The Fallen Widow

27. Stolen Heir; Part 1

Today was the day Shah Nawaz took control of his life to shape his future. Sitting in the SUV, it speeded over the potholes at breakneck speed. The glare of his father's eyes over the breakfast table burned into his mind.
'I want you to bring the righteous son of Shah Jahan.'
'The panchayat have no faith in you.'
Over the years he'd collected a barrage of abuse that shaped his character.
'You are a disgrace! I have no faith in you. If my Shah Jahan was here.'
He grit is teeth in anger and held the bar tighter running his hand over his thick beard. By tonight, he would throw Shah Jahan's son's body in his baba's feet killing the threat to his throne.
"Do you have eyes on them?!" Shah Nawaz yelled at Wajahat who barked orders at this guards on his mobile.
"I need to find them today." His left hand curled into a fists. "I will kill him. Jahanpur belongs to me. No one will take it away from me." The thought of losing the family riled his blood with anger. Failure was not an option. If baba found him and placed him on the throne, he would be the disgrace to Jahanpur. His inauguration cancelled and a city boy taking his place. His mother would be leave the haveli and Jahanpur buried in humiliation.
"Hurry! Drive faster!" Shah Nawaz heart pounded with anticipation.

****

It was the call the Akbar had been waiting for, for the last six months. Spitting his orange- red paan onto the street, Wajahat Ali's loyal guard ended the call.
"They're coming." He uttered with fear rising to his throat.
 Akbar was posted outside Shah Jahan's household for the past six months. Every member of the late Shah Jahan's household were being tracked and watched.
Muzaffarabad was a bustling city. Noisy with traffic, lorries, motorcycle the city buzzed with energy like a beating artery. It was a world away from the picturesque mountains and green fields of Jahanpur, where the Choudhary clan ruled and implemented their version of law and order.

Turning the corner and emerging from the alley, a group of four young men appeared dressed in jeans and t-shirts racing through the street. Akbar elbowed his new partner Jamil and they both jumped out of the SUV wrapping their beige shawl concealing their weapons and followed the rowdy young men disguising into the crowd. Four young men chased a loner who ran through the street pushing over fruit stalls and popcorn stands. Dressed in black jeans and a bottle green polo shirt, the victim was taller with trimmed curly hair. He pushed passed an old woman and tumbled onto the ground whilst saving her from falling. The oranges burst out of her shopping bag and bounced on the pavement. She shirked in fear. The victim was now surrounded by the four gang members, faces like thunder ready to tear the victim apart. Crowds appeared for entertainment and took out their mobiles to film the street brawl. Cars slowed down to watch the street fight.
"That's him." Akbar identified the young man sitting on the pavement in a bottle green polo shirt with four gang members closing in on him like foxes. It was Jahanzaib Qureshi, the oldest son of Shah Jahan.
"Why is he involved?" Jamil placed his hand on the pistol holstered on his hip ready to shoot warning shot to save Jahanzaib Qureshi, next in line to the throne of Jahanpur. Akbar obstructed the guard and extended his arm stopping him.
"Don't. Let nature take its course."
The gang members closed in on Jahanzaib and began kicking him, punching him. The crowd screamed and dispersed allowing the boys space to fight. Jahanzaib curled on the ground covering his face and head.
Akbar grit his teeth watching the boys beat Jahanzaib. No one helped.
"Choudhary Dilawar said he wanted his grandson alive." Jamil was anxious.
"Why aren't we helping him?" Jamil wrestled with his loyalty and conscience. The gang swore and cursed whilst beating Jahanzaib.
"Who the fuck are you to stick your nose in our business!" Yelled one thug.
"Let's sort him out once and for all."
Akbar looked around and grew nervous. Why wasn't anyone helping him? Did no one care in the city.
"Akbar, they will kill him!" The Jamil panicked and removed his shawl.
Akbar was stern as he chewed the fresh piece of betel nut spicy paan lodged in his mouth. Choices in the city were plenty, with various sweet, spicy and rose flavoured leaving an orange-red hue in his mouth. He lavished on fresh paan leaves every day. Akbar was given strict orders to watch the household and not to intervene. Wajahat ordered him to be invisible.
"Come on." Akbar mumbled. "Get up. You are the son of Choudhry Shah Jahan Qureshi. The grandson of the great Choudhary Dilawar Qureshi. You carry the Choudhary blood in your veins. Get up. Do us proud." Akbar chewed wild, his jaw moving in fast circles and hands curled into fists.
With a roar, Jahanzaib Qureshi towered to his feet growling with anger. His bottle green shirt torn from the shoulder, his eyebrow slit and bleeding. The six foot two tall young man pushed the gang and leaped forward ready to fight.
"Come on!" Jahanzaib raised his fists. "Come!"
Akbar beamed with a smile. "You can take a Choudhary out of Jahanpur-"
"-but you can't take Jahanpur out of a Choudhary." Jamil completed with joy and removed his hand from his pistol. Both guards watched Jahanzaib confront four young men as they pounced on him. Jahanzaib grabbed one man and head butted him clean on the bridge of his nose knocking him out.
"Shabash!" Akbar cheered! "That's my boy!"
Jahanzaib elbowed another man who strangled him from behind and kicked him hard on the chest taking control of the fight. Another young man dared to jump him from behind, but Jahanzaib smacked his mouth with a fist, and he landed on the ground. With two men groaning in pain and nursing their injuries, the third whacked a plank of wood on Jahanzaib's back snapping it in two. Jahanzaib retaliated and kicked him in his stomach with a side kick propelling him back into a popcorn stand and smashing it to the ground.