The Fallen Widow

25. High Treason

Shafiq's bell trilled as he steered precariously around the deep pothole signalling the passer-by to step out of his way. The man held a large basket on his head making his way to the bazaar to sell the fresh plums. With Meh'r-Bano perched on his bike, Shafiq had little time to manoeuvre out of the way of the pothole. The man hadn't heard his bell and walked on carrying the basket of plums. Shafiq trilled repetitively, his face screwing anger. Meh'r-Bano shrieked. Shafiq turned his handlebars and lost control of the bike. The bike hit the sharp dip of the pothole and the bike crashed the ground with Meh'r-Bano tumbling onto the side.
"You swine!" Shafiq yelled at the passer-by who turned briefly and continued his way to earn an honest rupee to pay for the food for his family.
Brushing her hands from the tiny stones and dirt, Meh'r-Bano sighed with fear simmering in the pit of her stomach. Today would be a bad day. The fall was a bad omen. Meh'r-Bano stood up and dusted her cotton cream kameez, her long parranda danged over her right shoulder and swung in front of her. Since last night, the mood was sombre, and she hadn't spoken to Shafiq apart from the perfunctory tasks.
"Look at the state of the bike. The spokes are damaged." Shafiq squatted next to his bike running his fingers along the spokes.
"Are you okay?" She neared him, her voice tender with worry.
"Do I look okay?" He snapped. "Another expense I can't afford." He smacked his forehead.
Meh'r-Bano looked at her leather strapped watch. She was an hour late and waiting with Shafiq would cost her more time.
"I can walk the rest of the way. Maybe you should call for someone?"
Shafiq prohibited his wife to walk on her own to the haveli. He pushed his damaged bike as they made their way to the haveli gates. It was another blistering hot morning, the sun sharply focused on Meh'r-Bano's back, warming her back, between her shoulder blades. When they arrived at the gates they instantly noticed four extra uniformed guards at the gates. Shafiq grew nervous.
"I wonder going on today."
With reluctance, he sent Meh'r-Bano and ordered her to keep her head down today. Shafiq stood back and watched her make her way inside. 

The tense atmosphere pricked Meh'r-Bano's skin the second she stepped into the grounds. The maids scurried around, their heads bowed, fear arching their spine. The build up of the inauguration simmered and the echoing of Dilwar-Baksh's thundering voice forecast danger on the horizon. Afraid to ask any questions, Meh'r-Bano hastened towards the children to commence her day. After her altercation with Shah-Nawaz, last night she prayed that she wouldn't face him any time soon. But unbeknownst it to her, today would be the ultimate day of reckoning.

It was later that morning when the walls around Meh'r-Bano came tumbling down. It began when she was in the imperial gardens with the children and she heard a loud wailing cry like an old man moaning in pain. The cry struck her attention.
"Babu!" She pressed her hand on her chest. Her panicked wide eyes glared at the Shamim in fear. Kinza grabbed hold of her arm and tugged it.
"Leave it." Said Shamim and grabbed Kinza's arm. "It doesn't concern us."
How could Meh'r-Bano ignore the wails?

The wail followed by a sob tensed Meh'r-Bano's body. The cries sounded familiar, like babu, when he was in pain and sobbed. Shamim took Kinza and Harris deeper into the gardens in a desperate bid to mask the wails. Meh'r-Bano froze. She held her breath waiting for the next cry. Meh'r-Bano secured her black dupatta over her head and followed the disturbing cries. As she hastened closer towards the source, she heard a loud roar.
"Tell me! Old man!"

It was Wajahat Ali. The roar was followed by a cry of an old man. Meh'r-Bano took quick strides towards Shah-Nawaz's haveli where a circle of black uniformed guards stood in front of the haveli. Wajahat Ali's stood in the centre, his left hand up high holding a Kalashnikov in his hand, his face red like thunder. The maids dotted around the army of guards terrified of what unfolded. Meh'r-Bano questioned the maid, but she concealed her face and rushed indoors. Meh'r-Bano's heart pounded with fear as she neared the guards and approached the circle. Peering through the guards she spotted an old man lying on the floor dressed in a white kurtha and checked grey and white dhoti. Wajahat Ali towered above him like a mountain, his terrifying rage channelled down at him.