The Fallen Widow

18. Marriage Pact II

The hookah bettak was prepared with fresh coal hookah, fresh yoghurt lassi, plates laden with fresh fruit, grapes, apples, mangoes plucked from the orchards this morning. The maids prepared the bettak in anticipation and dotted the bettak in their position watching Shah-Nawaz arrive walking towards his mother who opened her arms wide when she saw her son appear.
A warmth spread across Shahgul's chest when she clasped her eyes on her handsome son. Pride lightened her face and a smile spread across her face. Wajahat Ali stole a glance at Shahgul, whose cheeks plumped red when she saw her son adorning her beauty. Her son took years off Shahgul's glowing skin.
"Bismillah." She greeted her son.
"Dearest mother." Shah Nawaz kissed his mother's hand and pressed it against his face greeting her.
"My beta. My handsome son." She gazed at her son in love. "My beta's eyes are raw. Bring me the Surma Daani." Shahgul raised her hand at her chief maid, Ulfat Naz. Ulfat promptly bought a vintage brass hand crafted surma daani on a silver tray. The decorative brass surma daani contained hand grinded natural kohl in a vintage decorative container with a handle designed like the feathers of a peacock. Shahgul held the surma daani and gave it a light shake and unscrewed the peacock like handle. The stick contained kohl and she slid the eye liner into Shah-Nawaz's grey eyes, enriching his eyes like the moon on a dark night. The kohl stung his eyes at first. He blinked repeatedly and opened his eyes.
"You are the light of my eyes." She kissed his forehead.
It was Allah Ditta who welcomed Shah Nawaz with deep resented reservation. The old man who was Dilawar-Baksh's right arm, wore a phoney smile on his face his body told a very different story as he held his hands behind his back like he was hiding his deception. He disapproved of the young leader. He was impulsive, wild and had a taste for beautiful women which could distract him from his responsibilities. He favoured the grandson off late Shah Jahan and was his loyal ally in his lifetime. Allah Ditta made it his responsibility to locate the lost grandson and return him to Jahanpur to rightly take his place on the throne off Jahanpur.
Sitting on the sofa and inhaling the hookah pipe was his father. Dilawar-Baksh was from a long line of emotionally paralysed men. Dilawar-Baksh spluttered and grumbled glaring at his son.
"There he is, my scoundrel of a son. Where have you been? You don't know what qiyamat has passed us."
Shah Nawaz looked at his mum and shook his head. "It's lovely to see you too my dearest father." He replied with sarcasm kissing his father's hand. "Thank you for asking about me."
Dilawar-Baksh scoffed. Sarcasm bypassed his generation; the new younger generation was a different breed.

Once the greetings were over, the bettak was filled with conversations. The excited maids lingered around to observe Shah Nawaz Qureshi waiting on him to refill his steel cups with fresh ice rose Roohafza sherbet. Ulfat instructed them to refill the palates of fresh fruit. They smiled carrying the vibrant energy of the room. Once Fiza arranged the room she perched on the arm of Uzayr's sofa and elbowed him to move down. The sofas were in a semi-circle set around the rectangular glass table and hookah pipes.
"Sit somewhere else." He nudged her back.
Forcing herself beside him, Fiza squeezed next to him, her leg pressing against his. Fixing her eyes on his black leather amulet tied on his bicep, a smile crept upon her lips recalling their secret embrace in the basement when he returned from Kharagpur. With relief she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his rigid chest when he returned safely, her nose pressed against his sweaty neck. He responded with anger on returning prematurely from Kharagpur, but Fiza was grateful he was back without injury. She peeled the skin off the apple segment and handed it to him.
"Where have you been? You have to get your end away with the thwaifs before you meet your parents." Complained his father crudely.
"I made my elders proud, baba." Shah Nawaz provoked his father. "After all, I am a Choudhary and will follow my forefather's traditions." He smirked bringing the cold, yoghurt milk drink to his lips and took a sip quenching his dry throat. Shahgul disguised her smile. If anyone knew how to answer Dilawar-Baksh it was his cossetted son. Her son had the knack of leaving his father speechless.