Episode 9
Haider quickly stood up and was about to leave when Jahaan Ara spoke,
"Oh dear, no need for any formality. We've brought everything."
Shahmeer called out to the driver, and moments later, the driver appeared carrying two plastic bags. Jahaan Ara stood up, took one of the bags, pulled out some sweets, and placed a piece of barfi into Haider's mouth, then another one into Shahmeer's.
Haider felt like the luckiest man on earth, receiving love without even asking for it. Shahmeer leaned toward Jahaan Ara and whispered,
"I don't know why we never thought of this before. I hope this turns out to be good for all of us."
Jahaan Ara nodded and said,
"Look son, you have no elders of your own. We are your elders now. So, we'll handle all the engagement arrangements."
Haider hesitantly said,
"If you don't mind, I have a suggestion."
Shahmeer replied,
"Go on, son."
Haider said,
"Wouldn't it be better if we go straight for the nikah instead of an engagement?"
Jahaan Ara beamed,
"What a wonderful idea! That's exactly what we'll do."
Haider felt as if both of them were so impressed with him, they'd give him whatever he asked for. In his heart, he silently thanked Kalidas. Shahmeer and Jahaan Ara stood up and said,
"We'll announce the date very soon. Now, please excuse us."
With that, they left the house.
Jawad saw that as they neared the cremation ground, the fakir began to slow down. Jawad used up the last of his strength, ran forward, and grabbed the fakir by the neck.
"Now speak up! Who are you?" he yelled.
The fakir only laughed. His laughter made Jawad even angrier. Just as he raised his hand to hit the fakir, a voice came from behind.
"Hey boy, stop. Let him go."
Jawad turned around and saw a medium-height man glaring at him. His head was bald, and his beard reached his navel. With dark skin and yellowing teeth, the man grinned and said,
"Come here."
Jawad, compelled, started walking toward him. As he approached, a putrid stench hit him so strongly that he recoiled two steps back.
"Who are you? How do you know Rabaab?" Jawad asked.
The man replied,
"I'll tell you everything. Come, let's sit under that tree."
Jawad looked toward the direction he had come from and saw a large tree by the roadside. Without realizing it, he started walking toward it. Both of them sat beneath the tree.
"I'm your well-wisher," the man said. "Tell me what you want."
"First tell me how you know about Rabaab," Jawad demanded.
"I'm not someone special," he said. "I just learned a certain knowledge—through which I help sorrowful people. That's how I figured out your situation. Now tell me, what do you want?"
"Baba ji, if you already know, then why don't you help me?" Jawad asked.
"I will," he replied. "You'll get her. But you must bring me something."
"What is it?" Jawad asked.
"Something that belongs to her—a piece of clothing or some hair."
The Baba laughed with a wicked tone.
Jawad said,
"Alright, I'll bring it to you."
With that, he walked away. After walking a few minutes, he found a rickshaw and went to the hospital.
Haider's happiness was beyond description. He wanted to dance, or shout to the whole neighborhood that he had won the love of his life.
He stepped into the courtyard and spotted his motorcycle. That reminded him—he had planned to buy a new one. He quickly opened his wardrobe, grabbed some cash, stuffed his pockets, and headed to the market.
He stopped in front of the city's biggest motorcycle dealership. Hesitating, he opened the door and entered a spacious hall filled with shining motorcycles.
As he was still admiring the colorful bikes, a young man approached and asked,
"How can I help you, sir?"
Startled, Haider looked up. The man was around 22, well-dressed—likely a staff member.
"I want to sell my old bike and buy a new one," Haider replied.
"Please show your bike to that boy over there. He'll inspect it and give you a price."
Haider handed over the keys. The showroom was filled with stunning models, and Haider couldn't decide which to choose.
Eventually, he found one he liked, but when he heard the price—one hundred and fifty thousand—he was shocked. He could never earn that much in a lifetime, but since the money had come easy, he decided to buy it.
The boy returned and said,
"We'll take your bike for twelve thousand."
Haider counted his money—he had one hundred thousand. He asked for time till the evening and gave them an advance payment before heading back home.
When Jawad reached the hospital, he received devastating news—his aunt had passed away. It hit him like a mountain. His parents and cousins were all present. The body was taken home. Shahmeer and Jahaan Ara also arrived there with Rabaab.
Although Mehreen greeted them coldly, Jahaan Ara didn't care. She was entirely under Haider's influence now.
After the burial, Jawad noticed everyone busy with their own matters. Suddenly, he saw Rabaab. She came over and greeted him.
Jawad stared at her beautiful face—her eyes were red, probably from crying. It felt like Rabaab was pretending to be unaware, like she knew nothing.
While he was suffering, burning in the fire of love, she seemed oblivious. Did she really not know? Or was she just ignoring it? He sighed deeply and said,
"We believe you won't be careless with us,
But we'll turn to dust before you realize it."
Rabaab looked confused and asked innocently,
"What did you say, Jawad bhai?"
That word—bhai—hit him like poison. The one he loved calling him "brother"?
Jawad stood up, got into his car, and drove away toward his destination.
Haider gathered the remaining amount and headed back to the city. He handed over his old bike, and proudly rode out of the showroom on his gleaming new motorcycle.
On the way, he thought, If only my mother were alive today...
She had seen nothing but poverty all her life. First the pain of losing her husband at a young age, and then the burden of raising him alone.
He decided to visit her grave, and turned his bike toward the cemetery.
Jawad stopped his car and stormed into Jahaan Ara's house, fuming with anger. The driver, who also worked as a guard, tried to stop him.
"My mother left something behind. I've come to collect it," he said.
Since the driver knew he was their nephew, he let him through. Jawad quickly entered Rabaab's room.
The room smelled as pleasant as ever. He picked up her hairbrush, but it was clean—no strands of hair. He rushed to the wardrobe, folded one of her kurtas, and stuffed it into his jacket.
Then he stormed out again—this time heading straight for the cremation ground.
As soon as Haider entered the cemetery, he noticed an elderly man with a long beard sitting next to his mother's grave.
Haider went closer and greeted him. The elder was reading the Quran.
He lifted his head, and when Haider saw his face—his entire being froze in shock.
[To Be Continued]
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