It felt like all the burdens accumulated from the hospital visit, and that's what made the car feel heavy as he revved over the interminable roads of Hyderabad. The path was practically deserted, only street lights studded his path like a runway that led home. The occasional stray dog squirmed past and he saw couple late-night food stalls that remained open for the occasional snacker.
At home, the guard opened the gate for him but the house's lights were off, and a hushed lull of slumber enshrouded the house. There were no smiles to welcome him, and even the musk of the teeming flowers failed to lift his despondent mood. Murtasim returned to his room. His muscles which ached from sitting in cramped hospital chairs, sought the comfort of his own bed.
Laying flat on his back, Murtasim stared at the blank canvas of his ceiling, with only the steady ticks of the watch's second hand to keep him company. In annoyance, he slid off his metallic watch, shoving it in the drawer and pushing it closed- another thing that lured sleep away from him.
He twisted, and on an deep exhale, he let go of the tension knotted into his shoulders and sank into the bed. It felt like feathers caressing him. No, it was like cotton candy when he slipped into a dream that enticed him- a land far away from a law suit that threatened to drag him into the dark, into shredding his family apart.
The entire night passed restfully with the assumption that his Meerab was safely at home, under his room, cocooned in the blanket of threads that sprouted on his ancestral lands.
Which is why he searched for her in the morning. First in the living room, past the foyer, at the kitchen island. All found bereft of the girl that he had began to associate with home and in her absence, it felt hollow. She had become a habit, a habour to dock his heart at. 'Feena, Meerab kahan hai?,' he asked, flicking the newspaper's page over. (Feena, where's Meerab?)
The dining table had been set, yet he was seated alone and the teapot patiently stood full. A row of chairs sat bare at either side of him. Anyone of them for Meerab to take, but he hoped he would invite her into the seat of his Khaani, soon enough.
'Saab, abhi kamre se bahir nahi aaye,' she informed head modestly lowered. 'Main ja kar bula ke lau?,' she offered eagerly, hands folded. (She has not left her room today. Shall I go call her?)
It was late. Murtasim had woken up late because he slept late, truly rinsed from the previous day. Meerab had no such apparent reasoning. Although odd, he let it past. 'Nahi, souney do,' he ordered, figuring that he would have breakfast alone. (No, let her sleep.)
'Par Meerab kehti hai ke jaldi uthne ke aadat hai. Shayad kamre mei masroof hoegi,' Feena suggested, trying to justify her lack of doting. In fact, everyone still felt compelled to care for her. It was as if they knew the stature of a special guest in the Khan house. (But Meerab has a habit of waking up early. She might be busy doing something else.)
Meerab being busy and alone at this early hour was strange, he figured . 'Par nastha nahi kiya?,' he enquired in an assertive tone, questioning whether she had been fed, adequately accommodated to like she deserved. (So she hasent had breakfast?)
Despite his words not being an accusation, Feena felt the need to defend herself. 'Nahi Saab. Humne banaya tha, pr abhi aaye nahi,' she muttered whilst pushing her shawl over her shoulder. (No. We have prepared it, but she hasent come downstairs to eat yet.)
He slid his black kameez's sleeves up, readying for food, and he skim-read the newspaper that had been waiting for him. 'Theek hai, tum ja sakti ho,' he ordered casually. But a corner of his mind continued to fret, pondering is she had been hit with a spell of sickness. Or maybe she opted to behave in a more reserved manner without him and Maa Saab present. (That's fine. You can go.)
Feena remained an extra couple seconds. 'Saab, mei chai daal dou?,' she asked curtly, approaching the table in a calculated manner. (Saab, shall I pour the tea for you.)
He folded his oversized newspaper, finding no missing person alerts on the issue. 'Daal do,' he instructed. (Pour it.)
On taking a sip, it was inspid without her company. His mind flittered to the tea that Meerab had poured in the shaky train- it was utterly delectable in her company. The company was the missing part of his breakfast.
He nodded to dismiss Feena, and that was her cue to pivot back to the kitchen. When there were no spying eyes, he walked around the table, and up the stairs towards her room. Surely, Murtasim was well acquainted enough to fetch her himself. Maybe be deserved a stolen moment after the stresses of day, just her presence was balm-like.
En-route, he found some other staff dusting and wiping, ensuring everything was kept immaculately clean. But the corridor that lead to her room was empty. Each step went unwitnessed as he trod on to an almost midday tryst.
Her door was ordinary, expect that it led to one of the places which she resided. The other place was in the centre of his beating heart. It secretly whispered her name in a euphony of beats, louder as she got closer, or was it joy at her imminent presence that caused the tempo to pick up?
But stood at her door, there were no rumbly snores to signify her presence like on her first sleep here. It was eerily quiet.
He gulped, his fingers millimetres from the teakwood door, noticing the swirls and flowers carved like a boarder. It was just a single door that divided them, and he was almost hesitant, not wanting to offend her for invading her space.
With a silent bismillah, he knocked on the door with the light tap of his folded knuckles, as if her space was sacred- sound sensitive. Besides, he didn't want to wake her if she way having a lay-in.
But on waiting, there was no reply. Not even the shuffle of fabric, the scuffle of shoes on rug, or even a groan at the noise pollution.
'Meerab,' he called with a possessive streak, knocking louder, realising there was no murmurs of running water for a shower, no sign of life.
Going against his conscience, he felt compelled to push the handle and he allowed a couple second to be attended to, but no one came. 'Meerab. Andhar ho?,' he asked into the stale air before peeking inward- it was silent. The bed was made, the curtains open. (Meerab, are you inside?)
His mind stressed, turning the corner and finding the room untouched and pristine. The bathroom door was unlatched and it was empty. Her bag hung up, her embroidered dusky shawl neatly folded on the dresser- she should have been home. There were no shoes at her bedside.
'Meerab,' he called out into the thin air, turning back out to the corridoor. Maybe Feena had just missed her, he reasoned, or failed to notice Meerab waking. But that still failed to explain the lack of breakfast.
Maybe he just missed her past the dining table. Murtasim took hurried strides to the kitchen, fuelled in confusion. His worry rising when he saw 2 other women next to Feena, neither of them her. 'Meerab kahan hai,' he asked in a voice that was equal parts apprehension and stress. ('Where is Meerab?)
They had never been approached by Murtaism with such fervour before, they blushed. 'Humne Meerab bibi ko nahi dekha Saab,' they sang out in unison, not appreciating the seriousness of his concern. (We have not seen Meerab.)
'Aaj nahi dekha?' he repeated flatly with furrowed eyebrows, his words deepened with a desperate need to find her. (Have you seen her today?)
His mind was incredulous that she could leave- her eye's had glinted prettily at the proposal. He could practically see the 'yes' from the delight in the curve of her smile.
Snapping him out of the reverie, one of them spoke out and told, 'kal raat se nahi dekha. Main salaam deke ghar gyi thi kal shaam.' His face contorted, unsettled by the idea that she had been missing since last night. (I havent seen her since last night. I bid her farewell before going home last night.)
'Kya matlab? Kal shaam se nahi dekha? Uska kamra khali hai, tou hai kahan?,' he snapped looking at them as if they held the answer- but they remained silent. (What do you mean. No one has seen her since last night? Her room is empty, so where is she?)
With a sense of urgency, he marched the to intercom, asking, 'Meerab baahar gyi hai?' His tone was raw and unforgiving, beginning to seep in frustration as the time spent apart from her lengthened. (Has Meerab gone out of the gate?)
The staff didn't need an answer. The way his face fell was tell tale sign enough, and he turned to search for her, spurred by the hope she hadn't snook out under the cover of the night sky.
She couldn't have been taken, surely, his mind cried. His steps sped up. Through each hallway of the Khan residence, her name carried far, bouncing off every wall, unbridled in volume.
That forced Mai to walk out, and toward him.
On seeing her, he immediatley asked, 'Meerab kahan hai?' His hand opened in question, eyeing her suspiciously. (Where is Meerab?)
It was morning, but he looked almost unslept in worry. The question had a unrefined, grating quality about it. Mai would have scolded him for the improper tone of his words, if they didn't strike a cord of panic in her. 'Kya matlab Murtasim? Yahan kahi hogi,' she asked, perplexed at his panic. (What do you mean Murtasim? She'll be here somewhere.)
'Nahi hai, poora ghar dekh liya hai, kahi bhi nahi hai,' he explained whilst nearing. He heaved, adrenaline coarsed his veins, processing everything at once. The array of picture frames of the hallway blurred, and all of his focus was on the older woman before him. (She's not here. I've searched the full house, and she's nowhere to he found.)
'Kahan ja sakti hai, gate band rehta hai,' Mai assured kindly. She had been doing chores, and Meerab had become comfortable enough that she didnt ask for permission before moving around the home. (Where can you go, the gate remains closed.)
It was almost an accusation, a crack in his demeanor which had just began to be visible when he recalled, 'Main raat late ghar aaya tha. Mei tumhein uski zimmedari saunp ke gaya tha.' He looked down at Mai in investigation, and she saw the sickness of love which spawned in his desperation. (I came home last night. I left her under your supervision.)
'Aur ghar me he hogi,' she confirmed, taking a more practical deduction. (She'll be somewhere inside the house.)
One word blared in his mind. 'Kahan?' he questioned in an panicked octave louder, and Mai placed her hand on his forearm to ground him. (Where?)
Her eyebrows furrowed at his state. 'Stress kyun le rahe ho?' After all, Meerab had claimed them as her family. (Why are you stressing?)
Unfortunatley, Mai's soothing words failed to settle his racing mind, clouding it was with bitter possibility. 'Agar woh chali gyi tou mai kya karounga,' he trailed at the realisation, not even wanting to utter such a horrid reality into the pure air of his home. (What will I do if she's gone?)
Mai was still, only now realising that his crush wasn't mere infatuation.
No, his heart had irrevocably tethered to the girl. The need for her to stay had grown to suppress his needs of proprietary, reduced to storming the house whilst calling her name with force. 'Yeh pareshani ki kya wajah hai?,' Mai whispered between them, searching his dilated pupils for the truth. (What's the reason for your panic?)
In a odd way, his face was almost lovelorn, the idea of separation was un-swallowable. He was a mere shadow of their usual Murtasim.
His mind raced, every possibilities being deciphered.
He reasoned, what if the neatly arranged room meant that she bad been taken, rather than wandering out. What if the quiet, almost abandoned house last night was the scene of an abduction. 'Waqas na usse le gaya ho...' Murtasim thought out loud, the word uttered without realisation of the listener. (Waqas could have taken her...')
Mai's ears pirequed up at the unrecognised name. Her head titled to focus on him, to spot the secrets laced within his candid words. 'Waqas kaun hai? Uske ghar wala?' (Who's waqas. Some one from her home?)
It felt the air palpably thickened at the slip, they were a step closer to Meerab's reality coming to light.
Murtasim's gaze snapped towards her like he was caught out, the veil over his lies was thinning. 'Haan,' he said in quick exhale, rectifying the slip up. (Yes.)
'Khud to keh rahe the ke ghar se nikali gyi thi. To vo log ab kyun dhundenge?,' Mai probed suspiciously. (You said they threw her out. So why would her family search for her now?)
'Ye sb mujhe nhi pta,' he blurted, unable lie fast enough. His words burgeoned on delirious. (I don't know why.)
'Murtasim, tum bina mtlb fiqar kr rhe ho,' Mai said. She was searching for the reason of the frustration which seeped into his unusually dull features, forcing a crease to form between his eyebrows.
'Aise hi fiqar nhi kr rha hum main Mai.' How could he explain that the girl was on the run. A powerful father searched for her. The same man that had the ability to control the future of his lands. (I am not worrying needlessly.)
But Mai was blind to his inner working, of the struggles harboured inside him. 'To phir kya h is fiqar ki wajah, khin pyaar to nhi?' Mai quizzed quietly between them. She looked at the man he looked else where, unable to maintain eyecontact. (Then what is the source of this worry. Are you sure it isnt love?)
Was he that obvious? He squinted as if the suggestion was fanciful, as if now was not the time for soul searching or confessions. 'Mainey Meerab ko dhoondna hai. Meri chath itni barri nahi ke woh na mille,' he mumbled whilst ignoring her question, pushing forwards. (I need to find her. My house is not so large that I can't find her on searching.)
'Yahan he hogi, woh bhe itni der door nahi reh sakti,' Mai confessed in the background, realising that he was too worried for teases. (She'll be somewhere here. She can't stay away for long either.)
He acquiesced without further protest.
It didnt make sense. She wouldn't leave, he told himself. There was no trace of her being taken. He could almost feel her presence, she was a not so far that he fell into hopelessness. If he stilled, her presence was almost tangible.
Murtasim needed a second of solitude to figure out his options, to plan, so continue his search.
Pushing his office door open, he paced across the dense rug for a moment. It fought back with the slightest bit of friction which added to the weight of the world conspiring against him.
He groaned as if the distance was painful- the room was still held her presence. The plush chair infront is where he had kneeled as he proposed.
Meerab's hands had clasped the arms of the chair in front. She had imprinted herself - her perfume still lingered.
Her fingertips had skimmed the papers of his legal case, eagerly reading like she understood the jargon- the action was like way she had traced baba's bookshelf.
The library.
The library hadn't been searched. All of time stopped in a realisation that there was a corner of his house where she could be.
Turning, it felt like his feet walked themselves the couple steps down the corridor. His legs were possessed by the unrepressable desire to see, to know she was soundly under his roof.
He was rapid. The room had never been entered which such urgency, with deep hope.
On further pushing the heavy door open, the room was unveiled and he found his Meerab slouched on the reading chair.
It felt like his lungs stopped burning, his heart encased in a gentle soothing hug just by the sight of her. He almost got to his knees as a tempest of worry subsided.
There was a book slumped over her chest, still open like it had fallen mid reading. Her hair spilled over her face, curtaining her cheeks. The lamp at her side still flicked on.
'Meerab.' Her name spilled from his lips, overflowing on their own accord. The breathy whisper, or perhaps his presence, was enough to pull her eyelid open, her eyelashes slowly lifting.
Meerab blinked, blurs focusing into distinct colours- the hue of bronze, her mind comparing it to the shade of Murtasim's flesh. When the haze cleared, there was infact a defined Murtasim stood before her.
Ragged breaths left him, and he uttered a relief drenched, 'Meerab.' His shoulder slouched in defeat, tired from the worry of her absence.
Meerab oriented herself, quickly sitting up, and pushing the book aside. Her eyes were dilated from the light, her hair still wayward. A slightly raspy morning voice emerged, asking, 'Murtasim, yahan kyun khade hou?' She had no clue of the steps he had paced in her hunt. Maa Saab's description of sherr beta had never been so apt. (Murtasim, why are you standing there.)
Hunt was too virile of a word to describe his desires. He wanted to cloak her, usher her into the cosy space between his arm and ribcage.
She was safe, out of Waqas's grasp. The voice that replied was thankful. He narrated, 'Poora ghar phir liya hai tumhein dhoondne mei, aur tum yahan mili ho, library mei.' He also uttered a couple silent thanks, his heart beat slowing into a normal rhythm. (I've been seat searching the entire house for you, and I found you here in the library.)
'Dhoondhne mei?' Her eyebrows knitted inconfusion at the verb. 'Mei ghum thodi hun?,' she corrected, bewildered at the obvious concern. Her feet sank off the ottomon, and she sat sat tall and poised. (Why were you finding me? I'm not lost.)
'Ghum nahi, chupi hui ho,' he scoffed weakly, realising that he had stressed his mind for nothing. His hands pushed his hair back in relief despite it already being perfectly jelled. (Not lost, you were hiding.)
'Nahi, yahan behtna mana hai?' she chaffed whilst sorting out her mauve dress. (No. I forbidden from sitting here? )
'Mujhe laga tha ke tum chali gyi ho,' he confessed, coming to sit at the footstool infront of her. His legs had given out.
Her fist came beneath her chin, her dainty chin resting lazily. 'Tumne Shuja ke saamne mujhe taana diya tha. Issi liye abb stress hui hai ke shayad sach mei ghayab na houge hou,' she countered cheekily, watching him ease in response. (You teased me infront of Shuja. That's why you became so easily stressed that I might really become a missing person.)
'Par ghayab nahi ho,' he confirmed to himself, the trepidation disspating. She was fine. Close. Safe. Near. Within sight. (But you're not missing.)
'Waisay bhe, main kyun jaungi?' she asked with an edge of genuine confusion as to how to come to such a conclusion. 'Mujhe yeh book padhte padhte neend aagyi thi,' she shared, head tilting to the small table at her side which housed the hefty book, coupled with a half eaten packet of biscuits. Next to them was a empty glass of water- she had quite the party last night. (Why would I leave this place. I just fell asleep whilst reading.)
'Raat bhar se sofe pe rahi hou?,' he realised, and almost sounded sad at the notion of her being uncomfortable. (You spent the entire night on that chair?)
Only whilst sitting this close, was she able to that he watched her with an intensity which spoke to the growing affection in his heart- now, the idea of her absence was swiftly washed away and replaced with calm. 'Haan,' she replied, remembering the way he has slept on the chair in her bedroom as her dreamcatcher. 'But this is a comfortable sofa,' she reassured in a glad tone.
The lamp basked her in a sunflower-yellow hue, her hair was unbrushed, the stories of the previous night played fresh in her mind. On her bedside was a navy clothbound 1001 Arabian nights, which had filled her mind with magical genies, crystal palaces and other worldly treasures. 'Kitaabon ke beech,' he remarked to himself in a low mutter, almost like a question. (Amongst books?)
'Main akeli thi. Mai thak ke sogyi thi aur doosre saare ghar chale gye the. Aur mujhe neend nahi aa rahi thi, to socha kitaab padh lun,' she narrated, drowsiness resting on her waterline. It seemed she had enjoyed herself deep, deep into the night. Hours had ticked in a wonderland of words that conjured imagery that was sweeter than real life- the reason for her lay-in. (I was alone. Mai went to sleep as she was tired, and the rest went home. I couldn't sleep, so I thought I should read a book.)
He was clearly imploring when he asked in a hushed tone, 'Dar lag rha tha?' He whispered the questkon as though the books listened upon them, threatening to etch their fable into their collection of tender love stories. (Where you scared?)
'Nahi, tumhare kitaab thi mere saath,' she assured, her hand walking out on top of his. His proposal had kept her company, the words replaying in her mind. Mere nikkah mei rehlou. There was a casualness to it, like it effortless for him to provide shade over her head. Like he wanted it too. As though it would be as much of a favour upon him, as it was for her. (No. I had your books with me for company.)
Murtasim let out a strangled exhale that he didn't realise he was holding, his lungs finding relief from her careful caress. It carried a silent promise of unity. She was still balmy from slumber.
She noticed that he carried an pessimistic aura. 'Tum tension kyun le rahe ho? Mainey kal he tumhein bataya tha ke mai yahan se nahi jaana chahti,' she reminded, filling him with a refreshing coolness. (Why did you stress. Why would you even think that I would leave. I told you yesterday that I don't want to leave.)
'Main bhi nahi chahta ke tum jao,' he confessed in a shake of the head. (I don't want you to go either.)
An unstoppable smile tugged on Meerab's face. Such an affirmation was a comforting melody, and she could easily adjust into seeing him first thing in the morning. 'Fir sorted hai,' she replied in a cheeky lilt. (That's sorted then.)
'Kya?' He asked in moment of confusion, not following. (What?)
'Main yahan rahungi, tumhare nikkah mei,' she announced slightly louder, eyed brimming giddily with acceptance. Her cheeks rose, failing to put up a facade of shyness. (I'll stay here, in your nikkah.)
It felt like the air dissapeared from his lungs, like the moment was a glitch in the fabric of time- too beautiful. 'Sach?,' he spluttered whilst scanning her face. (Really?)
Meerab nodded slowly as if to confirm the words that had escaped her lips- there was no hesitation. It seemed like the night had been spent in deliberation over the proposal too.
In response, Murtasim's hand found her supple hands again, resting in her lap. 'Sorted hai,' he repeated. It felt right, it felt natural. It felt like the twinkling stars had aligned for them. (That's sorted.)
He wondered if fate had tested him, luring him into a bleak setting, invoking momentary panic, only to submerge him in a joyous reality.
Murtasim pulled his silver ring off his finger, it was the one his baba had once gifted. The rust coloured stone was embedded into a thick silver band. It was the ring that he had allowed her to investigate on the train, and it had fallen onto the floor. In handing it back, their hands had brushed for a fraction of a second, but she felt in tingling now in recollection.
That ring was all that he had on him as a token - unable to go ring shopping, instead stressed over Mariyum and the baby, and busied in his duties and the panchayat visit.
She felt the weight of the ring in her palm and legacy it carried. It radiated warmth from Murtasim after spending so long on his hand. 'Main yeh angoothi nahi le sakti,' Meerab informed in an slightly sad lilt. It felt like his heart plummeted, the clouds darkens a shade. (I can't have this ring.)
'Kyun. Nishani hai,' he explained simply. It was their first point of contention as an engaged couple. (Why? It's a gesture of our engagement.)
'Bahut khubsurat hai, aur iski ehmiyat ka ehsaas hai, ke tumhare baba ne tumein de the. Par agar yeh pehnoungi, to sb dekhenge ke mainay tumhari anghooti pehni hui hai.' No one knew of the knot tied between their heart strings, and the house had many investigative eyes to whisper unfound rumors. (It's very beautiful, and I appreciate the importance of your ring, that your baba gave it to you.)
He listened attentively as her lips moved, as she justified the rejection of his prized possession.
'Tumne Maa Saab ko btaya?,' she asked despite desperately wanting to accept the ring. The mention of his mother bought him back to reality. (But if I wear something that's yours, everyone will realise. Have you told Maa Saab?)
Murtasim's head shook in a no- the timing wasn't right. 'Nahi, batane ke fursat nahi mili.' (I havent had the opportunity.)
'Tou abhi tum rakhlo mere liye,' meerab offered back with a rueful smile and he begrudgingly accepted. (So you keep this ring for the time being.)
After a fresh pot of tea was served at the table. they ate their breakfast in peace with no questions raised. One thing was settled for certain, that Meerab was under his roof to stay.
Murtasim continued to explain the details his hospital visit, about Mariyum's state and the Maa Saab's mental exhaustion. Maa Saab had soon phoned to inform that Mariyum was seeming better, and to remind them to bring revitalising foods for her.
With great detail, Murtasim described the new baby's minuscule size, his 10 tiny fingers and toes, his blue knitted hat to keep his head warm, and his barely-there screams for milk.
Meerab listened in awe, at the excitement that laced his words, obviously a family man. 'Noori ke baghair ghar kitna chup sa hogya h,' she pointed out. (The house is so quiet without Noori.)
'Noori tumhein bhi yaad karti hogi' he added whilst talking a sip of the tea. and it indeed tasted better and vibrant in her company. (I think Noori is remembering you too.)
'Usku daadi ke ghar aur bacche nahi hai?,' Meerab enquired for light conversation whilst picking her breakfast from the selection infront. She welcomed a future of many more breakfasts whilst sat besides him. (Does Noori's paternal house have children?)
'Nahi. Naurez ke bhai ke koyi aulaad nahi hai,' he informed. 'Par Noori ki uske tayi taya se bhi achi dosti hai.' (No, Naurez's brother doesn't have children. But Noori has a good friendship with her uncle and auntie too.)
'Dono gharon ki maalik hai vo, matlab?,' Meerab remarked in a light giggle whilst buttering some toast. (She's the boss of both houses?)
'Haan,' he chuckled in realisation, the owner of two mansions that she made dance on her chubby fingertips. 'She does like most people. Sab ke saath friendly hai, bas Maya se dosti nahi banti hai,' he commented, and her mind flitted to the dinner date. (Noori likes most people. She's friendly with most people, just not Maya.)
'Issi liye... ,' Meerab trailed at the memory forming in her mind, the words reverberated in her head, as if passing through her ears. In retrospect, that specific question that Noori asked, now appeared like a clue. (Is that why?)
'Kya Meerab?' He asked softly. Even her name sounded different, settled. (Why what?)
'Noori ki mami' keh rahi thi? Tumne pehle se plan kiya tha?' (Why Noori was saying 'Noori's aunty? Did you plan this?)
'Nahi. Plan nahi tha. Khuda pe bharosa tha. Aur aisay hi hua, ke usse hi shaadi karounga jo Noori ko pasand hai,' he relayed proudly after gulping the tea. (No, I didn't plan it. I trusted in god. And it played out like how i said, that i'll marry the girl that Noori likes.)
The words 'sirf Noori?' rested on her tongue, barely containing itself. What was the extent of his pasand, she wondered?
When the tea was finished, they took it as an opportunity to visit the dargah, to make a prayer and distribute alms, to fund the langar distributed to the locals.
Mai took care in saying her salaam's to the other women she knew, like she was a local. They sharply scanned Meerab too as she was alongside. Meerab conveniently pulled the chador up her nose, wishing no one probed into her identity, into her relationship.
'Yeh kaun hai tumhare saath? Naye kaam karne wale?,' they whispered, but Meerab tugged her arm as if Murtasim was calling them. (Who is the girl with you? Is she their new domestic help?)
When Murtasim neared, he saw her deep doe eyes calling for him as they peered over the edge of her crisp ivory chador. He stood before her with a sense of purpose. Their locked gaze held an equal mix reassurance, gratitude and a pledge of togetherness
The aroma of burnt incense sticks wafted around them, amalgamated with the perfume of the scattered rose petals on cool marble. It invoked remembrance of that fateful night, and it felt like the saint's words held some semblance of truth.
Coming to stand at the lattice wall again, Meerab tired a single meagre thread which held two heavy requests. Firstly, for Mariyum's health to recover speedily so she could be reuinted with her Noori for good. The other was for guidance on her journey as an engaged woman that no one knew about, her journey concealed, still on the run.
Just as the three exited the dargah, they found a low stall on the road side with a trove of pebbles. Well it seemed like that that to the untrained eye, but Murtasim approached as if he was being beckoned.
Following him, Meerab's gaze swooped over the open array of gems- just like the one in the ring he offered for her. She had declined him once, but not again.
'Train mei tumne kaha tha that you don't believe in gem stones,' she reminded. (In the train, you said that you don't rely on gemstone.)
He remembered the glint of curiosity in her eye, the way the ring had caught her undivided attention- it all seemed divine in retrospect. 'Allah ke har bani hui cheez khoobsurat hai. Nahi?,' he questioned philosophically, but relating specifically to her. He wanted to gift her something, more subtle than his baba's chunky ring that everyone recognised. (All of god's creation is beautiful, isn't it.)
'Haan,' she agreed, her fingertips tracing the sea of stones, endlessly beautiful. There were many trays full of of pebble greys, sage coloured jade, muted lilac streaked beads, icy blues flecked in humble pearly imperfections. (It is.)
'Aur tumhein kaunsi pasand hai?' Murtasim asked, urging her mind to wander and dream in the daytime too. It would be sort of a token of their union as she had accepted his marriage proposal. (Which gem do you like?)
Instinctively, her hand reached out to a rosy quartz, pretty, a shade of light peony. The crystals were slightly transparent, vitreous in luster- she was drawn to it with a natural inclination.
The seller noticed her intrigue and played his part. 'Yeh wala dil ke liya acha hai, pyar ke liye, sukoon deta hai, insaan ko balance deta hai,' the shop keeper explained and Meerab nodded in appreciation. They were perfect, and Murtasim likened it the the feminine mauve dress she wore whilst he proposed. (These beads are beneficial for the heart. They provide peace, gives balance in life.)
The seller made a bracelet from 2 dozen perfectly spherical quartz beads and threaded them onto an elasticated string for her. In exchange, Murtasim handed over some cash.
Then Murtasim casually dropped the 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.
Proofread by HereinNowhere2