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*

Syra

I was at Hareem Khalla's house with Mama for a lovely dinner. It was just us ladies this evening: me, Mama, Khalla and Ifra. Khalla had made roasted chicken with boiled vegetables, Yorkshire pudding and mashed potatoes, along with gravy. A very British meal.

My phone buzzed and I glanced down at it where it rested beside my plate.

<Musa: I'm bored.>

I bit back a smile.

<Syra: Isn't it like 1 am there? Go to sleep, yaar!>

<Musa: I can't sleep. Missing my entertainment😉.>

<Syra: Would you like me to tell you a story or something?> 

"Syra? Have some more, sweetheart!" Hareem Khalla scooped some mashed potatoes onto my plate before adding another Yorkshire pudding.

"Thank you, Khalla, but I'm stuffed. No more, please." I pleaded with her.

"The dessert remains." Ifra grinned at me.

"And what's for dessert?" I asked.

"Gajjar ka halwa. You like it, right?" Khalla smiled at me.

*Gajjar (carrot) ka halwa (pudding) is a carrot based sweet dessert made by placing grated carrots in a pot containing a specific amount of water, milk, sugar and cardamom, and then cooking while stirring.

"You made gajjar ka halwa?" Mama asked her sister doubtfully.

"Ifra did after asking Anaya Bhabi for recipe."

<Musa: Tell me a story about Khwabpur!>

<Syra: 👩🏽📷🧑🏽🐎>

<Musa: Emoji story? Really?🤨>

"I hope we're not disturbing you, Syra." Khalla gave me a knowing smile.

Mama glared at me. "Syra, it's impolite to use your phone, not only at the dinner table, but also amongst a gathering."

"Sorry." Cheeks warmed, I pushed the phone away from me far enough away so that I couldn't read the messages.

"Let her be, guys. The distances must be unbearable." Ifra teased.

I've said it before, I'll say it again. Ifra and Jannah would make amazing friends.

Khalla laughed. "You're free to use your phone, Syra. I'm sure our Damad Ji would be eager for a chat."

Everyone laughed at my expense, but I simply shook my head. Narrowing my eyes at Ifra, I said, "One day, I'll be the one doing the teasing, In Sha Allah."

She simply grinned cheekily.

"Have you thought anything about our beloved Ifra yet?" Mama asked her sister.

"Every time I think, Emaad shuts down the idea. He says she's too young."

"I mean, I wouldn't say too young." I was not going to hold back after how she constantly teased me.

Ifra made a face at me. "Let me enjoy my freedom."

"I used to say that too." I laughed.

Ifra threw a pea at me.

"Ifra, do not throw food around. How old are you?" Her mother instantly told her off.

I smirked at Ifra, who made a face at me again.

*

Faris

It wasn't like riding a rickshaw was anything new to me. In the small town up north, where I'd lived with Mamma and Shaila, rickshaws weren't as many as in the cities, but I still road it into the town centre, where I had my small shop set up.

But now, as I was running late, I regretted not taking up Musa Bhai's offer to drop me off to work. I had chosen, instead, to take the rickshaw as usual.

I arrived at the factory fifteen minutes late, ready to sheepishly face my boss.

And, not surprisingly, I wasn't exactly welcomed with a warm smile.

"Tumhain kya lagta hai? Factory tumhare baap ki hai ke jab marzi chalay aao moun utha ke?" The boss snarled. "Aaj ke aaday din ki tankhwa kataygi!"

*"What do you think? This factory is your father's that you can come whenever you want?"
"Half of the day's salary will be deducted for today."

Half a day. For someone on my salary, that was a lot.

"Sir, main extra rukh jaonga aaj, but salary na katain." I spoke respectfully, with a pleading tone in my voice.

*"Sir, I will stay overtime today, but don't deduct my salary."

He mumbled something under his breath and waved dismissively at me as he received a phone call on his 'work phone', an old Nokia.  

Having no idea whether he accepted my request or not, I headed out and walked towards the lifts that would take me down to the basement level.

There was something bittersweet about working in a factory that produced children's toys and furniture. I adored the carpentry work, but the toys and signs of a happy, relaxed childhood, made me think about how much I'd yearned for the most basic of toys in my childhood. But, on the other hand, it made me promise that my future kids won't ever face the situation that I had, and it made me determined to work to the best of my abilities. 

And work hard I did. Despite arriving only fifteen minutes late, I stayed on at the factory for three extra hours to finish up my shift, absorbed in creating the rocking chair that I had recently started working on. As I worked, I thought of how different my life could have been had our whole family remained together. I swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the bitter feeling that was rising up strongly inside me. I could have had a luxurious life. I could have had the best education, and a successful career.

Sweat dripping down the side of my neck, and drenching my shirt, I stood up. It was hot in here. The working conditions for us factory workers were despicable, while the boss sat in his air-conditioned office all day.

When I went to his office to tell him that I was done for the day, he was sitting back on his chair smoking while holding a glass of a suspicious-looking liquid over his paunch. The strong, bitter stench gave away the contents of the glass and I resisted the urge to make a disgusted face.

"Baith." The boss nodded at me, gesturing for me to sit across the desk from him.

*"Sit."

Confused, I sat down. 

"Paise di tangi ay?" He took a puff from his cigarette, eyeing me in a scrutinising manner.

*"Are you having financial difficulties?"

I nodded. I wanted to earn independently, and based on that fact, yes, I wasn't doing well financially. The boss didn't need to know that my uber-wealthy father had my back. I wanted to stand on my own two feet.

He leaned forward on the desk. "Kuch ladke hain jo mere liye extra kaam karte hain. Khoob kamaleta hain us kaam se, idhar se dugna."

*"There are some boys who do extra work for me. They earn a lot, double than here."

"Kaisa kaam?" I asked, even though it sounded very dodgy to me.

*"What kind of work?"

He lifted up the glass. "Yeh bohat hi kamini cheez hai. Nasha bhi deti hai aur luft bhi. Girati bhi hai, aur paisa bhi laati hai."

*"This is a very wretched thing. It intoxicates us and gives us pleasure as well. It makes us stumble, and makes us money as well."

"There are temptations in sins. That's a key factor of sins." I spoke quietly.

He took another puff from his cigarette, staring thoughtfully at me for a few seconds. "Pata hai, jo ladke mere liye yeh kaam karte hain woh kitna kama lete hain?"

*"Do you know how much the boys earn, those who do this work for me?"

I stood up. "I won't resort to haram for money."

"Haftay main das hazaar." He said. "Sirf itna karna paday ga ke hamare gahakon ko yeh pohanchani hogi."

*"Ten thousand in a week."
"All you have to do is deliver this [alcohol] to our customers."

He smirked. "Things that are illegal are sold at a very, very good price, and the delivery boys get a good tip that they get to keep."

"Why me?" 

"I need young guys to actively get the deliveries done so that the business would thrive. You are in need of more money, and I'm in need of good workers."

"No." I shook my head vigorously. "I'm not forsaking my Imaan for the sake of money." I paused. "And I quit. I do not want to work for an employer like you."

F**k. I have lost another means of earning. I thought as I made my way out of the office and towards the exit of the building.

*

I have no idea why, but I found myself at a place that I never expected to go.

The lights were off in most of the windows of the residential home, but the entrance was well lit up. Automatic glass doors slid open, letting me through into the marble-floored lobby. I approached the desk, smoothing down the creases on my kameez. "Assalam Alaikum. I am here to see Meharbano Duraid."

"Walaikum Assalam." The hijab-clad receptionist looked at me curiously. "Your name?"

"I'm Faris Duraid, her grandson."

"Visiting hours are over, sir. You can come back during the day." 

"Look, you don't understand. I need to see her. It's important." 

She sighed, noticing something in my expressions. "Fine, but only ten minutes. I can get in trouble for this." She gestured towards an open book. "Sign in here, and when you are leaving, sign back out." She then handed me a lanyard with a laminated 'Visitor' card attached.

She gave me the directions of the room, and I slowly made my way towards it, wondering if it was a good idea.

This woman had destroyed our everything, and yet here I was.

Stopping outside the room of Meharbano Duraid, a.k.a. Bano Bi, I raised my hand and knocked lightly. For a few moments, I thought that she was a asleep, and just as I thought about chickening out and running, the door open.

The elderly woman was half my height, with grey tendrils of hair brushing the side of her wrinkled cheeks. She wore a plain white shalwar kameez and had a brown shawl draped over her shoulders. "Tenu aithay nai aana chaiyda si." She simply stated.

*"You shouldn't have come here."

"Assalam Alaikum."

"Walaikum Assalam." She stepped aside to let me in. "Take your shoes off."

I stepped inside and looked around, taking my shoes off by the door. The walls were a lovely sea-green colour, with a soft white carpeting. There was a large double bed with white bedside tables, a cream coloured two-seater sofa by the large window, and a small coffee table. There was even a small plasma TV on the wall across from the bed. On one side of the room were wardrobes, right beside which was the door to the en-suite bathroom. This was nothing less than a luxury hotel room. Even now, Bano Bi was living a life of luxury, simply because her son was fulfilling his responsibilities to the best of his abilities. Despite everything.

In a way, it enraged me. This woman, as well as my maternal grandmother, was responsible for the difficulties Mamma and I had faced.

"Tera waalid tere naal khafa howayga." She said.

*"Your father will be angry with you."

I didn't reply. Walking over to the sofa, I sat down. Rubbing my hands over my kameez, I felt out of place in this luxurious place. Bano Bi sat at the edge of the bed, eyeing me uncertainly. I had no idea why I was here and what I wanted from her. I had answers, but I wanted more, if that made sense. 

"Kar ja tu." She spoke again.

*"Go home."

"Hamare dada jaan kaun thay?" I asked.

*"Who was our grandfather?" 

"Onhan da na'an Ghulam Mubashir Duraid si." She replied after a couple of minutes. "O wi Baig Khandaan laiy kam karde si."

*"His name was Ghulam Mubashir Duraid."
"He also used to work for the Baig family."

"Unki apni koi jaidaad ya zameen nahin thi?" I asked in genuine curiosity.

*"He didn't have his own property or land?"

"Zameen hundi te halat wi alag honay si saday..." She stared off into space, absent-mindedly.

*"If he owned his own land, our circumstances would be different."

"Aur jaidaad?"

*"And property?"

She looked thoughtfully at me. "Tere Dada te main haveli'ch raye si...par ik chota jaeya kar ay Khwabpur'ch sadda."

*"Your grandfather and I lived at the haveli...but we have a small home in Khwabpur."

I narrowed my eyes. This was new information for me.

"Mere na'an ay o kar. Mere maran to baad Farid de na'an howayga." She explained.

*"The house is under my name. After I die, it would be inherited by Farid."

I rubbed my hands over my kameez again.

She got up and came around to sit down beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Tu kehnda ay te main o kar tere na'an kar deniyan, agar tenu lodh ay paise di. Tu baichde o."

*"If you want, I can transfer the house under your name, if you need the money. You can sell it."

It was wrong, but the temptation was strong. Being unemployed again, I could use the money.

"Tu vi mera pota ay, Faris. Main tenu wi bohat chandi aan." She ran a hand over the back of my head.

*"You are also my grandson, Faris. I love you a lot too."

I shook my head. "Tussi sa'i nai kitta, sadday nal."

*"You didn't do right with us."

"Main jaandi aan, mere bachay. Par har Maa di tarhan main wi ay hi chandi si ke meri bachay noun har cheez sab toun vadiya mila, biwi wi."

*"I know, my dear. But, like any mother, I also want my son to have the best of everything, even a wife."

"Meri Maa aini changi aay. Tussi..." I felt myself getting emotional.

*"My mother is so good. You..."

She clasped her hands together in front of me, as if begging. "Menu bas maafi chayidi ay. Menu bohtay pachtwa ay, Faris."

*"I just want forgiveness. I regret a lot, Faris."

My heart melted, seeing her so vulnerable. I placed my hands over her clasped ones.

"Tenu o kar chaida ay? Mere bas'ch jo howayga main tenu dewan gi." Her eyes were filled with tears as she looked up at me.

*"Do you want the house? I'll give you whatever I'm capable of giving."

I got down on the floor and sat in front of her, my head in her lap. I wanted to feel the grandmotherly love. I had yearned for love my whole life. She ran her fingers through my hair and I felt a drop of her tear land on my cheek.

"Mujhe ghar nahin chahiye." I spoke a few minutes later.

*"I don't want the house."

"Phair ki chaiyda ay?" 

*"Then what do you want?" 

I looked up at her. "Aapko apne potton ka kabhi ehsaas nahin hua? Hum pe reham nahin ayaa?" 

*"Did you never feel compassion for your grandsons? Did you never feel bad for us?"

"Kaidi Dadi chawaygi ke oday puttar di aulaad oday kollon dour raway?" She replied. "Mera dil tadpeya ay Musa layi, te Farid di doosri aulaad layi."

*"Which Dadi would want her son's children to be away from her?"
"My heart has yearned for Musa, and for Farid's second child."

I rested my head on her lap again, dozing off. The inner child within me felt happy, while the adult felt guilty at allowing this woman to show affection towards me, after all the grief she had caused my parents, Musa Bhai and me.

"Tera dil tere peyo jaisa ay." I thought I heard her whisper as I fell asleep.

*"Your heart is just like your father's."

*

Shaila

I left voicemail after voicemail, but there was no reply from Faris. Where is he? I anxiously looked at the time on my phone. It was almost midnight. 

The sound of footsteps on the stairs made me walk out of the living room into the foyer. I saw my father-in-law and blurted out, "Faris isn't home yet!"

He nodded, his face grim. "I know. I got a call from the residential home just now. Faris is there. He broke the visiting hours rule, and is still there."

I narrowed my eyes, bewildered. "Why is he there?" 

"I don't know, but I have to go and get him." He headed towards the front door, looking almost annoyed.

I headed back into the living room after he was gone, lost in my thoughts. Why would Faris go and see his paternal grandmother, given the family history?

*

"Why?" I asked simply, when he returned. 

He had quietly removed his kameez and was grabbing his night clothes. "Why what?"

"Why did you go to see her?" I tried not to let judgement pour out into my voice, although this act of his had made no sense to me.

He looked at me and I saw a boyish innocence on his face. "I honestly don't know why I went there. To confront her? To yell at her and vent out my frustrations? I don't know. All I know was that I fell weak, Shy. I waned to feel the grandmotherly love too, and I fell weak." He lowered his head as if he was ashamed.

I moved closer to him. "It's not weakness to want affection from your blood relatives, Faris."

He looked up at me and I was surprised to see tears in his eyes. "Mere se har cheez kyun hamesha chinn jaati ha, Shy?"

*"Why is everything always snatched from me, Shy?" 

I hugged him, closing my eyes as I felt his pain within my own heart. "Don't say that, Faris. See, Allah gave you your whole family back. You got a nice job which you enjoy doing, and you..."

"I quit."

I blinked at him. "What?" 

"The boss asked me to sell or deliver alcohol as a side business. I couldn't work for someone like that so I quit."

Fears crashed into my mind, combined with a lot of 'what ifs?'. He was once again unemployed, and while I totally agreed with/supported his decision to quit such a place, I felt helplessness. I adored my in-laws, but I didn't feel right on relying on them financially. I'd always been independent, as had Faris. 

"I went to her fuming because I wanted to blame her for everything. I wanted to blame her for the train wreck that's my professional life. I wanted to blame her for my shattered childhood, but I fell weak. I chose to feel a bit of grandmotherly love instead, even if it was fake."

I pulled him closer for a hug again. "It's okay, Faris. I get it." 

And sometimes we don't realise the power of these simple words: "It's okay. I get it." Because I felt the relief emanating from Faris as he hugged me tighter, probably glad that I wasn't being judgmental.

*

Farid

"O onhan noun milan kyun gaya si..." I wondered to myself as I sat down on the bed.

*"Why did he go to meet her?"

"Onay dasya nai thanu?" Aisha asked.

*"Didn't he tell you?"

I shook my head. "Gall tall gaya munda."

*"The boy avoided the topic."

"Shayad o onhan noun behtar jaan'na chanda o?" She suggested. "O Faris di wi dadi haige."

*"Maybe he wants to know her better?"
"She's also Faris' dadi."

I looked at her in disbelief. "Koi lodh ay hour jaan'an di onhan noun?"

*"Is there a need to get to know her better?"

"Faris har wailay pyar laiy tarseya ay, puray bachpan. Shaiyad onhu lageya ke..."

*"Faris has yearned for love his entire childhood. Maybe he felt that..."

"Aur kidda kasoor si, Aisha? Oussi aurat da!" I felt frustrated. "Menu jad pata lageya ke Faris onhan de koll geya ay, menu weham jaiya ho gaya ay."

*"And whose fault was that, Aisha? That woman's!"
"Ever since I found out that Faris went to her, I have become paranoid."

"O thauday kollon thauda beta nai chinnay gin." 

*"She won't snatch your son from you."

"Koi parosa nai ay menu onhan te..." I muttered.

*"I don't trust her at all..."

Aisha placed a hand on my back, giving me silent reassurance. "Onhan ne jinna karna si, onhan ne kar lita. Hunn nai kuch kar sakdin o. Assi nai karan denge onhan noun."

*"Whatever she had to do, she has done. Now she can't do anything. We won't let her."

But I had felt the unusual silence in the car as I had driven Faris home from the residential home. I'd seen the thoughtful look in his eyes. He hadn't told me anything, and I just knew that somehow my mother had managed to squeeze through a tiny little opening in his heart. I don't know if she was being genuine, or if it was yet another conspiracy, but I had no reason to trust her. 

Never again.

*

Musa

"Main Khwabpur jaake woh ghar dekhna chahta hoon jo Dado ke naam hai." Faris announced over breakfast.

*"I want to go to Khwabpur and see the house that is under Dado's name."

"What house?" I asked, confused.

"Apparently, she has a house there in her name. It belonged to Dada Jaan." My brother explained to me.

"Did you know about this?" I asked Dad, confused. "Why have we been staying at the haveli?" 

"Us ghar mein main nahin jaana chahta, Musa." Dad replied, matter-of-factly.

*"I don't want to go to that house, Musa."

"Why not? I want to see it. I don't give a crap about inheritance, but I just want to see the house in Khwabpur that belongs to the Duraid family, technically." 

"Dado keh rahi theen woh mere naam kardaingi." Faris kept his gaze on his plate as he took a morsel of omelette and toast.

*"Dado said she'll transfer it to my name."

Dad stopped chewing and raised his eyes up to look at him.

"Main nahin qabool karoonga." Faris instantly said. "Bas, onhon ne yeh offer ki thi."

*"I won't accept it."
"It's just that she made this offer."

"Main soch raha tha ke aaj jaaon aur woh ghar dekhon." He continued. 

*"I was thinking of going and seeing this house."

"Aur kaam?" Mamma asked. "Chuti hai?"

*"And your work?"
"Is it your day off?" 

Faris looked at Shaila, before turning back to face our parents. "Maine woh naukri kal chodhdi hai." He explained how his boss was selling alcohol as a side business from the factory, and asked him to be a delivery boy to earn more money. 

*"I quit that job yesterday."

"You did the right thing." I told my brother.

Dad nodded. "Woh to sahi hai, laikin aagay ka kya plan hai?"

*"That's fine, but what's your plan for the future?"

Faris shrugged. "Mujhe is waqt kuch nahin pata."

*"I don't know anything right now."

"Finish your degree." I suggested. 

He scoffed. "Is umar main degree?"

*"A degree at this age?"

"Abhi tees saal ke bhi nahin hoye! Kya matlab 'is umar'?" I laughed. "I mean it, koi business management ki degree lelo, aur phir apna business dobara se shuru karlena."

*"You are not even thirty yet! What do you mean 'at this age'?"
"Get a business management degree, and then restart your business again."

Faris scratched beneath his ear, thoughtfully. "Bhai, padhai ke laiye mere andar woh jazba nahin hai, na hi sabr. Main theek hoon is tarhan. Koi naukri sahi hai mere liye."

*"Bhai, I don't have the passion for studying, nor the patience. I'm fine like this. A job is right for me."

"Fair enough." I shrugged.

"Shaila aur main aaj Khwabpur jaayeinge. Humne woh ghar dekhna hai." Faris looked at my Dad. "Where is it? Do you have the keys to it?" 

*"Shaila and I will visit Khwabpur today. We have to see the house."

Dad sighed. "Jab se tum logon ke Dada Jaan faut hoye hain, wahan koi nahin gaya. Amma Ji sirf kisi naukrani ko bhaij deti theen safai ke liye. Bas. Unka khud bhi dil nahin kiya wahan waapis jaane ka."

*"Ever since your Dada Jaan passed away, nobody has been to that house. Amma Ji only sent a maid to clean it. That's it. She herself never wanted to go back there."

"Is that another mystery?" I asked.

"Nahin. Woh haveli unke liye ghar ban chuki thi, aur unke liye aasani thi wahan hi rehna."

*"No. The haveli had become a home for them, and it was easier for them to just live there."

I was surprised that it never occurred to me that my grandparents would have their own home too. I mean, why wouldn't they?

I only ever remembered Dado living at the haveli, and that haveli had been like a Dadiyal for me. And now for Dado to suddenly bring up this house, and in front of Faris alone, made me feel suspicious. Is she trying to cause a rift between our family?

I didn't know the answer to that, but I did know that we could never live in peace because of Meharbano Duraid. She was going to be constantly in our lives one way or another. 

And now it seemed like Faris had innocently walked into her trap, and he was now in her powerful clutches.

What do you want, Dado? Why can't you just let us be?

*

Faris

"Are you going to accept her offer?" Shaila asked as she drove towards Khwabpur.

I leaned back in the front passenger seat, eyes closed. "I don't know. It's tempting. It would really help us, Shy."

"Yeah, but after everything she did..."

"Yes, but inheritance is technically our right, so..."

"Yes, yours and Musa Bhai's. It sounds unfair to just transfer it to you. Things like this can actually caused serious rifts in families, Faris."

"I'm just thinking about who needs it more." I muttered like a sulking schoolboy.

"No, think about the rights of inheritance. It has to be fair, Faris."

"Life isn't fair. I was deprived of so much that I had the right over..."

"But it wasn't Musa Bhai's fault!" She sounded frustrated. "Look, you could have easily agreed to do the deliveries, and could have earned easy money, but you didn't. You didn't compromise with you religious believes. You chose the path with the most struggles. We can struggle and get through this. Taking her home and selling it is the easy way out."

"All I can think is that we're going to be dependent on my parents."

"No, we're not! I'm still working! You just need to swallow the bitter medicine that I'm going to be the main breadwinner for a while." She gave me an almost sympathetic smile.

I smiled warmly in her direction. "My ego doesn't bruise that easily, don't worry."

"Yeah, only when I beat you at Vampire Warrior?" She burst out laughing.

"I got caught off guard."

"Yeah, of course you did..." 

We laughed and bantered for the rest of the drive to Khwabpur.

*

FLASHFORWARD (TEASER)

Everything was covered by a thin layer of dust. It seemed that now that Bano Bi was no longer residing in the village, this house was neglected.

We were walking around the small home, our curiosity making us explore each and every little thing.

"Faris, look!" Shaila said in a hushed tone.

I walked over and looked over her shoulder to see her holding a photo. In the photo, a bunch of men sat on charpais in the veranda of the haveli, all in white shalwar kameez. One man had a white turban and a black waistcoat.

Shaila turned over the photo, and we saw some writing in Urdu at the back.

"Wait...what?!" I asked out loud after a brief silence.

The writing clearly stated: Sardar Ghulam Mubashir Duraid. 

Sardar.

The village chief.

*

Ooh, a new mystery!

I'm going to be honest with you, I was going to wrap up this story soon, but I have joined the Wattpad Creators' Programme, and this is the one story that I must publish at least once a week, so I'm stretching it for a little bit.

If Musa and Faris' grandfather was the sardar, how did Bano Bi become employed to the Baig family?

Will Faris completely warm up to his paternal grandmother?

Is Bano Bi just manipulating him?

Thoughts and comments?

Thank you for reading and don't forget to vote!