The Dawn Is On Us

C H A P T E R 3 0

قید حیات و بند غم ، اصل میں دونوں ایک ہیں
موت سے پہلے آدمی غم سے نجات پاے کیوں؟
- Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib

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M U S T A F A rolled the paper weight in his hands. His eyes focusing solely on the desktop infront of him. He would occasionally use his free hand to type something before going back to reading the documents. His mind was racing. Overdrive. He was not in control of himself. He had imagined himself to never be in a sticky situation as this. On one hand, stood his best friend. One whom he had adored since he was a young child. On the other, stood his young wife. Who had no one other than him to call his own.

He had to deliver justice. He had to make sure that he was fair no matter what happened. He could not sit in the sidelines and have Rizwan attack Hoor. But he could not attack, unprovoked. Sighing, Mustafa ran his hands through his hair. The particular few days had been tough. Not just because of how he felt emotionally, but also because his personal assistant had gone missing. Even though they had called him multiple times from the office, he seemed to have abandoned the job.

Mustafa was busy in thought. Trying to make head and shoulders of the situation, when the door to his office opened with a loud thud. As if a rouge had entered the world of the civilised.
"Please knock before you enter," Mustafa spoke curtly, not looking up to see who it is.
"So now your best friend will have to knock? Clearly you find that third class woman worthy of breaking our friendship!" Rizwan shouted.
Hearing his rude tone, Mustafa lifted his head up. His face shrouded in disappointment.
"Have a seat Rizwan. Let's talk about who abandoned whom," he gestured for him to take a seat.

"Yes. Go ahead Mr.Kamal, explain to me the entire situation," Rizwan scoffed.
"You know Rizwan, I would never do something like that. I would never hurt you. And do you think a girl like Hoor, who by the way is not third class, would betray her fiancée? You shame me Mr.Rehman. By calling us friends. If we were friends you would have had more faith in me!" Mustafa uttered each word with great control.
He had no wish to shout at him and make show out of himself. He had never imagined a day where the two of them would be standing on two opposite ends.

"Yeh tou acha ho gaya. Mustafa keh tum nai hum donon ko dost sochna chod diya! Aaj keh baad sai mein aapka dost nahi! Dusra yeh raha mera resignation letter. Jhut bolnay walun keh saath kaam karnay mein koi dilchaspi nahi!" He threw the envelop at Mustafa's face.
The corner of it lightly grazed his cheeks. But it was the words that caused him misery. He did not recognise this bitter man. Where had his yaar gone?
"Aur haan, apni biwi sai kehna meri ammi keh kangan jahan bhi hai, mujhe laa kar de! Warnay eik baar phir police aapke ghar ki zeenat banay gi!" Rizwan uttered with sheer disgust before leaving the room.

Mustafa sat still for the next few minutes. Trying to figure out what had happened. Clearly he no longer had to chose sides. Rizwan had made that decision extremely clear for him. Rizwan was the one who had started this war. Now he, Mustafa would be the one to end it.

R AN D O M J E W E L L E R Y S H O P
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Ali entered the luxurious showroom on the end of Anarkali. His mouth was covered with a white woolen scarf. His jackets inner pocket carrying the ticket to his freedom. He had hidden these bangles the day of his sisters marriage. Hiding them away at a friends place. The friend did not ask much questions, assuming that it was the brides jewellery and they might not have a safe at home.

Now, three days later, Ali found the prefect chance to come to the baazar. He was ecstatic. The weight of them clearly told him how much they would cost. He smiled as he approached the counter.
"Assalamualikum. Mein nai kangan beechnay hai," he smiled.
The man behind the counter, eyed him. A bit sceptical after seeing his appearance.
"Chori keh hain?"
"Nahi tou. Meri ammi keh jahez keh hai. Behan ki shaadi hai tou paison ki zaroorat hai," Ali replied nervously.
The man nodded and asked him to present the jewellery. He heard of such cases on the daily and so did not think much. Seeing the craftsmanship and weight, he knew that they were made by an expert and must have cost an arm and leg.

He took out a scale. Measuring the pair. Then calculated the cost.
"Panch lakh," he named a price.
"Bhai thoda ziada karen na," Ali tried to bargain.
"Dekhein sahab, aap puray bazaar sai rate lagwa len, meray jitna koi bhi nahi de ga," the vendor assured.
Ali seeing that he would not budge, reluctantly agreed. Asking him for the cheque he headed out. The first thing he would do was to pay off the debt and then start a kiriana store of his own. He could let Hoor's rich husband pay Rizwan and his father off.

K A M A L M A N S I O N, DHA LHR
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Hoor stood inside the kicthen. Wringing her fingers together. Mustafa's chachi had strictly told her that she was now responsible for cooking food for herself and her husband. The old woman had told her that it was her husband, Mustafa's uncle that paid for the chefs and Mustafa had long taken advantage of their kindness.

Hoor had nodded her head. Believing everything she said. She was ofcourse a naive young woman who knew nothing about her husbands family. Otherwise she would have known that Munazza and her family had not a single rupee to their name. They were freeloading off of her husband and not the other way around.

Now she stood inside the kicthen. Anxious about what she should cook. She saw all sorts of vegetables and meats in the well stocked pantry and fridge. Perhaps it was this choice that made making a decision a hundred times difficult. Usually she would not have such a hard time at home, for Jahan-ara would constantly be shouting at her about what she should make, with the limited resources.

After pondering for a while, she grabbed the bag of veal meat that she had seen. Planing to make a yakhni pulaow. She set the bones in a pot of water, adding spices and all sorts of herbs to allow the broth to gain flavour. While simultaneously cleaning the meat and soaking the rice.

Around two hours later, at about five in the evening, Hoor stepped out. Having finally prepared the dinner. She headed into her bedroom, to change out of the clothes that now smelt like the food she had just prepared. She changed into a comfortable outfit and sat on their bed. Staring at the swimming pool in order to pass time.

She had felt that the past few days she had done nothing but lounge around. She was not used to having so much free time on hand. She wondered if Mustafa could help bring her stitching machine over. So that she could make clothes rather than sit all day. Thinking about the machine, reminded her of home. And she could not help but think of her family. And what they were doing. She sighed, rubbing her teary eyes. She had to be strong if she wanted to survive in this cut throat world.

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