The Fallen Widow

13. Sikander the dark Stallion.

A fleet of white SUV's drove by creating a dust cloud drove by. The white cars with blacked out windows raced along the narrow potholed path towards the Grand Bazaar promising commotion. Veiled with her large black Kashmiri chador Meh'r-Bano watched the fleet of luxurious  cars in awe.  Making her way in Nadeem's large shoes, raised voices roared through the screeching feedback on the speakers followed by a rapturous applause. It was all happening in the Grand Bazar.
"Baba, what is happening in the bazaar?" Meh'r-Bano dropped a coin in the beggar's ceramic bowl. His left leg amputated from the knee, the old man held his wooden stick that aided his walking. Baba opened his good left eye at the young woman shielding his eyes from the glaring sun, he looked at the blurry figure. Cataracts got the better of his eyes and slowly his one good eye's vision was turning into a misty blur.
"Trouble."
Meh'r-Bano watched the final car turn into the bazaar.
"Stay away, young girl. There is trouble brewing in the bazaar." Even if his eyes betrayed him, his ears were sharp. Her voice was soft and tender. 
Meh'r-Bano was intrigued. "Why?"
"The cursed one is here, Choudhary Muzzamil who has vowed to bring down his brother Dilawar-Baksh and his family."
Meh'r-Bano was intrigued. She kneeled beside the old man digging for more information.
"They have been sworn enemies since their father divided Jahanpur and gave Choudhary Dilawar-Baksh the lion's share, two thirds. Choudhary Muzzamil is wounded and wants to usurp a share."
"Two brothers at war? Is that possible?" She asked. "They're family."
"Where have you been living girl? When it comes to land, wealth and property, father and son end up killing each other. This is Jahanpur. A vast land, with vast riches. Choudhary Muzaamil is in the bazaar with his puppet politician causing a revolt. If Choudhary Dilawar-Baksh or his son Choudhary Shah-Nawaz Qureshi hear of this, there will be blood."
An angry male voice on the speaker roared until the audience clapped.
"Choudhary Shah Nawaz Qureshi has been named to take the throne of Jahanpur. The inauguration is on the 28th ." Meh'r-Bano confirmed.
"Yes beti, there are ten days until the inauguration. A lot can happen in those ten days, the world can change and, in the transition Muzammil wants the noble household to fall and to take over."
Tension was rising and Meh'r-Bano sensed it. "Stay away from the Bazaar, if Choudhary Saab and his men arrive, all hell will break loose." He warned.

Curiosity lured her to the den. Meh'r-Bano bid baba farewell and made her way towards the bazaar where the voices screamed out. Meh'r-Bano tucked her shawl tight covering her face so no one would recognise her. Her shoes were large and uncomfortable, like walking in flippers. She lifted her foot carefully. Beads of sweat ran along her spine from the sharp heat of the afternoon's glaring sun. Making her way towards the bazaar, shutters thudded and shopkeepers closed their shop fearing the tension would cause of a riot. Meh'r-Bano pushed her way into the euphoric crowd, shoving her elbows into the spectators. The shoves pushed her back out, but she was determined to take a glimpse of the speakers. She grasped snippets of conversation from the crowd as the euphoria grew to a heightened expectation. The crowd was bursting with euphoria.
The angry man on the speaker screeched to a deafening level. On the stage was a row of chairs each filled with men dressed in a traditional salwar kameez with black waistcoat. Arms shoved her around, like the waves of the sea from one end to another unsure where she was going. The crowd carried Meh'r-Bano until she reached the left side, the ladies section of the audience. The crowd were segregated into two groups and often spilling into the other. A man dressed in a shirt and tie stood on the stage yelling his election promises.
"-there needs to be change. When will enslaved people continue to be trampled on by the Choudhary! We need education for all. We need rights!" He shook his fist. "Workers' rights! An end to the enslaved bond and debt. We need change! I will give you this change. On July 28th you need to boycott the inauguration, you need to come out on vote on August 25th, come to ballot box and put an X in the box and vote for me. An end to this antiquated system of modern day slavery."
Meh'r-Bano agreed with the politician. She found his speech inspiring but there was more to it. The women whispered in the crowd.
"Here comes another one, like before. Making false promises. We all know he's Choudhary Muzzamil's dog."
At the end of the stage, dressed in a royal white turban with royal moustache and beard sat an old man. From his turban it was clear he was  Muzzamil, the arch enemy and the man who designed the revolt.
"Justice, democracy, law and order does not exist in this region. Why?!" The skinny politician continued. "People are afraid to travel here because these leaders don't adhere to the justice system. The police are on their payroll. This needs to stop. The backward misogynistic Panchyat system needs to end. We need change. Change will improve your lives and free you!"
A rapturous applause exploded. The pressure was intense that the crowd seemed to burst.
"Tauba! I hope Choudhary Dilawar-Baksh does not come and see what his brother is doing." Another woman commented.
"He will die with another heart attack. The old man is already weak." These women were well versed in the political landscape. Such conversation was not encouraged in Chiragpur or Central Haveli. But the people of the grand bazaar were aware.
"If Choudhary Shah-Nawaz Qureshi comes, he will kill his uncle!"
"Did you know he's still an eligible bachelor?" A woman tittered in the crowd.
"They say he has eyes silver-grey like the moon." Another woman shrilled with excitement.
"People of Jahanpur. Do not be afraid. Fear the Almighty. Fear Allah and boycott the inauguration of Choudhary Shah-Nawaz Qureshi, son of Choudhary Dilawar-Baksh Qureshi. Come to the polling stations on August the 25th and vote for freedom!"
Another bout of applause broke out. Choudhary Muzaamil sat firm like a director, producing a perfect picture. With a wooden beaded tasbeeh rolling between his forefinger and thumb he chanted silently looking around the crowd. There was no chance his nephew Choudhary Shah- Nawaz Qureshi would attend. He'd distracted him and grinned whispering in his aid's ear. 
"Where are they?"