The Fallen Widow

17. Flying Rumours

The long, rectangular dining table was rarely used unless it was to host a delegate, politicians or foreigners at Sang e Mar Mar Haveli. It represented peace agreements, land war agreements, or delicate bribery deals with a taste of chilli and salt. Tonight, was no different, on one end sat Dilawar-Baksh slurping oxtail soup and the other end sat his estranged wife. Since her son's inauguration it was the first time she sat at the table with her husband.
The maids dotted along the long table, two at each side ready to serve, pour and to clean their hands. Dilawar-Baksh sprinkled salt into his oxtail soup cursing the maids for the bland dish.
"Get me some more roti!" He hailed the maid to which she scurried off.

With his teeth unreliable, he looked at the plate of spicy ribs like a challenge. Maybe he could lick them rather than chew them with his gums. He had little teeth.
"Go on!" He pushed the plate away. "What do you want?" He looked over at this wife who delicately cut the meat with her knife and fork. Why did she call this meal? What was her plan?
"I'd rather sit alone than with you through this torturous dinner!"

Shahgul wiped her mouth with the serviette and took a deep breath. "Your son need to secure his turban and throne. He needs to provide an heir so the panchayat support him."
"I know that!" He slurped the glass of lassi.
"I have decided to pursue Muzamil's granddaughter, Emaan. She will be my daughter-in-law."
Dilawar-Baksh licked the salty lassi from his lips and wiped his beard. "Why are you telling me?"
"You are Shah Nawaz's father. You should know."

He snorted with disdain. "I knew there was something suspicious when you served me oxtail soup."
He yelled at the maid to fetch his roti. "What's the delay!? I can't sit a moment longer than necessary!"

Shahgul played with the pieces of sliced turnip on her plate. Months ago gone behind her husband back before to marry her son, but that fell through when Emaan betrayed her. Now her son was king of Jahanpur she had the upper hand. The girl was pure, her womb would carry her precious grandson- that was more important than her betrayal. Shahgul could control Emaan, now Shah Nawaz was king Emaan was powerless.
"So, you have nothing to say?" Shahgul commented.
"You must deal with the issue of the maid or is she the teacher?"
"I don't understand."

Dilwar-Baksh snorted and stared at her. "You don't know about his infatuation with the pretty eyed maid?"
Dilawar-Baksh smirked. His beloved Fiza would often share gossip, news, stories about the haveli whilst she was tending to his caring needs. Yesterday when she was grooming his beard, shaving the hair from his neck she giggled and shared Shah Nawaz's dilemma to his father.
"The teacher- you know- Meh'r-bano." She stood with the razor explaining to her grandad outside on the balcony.
"It was her. Well Mamoo called me to his haveli to share some roasted pistachios, but I knew something was up the moment Uzayr looked at me."

"What's the problem, mamoo?" Fiza looked at her uncle who was distracted whilst flicking a pistachio shell.
"It shouldn't matter to me. So why does she?" He stared in the distance.
Fiza raised her eyebrow at Uzayr.

"Mamoo why are you talking in riddles?" She crunched the nuts.

"She has a high opinion of herself. She looks down at me and things little of me. Now look- just disappeared. I have control over this whole land and the people, but this little bulbul has left me confused."

"Who Mamoo? Who?"

"Meh'r-Bano!" Said Uzayr.

Fiza threw her head back in an unbridled laugh. "Oh my dear, Mamoo."

Uzayr was left speechless watching her laugh. He forgot how beautiful she sounded and looked.

"Why do you care?" Said Fiza.

"Exactly!" Shah Nawaz shoot on his feet.  "Why do I care? You're a woman- you know this emotions stuff explain."

Standing with her grandad, Fiza explained how Shah Nawaz was thinking too much about the maid. Since she was off due to an illness, he was left questioning himself.