The distant echoes of hooves and car engines mixed with the soft hum of cows in the background. Birds chirped merrily, a mountain waterfall provided a soothing soundtrack alongside distant tractor sounds. In the enermous fields with greenery everywhere a man stood all alone in the middle of the road leaning back on the car. His eyes closed as he breathed in the fresh air, ten days had passed and he had finally reached his destination. Wearing a traditional suit, he glanced at the expanse and shut his eyes. The silence, the calm and peace wasn't something he enjoyed, it gave him time to think. Time to waste, to relive his life and he hated doing that.

He had received the news, a heir was born, his son.

A sense of pride hit him, as he smiled his eyes revealing happiness, he wanted to return but his visit was important. A large black minivan stopped near his car, Saad got in his car and followed it. Inside the streets as they got narrower, and they reached the slum area.

He parked the car outside the small cottage, and they entered. Through the window one could see wild terresterial forest outside, as a man sat on a chair.

"Humari yaad aahigayi janab", he said removing his shades, his black eyes a little hostile as he greeted Saad, who rolled his grey ones in response.

"Come to the point", Saad snapped uninterested in bonding and Sajjad let out a laugh. "Loosen up a little man, we are meeting after ten years... in memory of the old days. Let's go to the kotha?"

Sajjad Ahmed Khan and Saad Nawab Khan, were grandsons of Rehmatullah Nawab Khan. His two sons one moved to Pakistan at the time of partition and the other, Saad's father looked after their land.

Sajjad Ahmed Khan, was a political man just like his father, but he was patriotic if he could be called that. Saad and Sajjad although grew up in different houses, different countries, they had similar childhoods. But their personalities were completely different, where Saad hardly spoke, Sajjad seemed to never shut up. He was playful, arrogant and also called the 'Lion of Punjab'.

The two of them reached the kotha, sharing a hookah reminiscing the old times, as the tawaifs entertained them. Sajjad noticed the uninterested look in Saad's eyes, as he barely glanced at any of the woman.

"Are you in love?" He couldn't help but tease as the woman in his lap giggled, Saad shook his head in denial a little too quickly. But his expressive eyes gave away everything, "You can't fool the devil, I can tell it... you are in love".

"I hate spending time in kothas", Saad denied which was true, he didn't believe in such practices, his religious upbringing prevented him from engaging in such acts.

"And Sajjad aren't you engaged?" 

Sajjad caressed the woman's face with a rose, "She is engaged to someone else, who cares about such an old betrothal? If I have other women who can fulfill my every desire and shower me with love".

"I am a married man", Saad stood up as a woman tried to climb on his lap and walked towards the balcony to look at the government house. "So... it's one of them", Sajjad mused walking towards him and dismissing the women to give them some privacy, "She doesn't love you?"

Saad laughed, this man was a literal fox, too clever, he was sharp, he missed nothing. "Naqam e Aashiq, accha hua Nawab Khan ye din dekhne k liye zinda nahi".

And that sentence charged up the room. Saad's eyes squinted, his face muscles tightening, his jaw clenched, as he turned to face Sajjad, pulling his collar, the sudden rage and change in his demeanor not affecting Sajjad.

"Calm down tiger", that was a playful response but his voice had an edge, a warning, Saad  cursed under his breath. As Sajjad calmly went and sat down on the chaudhrayan's throne, another jab at Saad's ego because he stood right under the jhoomar. He was bursting with rage, with the sheer disrespect but how could he kill the chief minister of Punjab?

No... he couldn't. He wanted a favour and the clever politician already knew about it. Sajjad wanted Saad to lower himself, and ask for it, a smirk curved on his lips as he sized up his opponent. Neither of two letting their guards down, they weren't brothers. They were two scheming men, two enemies taking advantage of their past history.

___

"None of them returned..."

In the cold mountains of Kashmir, where the temperature could almost kill a person, a war was in motion. The long standing rivalry for the past decades and sentiments across the borders to occupy Kashmir had disturbed the peace. The 'jawans' who had bravely entered Pakistan using the tunnel were now captured and held captive, Pakistan lost a 13-day war to India, resulting in its eastern half - separated from the rest of the country by more than 1,600km (990 miles) of India - emerging as the sovereign nation of Bangladesh.

India sent back over 93,000 captured soldiers, while Pakistan sent back more than 600 Indian soldiers. But few Indian soldiers remained prisoners in jail and some of them were currently being held hostages. Months passed.

The families mourned but they had no closure, the body had yet to arrive and as year 1972 began the grievance turned into anger, they were waiting but the two sides acted as if the soldiers never existed. Their records, their history wiped out, were they still alive?

Meanwhile in a jail in Multan Pakistan, two men- Hammad and Sahil sat gazing at the moon through the window.

"Why are you so upset?" Sahil asked as he glanced at his friend, "Soch raha tha Beta hua hoga ya Beti?" (I was thinking whether it's a babygirl or a babyboy...)

Sahil sighed as he patted his back, "...  you will meet him/her soon, I have belief in my country, they won't let us rot here", after three months of constant abuse, torture many prisoners had lost their minds. 

"I have lost my faith..", Hammad cried out falling on the dusty floor, where their beds laid. The water tank was empty, there was nothing to offer except words, ".. they have forgotten about us, what if they think we are already dead?"

"Ayee chup kar", his words, the hopelessness everything was taking over, "Rab var bharosa rakh, agar voh bhool gaye, toh woh to dekh raha humein. Insaaf karega wahi, you are a soldier, act like one!"

(Have faith in God, if they forgot, our creator is watching over us. He will bring us justice..)

Sahil scolded even in scraps, with torn up uniforms they had their pride. 

"God listens to a mother's prayer, to a wife's tears and to a sister's love, Imaan rakh, bharosa rakh, tu apne rab par mai apne watan par".

(.. have faith in your god, I have faith in my country)

Sahil was an orphan, he had no father, no sister or relatives. Was left at the steps of a gurudwara, at a young age he was recruited into the army and he quickly moved ranks. He knew there was no one who on the other side who was looking forward to his return. he knew nobody shed tears at his absence, it didn't matter if he rotted away in this jail. 

If he died, except the men in the army, nobody was looking forward to his return. But maybe it was the seclusion, the imprisonment that was messing with his mind, he could hear her voice. Lucid dreams where he travelled back to the hilltop, to the bazaar and to that sunset

He would wake up often in the middle of the night, plagued with nightmares. Out of his seven friends only Hammad survived, in his nightmares he would often see their deaths, scenes of graveyards of his own body laying with countless others. And he would see her. He cared about this woman, this stranger. He cared about her happiness, her smile, her life. He heard her sobbing, her muffled cries piercing his heart, he wanted to comfort her, to hold her, to make her stop.  But he couldn't.

He was a prisoner of his own dreams.

Those dreams sometimes would end with a woman laying flowers on his grave, those hazel eyes would raise to the heavens as she would pray and whisper his name as if he was already dead. 

"Sahil..."

----

She was a mystery, an enigma that he hadn't bothered to unravel. A month into their marriage and he had seen her as the woman he had to marry for the land, not a partner, not someone to share his life with.

Now that he returned from Lucknow, he couldn't help but ask himself, "Was he in love?"

He watched her from afar; she sat on the swing that hung from the old oak tree, her sari flowing like water around her. The evening sun painted hues of gold on her skin and for the first time, he saw her - really saw her. 

He walked towards her; each step echoing the rhythm of his heartbeat. She wasn't the fiery woman who confronted him at every turn anymore. 

Now she was silent, a ghost haunting their home with silence rather than screams.

As he stood before her, words lingered on his tongue but died before they could be born. She looked up at him with eyes void of anger or resentment – just an unsettling sadness that made him ashamed yet curious.

"I..." Words failed him again as she continued to gaze at him as if looking at a ghost.

She didn't fight anymore; didn't confront or curse him like before. This silence between them was louder than all those arguments they ever had – it echoed in his soul making him question everything he thought he knew about this woman.

Who was she?

He couldn't help but notice her change, her decline. She was fading away, day by day, like a flower wilting in the sun. She hardly ate, hardly spoke, hardly lived. She spent most of her time alone, in her room or on the swing, her words carried no emotion, as if she was a prisoner.

She was a prisoner in her own home.

He hated himself for feeling these emotions, for being drawn to her, for being curious about her, for being conflicted about her.

He hated himself for falling for her.

____ 

 I promised for a p.o.v, here it's and Sahil's back. Thank you so much for the ideas, and for being such active readers. This story took a turn here, but this was the reason I chose the 1970s, there are so many real life stories, tragedies we haven't read about.

Please feel free to correct me if I got any historical facts wrong, and I really apologize if I had hurt your sentiments by bringing up this war.