| Hawaaon Ke Paighaam | Messages Of The Wind

| The South Terrace |



Mein behosh, tu nasha

aise moh ki dasha

mera chaen raen nain apne saath le gaya

Nainowaale ne...

Panchayats were scary to some, unfamiliar to others and just all around unfathomable to most. In reality, they were just like boardroom meetings and courtrooms; with guns, of course. The amped testosterone, power highs, wealth and high stakes decisions were common factors. The only real difference was that one didn't always know if they'd leave the panchayat in the way they'd arrived, in both matters of self respect and the actual ability to leave in one piece.

Decisions could be made, your respect and name questioned and guns drawn within a breath if the wrong move was made, and in the midst of all this, Khan Murtasim's panchayats were tightly controlled on a leash; the leash being his own restraint, intimidating aura and overall nature. Everyone in the panchayat knew that the Khan would walk in, nod at the salams, utter one walaikum aslaam, slide his own hand gun out and place it on the table arranged for him before sitting down and presiding over the council. It made for a silent treaty, a tentative bond of trust. A loud gesture which conveyed his stance.

My weapons are out on the table, you do not need to fear harm of that nature from me if you comply with the rules.

Of course, if anyone decided to not comply, that was another matter altogether. Now, as with all meetings, Khan Murtasim sat on the gaddi with his Glock, wrapped in its black leather holster, on the table in front of him. A low murmur buzzed around the committee of panchayat elders as they discussed the current issues with him. They sat at the side of the house, on the lawns connected to the West wing of the haveli; the wing belonging to the late Khan, who would often have council meetings on that very lawn.

Murtasim sat back listening to the updates he was given. It was wasn't a full blown panchayat but a more intimate meeting with elders to discuss the problems presented again and again. The bulk of these problems were the Maliks and their arrogance. That and their accompanying stupidity. It made for a long discourse, and it had been going on since early morning. It was now close to 11am, the preparations for his sister's dholki were underway all around them, and they were nowhere near done.

"Yeh maslay badh tay jayein ge, Murtasim Khan. Inko dabana nahi, balkay suljhana hoga."

Murtasim listened, as he had done for the past few hours.

"Malik Mukhtar ne abhi tak banjar zameen ka faisla nahi sunaya. Apke kehne pe usko waqt-"

The panchayat elder abruptly stopped, causing a momentary pause in noise before heads finally looked up. Murtasim's was last to lift to the elder man, and when he frowned at the man's lack of response, Murtasim's head, along with the rest of the panchayat council's, turned in the direction of the other man's. all the heads which turned, including Murtasim's, did a double take when they landed on what the panchayat elder was looking towards.

Meerab stood on the side of the lawn, hardly five meters away, and after a double take, every head but Murtasim's swiftly turned away. She stood out like a rose in a bush; her deep red shalwar suit and dark curls looking fresh against the backdrop of the greenery and ivory haveli. Her head was loosely covered with the deep red dupatta and her eyes were wide as she took in her audience.

Heads were lowered, eyes averted and throats cleared; all signs of surprise and discomfort which didn't quite translate clearly for Meerab, who's eyes were trained on Murtasim, who's brows lowered in slight surprise, as she spoke, and not just to Murtasim.