The Fallen Widow

30. New Dawn

The morning breeze caressed Dilawar-Baksh's face as he stood on the balcony overlooking the rolling green fields of corn. With his hands held behind his back, he weaved a tasbeeh beads through his fingers glorifying Allah for breathing another day to see his beloved land. The breeze bought with the fragrance of  floral Wisteria in full blue and purple bloom. The calming blue of the sky blended with the bewitching coolness of the breeze troubled him with not a cloud in sight. He feared another long drought ahead. If only Shah Jahan completed his irrigation project dream, Jahanpur would be safe from the threat of drought. But he died prematurely, leaving the plan in tatters and Jahanpur vulnerable to the scorching blue skies.

The calling of the cockerel declared another day. The smoke of the tandoor snaked in the distance. Far on the horizon, the sun rose like a canopy of gold amid blue. Morning dew beaded finer thread than a wedding dress meandering through the lush green fields of wealth. This was his land, his legacy. One day, his soul would be recalled to God, what would he leave behind? The fresh morning air was elixir to his soul, but how would he make his grandson appreciate the green wealth?
The jingles of bangles following by the click of China cups, prompted Fiza's arrival on time like military precision.
"Assalamalikum baba jani." Fiza greeted her grandfather in a lilting tone. The maids prepared his table out on the balcony where he would enjoy his morning tea. But today, Fiza noticed something was different; baba was different. Sombre. He didn't reply. Once the table was set, she made her way towards baba where his eyes pinned upon the horizon. Shah Jahan's bloody body troubled his sleep. Dilawar-Baksh believed Jahanzaib's arrival would heal the wounds, but Jahanzaib's accusation ripped open his scars. Hate pelted from his eyes which made Dilwar-Baksh shudder. How could he convince Jahanzaib? Fiza stood beside baba and touched his arm.
Baba mumbled, chanting under his breath.
"Chai's ready baba." She could feel the sense of despair weighing down his shoulders. Last night, Jahanzaib pounded the door, demanding to be let out echoing the haveli. hallway. Fiza was aware the reunion upset baba who'd dreamed of meeting his grandson for nineteen years.
"I failed my Shah Jahan." Baba's tone a low deflated groan.
Fiza rested her head on his arm and promised baba in the aching silence she would bring a smile to baba's lips. She yearned to see joy beam through his eyes like the golden ray of the sun and embrace Jahanzaib. In the solemn silence, she promised baba to anchor Jahanzaib to Jahanpur and ensure he learned of the truth.

***

It was later that morning, Fiza burst into Jahanzaib's room with four eager maids delivering his breakfast. After falling asleep with his head rested against the bed, she shook his head and rubbed his weary eyes standing to his feet like a soldier. His throat dry after yelling through the night calling for his family, he was tired, confused and worried.

Fiza ordered the maids to place fresh clothes on the sofa, with fresh towels, trays of fresh apples, oranges plucked from their orchards and a tall glass jug of fresh morning lassi. A hot, ghee saturated parantha teased his taste buds but he remained steadfast. The maids stood in a straight line, trays pressed against their chests staring at Jahanzaib like he was a celebrity. The kitchen was awash with news of Shah Jahan's son and they maids were eager to compare him with his late legendary father.
Fiza approached Jahanzaib with a small silver tray of antiseptic, bandages, and plasters to tidy his wounds.
"Kya ho raha hai?" He looked around and asked what was happening in Urdu. The maids whispered with disapproval. He still didn't speak the local dialect.
"He's speaks like an outsider. His father will be turning in his grave." Whispered a maid.
"Look at the state of you!" Fiza stood before him eyeing him up and down. His lip cut, blood dried on his eyebrow, he was a mess.
"Didn't you fight back?" She shook her head as she placed the tray of bandages and antiseptic wipes on the bedside table.
Jahanzaib was confused. Why was she encouraging him to fight her family? Whose side was she on?
"Come sit here!" She ordered him towards the side of the bed near to the table.
"How many  were you fighting? Did Uzayr hit you?"
Jahanzaib made his way towards her looking around the room at the beady eyed maids whispering about his manner.
"Who is Uzayr? Who are you? I want to see my family."
"All in good time." Fiza tugged his arm and sat Jahanzaib on the bed firmly with a bounce and stripped open the gauze.
"I am Fiza. I am your cousin." She drew out a mental family tree whilst wiping the blood from his forehead. He winced.
"Your father and my mother are step brother and sisters. So we're cousins. You are one of us." She continued to clear his wounds. Her hands were rough and quick not paying attention to his tightened face of pain.
"Where is my mother? My sister?" He grabbed her hand as she tried to reach for his chin. The maids grumbled in disapproval.
"They're safe- in Bagham Haveli."
"When will I see them?" He tightened his grasp.
Fiza withdrew her hand. "When baba decides." Her tone firm recalling her baba's pain. She began to wipe his upper lip.
"Do you know you broke his heart? How can you accuse him of killing your father? He loved his son a great deal." She pressed onto his wounds with pressure causing him pain.
He leaned back away from her harsh hands.
"Ammi told me the story." He said.
Fiza folded her arms.
"Listen, shahiri babu. You heard her side, have you heard baba's side?" She raised her eyebrow, her tone firm as she dropped her bedside manner. "Keep an open mind, we are not here to hurt you-"
"I was chocked-nearly to death!" He stood up with his hand on his neck.
"That was my uncle, our uncle. He's just playing with you. Baba wanted you alive." She brushed his near death experience under the bed.
Jahanzaib stepped away running his hands through his curly hair.
"He wanted to kill me!" He looked at the maids hoping to read shock from their face. But nothing.
"Did you hit back? If you want to survive you have to fight back. How long were you chocked for?"
Jahanzaib wasn't sure if that was a real question, or if she was teasing him.
"I don't know! I wasn't counting when I was gasping to breathe!" He threw his hands in the air. Was she for real?
Fiza poured fresh, sour, yoghurt, milky lassi in a tall steel glass.
"I choked Uzayr a few times when were kids. Now, he has a fat neck and I can't get my arm around him. I tried to cut his moustache but cut his eyebrow." She smiled recalling the story and made her way to Jahanzaib with the glass of lassi.
"That wasn't intentional, but I have my mark on him and that gives me peace." She handed him the lassi but he stared at it.
"Don't you dare slap it out of my hand like before!" She warned him. "This is the taste of Jahanpur, cool, sour, milky lassi from the breasts of our cows. Not watered down, diluted junk that you get in the city." She tilted her head to the side and smiled.
"In Jahanpur everything is pure and organic."
Jahanzaib turned away unable to swallow anything until he met his family.