The Fallen Widow

14. Dissent

The crowd packed around the stage watching the politician shake his left fist in the air. They watched wondering whether he was brave or a fool rebelling against Dilawar-Baksh. The politician turned to Muzzamil seeking his approval. Was he saying the right words? Muzamil gently nod his head with approval.

The sound of tyres screeching, horns blaring approached from the far end of the bazaar. Confusion erupted.
"Choudhary Shah Nawaz Qureshi has arrived! Choudhary Shah Nawaz Qureshi has arrived! Run!" The crowd yelled in panic and ran in all directions. Muzzamil's guards dressed in white, cocked their pistols read to fire. The audience filled with fear were trapped. The black cars locked them in from both sides of the bazaar. Guards dressed in black stamped their boots marched into the bazaar like the army loaded with heavy superior artillery appeared.
"Stay where you are!" Wajahat Ali roared shooting his pistol into the air spreading fear through the disobedient crowd. Guards dressed in black with the Qureshi household emblem printed on their kurtha fenced around the crowd. Meh'r-bano was familiar with their uniform, but never had she seen the sheer number of guards flood from all sides.
Muzaamil and his men stood up in alarm on the stage. The skinny politician stood behind Muzzamil in fear for his life. The guards pushed the crowd aside, parting the sea of villagers and created a gangway for Shah Nawaz Qureshi. Muzaamil's guards held guns to Dilawar-Baksh's guard, all locked with guns pointing at one another waiting for the second they are ordered to shoot. It would be a blood bath. Silence ensued. Everyone held their bated breath. In the crowd, Meh'r-Bano was pushed to the side. She was trapped. Nowhere to go. She heard the thunder of boots on the ground marching towards the stage. The screech of the microphone fed back. Men in black marched onto the stage to secure it for the arrival of Shah-Nawaz Qureshi. They all waited. The rally was secured by Shah-Nawaz Qureshi's army of guards dressed in morose black. The crowds eyes were fixated on the stage. Expectation silenced them waiting for the pinnacle moment. Hearts beat collectively. Meh'r-Bano raised herself up on her tiptoes to peer through the tall heads, but she couldn't see anything. Just figures, chairs, stage. A roar of applause and cheer erupted out of guilt for Shah-Nawaz . It was sparse and confused. Meh'r-Bano was pushed from side to side in the euphoria. Hands waved, shouts and called were yelled but Meh'r-Bano was lost in the crowd. She couldn't see anything.
"He's here!" A woman whispered. "Allah save us! He won't forgive us for being here. We've betrayed the noble household." There was nowhere for them to go but listen. Meh'r-Bano heard footsteps approach the stairs and then it was silence.. She took a deep breath.
"People of Jahanpur." That must be Shah-Nawaz, thought Meh'r-Bano. His voice was rich, deep with authority. He spoke clearly without the need for a microphone. He sounded calm. He was younger than the politician. "My father told to keep my friends close, but enemies closer." His voice echoed. Tense silence filled he gap. "I wear my enemy like a badge of honour on my chest." He thumped his chest. "Here."
"Every morning, when I get dressed the scar is on my bare chest and when I look at it, I remember the reason why I lived; to lead Jahanpur."
"His uncle, Choudhary Muzammil tried to kill him. It's common knowledge." The women filled in the gaps.
Silence ensued.
"On July twenty-eighth I will take throne of Jahanpur taking over from my father Choudhary Dilawar-Baksh."
A murmur of agreement erupted in the audience. Muzaamil's eyebrow creased. He rubbed his hands together and crushed his tasbeeh beads in his hand. In bid to steal a glance at the strong, powerful and deep voice on the speaker, Meh'r-Bano pushed passed the women in front. Through the shoulders, she finally glanced at Shah-Nawaz. She feasted upon his large figure. Meh'r-Bano dipped her knees and hunched down to see through the crowd. With a Kashmiri grey paisley shawl draped over his right shoulder with regal elegance the other end swathed over his left arm representing the young heir's noble status. He carried the shawl well, his back straightened, his shoulders square and elbows pointed back and out. His presence demanded the attention of the crowds. The stream of three lines of pearls dangled to the right sight of his black turban like a bridegroom, uniting at the front with a wine-red ruby seal brooch with a cluster of peacocks feather that formed a plume. They added his height exuding an air of royalty. Handsomely tailored crisp cotton white kurtha with a roguish open collar. On his right hand, dressed on his small finger, a sterling silver aquamarine topaz ring glimmered under the radiant sun. His attire was distinctive. She pushed through now eager to see glance at his face. But the women shoved her back.
"Jahanpur is a jewel." Shah-Nawaz continued. "Our wealth is the river, the fertile soil, our cattle and land. Night and day raiders enter land to loot our wealth."
Muzaamil shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. His tasbeeh beads speeded through his fingers. "I will protect this land from enemies." He glared at his uncle. "You will have puppets come and promise you democracy, freedom-" He scoffed at the wily politician who stood behind Muzaamil's seat.
"Look at the lands they currently lead, it's in turmoil. Load shedding, poor roads, poverty, unemployment. Let me tell you something, there is 0% unemployment in Jahanpur!" The crowd agreed in pockets.