The Fallen Widow

8. Cliff Edge

Standing on the ridge of the cliff facing the mountains that guarded Jahanpur like kings, Uzayr looked at the strong wide and swift flowing river below. The river was a lifeline, pumping fresh water melted from the alpine heights, opaque and dangerously attractive. It was Friday, the day of jummah, the day of prayer, cleanliness next to Godliness. The villagers were encouraged, to wash, clean and prepare for Friday prayers. Each village housed its own mosque. Tall proud minarets that sung in collaboration like a heavenly choir calling upon the villagers to heed to success and submit to their Lord, the Gracious. Islam was ingrained and embedded in Jahanpur people like the river, a lifeline, without God, there was nothing. Life would cease to exist.
Uzayr crunched and ripped open the brand-new imported cigarette packet, craving for the taste. He took out the white stick and flicked the lighter and took the first drag. The taste was offensive. Harsh on his throat, his mouth dried, and it didn't burn smooth. He looked at the box; it was an original brand with a silver ribbon, but it wasn't smooth and rich like he was accustomed to. Each inhale was torture. He got his nicotine fix, but the cigarette was coating his black kameez with a strong and nasty tobacco stink. Uzayr glared at the cheap cigarette flicked it off the cliff. The stacks of imported cigarettes was part of the deal along with guns, money and a safe passage through Jahanpur. They'd lied that it was an original import. It was fake and nasty. Shah-Nawaz will not be happy when he learns of the deceit. Together, they'd pay the dealers a visit teach them a lesson they'd never forget. The sound of laughter distracted Uzayr from his tobacco fix disappointment. A buzz of conversation decorated with the kaleidoscopic colours of dupattas, floating up and down in the air, galvanised the riverbank like a mela. Women gathered to wash, clean and most importantly to socialise on the day of Jummah. A precious and auspicious day. Children jumped into the shallow ends climbing on their bulls and cows that bathed in the cool waters.

On the contrary to the jubilation, Uzayr saw a bloody red river. Blood pouring from his father's body poured into the river that dreadful day and he stared at the exact spot. What was his father doing at the darya that evening? Their home was twenty miles away. Who called him? Whoever called him, must have shot him. News travelled thick and fast when the villagers discovered the body dumped on the riverbank. A numb and shell shocked Uzayr, raced in the SUV towards the river. He couldn't recall the journey. Where the road ended, he jumped on Shah Nawaz's personal and fast horse-Sikander- and galloped towards the river. His mother's wails echoed in his head. His father couldn't die. He had so much to do. He had land to conquer. A haveli to build. He had to stand by his side when he married Fiza. It went to dust when he uncovered the blood-stained white sheet off his father's body and fell to the ground in shock. The trauma of holding his father's bloody head in his lap raided his sleep, he never slept a peaceful night's sleep since the murder. His father's soul was troubled. His soul in purgatory. Until he found and killed his father's murder, his soul wouldn't find peace. Did his grandfather kill his father? Would he be cruel and murder his son in law? For Fiza's sake he hoped it was untrue. He didn't want to hurt Fiza. He needed to know the truth. Why did they shoot him? The world turned black on hearing the news. He'd turned to stone. He couldn't bestow Fiza's lap with happiness. A deep and wide chasm took the place of his heart. Rage and bitterness ran though his veins.
"Oh Allah. Help me!" He pleaded.
"Ah, the King of nephews! Uzayr Sultani!" Azaad called out from behind opening his arms wide to hug his nephew. Uzayr remembered why he'd come to the darya, to investigate his uncle Azaad.
"What joy to see you here!" Azaad embraced Uzayr with a strong bear hug. Azaad was tall and skinny standing over his broad and solid nephew. "I was thinking about you."
Uzayr's body was rigid with no response.
Uzayr shook his head. "Baba sent me-"
"How is my beloved father? I see, he is thinking of me." Azaad tapped his nephew in a patronising manner.
"You been causing trouble again? What is this about you cutting off the water supply in the neighbouring village Mandal? They village elder said he will bring the matter to the panchayat. You will embarrass baba with your behaviour."
Azaad cackled with a throaty laughter. The village panchayat was an important court hearing where the village elders gathered and resolved the disputes from every village. Each village elected an elder who sat at the panchayat court hearing and voiced the concerns of their people. Dilawar-Baksh was the chief, who had the final say and passed judgment. Dilawar-Baksh would suffer a profound embarrassment if a complaint was made against his household. Rumours would spread like fire, that Dilawar-Baksh lost control of his noble household and his son is running riot cutting off essential water to vulnerable villagers. The villagers he should be protecting. Azaad widened his arms and leaned towards the river like he was a composer and the villagers were his orchestra. In his artistic manner, he glided his long, wily body around with joy making light of the serious issue.
"This land, this vast fields and province is ours and ours alone my sher nephew." He announced with arrogance.
"We are above the laws. There is no one, no panchayat, no order that can reprimand me. You heard that, you pitiful villagers!" He yelled to the cliffs; the wind carried his arrogant words.
"These people are nothing but slaves. Our slaves my beloved nephew." Azaad sneered at Uzayr and with a glint in his eyes. "Why has Dilawar-Baksh sent you on these idle issues?" Azaad referred to his father by his first name as a sign of dissent.
"You should be investigating serious matters, my sher! Dilawar-Baksh is distracting you from learning the truth about your father?"
Uzayr shook his head and stepped to the side glaring down. "What about this woman who poisons children's mind at the quarry? Do you know anything about her? The villagers are not saying anything." Uzayr changed the subject.
"Uff Allah!" Azaad sighed staring at the blue sky. He thumped his chest like he'd been wounded.
"She has these cute little toes, pretty feet."
Uzayr glared at him in revulsion.
Azaad looked at his hands pretending they were her toes. "Each toe is small, tiny, and her feet small to fit into my hand."
"What are you talking about Azaad? Whose feet?"
"Have you seen her? If you see her, you will agree, that from head to toe she is an angel. I can't believe she is married to that leech, that lizard, Shafiq."
Uzayr refused to discuss the issue further with Azaad. "Keep an eye on her. Let me know when she comes to the quarry."
"Oh, my sher! I do nothing but keep an eye out for her. She should be there, below, scrubbing with those beautiful fair hands, her bangles jingling and her lips singing like a nightingale. One day, I will have her."
Uzayr walked off leaving his uncle daydream about Meh'r-Bano and made his way towards the steep hill. Azaad snapped from his day dream when he heard the twig crack under his shoe.
"Your father deserves justice Uzayr. Whilst my beloved father sends you on idle matters to distract you, your father soul is troubled. It lingers in these valleys."
He called out stopping Uzayr in his tracks.
"I knew Urangzeb. He was a good man. An honest man. He deserved better than this- than his body to be found by villagers and dragged from the darya." Azaad returned and glared at the river.
"Enough!" Uzayr snapped strong towards his uncle. He didn't want to hear it again. 
"I can't get over it. Uzayr." Azad grabbed his arm forcing him to look him in the eye.
"You can't let the killer get away with it." Uzayr glared into his black eyes. The left eye had a slight brown spot that grew apparent as he aged. Azaad made sure Uzayr felt the gravity of the issue.
"Someone out there is walking freely whilst your father is lying underground. He didn't deserve that."
"Enough!" Uzayr yelled. He shivered with anger. "Enough." He slapped his head with his left hand.
"I don't know what to do. I asked everyone who was there, I'm going to go mad!" Uzayr roared. "When I find out who he is, I will strangle him with my bare hands and watch his life end. I will kill him!"
Azaad straightened his back and squared his shoulders watching Uzayr tremble with anger. He was young and angry. He could turn Jahanpur upside down with his fearless attitude.
"You're not alone, King of Nephews. You are a lion, the sher of Jahanpur. That's why Dilawar keeps you close to him. Your power, your anger and your strength are your asset. Channel it and together we will find the man who killed your father. We will get him justice."
Azaad held his shoulders and shook him igniting the fire. "Trust me, my lion, we will find the murderer and avenge your abbu."
Uzayr gasped for air. He yanked his arm free and walked off. Making his way towards the highest peak of the cliff he stood on the edge and looked down at the deep river. Taking a deep breath and fuelling his lungs with fresh alpine air, his body fuelled with adrenaline. He needed to do something, fast and perilous. Uzayr teared his kurtha  and tossed it aside revealing his bronzed chest shimmering in the afternoon sunlight.
"My sher! Sher of Jahanpur!" Azaad cheered him on the dive.
Uzayr thrust his bare chest outwards tightly grabbing his leather amulet that dangled on his hulking chest. Uzayr had befriended the dangerous currents. He's swam the swift wide river with ease powering though with his sharp shoulder blades and powerful arms cutting though and reaching the bank. Today he needed his friend and wanted to dive in the depths of the river, to swim until the alpine cold river chilled his blazing soul.
"La-ilaha-illallah-muhammadur-rasulullah" Uzayr recited the declaration of faith. If he died in the river-he'd die with the kalima the final word on his lips. He stepped back, counting softly to ten. Then he raced forward, his muscular arms powering him, his face screwed with rage like he was in a ring ready to fight. He raced towards the edge of the cliff propelling into the air. His hands together like an arrow he dived, cutting into the cold mountain air. Gravity pulled him down and like a bomb, he splashed hard into the river. The splash was followed by screams from the women. Azaad cackled looking deep down.
"You will burn Jahanpur with your fire, my sher!"