What If? (TereBin OS)

What If Meerab Was Found That Day?

A diminutive figure enveloped in an aged chador caught his attention as he maneuvered through the bustling streets of Karachi in search of a glimpse of her. His wife, his Meerab, his haven amidst the chaos, his refuge, his love, had been missing for an entire month.

Though he had never seen Meerab draped in a chador before, there was something about the way the woman was wrapped that stirred memories of her. His instincts impelled him to pursue her, and with the police tailing closely, he did exactly that.

As they entered the narrow alley, she vanished before his eyes. He blinked in disbelief, hoping she'd reappear, but she was nowhere to be seen. Had his tired mind deceived him? Was his exhaustion causing hallucinations? The glimmer of hope in his heart dimmed.

"Khan, kya hum uss khatoon ka peecha kar rahe hain jo abhi iss gali me ghusi thi?" a police officer inquired, leaving him momentarily speechless. It wasn't just his weary eyes; the officers had also witnessed her.

"Jee lekin ab woh nazar nahi aa rahi," he replied.

"Aese ghayab tou nahi ho sakti, kisi na kisi ghar me gayi hongi. Aur jitni jaldi wo nazro se ojhal ho gayi, mera khayal hai shuru ke gharo me hi hongi, main tafteesh karta hoon," the inspector deduced.

Murtasim nodded. His heart insisted that she was near. Something within him whispered that the chador-clad woman was Meerab, his own Meerab.

Lost in thought, Bakhtu's voice broke his reverie. "Khanji, wo walay ghar me na koi jawab de raha hai na darwaza khol raha hai. Police ka khayal hai ke wo log kuch chupa rahe hain."

The thought of someone concealing Meerab from him ignited his anger. He pounded on the door so forcefully that it shattered open, revealing a terrified man on the other side. The man seemed familiar, and his fear-stricken expression triggered a sense of recognition.

"Hum ko chorr do hum ne kuch nahi kia, hum bas police ka sun ke dar gaya tha," the man defended himself as two policemen restrained him while others combed through the house.

Hearing his voice triggered a memory. He had seen this man outside Saba's house; he was the rickshaw driver. He must know something about Meerab, even if she wasn't with him.

"Kis ke sath rehte ho tum?" Murtasim interrogated him.

"Hum akela rehta hai. Apni rozi ke liye bus conductor ka kam karta hai, uss ke ilawa farigh waqt me riksha chalata hai. Hum ne kuch nahi kiya Khan Sahab, humei maaf kardo, humei chorr do," the man pleaded.

"Uss din rat ko waha kya kar rahay thay?" Murtasim questioned, surveying the courtyard. A charpayi in the center with a couple of scattered papers caught his eye.

"Woh khanji hum ne bataya tha na hum waha se maasi ko uthata hai. Humei nahi pata tha ghar ke log bahir hain warna kabhi itni dur tak na jata," the man's explanation mirrored what he had said that day.

Murtasim didn't reply, instead he approached the charpayi and retrieved the papers - a nameless prescription and a pregnancy test report.

"Tum akelay rehte ho phir ye kiya hai?" Murtasim demanded, holding up the papers.

"Ye humara dawai ka parcha hai," the man claimed.

"Tumhara parcha hai? Maa banne wale ho ya bap?" Murtasim's voice dripped with sarcasm and anger.

"Mmm.. Maf kardo khanji, humara biwi ka hai. Hum tum se jhoot bola ke hum akela rehta hai hum dar gaya tha ke humara biwi ko koi nuksan na pohanche, wo... wo maa banne wala hai," the man admitted.

"Tumhara biwi kidhar hai phir?" Murtasim's skepticism was evident.

"Wo hum se naraz ho kar chala gaya hai. Bohat phone kiya, manaya lekin wapas hi nahi aata,"

His words stabbed Murtasim's wounded heart. This man, at least, could call his wife. Murtasim couldn't even do that.

About to hand over the papers, Murtasim spotted "Meerab" printed on the test report. Could it be a coincidence? And was she pregnant? Could it be?

Driven by a conviction that Meerab was near and the name on the report couldn't be a coincidence, he embarked on a thorough search of the house. The police's search had obviously been inadequate.

Navigating through the premises that consisted of two bedrooms, a small living room and a kitchen, he reached the second room. Stepping inside, an overwhelming sensation enveloped him. His heart pounded. "Wo yahi hai," he whispered, his eyes scanning for her as his gaze landed on a black hairpin.

Picking up a black hairpin from the floor of the room, he noticed a strand of cinnamon hair. An inconspicuous detail, yet it affirmed his suspicions.

His eyes swept the room, seeking possible hiding places. He spotted two windows - one locked, the other open enough for someone like Meerab to slip through.

Moved by an irresistible force, he approached the window, inhaling the cool breeze. Her scent lingered in the air overwhelming his senses. He could easily hear her breathe from where he stood. She was on the other side of the wall. If he alerted her to his presence, she might flee before he could reach her. So he returned to the courtyard, hiding the hairpin, and announced his inability to find her.

He knew Meerab wouldn't return until she was assured by the rickshaw driver that the police had departed. Leaving two officers to watch the driver, the rest reconvened in the back alley, narrower than before, ending in a dead-end.

Leaving the car behind, he signaled the policemen not to follow. Her silhouette became discernible as he approached. Her gaze met his. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she trembled, muttering something under her breath.

"Meerab," he called softly, surveying her figure. His thoughts shifted to the test report and prescription. She was carrying his child, their child. Their love manifested within her, yet she chose to hide from him. The truth pained, but the present imperative was that after 44,100 minutes, 735 hours, and 31 days, he had finally found his sanctuary, his wife, his love - Meerab Murtasim Khan.

********************************