Blotting her lips in the compact mirror, Meerab was satisfied that it successfully camouflaged the irritated pink of her lips into something that looked deliberate. It was placed down onto the dressing table before slipping into her kameez, the colour of blooming cherry blossom. Makeup was applied to perfectly accent her siren eyes, to lengthen her curled eyelashes till they almost touched her brow bone. A couple hair clips where slid into her hair, trying to fashion a hairstyle that rivaled what Mayi had previously helped with, allowing a few wispy tendrils to frame her face, in a border that was delicate and billowing with every step out of the property.
Days had been spent basking in each other's company, navigating their landmarks of pleasure and conversing over the mundane and exciting; every page of her law school application had been filled out. Murtasim had quizzed her ambitions, her motivating fuel and history, jotting everything that put her in a good light. Not that there was any hesitancy over her ability to secure her admission, but Murtasim relished the learning opportunity realising that she used to hide out in her father's office and skim books, not absorbing a word, only gaining reverence for the grandeur of such humble words etched into paper.
After that, she watched her father engage with other judges, catching glimpses of the cases he would come across that were conversed with wife, Anila. She watched to chisel herself into the same position of power, of thoughtfulness in mediation and insightful decision making.
When she grew up, reality struck on realising that true justice was unattainable as money was insufficient compensation for life, for destruction of resources and time wasted. It was an arbitrary measure of things that could not truly be weighed up into money. Some how, it urged her on to find justice in feasible means, to be kinder and earn her space; like what she did in Khan household.
Of course Murtasim had never taken a dime from her wage of teaching. Each cheque from teaching had been saved, only sparingly cashed out for necessities such as fresh shoes and book, and even that was frivolous with the late Shahnawaz's library that already housed her favorites. In fact, with the wedding passing, it felt like the climax of her struggle has also been passed, along with the crescendo of music.
Now they were breezing, the same way her flowy gharara jostled on every step. She stood at the front door now, huffing with out her husband in sight.
She ventured out past the driveway, hand caressing the array of spring foliage in waiting for his late entry. It was as though her tutting is what incited the guards to open the door; rolling open for his car to enter and Meerab immediately spun as a show of her displeasure.
It took mental effort to console herself, chiding that he had disregarded timekeeping and kept her waiting, strolling amongst the helium balloons and petals that had begun to wither.
''Meerab, aajao,'' he called from the driver seat with the window rolled down, not even getting out to greet her. He has become unchivalrous in such a short period of time. (Come.)
The soles of her khusse remained glued onto the steps, fashionably lingering beneath the archway trellis of jasmine.
''Meerab.'' The octave rose.
She didn't budge. He could have atleast given a warning rather than leaving her along in the honeymoon house that had been left purposefully empty; and had been well utilised accordingly. But now it was lonely.
Like a wall, he approached behind her, gently securing his hand onto her wrist to get her to turn. When she did, a breath caught in his throat, her beauty was a sight to behold, gently bewitching yet cross.
''Kya hua Meero?'' He asked so endearingly at the show of her being naraaz. (What happened the?)
''The petals are drying. The floor needs to be cleaned,'' she explained as if it were a pressing issue, like he needed to instruct someone to clean the mess of their honeymoon decorations.
''Isliye mere bulane pe nahi aayi?'' (Is that why you ignored my call?)
''Main taiyaar ho ke baithi hun tumhare intezar mei. Aap late ho,'' she explained, realising too late that she had partially let him off the hook. (I have gotten ready and sat around waiting for you. You are late.)
He winced at his own sin and then realised, ''Aap?'' (You?)
''...late ho,'' she stressed haughtily. ''Ghari kaam nahi kar rahi? Keh dete ke hum baad mein chale jayenge?'' (... are late. Was your watch not waiting. Could you not schedule it better?)
''Panchayat mein waqt jaane ka pata bhi nahi laga.'' (I got busy at panchayat and didn't realise the time passing.)
She shrugged her shoulders back. ''Panchayat mujhse zyada ehm hai? Do ghante ho gye hain Murtasim,'' she scowled adorably. (Is panchayat more important than me. It's been two hours Murtasim.)
''I'm sorry jaaneman,'' he muttered against pinned up hair, the loose pieces holding him captive, tracing his face like a delicate feather. ''You know I've never been good with planning,'' he whined, his hand reaching back for a flower. He tugged sharply and then hovered the bud besides Meerab's face; cool petals pecking her cheek, the tickle forcing her to giggle.
''Murtasim, tum aise --,'' (Murtasim, you can't —)
''Behtar,'' he slyly hummed and Meerab quickly retrieved it to obstruct further assault that made her succumb to melting easily. (Better.)
''Main naraaz hun,'' she reminded, but the soft warm aura she emanated made the act weak. (I am upset with you.)
''Kya karun naraazgi khatam karne ke liye?'' (What shall I do to attain your forgiveness?)
''Meri baat maano,'' she declared boldly, her nose lifted a little, fully utilising her role as his Khaani so that she exuded control— over him at atleast. (Listen to me.)
''Yahan to pehle se hi sirf Meerab ki marzi chalti hai,'' he shot back in a quip that was as smooth as a polished pearl, pleased with himself. (Everything already runs according to your direction.)
She bit her lip to force the smile to halt, darkening a shade from the edge of her teeth, under his already watchful gaze. ''Gaari chalao,'' she commanded in a heartbeat. (Start the car.)
''As you wish,'' he obliged, coming around to open her car door until she slipped in. The second was taken to lean in and press his lips into her, in a manner that was equal parts endearing and demanding, assuring that he was only so malleable for her.
Then he circled the vehicle and they left, revving over soft country road.
--------------------------------------------
Through out the car ride, the flower remained firmly planted in her hand, her thumb tracing the the nobly stem and imprinting it to memory.
Then, they held hands whilst walking through his lands, in what began as a hike but transformed into a tour. They approached a residential area.
The kids pushed more flowers into her hair, forming a sort of humble tiara.
Murtasim picked up paper kites from a quaint shop and handed them out to the village children that played on an open fields, for what had been left as a playground. Meerab chose a vibrant turqoise diamond kite and the rest of the children ran to retrieve more, attaching the thread from the spun coil. Murtasim helped get them up into the air, tugging so that it flew higher, rivalling the magnificent open winged birds. The children copied his lead, even more fluent in the game until the sky was decorated in colourful paper diamonds.
A young teen, with kindly glinting eyes, approached Meerab, that was standing giggling at the sight of her husband. ''Khaani, madat chahiye?'' He offered to retrieve the string, and Meerab held the roll of string, keeping a safe distance as the breeze caused it to ride high, encircling Murtasims. (Khaani, do you want help?)
''Hum Murtasim ki line na kaat len?'' Meerab asked mischievously, daring the boy to dream to rival their Khan for her sake. (Shouldn't we cut Murtasim's string?)
Extending from Murtasim's hand was a buttercup sort of yellow-kite, wildly tumbling in the sky, with a crowd of children at his knees egging him on. The main road was a couple yards off, with only the occasional car driving past. It was serene except for the tumult of cheers.
''Aap patang lelen,'' the boy urged, having done his part. (You can take the kite.)
Murtasim almost stumbled backs on seeing the neighbour on the sky, teasing his kite. He scanned down the string to see his wife beaming after having switched places so it almost seemed like she had spun a kite before. ''Mine is higher,'' Meerab argued, a mischievous undertone as if she had acquired a small victory after wasting two hours in his wait.
''Mera muqabla kar rahi ho?'' His string twisted around hers, yellow waltzing around the turquoise against the cloudless background. There other low flying kites too in their own chase. (Are you competing with me?)
''Nahi, jeet rahi hun Murtasim,'' she protested, swayeding with the winds, forced to knock her elbow with his. (No, i'm winning over you.)
''Jeet rahi ho?'' He playfully mocked, watching as she failed to hold her position, pushed around by the harsh wind until the string dug into her hands, loosening her grip. (You're winning, are you?)
From the corner of her eye, she saw the way his hand fluently flex in a bid to saw away at her string, threatening to cut her free. He gestured the same with his hand, coaxing Meerab into subtly tugging, eliciting a round of chanting as they chose sides.
With the past noon sun smiling down at them, Meerab's sight darted to her husband and was further fuelled on by the competitive streak, moving her hands and pushing onto him in an effort cut his kite. On every graze, they felt other-worldly sparks.
Despite being guided by her friend and discression of her being a novice, her husband's efforts were unrelenting in determination, as playful as he was with Noori. The demeanor strongly opposed the man that had come home late from panchayat duties and woo-ed his wife with a flower; that had now been tucked into her hair.
With a final sharp pull, her turquoise kite was untethered, detached from her string and pulled away as if by an invisible tornado.
Meerab squealed in apparent defeat, letting go of the string and turning to him. ''Tumne meri baat nahi maani,'' she reminded, squinting at him as if agitated from both: being made to wait around on him and now not playing nice. (You didnt listen to me.)
In a bout of panic, he asked, ''When did you say that?''
The children continued having fun, swarming around them as he squirmed to appease his wife, newly discovering that she was so demanding.
''Maine jeetna tha. It was my first time,'' Meerab huffed. (I wanted to win.)
It was too late to retrieve her kite.
Without reason, fore the sole reason of appeasing her, Murtasim pulled the string between his molars and sharply snagged so that the fibers snapped, unfurling. He let go. ''You win. Khush?'' He asked as the kite was sucked away by the beeze so they were both empty. (Happy?)
Her lips parted to argue over the act, but she couldn't complain. At least now he wasn't a winner either. ''Good,'' she decided, caging her arms around herself whilst fighting a smile, charmed. Her dupatta flew around him though, unable to stay away .
''Tum to Noori se bhi zyada ziddi nikli,'' he muttered, holding from behind her shoulders and pulling her away to a path that was less trod on, on a route to somewhere secluded and whimsical. (You are more stubborn than Noori.)
''Biwi ke liye itna bhi nahi kar sakte?'' They paused under a tree, tall and providing an ounce of shade. (You can't do this much for your wife?)
Murtasim studied the barely-there furrow in her eyebrows, the dainty baby hairs that curled around her face; they moved with the elegance of a feather, failing to keep up the act of annoyance.
''Biwi ko khush rakhne ke liye papad belne padte hai, wohi kar raha hun,'' he soughed so endearingly that her gaze softened. (A person has to give up on their ego to appease their wife. That is that i'm doing too.)
Picking her hands into his, Murtasim investigated the sore red lines on her palm that she had gained amidst the grand battle of kite flying that no one had won.
It felt like he cradled her heart in his hands, smoothing over the remnants of her hurt.
''Meero, tum theek ho na?'' he asked to so tenderly, in a lilt that was both attentive and concerned. (Meero, are you okay?)
''I didn't even notice,'' she whispered as he lifted her hands, cupped as if for prayer when he dipped his face into the crevice to smooth over the stings.
In the same way, she wished to hand herself over to him too.
''Phool jaisi khushboo hai,'' he praised after inhaling as if it was emit naturally from her pores. ''Khwab jaisi lgti ho. Dil karta hai ke aankhein band na karun, khin gayab na ho jao,'' he confessed, a part of him mind unable to relax for all the time they spent apart. (The perfume is like a flower. You're like a dream. I wish to never close my eyes in case you disappear like a dream on reopening.)
''Main gayab nahi ho rahi. Tumhare saath hi rahungi,'' she assured, plucking the same flower out of her hair and swiping it under his nose, the sensation confirming that she was real and not some fleeting mirage. (I am not disappearing. I plan to stay with you forever.)
Then her gaze focused onto the sleek velvety petals that had successfully worked as an apology, questioning, ''Shall I preserve these too, to remember our honey moon?'' She could add it to the previous selection, a menagerie of memories linked to each one, like the khet date and now from their shaadi too.
They walked over soft mud, in what felt like a serene dream. Her hand slot into hers like it had been especially crafted for this purpose, moulded out of raw clay to do so. It palpably seemed his entire life had plied him into being the man he was in that moment, able to stand next to and cushion her. Washed with a mix of adoration and awe, Murtasim nod in agreement, wanting to capture every moment.
A warmth illuminated his mind, finally voicing, ''Mujhe yakeen ho gaya hai ittefaq se kuch nahi hota, tumhein milna meri kismat mein likha tha. Isliye itne saalon se Maa Saab ke talaash nakaam rahi... is ghar ko tumhara intezaar tha. Aik ladki jo adha Pakistan safar kar ke aay hai, mere goan mei Khaani banne ke liye, meri biwi Meerab banne.'' His voice brimmed with appreciation that burgeoned on amazement, finding someone to complement in the most unlikely of circumstances. (I wholeheartedly believe that coincidences are not by chance, it was my fate to meet you. That is why Maa Sahab's search for a wife had been unfruitful.. our house was waiting for you to arrive; a girl that would migrate over half of Pakistan to reach it; to be the Khaani of my village, and to be my wife.)
Her whole future brightly coloured from his admission, sincere and comforting. ''Mujhe nakshe ke zaroorat bhi nahi padhi tumhein dhoondne ke liye.'' Her grip tightened, each finger a tendril of hope that promised a lifetime together. ''Not a plan, a guide or ticket even. Phir bhe tumhara haath mila mera haath thaamne ke liye.'' The merciful pink of her dressed made her presence seem organic amongst the shrubbery, undisturbed and natural. (I didn't even need a map to find you. I still found your hand to grab onto mine,)
''Yeh humare pyar ka asr hai. Qudrat ki taaqat hai. I really love you,'' escaped his lips, tumbling freely as if it was previously uncaged. (That is the effect of our love. The power of destiny.)
''Tum keh rahe ho ke acche baat hai ke tumhein court ne bulaya tha?'' Meerab asked unsure, leaning against the rough bark that pressed into her shoulder blades. (So you're saying that it's a good thing that you were summoned to Islamabad by the court?)
His eyes rolled backwards at the reminder of reality, making them face a truth that would rearrange their newly-formed world. ''Mein saare case ladh lunga tumhare saath,'' he assured resolutely, placing a kiss upon her cheek before strolling forward hand in hand. (I will battle all the cases with you.)
''Agli court hearing kab hai?'' Meerab dared to ask. Murtasim would be seeing eye to eye with Waqas as his son-in-law, as respondent in the hearing. If found responsible, he'd be facing a hefty fine for polloution charges, a sum big enough to circumvent the loss of life in the water, the damage to the environment and recompense for the hassle. If found guilty for marrying the judges daughter, the outcome would be entirely different, more dire. (When is your next hearing?)
The mood dropped, as if the vibrancy of the surrounding dulled fractionally, the chirping birds quietened. ''In couple of weeks.'' The uncertainty was tangible, like a gloomy could shading them, but not in relief, thick dread.
''Paani jaake dekhein?'' She offered so they wouldn't mull over the inevitable and quell the darkening corner of doubt in their hearts. A guide was pulled out of his pocket and unfolded as if it were a treasure map to his innocence.
——————————————————-
It was a short pleasant walk with their steps synched. The shrubs parted for them, until they trailed a wide river in iridescent hue of a glittering sapphire.
''Did you play in the river as a child?'' Meerab regained her composure asked in a challenging lilt, her voice encapsulating his mind, easing his legal worries. Their footsteps created a pattering symphony.
''Haan. Baba panchayaton pe saath le jaate the. I used to escape with my cousins and play in the water. It's clean, nice and cool in the summers.'' It flowed with a peaceful cadence, cleansing the surrounding atmosphere like a natural filter. (Yes. Baba used to bring me with him for panchayat.)
She hummed as if in disbelief, manifestly giddy.
''Kya?'' (What.)
''I don't believe you. Ghar wala pool ko bhi kabhi istemaal nahi kiya,'' she recalled, hinting at her suspicion. (You've never used the pool at home either.)
''I can teach you at home,'' he offered in heartbeat.
With one absentminded toss, her flower cut through the air and landed the the centre of the river, floating like a lotus. She acted on the intrusive thought and her memoir drifted, slowly and indefinitely.
''How can you preserve it now?'' Murtasim asked at the haphazard act.
''Jaldi se jaake mera phool leke aao,'' she commanded, not even pretending that it had flown out of her hand. (Go and quickly get my flower.)
His wife, both tender and equal considerate, had thrown her usual reserved nature into the water too. ''Meerab?'' He was inflamed, eyebrows knotting.
''Aagey nikal jayega,'' she warned in a tone of urgency, forcing Murtasim to act. (It will drift away and be lost.)
There was no time to think, the chances of retrieval quickly dwindling. His veins flooded with adrenaline.
Reaching down, Murtasim pulled his boots off his feet whilst hopping the couple steps, shrugging the shawl away before diving into the water.
It all happened without a second to process the act, producing such collision that even Meerab was splattered.
She was shocked, not expecting him to actually dive.
The aim was red bobbing flower, imprinted on his mind, poignant like a bulls eyes.
Meerab, usually poised and kind, watched him exert virile vigour from the sidelines as his arms cut through the fierce current, dragging himself forward through the cold body of water. He barely paused to breath, guided on a quest for the crimson flower that she would preserve as a token of their honeymoon; his wife was very sentimental.
On nearing, his arms outstretched to grab it with a fierce claw grip, yet careful not to crumple it. He had been drawn out further than expected, occasionally pulled under for a second when even his hair soaked through.
Her jaw left parted at how fast and impulsively he reacted, caught off guard.
With powerful calculated strides, he made it back to the shore to find her. His body soaking wet, mind agitated, but filled with strange unwelcome sense kf accomplishment.
Meerab had glimmering eyes as if he was a hero despite putting him in the position to out-race the water.
His white kameez was saturated through, clinging to his defined figure, slick to his stomach and clearly outlining his tapered waist. It highlighted every exerted muscle and his panting lungs after the sudden cardio.
As a loving wife, Meerab held out the shawl like a towel, angelically inviting him to seek refuge in the fabric, as if it could warm him.
The expression on his face was stern for once, irked at the challenge that he had impulsively completed. ''Yeh kya tha?'' (What was that?)
''Iske matlab hai ke tumhein swimming aati hai,'' she responded in a farce of innocent, voice shrinking as she tool the flower and weaving it back into her hair despite being sopping wet. (That means you do know how to swim.)
''Yeh saza thi Meerab. Itna thanda paani hai,'' he huffed out, shivering all the way down to his bones, teeth audibly clattering.
In a corner of her heart, guilt bloomed.
He slapped the water out of his hair, ring out out the loose part of his kameez until it formed a puddle between them, darkening the soil. (That was punishment Meerab. The water was so cold.)
''I didn't think you would actually go after the flower,'' she scampered to defend herself, realising how rash the request was, perhaps slightly too much. Her hands came to his cool wet cheek. ''Bimaar ho jaoge,'' she realised, too cold from the winter chill. (You could get ill.)
He wasn't freezing but was utterly damp, soaked. ''Kiska kusoor hoga?'' Murtasim asked as if with authority, finding her eyes to glint with remorse. (Whose fault would that be?)
''Mera,'' she coquettish replied, her hands tapping his chest so he was unable to hold her accountable, evoking a gently burning warmth like of ginger to course through his skin. (Mine.)
The slightest crease formed between his eyebrows before wrenching away from the sight of his alluring wife; Murtasim realised that arguing would be futile in drying his clothes.
''I'm sorry.'' It amended all the wrongs.
Still drenched, he groaned as the punishment for tardiness persisted. They trod on, his wet hand forced into hers as if it made the awkward sensation of wet clothes to be bearable.
They followed the route with various pumps that lead out into the agricultural land. The clothes partially damp, but still hung heavy on his frame, the slightest bit immodest but with people tending to the land only far away so that they were still afforded privacy. The hair on his head began to dry in a natural wave, with a rouge strand bending forward to shade his temple like a palm leaf, teased by the breeze.
There was nothing out of the ordinary when they visited the storage warehouses, no sign of pollutants that could have caused him to be guilty of ruining the wildlife with banned farming chemicals - it all matched his books that they had already perused.
Just on exiting and walking back around en route to their car, Meerab let out a suprised gasp on sighting a familiar face. ''Nida,'' she called out; It felt strange to see her outside the setting of the school, without the children storming them like flies.
But firstly, Meerab instinctively pulled the shawl over her husband as if the protect him before stepping forward.
''Salaam Miss Meerab? Kaisi ho? Ya Khaani kahun, ya Mrs Khan,'' Nida beamed at her friend, seeing each other for the first time after the marriage. (Hi Miss Meerab. How are you? Or shall I call you Khaani or Mrs Khan?)
''Meerab theek hai,'' she giggled, wrapping her arms around, welcome to seeing someone after devoting so much of her time in Murtasim's company. (Meerab is fine.)
The girl's pivoted to the man behind Meerab with confusion, the slight frizz and weighed clothes giving away that the impromptu swim. ''Aap?'' On her frame was a sandy dress, an expanse of organic umber that perfectly complimented her almond skin-tone, accented in distinct silver embroidery. (You?)
Meerab gulped at her sin imminently being outed.
With a possessive streak, Murtasim looked at her, tempting and already forgiven. ''Meerab ki kuch keemti cheez paani mein gir gayi thi. Usko lene pe majboor tha,'' Murtasim lied fluently. (Something valueable belonging to Meerab fell into the river. I had to go an retrieve it.)
''Mil gaya?'' Nida asked warmly with intrigue, not realising she had wasted a breath over a somber flower. (Have you found it?)
''Mil gaya,'' was uttered flatly and Meerab stroked her hair, perfectly housing the trophy. (Found it.)
The girl had grocery bags full of fruits and vegetables in her hand, taking the long route home before making lunch.
''Aap dono mere Naani ke ghar aa jayein. Yahan se nazdeek hai. Towels hai. Heater hoga,'' invited with optimism, wanting to host for the newly-weds, their Khan and Khaani. (You two should come to my grandma's house. It is close. There will be towels and heater.)
——————————————————-
Nida grandma's house was a modest buildings, an open courtyard to the centre that they passed through en route to their living room. It was deserted but cosy.
The he crisp white walls were studded in artwork and antiques. There were no other family members at home, leaving the place quiet with only Nida for company. She switched on the electric fire, the heater facing Murtasim for his clothes to dry. Meerab huddled next to her husband as they drank milky tea. Their knees knocked sweetly, finger looped through the teacups handle as she slurped.
Nida watched the two with glimmering eyes, witnessing real alchemy in action. ''Tum dono ke shaadi achi the. Bahut maza aaya tha,'' she narrated, the wonderous sparkle and music still fresh in her ears. (Your wedding was a nice event. I really enjoyed it.)
''Khaana bhe kaaya tha?'' Meerab almost felt proud of the event, intimate enough to have their friends close and large enough for them to have all met their new Khaani. (And you had our wedding feast too?)
''Haan. Noori bhe dekhi the nachte hue,'' Nida giggled, the melody almost as sweet as the vision elicited of Noori twirling. (Yupp, and I saw Noori dancing.)
Meerab's eyebrow quirked. ''Tum aur Shuja nahi naachey?'' There was a teasing undertone. (Did you and Shuja dance too?)
''Naache the.'' Nida blushed profusely, crossing her legs and offering more biscuits. (We did.)
After taking a mouthful, Meerab asked. ''Maya ka sunna hai? Shaadi pe nahi nazar aaye the?'' The entire scene was homely. (Have you heard from Maya. I didn't see her at the wedding either.)
''I think.. tayibet kharaab the uski us din.'' Nida fumbled together an excuse. (She was feeling unwell that day.)
''Us din ke baad kaam pe nahi aaye hai?'' Meerab has been missing from the school, luxuriating in the goan house with Murtasim, detatched from reality. (Hasent she come to work after our wedding?)
''Aay hai. But she's hasent spoken to me. She seems different.'' (She has.)
Meerab's intrigue peaked. ''Woh kaise?'' (How is that?)
''Zyada office mei he rehti hai. Chupse rehti hai, Shuja se bhe. He said there seems to be some turmoil in her.'' Nida recalled in a lilt of uncertainty. (She stays in her office. She's quiet, even with Shuja.)
''Turmoil?'' Murtasim echoed, pondering over the issue. He knew his friend, persistent and calculated.
''Patta nahi. Koy personal masla hoga shayad,'' Nida brushed it off as she didn't want to pry. (I dont know. Maybe she's dealing with something personal.)
A delicate hum was elicited from Meerab's lips, sinking into her chair. ''Dosti ka haath barhau, dosti ke zarurat hoge,'' Meerab advised like a true Khaani, equal parts astute and kind. (You should offer her some consolation, she might be in need of friendship.)
''Karounge,'' Nida confirmed. ''Ab tum batau, goan kaisa lagga?'' (I will. And tell you, how are you find the village?)
''Bahut acha. Itna sukoon hai. Hum paani ko dekhne aaye the,'' Meerab explained, the hot tea evoking candour. (Very nice. Peaceful. We came to see the water.)
''Islamabad mei darya nahi hota kya?'' Nida chuckled in confusion at the strange itinerary. (Aren't there any rivers flowing through Islamabad?)
Murtadim tutted, ''Adalet mei mera case chal raha hai. Paani mei koy masla hai.'' Thanks to the heater and the drinks, he was dried off and warmed through to his bones. (I have an ongoing case in Islamabad. Theres some issue with the water.)
''Batayein,'' Nida urged, curious. (Do tell.)
Murtasim hesitated divulging for a second, but reasoned that Meerab's friend was his friend too. The empty teacup was placed down before narrating, ''The water flowing through our land is contaminated with illegal chemicals. Kehte hai ke humare kheto pe yeh banned pesticides istemaal hote hai, iske wajja se paani toxic banta hai, halaka humne aise koy cheez nahi istemaal karte.'' (They alleedge that the water passing through our fields contains banned pesticides, that we polluting the water, where as we use no such chemical on our fields.)
''Saare invoices dekh le hai aur waha pe koy cheez nahi mille. Humna warehouses dekhle hai - there is no sign of any banned substance.'' A shadow of worry cast on Meerab's face, realising their investigation has been unfruitful. Hope depleted. (We have been through the invoices for the land and we found no trace. We've searched through the warehouses too, but to no success.)
''Par paani mei hai tou kissi ne tou daala hoga,'' Murtasim scoffed, feeling betrayed by some middle man. (But if it's present in the water then someone is using them.)
''Paani mei hai?'' Nida chirped up, bemused. (It's in the water.)
The couple froze, what began as venting, led into a lead. ''Tummein kuch malum hai,'' Murtasim asked, sitting up tall and serious all of a sudden. (Do you know something about this?)
''Nahi. Bas itna patta hai ke ab yahan se zyada paani guzarta hai.'' (No, I just know that more water than usual flows through here.)
A light bolt struck in Murtasim's mind. ''Maybe the route has changed upstream.''
Meerab looked to him, the colour returning to his face, enlightened. ''You think someone has altered the water's route?'' That would mean someone else's water fed into the river before him, someone unaccounted for and the true source of the pollution.
''Itna tou nahi patta. It could be due to the season changing,'' Nida was unsure, out of her expertise. (I can't confirm that.)
The idea was sufficient; a single clue that his case hinged on, the trigger into sending out a forensic geologist to map out the river and pinpoint the source of pollution that tainted the water flowing through his land, finding evidence to prove his innocence.
——————————————-
On returning home to Hyderabad, they began to settle into their new routine, Meerab leaving for work from Murtasim's — and now her — bedroom.
Murtasim personally bid his wife good bye every morning. Meerab invited herself into doing up the buttons on his collar, fingertips fiddling under his chin with complete authority, lingering. ''Aaj vaqeel ke saath meeting hai?''(You have a meeting with your lawyer today?)
He wore a slate shalwar kameez set, draped down from his shoulders over the athletic frame and yet perfectly tailored around him. The moustache was expertly curled at the edges and hair combed back; donned and ready for the day.
''Haan. Uske baad tumko lene aunga,'' he shared, titling forward to peck her forehead, gently and with conviction, as if she was fuel to charge him through the day. (Yeah, and then i'll come to collect you.)
''Ache khabar leke aana,'' she warned playfully, both hands gliding up to his shoulders, following the trail of his starched collar until she rest on her tiptoes. (Being good news.)
The proximity was mildly intoxicating, her wide neckline showing just enough skin to tease him. He gave a short nod, focused and yet mind hazed.
She pressed her lips against his, sensuous and slow in ardently tasting her husband, savouring him as if the next meeting was uncertain, or too far away. There was no separation; the spike in anticipation fizzled through her spine.
His hands wove into her hair, slipped into her loose ringlets to hold her closer still. In the heat of the moment, his meld himself with her in a way that stirred deep affection in their hearts, admiration that burgeoned on hindering his ability to leave her.
She only pulled away to breath, taking a large quenching inhale that only charmed him further. The morning light caught on her dewy collar bones, smothering over the slope of her décolletage, showcasing the necklace he had placed on her.
As though it was a secret for only him to cherish, Murtasim picked up the organza dupatta off the bed, a waterfall of milky rooh-afza tumbling from his hand that he perching on her shoulder. ''Acha khabar launga. Pakka,'' he vowed. ''Tum tiyaar rehana.'' (I will bring good news. 100%. You stay ready.)
''I will count down the hours,'' she countered, fastening the button on his cuff, small and yet providing the finesse of a man going to secure his land.
''I love you,'' melted off his tongue at the gentle tender care she exhibited, enthralled at the simplicity that made his heart lurch, cartwheel and yet find an unrivalled solace.
Then both her hands came around his wrist, lifting to see the bulky watch he had, seeing it was time to leave for work, so that she could arive before the kids and set up. ''Main ja rahe hou,'' she begrudginly uttered, ambivalent over basking in his company for longer or tending to her assigned duties. (I'm going.)
''Ja sakte ho,'' he offered smugly, stealing time. (You can go.)
But he didnt dare pull his arm back and nor did she let go. Time ticked on, the driver wait and his lawyer was on route.
''Tummein chor ke jaana nahi chahte,'' she confessed in a hushed tome, heart strings knotted too tightly into his. (I dont want to leave you and go.)
''Ghar mei school khol lete hai?'' He teased, clasping his hand into hers. (We could open a school in our house.)
''Nahi. Bache school mei ache lagte hai.'' (No. Kids look good in school.)
''Khud ke bacche se ghar bharlete hai.'' His voice was husky, pulling her hand up to his heart, holding her captive. (We can fill the house with our own kids.)
Her eyes widened, glittering. ''Yeh baat ab kar rahe ho?'' (You're saying this now?)
''Kaam ke baad karrou?'' He offered instead, their drunken breaths amalgamating from standing so close. (Shall I continue this discussuion after work then?)
A betrayal of scarlet tinge attacked her cheeks, her heart squeezed tightly at the notion. ''Abhi jaane do Murtasim.'' (Let me go yet.)
''Thori der mei milte hai phir, jaaneman. Khuda hafiz.'' He placed a clandestine kiss upon her knuckles before she swiftly pivoted, letting go of a breath she didn't realise she was holding; simply his presence was enough to take her off balance. (We will meet in a little while, my soul.)
From the victory, a proud smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, lips still tingling from where he had held her.
''Khuda hafiz,'' Meerab called from over her shoulder, her handbag and shawl plucked off the side table before she head out.
He watched as her pink dress waltex behind her, the long black curls swaying, ending just above the dip of her back. Every step away from him made his hand twitch, wanting to hold on for a second longer, to study the way her cheeks dimpled, to match the hue of her blush to a flower from the garden past the window, to imprint her every word to memory.
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On investigation by the expert, they found the river to confluence differently than originally depicted on the map. Now a new river merged into theirs a couple miles upstream. It siphoned off from a land not belongings to the Khans, but a neighbour, the Maliks.
For a brief moment, the air thinned and Murtasim began to breath freely, as if his freedom and safety wasn't compromised anymore. Satisfaction settled in his stomach, proudly wanting to tell Meerab of the victory even though she had blindly believed in him.
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On Meerab's return to work, Maya's detached stance continued, using clippsed sentences and excusing herself as if spurred on by guilt. Not thinking much of it as she was so secure in her marriage, Meerab brushed it off, the hours passed like a whimsical blur between students.
When a knock sounded on her classroom door just 15 minutes before the school day ending, the children all fell hush as if in reverance for a guest.
Meerab supposed that maybe her husband had come to pay a visit, to settle into the seat of a student to tease her, gazing at her whilst experiencing perpetual incandescent affection.
Her hand twisted the cool handle with both hope and excitement, pushing with a gentle smile gracing her face, bracing herself for Murtasim, a part of her silently yearning for him.
Opening, with each inch, she unveiled someone burlier than expecting. Wide shoulders, a taller formidable figure. Her sight darted upwards with surprise and found a wide temple with thick eyebrows; the face of her father.
Her mouth produced a sound that she had not said in so long that it felt novel, whimpering a chocked, ''Baba?''
IS dukh dard era just started
Proofread by HereinNowhere2