SULTANATE سلطنت

Hukmaraan حکمران

" The pilgrim-narrator of Canto IV focuses sharply on the contrast between the transience of mighty empires, exemplified by Venice and Rome, and the transcendence of great art over human limitations, change, and death..." The Professor's voice rang in the amphitheatre styled classroom.

It was but a pleasant explanation of Lord Byron's Cantos and his style of writing that morphed into pilgrim format and it was her favorite too, but today it just didn't hold any attraction for her troubled mind.

Today she needed to go back home earlier or she knew this would be the last class she ever attends in her life. Her Dadajaan would make sure of that.

" An elegiac tone evoked by “Fall’n states and buried greatness” suffuses the verses. “A ruin amidst ruins,” the pilgrim-narrator digresses easily from scenes of shattered columns and broken arches to considerations of his own sufferings and of war and liberty..." The Professor trailed off when she saw her student staring at the door, as if waiting for someone.

Or wanting to leave perhaps?

" Miss, would you be more comfortable if I stop for the day and allow you to leave?" The pointed voice pierced her ears and she immediately looked down in her books, not wanting to be the centre of attention.

The Professor however had no such qualms about making her the object of interest for the class but her motives were squandered when the bell rang, indicating the end of the day or the week to say.

" I'm sorry ma'am" was what the Professor heard when the said student passed by her and couldn't even see her face when she did.

" Bibi, Aapa bohot naraaz hain. Pareshaani mein pure Haweli ke teen chakkar laga chuke hain" the driver informed her while she threw her bags in the backseat hurriedly and sighed when he closed the door for her.

She knew her mother would be worried. She's the only one who worries for her but that's not the issue today. Her Dadajaan is.

" Uncle aap jaldi ghar chalein" she pleaded with him and sure enough they were on the road, headed towards the majestic Zardaari Haweli.

Ruled by the ancient laws of the land that was governed by the rigid and shrewd Abdul-Qadeer Zardaari. Their estate spanned as far as the eyes can see and then some more.Their name weilded the power to change the course of governments and the fate of generations. Their word was the law and their decision was the final one.

Abdul-Qadeer Zardaari wasn't just the Head of the House but also the Monarch of the State. The one who decided everything for everyone. And the one who ruled over them with an iron fist, especially his family.

" Bibi, aap peechey ke darwaaze se jaayein. Aapa intezaar kar rahein hain" the driver stopped the car silently in the driveway, fearing for her if she gets caught.

" Durri!" Husna Zardaari muttered a prayer of gratitude seeing her daughter back home and right on time.

Had she been a little late, the entire house would be in an uproar by now. Especially since the Patriarch was home.

Abdul-Qadeer Zardaari hated seeing the females of his family exposed to the masses. He specifically hated the fact that they were obtaining an education but since they had an image to upkeep in the society, the girls were allowed that. Or the only girl who wanted to obtain a formal education, was allowed that.

Dur Afshaan Jawad Zardaari.

The youngest female child of the clan. With faerie like features and eyes that resembled the warm embers of molten lava for a fraction of a second and dissipated into solidified earth much like the hidden fire inside a burning coal that gathered ash on its surface yet was still ablaze within. The hazel and grey eyed girl had features matching the beauty of her eyes with her peachy skin and her brown hair. Her height just adequate, not too towering and yet not too dwarfed.