-less windows that lined the room, her bedding washed in a peachy hue of the golden sun. The baby, and the apparent return of her health, made them all giddy. (Yep, and for your baby.)
''Aik dua iski neend kay liye bhi kar leti,'' Marium joked, her head titling to her husband that seemed like he had seen better days. His hair way unstyled, and he seemed more depleted of sleep than his wife. (You should have asked for some sleep for him.)
''Soya hun. Sofa bahut comfortable hai,'' Naurez retorted, his voice hoarse with a tiredness that betrayed him. (I have slept. The comfortable is very comfortable.)
''Haan comfortable lagta hai,'' Murtasim repeated, his hand pushing down unto the stiff foam of a cushion. The confusion in tone suggested that he clearly did not believe the lie. (Yeah, it seems comfortable.)
''Tujhe kya pata, khabi soya hai sofa pe?'' Naurez questioned rhetorically, supposed that Murtasim had never faced such a discomfort- the need to sleep on a sofa had never presented itself. He was a wealthy bachelor, with excessive spare rooms in his house, and any hotel of his choosing within reach when he travelled. (What do you know, have you ever slept on a sofa?)
In that moment, Mai and Murtasim's gaze met for a split second, the predicament of being caught in Meerab's rooms passed between them, conveyed in a single skeptical glance. The entire star-studded night had been spent in privacy Meerab's room, mere meters from her, and then he had been caught red-handed.
Even more recently, Mai had seen the extent of his worry at the possibility of her leaving- a whirlwind had wrecked his reasoning and logic. Now she recognised that Murtasim loved her wholeheartedly. It was just a fact that they had silently fused to one another without notice, an unbidden alliance had melded them into a couple that couldn't not even bare the probability of separation.
The understanding glint in Mai's eye meant that Murtasim had to inform his mother first, to keep everything under control.
''Nahi na? Shaadi ke baad tumhein pata chalega,'' he chortled to himself, and Mariyum blushed at the mention of him being banished from their bed. (No? When you get married, then you'll find out.)
The room eruputed into an array of giggles, Noori's bubbly laugh winning over the crowd in its infectiousness. Naurez scowled at her playfully, which set her off even more, not a single care for the babies delicate sleep.
''Main pakad lun?'' Murtasim requested in a tender voice, careful to not disturb the new baby. (Can I hold the baby.)
Naurez gave a short nod, and gently transferred the new born baby into Murtasim's forearms which expertly came to cradle the baby, a hand to support its delicate head, the other hand beneath the rest of the body.
''Mashallah,'' he whispered so lightly that it was barely audible, in a trance of investigating the baby as if it was the first time. He had grown in a day, the creamy colour of his skin had deepened into an opacity that looked healthy. The hairs on his head were sparse, straight and as soft as fur.
The tiny button of the baby's chin wobbled as if the cold caught on his head, snagging at tip of his nose, and on his sensitive, velvety cheeks. ''Lagta hai ke baby ko thand lg rhi hai. Iske tope nahi hai?'' He asked in a tone of concern. (It seem's like the baby is cold. Do you have a hat?)
Mariyum's gaze darted over to the empty bassinet, and Naurez attempted to place the knitted hat onto the baby, but his little head was closer to Meerab.
Her hand came out, ''Main pehna deti hun,'' she said, her open palm coming to request the hat. (I'll place it on him.)
Murtasim's moved his hand the support the baby from the base of his head, and Meerab's fingertips carefully slipped the hat onto his small head, sheathing the hairs and protecting against the chill. It was another moment of teamwork, reverting into a rhythm of complimenting the other person.
''Bahut pyara hai, mashallah,'' she praised looking up to the baby's parents. They pulled small smiles onto their faces, carry pride and gratefulness within them at their perfect little family. (He's adorable.)
''Thanks Meero,'' Mariyum replied and then Meerab watched intently as Murtasim's hand splayed beneath the baby's head, so large that his fingertips were visible peaking around. He focused whilst watching the minuscule undulations of the baby's breath, the quivering disappearing as he warmed through, filled with a bout of purpose.
Noori skipped into her father's lap, and watched as she observed at affectionate glimmer in her Moomoo's eyes, a wisp of jealously erupting at the undiluted attention. ''Meri tarah lagta hai?'' She asked, showing off. (He looks like me.)
''Nahi, yeh tou iske Moomoo ki tarah lagta hai,'' he joked, the baby had no discernable features yet, as they all had dark hair and almond skin. (No, he looks like his Moomoo.)
''Nahi, yeh mere aur baba ke tarah lagta hai. Tumhari tarah nahi,'' she challenged, the apples of her cheeks rising as she laid her claim on the precious doll. (No, he looks like me and baba. Not like you.)
On that cue, the baby opened it's eyes to blink in a state between sleep and wakefulness. He had large dark pupils, and Murtasim wondered how pixelated life seem to the baby. ''Dekho, aankhein meri tarah hain,'' Murtasim teased, watching as the baby's dilated pupils grasped with the influx of light. (His eyes are like mine.)
His eyes. Meerab reminisced that Murtasim's eyes were deep pools of melted chocolate, mixed of dark and milks, luxuriously tempered by swirling into each other in his iris. His pupils were an abyss to wander in, that she sought refuge in. And yet, the affection in them mirrored her own want and insatiable infatuation.
''Nahi,'' Noori squealed in a bout of innocent jealousy, ''meri tarah hai. Jab aapka baby hoga, tou phir aise kehna. Yeh wala baby mera hai,'' she insisted, her arms folding as she huffed in annoyance. (No he is like me. When you have a baby, then you can say that. This baby is mine.)
Murtasim's bottom lip came out to exaggerate his hurt at not owning the baby, and Noori became prideful at the play, as if she had won the squabble. After him, it was Mai's turn to study the new angel, whisking the baby boy away.
Freed, Murtasim stretched his arms, stiff from being so gentle and locked under the baby. Then he looked over past his shoulder to Meerab- her mere presence washed him in a sense of comfort and optimism. She was his fiancé - the notion filled his with a pang of love, his smitten gaze catching on the bracelet. ''Pehle shaadi to hone do, Noori,'' he chaffed rather proudly. (Let me get married first Noori.)
Meerab gulped, looking else where, like the symbol chart on the wall, or the bland file resting on a cabinet which suddenly seemed interesting- searching for a distraction to try to soothe her fluttering heart.
''Fir Noori ki mami aayegi?'' Noori asked, her eyes shimmering at the reminder of a new aunty, a new family member. (Then my aunty will come?)
''Haan,'' Murtasim chuckled, scanning the room to see his mother's singular eyebrow raised at the comment. (Yeah.)
''Yeh kahan se seekha hai?'' Maa Saab asked, an obvious tiredness burdening her words. (Where did you learn that?)
''Meri beti hai, tou zahir hai ke saare rishtedaari ka pata hoga,'' Naurez added, pinching her chubby cheek until a scarlet patch formed, mindlessly kissing her cheek out of habit. (She is my daughter, so she obviously knows about all her relations.)
''Maya samjha rahi thi jab dinner ke liye aayi thi,'' Murtasim explained sheepishly, and Meerab blushed profusely at the explanation, feeling it shone a light on her. (Maya taught her when she came over for dinner.)
Her mind replaying the proposal and acceptance again, the simplicity of the ordeal toyed with her heartstrings, strumming them. It sent vibrations of excitement flooding through her body and displaying itself as a youthful glow that beamed on her face, almost like a bride.
''Maya ne samjhaya hai?'' Maa Saab repeated in amusement and they all suppressed grins, knowing that the girl was persistent- her one golden virtue. (Maya taught her?)
''Haan.'' (Yeah.)
''Meero, meri baby dekhogi?'' Noori offered in a chirp, and Mai handed over the baby, her hands resting beneath the baby in the gentle manner, awe struck at the baby in her hold, a weight of the treasure was no indication of it's value. (Meero, you want to see my baby?)
Once again, Murtasim was lost in admiration at the sight, her curled tresses slipping forward from her shoulder as she leaned to peer at the baby.
In the midst of concentration, she investigated the utter perfection that had been given into her lap. Unconsciously she smiled, her throat constricting in sheer amazement as a peaceful lul of slumber filled under his weighted eyelids, sleepy and content with a belly full of milk- he yawned softly like a fluffy kitten. He had woken again, or maybe was hungry- the idea stressed her, her eyebrows knotting in trying to understand the signs of a newborn.
To clear any doubts Mariyum interrupted her thoughts. ''Abhi dhoodh peeya hai. Naye babies aise he sote aur uthte hain,'' she softly explained, and Meerab aaah'ed as she glanced up, not realising that one of her locks of hair tickled the baby's cheek, like a feather against freshly settled snowflakes. (He has just drank milk. New babies keep waking and sleeping like that.)
Murtasim's hand reached out to push Meerab's stray hair back for her, as her hands were occupied in holding the baby with care. The silken hair was arranged back into place with the rest, and just for a second too long, his fingertip followed the hair as it met the rest of her tresses, flowing down her back like a river of onyx.
Meerab's breath hitched at the touch, they were being watched, and despite it being out of necessity, they would be able to spot when the ministration bordered on something more, a sign of the simmering affection that hinted at the depths of their relation.
But to Murtasim, he justified to his mind that he had acted on impulse, that her hair was under his provision, guided back into place, for the baby's sake. She muttered a faint 'thankyou.'
''Koi baat nahi, baal baby ko lag raha tha,'' he covered whilst clearing his throat, ridding himself of guilt from allowing his hand to wander. (No problem. It was irritating the baby.)
Meerab wished to change the subject, she so asked, ''Naam socha hai?'' (Have you thought of a name?)
Mariyum and Naurez looked to each other, a silent agreement forming between them through the language of the indistinguishable flickers of their eyes. There was a pause before they jointly announced, ''Mateen.''
''Mera Mateen,'' Noori corrected, her index finger lifting to them to assert dominance. (My mateen.)
Murtasim playfully held his hands up in surrender, only encouraging her big sister antics. She came to stand by Meerab's knees, her hand grazing the baby's cashmere blanket, brushing over the knitted loops in a touch which was both appreciative and endearing.
''Tumahara Mateen bahut pyara hai,'' Meerab informed, and Noori nodded as if it was absolutely true, a declaration of upmost fact. (Your Mateen is very nice.)
Then Mariyum explained, ''Naurez aur Noori dono 'N' say hai. Tou maine socha ke Mariyum ke tarha 'M' ka naam ho jaye.'' (Both Naurez and Noori's names are with an N, so we thought that the nee baby's name should be with an M like Mariyum.)
''Soch acchi hai,'' Meerab replied, stroking the baby's cheek with the most tender of touch. Mateen felt so apt. ''It means strong, haina?'' She asked, her mind flittering somewhere far away when she had heard the name before, an eon ago. (The thought is good.)
''Jee. Taaqatwar,'' Maa Saab confirmed pridefully, strength being the most valued virtue to feudals. (Yes. Strong.)
With Noori stood right infront of him, Murtasim's hand rattled in his pocket, pulling out a couple of the toffee sweets he had picked up for Noori.
Mariyum groaned in annoyance at the appearance of processed sugar which they spoilt her daughter with. Regardless of the bemoan, they continued unpeeling the packets. In fact Naurez played along, needing a sugar rush himself, smuggling some to his daughter too.
''Baby ko bhi den?'' Noori suggested innocently, wanting to share her treasures. (Shall we give some to the baby?)
''Nahi,'' the entire room winced as her naivety. (No.)
After a couple of minutes, Murtasim looked up to his mother that sat at her daughter's bedside. ''Maa Saab, aap ghar jaake araam ki jiye. Main aapko ghar chodh aata hun,'' he suggested warmly, but it was more of a mandate. (Maa Saab, come home and rest. I'll drop you off at home.)
''Nahi, meri beti hospital mei hai,'' she countered, wanting to fret over her only daughter. (My daughter is still in hospital.)
An audible tut tore for Mariyum's lip, yet totally grateful for the help. ''Maa saab, main teek hou. Nurse keh ke gee hai ke dawai kam kar rahe hai, aur shayad aaj shaam ko chutti mil jaye.'' Her mother needed rest, and would put up a fight to stress over Mariyum. (Maa Saab, I am fine. The nurse said that the medicine is working, and i'll probably be discharged from hospital tomorrow.)
Maa Saab still doted, dishing out the soup for her, and the baby continued to sleep in the bassinet for a while.
And when they went home, the house was covered in decorative balloons and the colourful bouquets, a welcome party of sort had been set up. Silver and shiny blue helium balloons danced in the room. After resting, a new set of preparations begun for the baby.
The following day, Naurez's car tyres crunched over the gravel in their excessively long driveway as they reached home. Guards stood, opening the door for them.
They were welcomed home by a crowd of claps and cheers, their eager sight locked on car seat in Naurez's hand which housed their newest guest, the blue blanket overspilling like a waterfall of hope.
There was Naurez's family in attendance, along with his brother and wife, and his parents.
Naturally, they were introduced to Meerab as a member of their home, and they met the subject of half of Noori's ramblings - putting a face to the stories.
They handed gifts, and sweetened their mouths with mithai, and Maa Saab ordering for many more sweet baskets to be distributed to their friends and families. She fed a gulab jamun to her daugher and son in law, Noori nabbing a bite too, before heading off for her nap with her nanny.
Soon after, Mariyum was commanded by her mother to rest. Mariyum's mother in law paid a visit to the nursery to help out, and there was just three of them left in the formal living room.
In her hapiness, Maa Saab turned to Meerab. ''Meerab, tum bhi mithai khao,'' she urged. (Meerab, have some dessert too.)
Murtasim had already insisted, and Naurez family made her welcome too, till the point where none of them felt like guests. ''Maa Saab, main 2 laddoo kha chuki hun.'' It turns out that too much sugar consumption was possible, her tongue argued. (I have already eaten two laddoo)
''Aur konsi mithai pasand hai?'' Maa Saab persisted, insisting on feeding her too and Murtasim's unknowingly held his breath for her answer, which would soon become his answer too, liking everything that she liked. (Which other treat do you like?)
''Gulab jamun,'' Meerab shared,
''To aik gulab jamun meri taraf se.'' At the discovery, Maa Saab grinned, picking a golden syrup laden ball from the plate and feeding her a small bite in the happiness of a new grandchild and healthy daughter. (Then have a bite from me too.)
The sugar concentration in her veins superseded what could be considered normal, and Meerab couldn't stomach another bite. She had enough sugar, and Maa Saab she placed the gulab jamun with a missing bite it down.
''Yeh tou mera bhe favourite hai,'' Murtasim interrupted, eyeing the gulab jamun, and his fiance in a single delectable frame. (That's my favourite too.)
''To kahlo,'' his mother countered. (Then have some.)
''Mujhe kabhi lagta hai ke aap Meerab ko mujse zyada pasand karti hou,'' he challenged, a clear aim in sight - to make her giggle. (Sometime it feels like you prefer Meerab over me.)
''Murtasim, Meerab yateem bacchi hai,'' his mother chided, and Meerab's heart fell at the premise of the affection. That was another hurdle, her heart constricted in anxiety, as the thought of reality catching up with her dawned on her. (Murtasim, she's an orphan.)
Her anxieties were disregarded when Maa Saab continued, ''Aur tumse zyada meri baat maanti hai. Mere diye huye kapde bhi pehnti hai, aur itni pyari lagti hai. Patta hai ke Naurez ke amma bhi tareef kar rahi thi, ke Meerab itni suljhi hui bacchi hai.'' (Meerab listens to me. She wears the clothes that I gift her, and she looks so pretty in them. Even Naurez's mother was complementing what a nice mannerful girl she is.)
Aapke diye hue? He silently questioned himself, disagreeing. They were from him, but he wouldn't dare voice that - Another idea with would remain in the confine of his mouth, formed in his eager mind. (That you gave?)
His gaze locked onto the same half-eaten gulab jamun's rested on a plate, beckoning him with whispered on the heavenly taste it caught from brushing against her lips for a split second.
They were interrupted. ''Maa Saab, mewe aur kapre ke tokriyaan taiyaar hain. Aur kya baantna hai?'' One of their house help asked, and Maa Sahab was whisked away to many of the baskets she arranged to be donated for more blessing, not realising that she had just fed one. (Maa Saab, we have prepared the nut and clothing baskets. What more do we need to distribute?)
When just the two of them remained, a childish happiness saturated the air, charging it with optomism- or maybe that was a result of the sugar that raced within them.
''Main bhi kha leta hun mera favourite gulab jamun.'' Without any watching eyes, Murtasim grabbed that same half eaten gulab jamun, despite never having eaten left overs in his life, and took a bite, savouring every hit of sugar. (I'll eat my favourite gulab jamun too.)
His bite overlapped the remnants of her bite, and she watched, enraptured at the wisp of romance as he purposefully placed it in his mouth. The implication of the act was not lost on her, it was almost like an indirect kiss, she figured. Meerab's world slowed, she heated, her cheeks stained into hue of cerise, like a blooming hibiscus.
Her eyes widened, and Murtasim chuckled in response at making her blush. ''What happened?'' He asked smugly. Only from this closeness did he notice the way that minuscule dimples formed at the corners of her mouth, another thing that he engraved into his memory.
''Tumne yeh...,'' she stuttered, caught off guard by his action, stepping up at antics. (You.. this..)
''Kya,'' he feigned ignorance, the playful glint in his giving away his game. (What?)
''Woh mera gulab jamun tha,'' she clarified, despite not wanting to eat it. (That was my gulab jamun.)
''Mere saath share karna seekhna padeyga,'' he remarked nonchalantly, and Meerab stifled a surprised gasp at how openly he spoke. (You're going to need to learn to share with me.)
Taking a second to compose herself, Meerab copied his stance. ''Share karna kyun seekhun?'' Her eyebrows furrowed and lifted cheekily. (Why should I learn to share?)
''Yaad dilaun tumhein?'' He teased, voice lowering at mention of the proposal. (Shall I remind you?)
''Haan,'' she challenged, her fingers twirling the length of her hair, the bracelet clearly visible for him to see. (Yeah.)
Murtasim slid forward on his ruby chair, just slightly so that she would be within grasp. He looked at her in intense admiration, his fingertips coming to graze the glossy beads - They were insufficient, and he knew that he needed to gift her something more precious, more valuable and special. Not common rocks, she deserved elusive diamonds, an heirloom like the Khaani ring. His mother. He needed to tell his Mother!
He snapped out of his wishful thinking and stood tall, pushing his pearl hued shalwar kameez down to hang neatly, bracing himself.
''Kahan ja rahe ho?'' She asked with a tone of authority, almost not wanting the moment to end, the soft glances which had slowly become less restrained were enjoyable. (Where are you going.)
In return, his hand grasped hers, craving the feeling her soft and nimble fingers in his hand again. ''Maa Saab ko batata hun ke maine meri dulhan chun li hai.'' His forearm rested on the high back of the chair, the bracelet on her wrist yearning to be heard, to be given the respect it deserved. He needed her to be more bonded, to be secure, for her to never be snatched away. (I am going to tell Maa Saab that I have selected my bride.)
The touch of his calloused hands on hers sent sparks of electricity in waves up her arm. She was hyperaware of every brush of his thumb, trailing her finger as if in ardent investigation.
''Abhi?'' She exhaled, trepidation creeping up on her. (Right now?)
''Haan. Mehman ghar chale gye hain, aur Mariyum theek hai. Aur kis cheez ka intezaar hai?'' He asked, a playful twang to his reasoning, everything had magically fit into place, it seemed. (Yes. The guests are gone and Mariyum is better. What else is there to wait for?)
Her head shook, the time had come. ''Okay. Fir jao,'' she commanded, and he realised how well she fit giving the role of giving she ordered as his Khaani. (Okay then go.)
Her hand slid out of his hold, and he turned in search of his mother, his mouth coated in a sugar syrup that fuelled every step, her golden dress swaying his mind, her order echoing like beat to keep his pace to.
His mother was found amongst a huddle of their female staff in the kitchen, and they fell silent at his presence. ''Maa Saab, zaroori baat karni hai,'' he informed, and his mother looked up from the fruit and date baskets. (I have something to say to you.)
''Batao bete,'' she urged, the other women filtering out of the room. (Tell me son.)
''Aise nahi. Baith ke,'' he invited and then he received all of her attention, realising that it was a serious matter in hand. (Not like this. We must sit.)
That was a cue to settle into the living room, one that had a door that shut closed to overhearing ears, unlike the large rooms adjoining the foyer.
This room had plush ivory chairs and a coffee table to the centre- and he often liked using it for business meetings.
''Bolo, aur batao ke zaroori baat kya hai,'' she instructed, awaiting his answer. (Speak and tell me what the matter is.)
He didn't want to be so direct. She was the first girl that had ever felt so deeply for, taken so seriously, so was apprehensive.
No, rather he had promised her a roof to share, and in return, her heart had wordlessly called out to be cared for. More than a house, he had willingly handed himself over, whole. Now his simply followed its beckoning to the rightful owner. It was a pleasant burglary.
''Mai keh raha tha ke aap Meerab ki baat kar rahi thi? Aapk ke dost, Meerab ka poochte hain?'' He tried to prompt, her praises were fresh, comments about her natural fluidity in hosting their guests from Naurez's mother. It was apparent that she was custom to their class, unfazed by their excessive wealth and power - she blended in. (Mai said that you were talking about Meerab.)
She has caught the eye of their guests as an unknown girl that had somehow become the centre of their home. No matter how much she tried to blend in, the efforts were futile when her eyes shimmered so celestially. There was a bewitching charm to the way she carried herself despite being alone, she relied on her intellect and grace to guide her through his realm.
''Meerab pyari bacchi hai,'' she started , recalling the moments that Meerab had spent infront of her, the gratefulness for the clothes, her giggles with filled the hall with sweetness when teasing Noori. ''Tameezdaar hai, zaheen hai, khoobsurat hai,'' she listed, almost as if she too had been weighing up Meerab as a daughter in law in the ledger of her virtues. (She is a nice girl. She is well mannered, smart and pretty.)
''Meerab, ko mere liye soch rahi thi?'' He questioned plainly, his knees wide with elbows resting on them, hands coming together for balance. (Have you thought about her for me?)
His mother was not oblivious to the way his smile had returned since she had become their guest. The way he lingered around her, involving himself in her matters as though it concerned him. was evident. She was not blind to the way they ended up besides each other in a harmony that was organic and gentle.
Meerab's mere presence was enough to spur him on, looking forward to the meetings to end, to catch another fleeting glimpse of her. Or sometimes, if he was lucky, they would steal a few moments together, fall into a rhythm of eating dinner together, or sharing a teapot that became flavoured with the essence of their suppressed desire and unbidden attraction- spiced in notes of cardamom, fennel and mace.
''Mujhey pasand hai,'' she admitted, a controlled smile on her face, her legs crossed one over the other, the rosy beads passed through her fingers as she contemplated if the girl could mould into the frame of his wife. (I like Meerab.)
He waited for her to elaborate, to agree, to stress that she was perfect for him.
But his mood dampened, and his hope came crashing down when she reminded, ''Par woh aik Khan nahi hai, tou kaise tumhari Khaani ban payegi? Murtasim, yehi baat tumhara pehla khayal hona chahiye.'' She advised softly, her approach was more strategic. (But she is not a Khan, so how will she be able to be your Khaani? This should be your priority Murtasim.)
That was one fatal flaw, and the other one being her identity. ''Maa Saab, uska shauk he Law padhna hai. Kanoon, haq, hisaab kitaab ka shauk hai. Tumhare saath rahegi, to seekh jayegi, aur achi Khaani ban sakti hai ,'' he assured in a composed tone, trying for the words not to be perceived for the pleads that they were. (Maa Saab, it's her passion to study law. Legal matter, rights, keeping accounts are all within the realm of her intrests. When she stays with you, she'll learn, and will become a good khaani.)
His strategy was to focus on the positives, not elaborating on her anxiety of being snatched away, about her oppressive father finding her- that she was technically on the run.
The cogs configuring in his mind and the careful thought behind every word was evident. ''Meerab tumhein pasand hai?' She asked, leaving no space to cover. (You like her?)
Pasand was a light word for the feelings that bloomed for her. ''Noori ko pasand hai,'' he said, using his beloved niece as an excuse.(Noori likes her.)
''Beshak, Noori ko bahut pasand hai. Itna gehra pyaar hai ke lagta nahi hai ke sirf chand hafton se humare saath hai.'' She had a softness that melded well with the child, a caring nature which allowed Noori to feel safe- they were all signs of her homely nature. (There is no doubt that Noori likes her. Its such a deep friendship that it does not seem like Meerab has only been in our house for a couple weeks.)
''Haan, jaise humari family ka hissa ban chuki ho,'' Murtasim added, washing the illustration in the colours of her merits. She melded well, her strict upbring somehow gave her brownie points in his home. (Yes. It's as though she has become a part of our family.)
His mother read him easily. Before hand, she had no solid proof, but now the truth was as plain as day. She unmasked him.
''Kitne der tk Noori ke kandhon pe bandookh rakh ke chalaoge Murtasim?'' She questioned rhetorically, putting him under the spotlight. (How long will you rest the rifle of your infatuation on Noori's shoulder?)
He blushed, tongue paused against the roof of his mouth for a second. There was no advantage to denying it or beating around the bush. ''Meerab meri bhi pasand hai,'' he confessed to his mother, his visage coloured in hues of adoration. (I like Meerab.)
But his mother was not without doubt. Meerab was acceptable as a guest, but a daughter in law was an entirely different station that needed a little more convincing for, despite witnessing her righteousness and trustworthiness for the past month, almost.
''Tumhein lagta hai woh khaani ban sakti hai? Panchayat ke faisale kar sakti hai, iss ghar ko sambhal sakti hai, goan ka soch sakti hai?'' (Do you think that she can be your Khaani? Will she be able to make decisions in the panchayat, that she can manage this house, and can think about the people of our village?)
Being a judge was in her blood, so Murtasim was certain. ''Poora yakeen hai Ma. Agar mujhey lagta ke nahi ban sakti Khani, tou dil kabhi uske taraf kheench ke na le jata,'' he said, his words laden in a sincerity, in a new found understanding. She completed him, a perfect union, the jigsaw that tessalated perfectly into each other's lives. (I have complete belief. If I wasn't convinced, then my heart would have never been pulled towards her.)
She listened intently, a wisp of relief settled on her heart from the prospect of her son finally settling. ''Kahan se aaya ye yakeen?'' (Where did this belief come from?)
Every instance that they had spent together whizzed through his mind as evidence of her decision making, bravery in fleeing the oppression of a man that she didn't want, etiquette in living in their home.
She had enough foresight to know that she couldn't take his father's jem stone ring when he proposed, that without Maa Saab knowing of his intention, gossip would rife in their home, undermining Maa Saab rule - she was cautious, and kind.
She held herself with honour, hiding that the necklace has been lost, so she didn't offend anyone by the notion of theft.
Murtasim narrated, ''Maya ne use case ka bataya tha, ke mai Islamabad mein muqaddame ke liye gaya tha. Aur jab usne mujhey poocha, tou maine poora masla bataya.'' A curse had turned into a blessing. ''Itne dhyaan se sun rahi thi, itna samjha rahi thi, madat kar rahi thi jaise uska khud ka case ho.'' (Maya told her about the case, and that I went to Islamabad for the hearing. When Meerab asked me, I explained the issue. She listened so intently, trying to understand, trying to help me, as if it was her own case.)
There was no mention of the worry it cast over her in relation to her father being on the panel of judges.
''Mujhe bhi Meerab pasand hai. Uss havale se koyi khami nahi nazar arahi. Par hum khandaan, nasl, zaat dekh kar hi faisala le sakte hain,'' she explained, trying to guide him to see reason. His marriage wasn't only about him. (I like Meerab and I cannot find any fault in her like that. But we must also look at her family background, bloodline, cast, when making such a decision.)
''Kya matlab ma?'' His splendor would extend to her via the promise of nikkah. Besides, she wasn't without lineage, if anything, she rivaled him in that regard too. (What do you mean?)
''Meerab is ghar mei la-paalak hai, uske khandaan ka nahi pata, to Khaani kaisey ban sakti hai?'' Maa Saab questioned whilst fixing het scarf. The chains of his own lies tightened around him. (Meerab has been adopted into this home. We don't know of who her family is, so how can she be a Khaani?)
Murtasim stood up, his legs needing to straighten at being met with opposition. He came to stand beside the chair, and he almost considered spilling the truth.
The reality about her family hovered on the tip of his tongue, urging him that it was the right time to confess. It probably felt like the sand in the hour glass was finishing.
After all, if Maa Saab wanted to dig into Meerab's past, it wouldn't be too hard for her. ''Humari shaan ke barabar hai uska khandaan. Maa Saab, mera kehna kaafi nahi hai?'' He questioned, weighing up his own authority of Khan. The need to protect her past fought with his conscience's demand of spilling the truth. (Maa Saab, isn't my word enough. She is equal to us.)
If he shared right now, everyone would find out that she was from a well-educated, wealthy family. The real issue was the lie that he had forged on her behalf, the sob story which was initally needed to protect her against the prying gazes of society, now was unfavourable. She would be shown as dishonest.
''Nahi. Pata hona zaroori hota hai.'' She disagreed. ''Hazaar sawaal uthenge ke tumne Khanon mei se ladki kyun nahi chuni. Unke badle mei batana hoga ke uska background kya hai. Kahan ki hai, kis ki hai.'' Each point was listed on her finger. There were 3 unanswerable questions which hindered him like an impenetrable mountain. (No. It is necessary to know. A thousand questions will rise when it is announced that you have chosen to marry a girl that is not a Khan. In response, we will have to defend her by stating her background, and where she is from and who she is.)
Murtasim took a couple steps to create a distance, pulling the net curtain to the side. Far away in the garden, he witnessed Meerab and Noori playing with a bouncy ball, a couple house staff's girls giggling in encouragement at the perimeter of the grassy lawn. She didn't care for her khusse getting muddied, if it meant she could play with the innocent child.
Simply the sight of her was energy, a reminder of his target. The gaddi was his, and the decision of a wife would be his.
He spun to face his mother, eyes with eye as she assured her. ''Mere nikkah mein aa ke aik Khan hi ho jayegi, aur kisiko sawal karne ka koyi haq nahi hoga. Maa Saab, agar aap Khaani ki hesiyat deti hou, tou aapke faisale pe koi sawal nahi kar sakta. Aap ke siva koyi nahi hai ke usse yeh sawal karne ki himmat rakhe,'' he explained, ironing out all the creases of her unknown family. (When she is in my nikkah, no one will be able to question her lineage. Maa Saab, if you give her the respect of a Khaani, then no one will question your decision. No one else, besides you, has the ability to question me.)
''Par uska khandaan,'' she persisted. The pebbley rosary beads in her hand halted. (But her family...)
Murtasim's eyes closed shut for a second as his mother failed to move past this one point. Murtasim composed himself, breathing in some clarity. She was his fiancé, and he knew that she would soon be his wife. ''Main jaanta hou ke who aik ache khandan se hai,'' he insisted almost childishly. (I know that she is from a reputable family.)
''Batao kaun,'' Maa Sahab ordered. The air thickened. (Tell me who.)
Just then, a sharp knocked reverberated through the room, and Naurez peaked in.
''Murtasim, masroof ho?'' Naurez asked, and Murtasim should have caught onto the twang of apprehension in his voice, but he was too engaged in battling his lies to notice. (Murtasim, are you busy?)
''Koyi zaroori baat hai?'' Murtasim asked. (Is it something urgent?)
Naurez nodded whilst stepping inside, readying himself. When he neared, they saw the curled newspaper in his hand, and he dropped it onto the table infront of them.
It slid and landed in view, and on the front page was Meerab's image in black and white, for a missing person's notice. Beneath her image was the writing, 'Meerab Waqas Ahmed.' Besides it was her father's image, along with his name, profession and city. There was a rupee sign for information for finding her.
All of Maa Saab's contention was solved, and now they all knew that she was not an orphan.
Proofread by HereinNowhere2