Riwayat- Pt 7

*****

Tears streamed down her face, not knowing when to stop. The bustle of the ladies around and the fussing of the old woman went unnoticed as Zaahira kept pleading to her Lord to make it all a dream- a nightmare to be precise.

Out of all the circumstances that she had imagined her nikah to be done in, the way it was happening was far from any of those.

A forced bond.

A stranger for a to-be husband.

A small town and its never ending conspiracies.

Everything felt too much.

Shortly after Mushtak's announcement, Ruqayyah had no choice but to take the young woman to the room upstairs to prepare her in an attire of that of a bride but not the same feelings.

"Zaahira, beta pata hai hume ki yeh sab na insafi se kam nahi hai, lekin bharosa rakho hum par, aakhir mein sab theek ho jayega."

The old woman's coaxing fell on deaf ears. Zaahira pretended to be numb to everything they did. The traditional bridal wear that she had been forced into didn't do much to bring emotions like one would expect from a dulhan. Rather than having a merry blush on her face, her skin tone was nothing but pale, void of colour and emotions apart from the tears.

Ruqayyah stepped aside to give more space to the younger girls who were now trying to tie Zaahira's hair.

"Yeh baal itne chote kyu hai, aap tel nahi lagati kya?"

Zaahira ignored the words like they were never spoken. Ruqqayyah glared at the lady who upon sensing her slip of tongue bowed in apology and quietly made a french braid weaving beautifully from either side of the parted hair and pinned them in the end since tying them didn't seem like a good option. A bun would need hair longer than that and a pony would ruin the traditional look.

"Madam ji, sab ho gaya hai."

Another lady spoke after a few minutes. Ruqayyah nodded at them and one by one, they politely took their leave and the once chatter-filled environment was now dead silent.

"Beta?"

Ruqayyah placed a gentle hand on Zaahira's shoulder who hadn't looked up from her lap even once nor had she spoken since they had come to the room. Ruqayyah couldn't fathom what she was going through because a part of her didn't want the guilt within her to increase more than it already had.

"Zaahira, bache- ni-nikah ka waqt ho gaya hai."

She stuttered the words, not having the courage to behave as though nothing was wrong, when in reality, the bond was being forced on two unwilling individuals.

Zaahira took a sharp breath. Her tense muscles turned stiff upon realising the dreaded time had come. She raised her hands to wipe her tears, sniffling a few times to calm the impending drops that wanted to flow down her cheeks again.

Closing her eyes for a few seconds, she opened them again and slowly built the courage to look at her reflection, one that showed just how this whole arrangement had torn her apart.

Clad in a white kurti with simple zardozi embroidery from either shoulders to the bottom of the dress and a multi-coloured lehenga paired with the same type of chadar, she resembled anything but herself.

This wasn't how she wished to dress on her wedding.

This wasn't how she imagined herself being bound in nikah.

But most of all, he wasn't whom she imagined herself marrying to.

"Begum sahiba, qazi sahab aa gaye hai."

A meek voice sounded from the doorway, breaking Zaahira's self-pity filled thoughts. Her eyes seemed hooded with denial, her mind waged with doubts about her future but her heart, oh, her heart behaved as though nothing was wrong and so did the remnants of her conscious soul.

*****

"Nahi pehnna mujhe yeh!"

Dilawar threw the head wear that Yazan was about to place on his head. The latter gritted his teeth at the aggression of his cousin but took a deep breath, knowing well the reason for his riled form.

"Dilawar-"

"Samjhane ki koshish mat kar, jab tujhe bhi pata hai yeh sab kisi mazak se kam nahi lag raha hai."

Dilawar pinched his nose in a silent attempt to calm himself down. The traditional pathani suit that he was wearing seemed suffocating for the first time on his skin. Rolling up the ones cuffed sleeves till his elbows, he opened the first few buttons of the multi-coloured overcoat that he was forced into.

"Yeh sab tujhe Zaahira ki madad karne se pehle soch na chahiye tha. Aur madad ki toh ki, yeh Dada jaani ke saath yaha kyu aaya? Pehle usko nahi chod sakta tha?"

Yazan gave a hard push to Dilawar's shoulder, the tense silence suddenly gave way to a fuming battle and both the men knew the outcome wouldn't be pleasing.

"Meri galti hai? Yeh kehna chahta hai tu?"

Yazan rolled his eyes at the acidic tone, not wanting to deal with a pissed off lion anymore.

"Haan, hai teri galti. Use nahi, lekin tujhe toh pata tha na hum kis mahaul me rehte hai? Ek bar, ek bar aankh khol kar aas paas kyu nahi dekha?"

"Toh duniya kya kahegi ke dar se ek na-mard ki tarah use wahi anjan jagah pe akela chod deta? Yeh chahta hai tu?"

Dilawar returned the shoving gesture way harder than Yazan's and the latter stumbled enough to almost trip on his feet.

Yazan bit his tongue to not blurt out anything else, knowing well that his cousin just wanted to help. Getting back on his feet, he silently watched as Dilawar groaned loudly and covered his face with his hands before letting out a silent scream.

It wasn't the first time he was being forced to do something just to save the family's reputation but he sure as hell had never imagined himself being tied to someone for the same sake.

His life partner should be his choice and by the looks of it, even his to-be wife didn't seem fond of the nikah arrangement.

"Dilawar, dekh, shaant ho ja. Gussa karne se kuch nahi hone wala."

"TOH KYA KARU?!"

The one stressed finally let out his aggression in the form of a loud yell. Heaving a deep breath, he looked away from Yazan and slumped down beside the bed on the ground, hoping that the cold surface would do something to his hot temper.

Yazan almost pitied his best friend in that state. Dilawar wasn't ever too open about sharing his dreams on how he viewed his potential life partner to be but one thing that Yazan knew was that his cousin was a man who was looking for a connection, holding onto that one ayah which was embedded in their heads since they learnt about it.

Yazan knew how much it meant to Dilawar, to find the one, to find the one who was made from a piece of him and keep her close with a promise of meeting again in the afterlife.

Dilawar placed his head between his hands that rested on his knees. A few minutes passed by in silence, two minds working on ways to sort the mess out when instantly, Dilawar shook his head and straightened his posture.

Yazan blinked in surprise and then in disbelief when he saw Dilawar perfecting his look. The sudden determination in his eyes seemed like a sudden fuel to a dying fire and something told him that a bulb had glowed in the thick skull of his.

"Dimag ki wiring hil gayi hai kya?"

Yazan asked, not knowing what to make out of all this.

Dilawar glanced over his shoulders and quickly dismissed his cousin and his failed attempt at lighting up the mood.

"Chale? Qazi sahab aa gaye honge."

Saying that, he walked past his friend who was trying to pick his fallen jaw. Dilawar picked up the fallen head piece and carefully secured it over his head. His eyes closed for a second and he felt it, the heaviness being lifted from his chest and shoulders a little by little even though it felt too slow of a process, he knew it would be gone after sometime.

He tilted his head to look up, hope glistened in his eyes before being camouflaged among the chocolate brown irises that were resembling light- even if it was minor, it was still there and so was his trust and hope.

وَتَوَكَّلْ عَلَى ٱللَّهِ ۚ وَكَفَىٰ بِٱللَّهِ وَكِيلًۭا-

-'And put your trust in Allah, and Sufficient is Allah as a Wakil (Trustee, or Disposer of affairs).' (33:3)

*****

Nit khair manga

Nit khair manga

Nit khair manga sohneya main teri

Dua na koi hor mangda

Dua na koi hor mangda

Zaahira felt the lyrics trying to pass through the cracks in her heart but the stubborn pain and anger didn't let it. She felt a bitter chuckle rising from her throat at the words that were meant to convey love, acceptance, but here she was, wishing for the opposite.

Apparently they had been able to invite the entire village in less than a few hours to attend the wedding. The ladies were all huddled up inside the haveli while the men were outside in the lawn. The Qazi would ask the questions separately and it would be conveyed through a phone call whether it was 'qubbol hai' or- not like they had another choice when it came to the people around.

Akh meri has deve jadon tenu takk da

Jaan ton vi zyada tu paas mainu lagda

Mere khali hathon ko hai tohfa tu Rab da

Tere jaisi hor koi ho hi nahi sakda

Mere sajdon ko saathi

Ik tera dar kaafi

Khuda na koi mainu hor mangda

Dilawar knew it was it, there was no turning back nor an alternative. His ears distinctly caught onto a small laugh shared between his father and dada jaan, both busy conversing in hushed tones, behaving as though this was normal.

The nikah was normal.

"Dilawar, bhai soch le. Iske baad-"

"Yazan, chup."

And then came the moment he was still unsure about. The Qazi cleared his throat and silence marred the area. Not a leaf rustled and the old man calmly started speaking about the rights and duties, about the importance of nikah and about its purity. After a few minutes, the Qazi finally asked the question he was supposed to.

The ladies section fell silent as the Qazi's voice echoed within the haveli walls through the phone call. All of them had their eyes glued on Zaahira's form. The bride looked at her hands and she couldn't even be shocked when she found her hands trembling. Trying to cover the tremors racking down her form, she clutched the lehenga and let her tears fall.

Ruqayyah silently rubbed Zaahira's back, gently trying to sooth her crying heart and just when everyone in the room thought they had the latest gossip to spill about how the bride didn't agree to the nikah, Zaahira spoke in an almost inaudible whisper,

'Q-qubool h-hai

Q-qubool hai

Qubool h-hai.'

Dilawar felt an invisible rip in his heart upon hearing her voice. It was clear that she was crying, and crying so terribly that he could hear the quiver in her tone.

A series of hoots and claps followed along with loud cheers but were hushed down when the Qazi cleared his throat in the mic. The question was then asked to Dilawar and slowly the clouds of horror blurred the lines in his mind and what followed was assurance as he spoke,

'Qubool hai

Qubool hai

Qubool hai.'

And that's when the crowd truly went ballistic.

Nit khair manga sohneya main teri

Dua na koi hor mangda

Dua na koi hor mangda

The ladies around kept giggling amongst themselves as though they were possessed.

The sound had never annoyed Zaahira more than in that moment. Ruqayyah had excused herself a few minutes back to check over the guests, leaving her to these obnoxious women who seemed to have inhaled laughing gas from the air.

"Chalo chalo, dulha dulhan ke milna ka waqt hai!"

Someone from the crowd spoke and teasing glances were sent her way.

Zaahira bit her lip to stop a scoff from escaping her lips and kept her down, not because she was shy but because she feared she might puke due to the environment around.

"Beta, chalo."

The familiar voice of Ruqayyah seemed nothing but like that of a savior and Zaahira tried not to seem too excited about walking out of the area and away from all the women. It was only Ruqayyah and her as she guided her towards a room upstairs, the one in the corner.

Zaahira felt her heart shifting for the first time since the news broke on her like a sudden tsunami, albeit, she feared acknowledging the reason for its change in rhythm was something other than her detest towards the nikah.

"Fikr mat karo. Dilawar ko pata hai kya sahi hai aur kya galat. Woh tumhare ek baal tak ko haath nahi lagyega jab tak tum dono ke beech suleh na ho jaye."

As if she would let him.

Ruqayyah gently patted Zaahira's head one last time and walked out of the room, leaving her sitting on the bed like a typical bride. As soon as the door was closed, Zaahira sprang out of the bed and removed the dupatta that was put on her as a veil.

The room made her cringe due to the flowers that were scattered on the bed and the jasmine fragrance that could be smelt at every nook and corner of the room.

Grumbling under her breath, she walked towards the dressing table that was neatly aligned- empty to say in simple words.

The french braid that lay gloriously entangled in her strands did nothing to make her irritation less. Her fingers on reflex went straight to them and quickly started undoing the hairstyle, feeling suffocated just by looking at it.

Once her brown strands were free, she sighed in relief and then went towards the jewellery that seemed like shackles. The bangles were the first one to be taken off, though she was careful to not throw them with force or else, pieces of glass would cause another trouble.

She rubbed her wrists gently after freeing herself from the glass accessory and then took off the thick necklace that was heavier than she'd like to admit. Any neck accessory had always suffocated her, made her feel as though someone was squeezing her throat in a merciless force and only she knew how she stopped herself from throwing it off when she was made to wear it.

Lost in her own world of loathing, she unconsciously inhaled deeply when a scent unfamiliar reached her senses. The musky fragrance magically calmed her stiff shoulders and she continued her task with less vigour.

Second by second she felt the tension deflating from her form. Her recklessly blurry thoughts had come to a halt and maybe, the scent around had to do something with it- which so not happens to be the jasmines.

Last but not the least, she started removing the ridiculously large jhumke when to her horror, the door was opened with an almost reluctant force. Her hands froze their movements as the silhouette of a man stepped in the room. Her eyes betrayed her rational judgement and they stayed glued to the reflection of the form of the man who was now staring back at her, albeit with a look of surprise.

And if not for the shock of the moment, Zaahira would've snickered at him.

Little by little, the scent of jasmine faded into oblivion, what remained was a hushed silence and the musky fragrance that had overpowered the room much to Zaahira's relief and brown captured brown in an electric yet hazy daze.

Hearts stirred, breaths stopped and souls bent forward as though to touch each other.

Bikhra hua tha kaanch ke jaisa

Chu liya tune toh main sanwar gaya

Umar mein usko ginta nahi main

Tere bina jo waqt guzar gaya

Jachta nahi hai rang hor koi mainu

Jabse main yaara tere rang rangda...

Nit khair manga...

Nit khair manga sohneya main teri

**********

HO GAYA! HO GAYA! NIKAH HO GAYA!

Well, it's a different thing that the circumstances were not the best. Thinking of it, this might be the first time my MCs are not head over heels each other before the nikah.

Now now, tell me peeps, anyone who has come up with a good ship name for my babies or should I do all the work by myself?!

***********