the cat

The king of Lyaari, Rehman. The man who was considered dangerous and evil by most and admired by a few who were fortunate enough to see the other side of him, the ruthless and feral gangster of Lyaari who was a saviour to some was also the man who shut himself down after what he believed was the biggest tragedy of his life, after losing his only source of light and love.

He was a man drowned in guilt, regrets and rage—that is all what was left of him. After that tragedy, he didn’t make an attempt to feel even a ray of happiness ever again, he knew he didn’t deserve it. He was certain, that being alive without being able to live was his only way to repent.

That was until a certain voice called for him from the crowd. Scared yet daring, she couldn’t even meet his gaze yet she left such an impression, Rehman couldn’t shake away her visions from his mind.

So, for the first time in an exceptionally long time, his thoughts had an ethereal vision of her and not just the ghosts of past.

The questions were, would he allow himself to move past the tragedy? Or was his belief in him being deserving of the torment bigger? Would he allow himself to feel again?

The wind was sharp, like a harsh caress against Rehman’s skin, the summer was at its peak in the town of Lyaari with heat waves being extremely frequent. He was sitting in the car, heading back to the haveli with the same numb expression adorning his rigid face. The slightest bit of pride he felt killing Babu was long gone. The moment he paid more than required attention to that girl he knew he had quietly let his demeanor shift, letting his guard down.

Her.

Captivating, enchanting and ethereal. He hated to admit it but she took his breath away, the way she looked at him with those kajal lined eyes and even the way she stuttered, Rehman couldn’t help but replay that over and over again in his mind.

She was soft, delicate and clean like a petal; him on the other hand…he was stained, ruthless and dangerous. He felt wrong to pay mind to the thoughts of her in his head, like he was too impure to even think of her. It bothered him a lot, the amount of space that brief interaction (if you could even call it that) was taking up in his mind.

Most of all he knew he shouldn’t care, he should not be thinking of a girl who just called out his name in the crowd, who just wanted to thank him but was still scared of him, so he tried his best and shook away those beautiful thoughts of the most haseen woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

“Bhai aaj toh jashn manayenge,” boomed Uzair enthusiastically, causing Rehman to finally be able to stumble out of his chain of thoughts. They’d reached the Haveli.

“Itne waqt se uss haramzade Babu ne Lyaari me aafat macha rakhi thi, upar se uske nikamme aadmi,” said Hamza, shaking his head with an annoyed expression on his face.

“Wahi, sheher ki aurton ka aur mardo tak ka jeena haram kar rakha uss kamine ne,” Uzair replied, nodding at Hamza, holding the same expression of annoyance and disgust at the thought of the dead imbecile.

“Aur waise aaj toh dohri khushi ka din hai,” Hamza said with a look of pure joy and pride, looking at Rehman. “Ab toh aap puri Lyaari ke badshah bann chukein hain, bhai.”

“Jo karna hai karo, mujhe kisi bhi jashn ka hissa ban ne me koi dilchaspi nahi…aur bhi kaafi baqi zimmedarian hai mujh par,” Rehman said, lighting another cigarette, looking absolutely uninterested in whatever celebratory planning the two of his best men were intending on doing.

Rehman, without wasting another second, made his way inside the Haveli, not even bothering to hear the response or the pleas of Hamza and Uzair.

Both of them were well aware of Rehman and his behaviour, so it didn’t bother them when he was quick to dismiss himself from plan they were making. The two of them just looked at each other in a knowing glance and watched Rehman make his way inside the Haveli.

They had a long day. So much execution, so both of them saw no point in discussing the idea any further. Uzair, Hamza and a few more of the men close to Rehman just ended up having a few celebratory drinks before saying their goodbyes and heading home.

There was no jashn, no actual celebration of the victory.

Rehman was extremely quick to hop in the shower and scrub the blood off his body after discarding one of his most favourite kurtas…oh how that was the only thing that truly hurt him today.

“Saala Babu, itna harami na hota toh mere azeez kurte ko phenkna na padta,” he sighed, looking down as if talking to him in hell. In a hurried, frustrated move he threw the kurta into the furthest corner of the room.

After cleaning himself up, he laid down on his bed, continuing his favourite hobby of staring at absolutely anything, with his mind losing the sense of surrounding and the conscious thoughts for a while. Soon enough the weight of his eye lids got heavier and felt himself drift off to sleep…or so he thought.

The night was cruel to Rehman, the ghost of the past haunting his sleep in a nightmare. His sleep was fitful often, he would frequently wish that it would not occur tonight—knowing it was beyond his control. He tried his best to sleep, letting his mind avert from the horror but no matter how much he tried to fight his subconscious, the tormenting loop of it won’t leave him.

“Mujh par yakeen rakho, mai tumhe kuch nahi hone dunga, meri jaan,” he murmured, caressing her hair with trembling, blood-covered hands. Even though Rehman himself didn't believe the words coming out of his mouth, he said so she would hold on longer—have hope. He looked at the faint smile appearing on her face, eyes that caught the lie he tried telling her, it was a look of acceptance—she knew him too well and knew he wouldn’t want her to feel scared.

Weakly she tried to raise her hands up to his cheek to wipe away the salty tears which looked like they would leave a permanent impression on his face, like a print of agony forever scarring him, she couldn’t bare the thought of it so she made a failed and poor attempt to wipe it away.

Rehman didn’t know for how long he could hold himself together with the small frame of the woman he loved the most, losing the last, precious minutes of her life in his arms. The arms which she used to run into with so much excitement whenever she was ecstatic and to those which were the first she used to run to when her world was falling apart, were now holding her tired, sweat and blood covered frame.

To her he was everything. For him she was the life, the sun and moon.

“Ho sake toh humein maaf kar dijiyega,” she whispered, her eyes which were once full of life and radiance, now held pain, regrets and sorrow—a tear slipping past her bloodshot eyes. She looked at him with a pleading gaze, she knew she didn’t have long, all she wanted was for him to forgive her.

Rehman, even though aware, wasn’t ready to accept what was factual. He didn’t want to believe she was not going make it, he didn’t want to forgive her because in his heart full of love for her, he thought if he didn’t she would live, that she would fight the very nature of the situation.

“Noor, apni aankhein khuli rakho, mai yahin hun— t- tumhe kuch nahi ho-,” he couldn’t finish that sentence. Before he could she went limp in his arms.

Everything felt gone, over, done. The air filling his lungs felt heavier, as if it held the weight of the sorrow. The trembling, tired hands of hers now still, resting. Eyes that were looking his had the cover of the heavy lids that gave up, the franticness of the moment gone, replaced by a numbing, piercing silence.

Rehman, the bastard king of Lyaari, who knew absolutely anything and everything, the one who was used to death coming close to him everyday, the one who gave death to many, just went numb. Every muscle, every limb in his body stilled, as if, if he stills the situation wouldn’t continue as if she would be back.

This couldn’t be it, this didn’t happen. This has to be a bad dream, his mind couldn’t decipher the sight in front of him—in his arms.

Did he just lose the very reason he actually learned how to live? The one who came in this life with a glow so bright he was sure she was a gift of god. His sun and moon, the radiance of his life, the delicate petal of his rigid life—his Noor.

No. This couldn’t happen, how did he let this happen? He was so weak…he didn’t deserve her, so the very gift of god was taken away from him. He messed up, he did nothing to save her. He was the reason she was dead; he couldn’t live with that.

Last of the moments of her replayed in his mind like an agonising, torturous tape. He let her go thinking she wasn’t forgiven, he made the last moment of her life excruciating and painful. He was evil, he didn’t even deserve to mourn her.

Rehman couldn’t endure this, he wanted to shoot himself right in the head. How could he do this to her? His fear, his denial and he couldn’t even fulfill her last wish. She’ll never know that he was not upset with her, that even though there was nothing to be sorry for he still did forgive her, that he could never be upset with her.

The next moments of people rushing, sirens blaring were all a blur to him. For him the love, light and the sound of his life was gone, she took it away with her. There was no life without her, not the one that mattered, not the one he wanted to live.

He lived by that, there was nothing without her. No love, no care, no pain, no sorrow, just numbness, guilt and regrets. He felt hallowed, lifeless.

He woke up with little beads of sweat covering his distressed forehead. His breath was frantic, it was traumatic. He should be used to it by now, he thought. It had been years since that incident but every time his subconscious made him witness it again, the hurt was the same, every single time it had the same tormenting effect on him.

He never forgave himself and he never will. He believed deserved this for how weak he had been during that moment, he couldn’t save her after he promised to always be the one she could come to during any moments of fear, the one who swore he would save her life before his own; because for him she was his only life.

For the next few minutes…or hours, Rehman sat on his sofa chair by the window. Lighting a cigarette in hopes that the smoke curling away would also take away the pain, soon enough he realised it was a pathetic attempt. He sat, staring into nothingness with nothing but a void in his heat and the thoughts of the biggest regret of his life.

He didn’t remember sleeping, but he did. Eventually, with those thoughts his heart and mind felt heavy, letting him flee them—for now and he drifted off into the trance of sleep.

Regrets.

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Rehman Dakait.

The name was enough to send chills down the entire Lyaari. The gruesome and selfish gangster. As much as the man was feared by the people, they also had respect for him. He was the saviour for some of people, keeping the goons of the rivals under his shoe and showing them their place.

Of course though, for him it was just his responsibility as the leader. He felt no empathy for the people he killed and even for those he saved because of his responsibility. That part of him, the one that felt and lived, was long gone.

He was lethal to those who were unfortunate enough to get caught, he showed them absolutely no remorse, no signs of hesitation pulling the triggers of guns or smashing weighting stones into their heads; he never second thought.

Those few who were close to him had seen Rehman during that time when he was more of a person, someone who lived. Now he was just a man who was here to do what he was supposed to, lived just by the responsibilities.

Rehman believed he was no great man of morals or ethics. He was what the opposite of that is, being involved with crime ever since he was a young boy—the blood and torture was now something of normalcy.

Though what he did have was a lot of pent up, blinding rage, he had a strong and murderous grudge against the ones who were doing wrong by those who couldn’t defend themselves but he often thought it was because he could let out his rage on them without having to ever even have the possibility of experiencing a feeling like guilt or remorse. Those who carried the misfortune of falling into his traps, served as a healthy outlet for his rage.

There was nothing he hated more than the idea of guilt, remorse and regrets. Ironic because those were the only things he felt when was surrounded by nothing and no one but just him and the past.

He was uncertain about many things in his life. What he was doing, why he was doing what he was doing, why does he have this blinding rage and a whole lot more but if there was one thing he was certain about was that, that he was a fucked up man who carried the weight of the past.

The man whose expressions didn’t move a tad as he continued his torture on those who tried to double-cross him, those who weren’t loyal or those who tried to go against him. He was someone who didn’t feel proud, fulfilled or even the slightest bit happy when the people whom he saved thanked him with joined hands and watering eyes, the man who never spoke about his feelings and the man who was responsible for Lyaari.

“Bhai bas karein woh mar chuka hai!,” yelled Uzair from behind him. He himself had just shot Babu Dakait's men while watching his cousin give Babu Dakait a death no one could ever even imagine, showing him absolutely no mercy.

It had been a few weeks since the women and even men of Lyaari had been complaining about the harassment they were facing because of these men.

Word spread quickly, reaching the Baloch haveli and it didn’t take long for Rehman and his men to figure that those men were in fact from Babu’s gang, roaming around harassing women. Nothing else was to be said, Rehman knew what he had to do, that imbecile of a man had already been in his unfinished works list for a long while. Babu Dakait, even though Rehman’s biological father, was his biggest rival and Rehman had mutual feelings about him. He absolutely despised him, his work, his mere existence.

He was quick to order his men and get to work, it didn’t take them long to execute their plan and those perverts, including Babu himself who got the worst possible death of them all.

When Rehman finally got ahold of Babu, he saw red and like always but this time only with more certainty he didn’t hesitate or second guess. He acted on his instincts, which was to put such an end on him—in such a way, it would be remembered. He wanted to see the fear in his eyes, wanted him to plead and beg for mercy as he showered him none.

What happened after that was something that had people from the crowd faint, throw up and turn their gazes away. The monstrosity that the atmosphere of Lyaari witnessed in that very moment was bone chilling.

Lyaari knew he was no politician or leader of them, they knew that even Rehman was a gangster, a lethal one at that. The only difference was that he never intentionally intended on causing chaos to the people but given what he did for work most of the time he couldn’t control the situation. Rehman and his gang also caused chaos and menace but they were never known to harass women or do cheap robberies.

Rehman discarded the stone after one final blow. Looking at the lifeless body of these men in the broad daylight, for just a split second Rehman felt the tiniest bit of accomplishment, killing this fucker had been on his list for too long now, so finally doing that, he couldn’t help but feel a tiniest bit accomplished. With Babu and his minions dead, he knew that now they had the hold of the entire Lyaari.

“Aaj se Lyaari me Balochon ki hukumat hogi,” he declared, with zero trace of hesitance or doubt in his words, not a stutter. He was oozing dominance with the way he made that statement, like a man who knew he was undefeated.

A smirk was all he gave as he turned around and began walking towards Uzair and his men.

People gathered were already aware of this day coming sooner or later, it was an unspoken fact amongst them. The town was used to this type of violence happening every now and then, the gang wars between the two were what you could call the popular thing in Lyaari, it was known for it—which was unfortunate but a fact. The people of the town were always on high alert, curfews happened too often, gunshots became a normal sound, it was an absolute fear ground and as messed up as it was, the frequent occurrence made people eventually get over it.

“Gaadi nikal,” he said as he walked. Siyahi, one of his men, was quick to obey his orders and got to work.

“Rukiye!,” shouted a voice from a distance. She pushed and shoved past the gathered crowd, navigating her way to the man who was responsible for the blood on the ground.

Rehman didn’t care for the voice that came, he didn’t turn or pay attention. He was too busy waiting for Siyahi to get the vehicle so he could go home and get this god awful man’s blood off of him.

By the time she made it close to him she was gasping for air. She fearfully and hesitantly tapped his shoulder with the lightest touch anyone possibly could with a trembling hand when he didn’t turn after her calling out for him again.

This time he turned, he was furious that this girl thought she could touch him when he clearly had no interest in hearing her whatsoever.

She looked at him as he turned. The cold expression on his face scared her but she tried her best to not let it show. She knew he was covered in blood and was wounded when she looked at him from afar, but it looked very real from where she was standing now.

There was blood splashed everywhere, covering his face, hands and his kurta. He had a huge wound on his forearm which was obviously unattended and it made her mentally wince thinking what if he gets infected.

Rehman was furious but he always had an immense respect for women, he always held higher regards for women than men. So no matter how badly he wanted to lash out he turned around quietly, with his expressions showing no sign of any readable emotion.

He took in the sight of the girl standing before him—she was mesmerising, he almost felt his breath being caught away. She was wearing a pink and white kurti, her hair tied lazily with the paper thin dupatta lightly covering her hair, the loose strands of her hair bothering her with every blow of wind. Delicate jhumkas dangling from her earlobes and a silver nose ring adorning her nose. Her kohl lined eyes held fear in them, he could see it no matter if she tried hiding it.

He wasn’t sure why was paying so much attention to the girl standing in front of him because that defeated his entire purpose, which was to give zero attention to what wasn’t on his list of things he needed to get done.

“Bolein,” he nodded, giving her the signal to speak. “Kya khidmat kar sakte hai hum aapki?” He said, taking out and lighting a cigarette. His eyes held her gaze with the same cold expression. He maintained a calm demeanor, waiting for her to speak. Though he knew it didn’t matter much to him, whatever she had to say.

“J-ji mai bas- woh,” hesitantly she started, trying to form words to express what she wanted to. Shouting from a distance was a whole lot easier than standing before him and speaking when his eyes were looking straight into hers. It didn’t take long for her to break away from his chilling gaze. She looked at the ground before continuing what she was saying.

“Hum bas…a-apka shukriya ada karna chahte hai, inn aadmiyon ne…kaafi baar hum ladkiyon se ziyadti ki aur h-humein pareshan kiya hai,” her eyes almost welled up and she didn’t know if the tears were caused due to fear of the man she was standing in front of or if it was because of how frustrating these men have been for her and many other women of the town.

Rehman wondered why she was doing this, especially at this very moment. The strongest of the men in the crowd were scared to even hold their heads up and look ahead yet this girl right here, soft as a flower, dared enough to not only call him out from afar but to actually tap on his shoulder and make him hear what she wanted to say. Did those assholes bother her and the other women so much that she was frustrated and angry to an extent where she didn’t even pay mind the gut wrenching scenario which unfolded just a few minutes ago?

“Bas yahi k-kehna chahte the, aapka b-boh-“

“Bhai gaadi taiyar hai, chalein?” Siyahi asked as he came with the car, unaware of the conversation which was happening.

Taking one final drag from the cigarette before flicking it away, Rehman gave her one final look before turning and starting to walk towards his car.

“Shukriya ki zarurat nahi,” were his final words as he walked away, got in the car and left. His tone gave away that those words were not said softly, instead he sounded almost offended.

She stood there—still as a rock, as she watched the car disappear on the road. Clutching the corners of her dupatta in her fist, her mind was running through a million thoughts. Why did she have to get out there and do that, she could’ve just stood there like the rest of them and gone home when the show was over. Did she get herself in major trouble? Was what she said wrong? Was he gonna kill her?

Above all, did she just offend the bastard king of Lyaari?

Regrets?

(Next - Part 1 )

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