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Uzair Baloch x reader
Summary- Crackfic hai boss, with fluff ka tadka🤪
Warning- Pure Uzair fluff! For a change, he is flirty and not bhondu
Hello, Hello 🎤
Mike Testing
1, 2, 3...
So I wanted to surprise my second child on Tumblr, the incredible @mainyahaankyunhoon. Girlie is just about tolerating the excessive heat while slaying exams, managing stress, dealing with her dean, keeping up with Tumbr and Instagram and what not 😭😭😭
So I decided to go ahead and write this fic for her, based on her idea🤓
My first child @roses-and-iron helped proof reading this, suggesting a title worthy of such a crackfic. I swear you guys, you have no idea how COOL Nini is🥹
Also beating my wifey @twinblueflamee as it seems I have more self-control as this fic is less than 5K words😼🙂↔️🙂↕️
To any of you who don't like it- I am sorry!
To anyone who likes it- It is a labor of Love and Chai Mocha drip⏰️
To all the writers- You guys are incredible! Seriously, the mehnat should be loved and appreciated🫶🫶🫶
To all people on Tumblr- The world is a shitty place. Let girlies live a little more on this platform without being Judged🫂
The tranquility of the lazy Sunday afternoon at Baloch Haveli was rudely interrupted by an angry yet firm voice. You were stopped at the gate by two men, one who looked like a Sumo wrestler on diet while the other looked as if he overdid the fake freckles trend.
‘Mujhe Uzair Baloch se milna hai’ you repeated, your tone as calm and indifferent as it could be when dealing with henchmen of dreaded gangsters.
‘Are par aap hai kon?’ the bald man asked, looking unimpressed
‘Aap mujhe andar jaane de warna main chillaungi’ you threaten only for him and the other guy to snicker at you.
‘Dekhe bibi aap andar aise nahi jaa sakti’ he says, speaking to you as if you were a child with questionable comprehension skills.
‘Waise bhi nahi jaa sakti bhai, aapka 4×4 mini truck jaisa badan beech mein jo khada hai’ you spit out
‘Agar aapne mujhe andar jaane se roka toh main yaha Jamali sahab ko bulaungi’
‘Mere mamu hai woh’ you say as a matter-of-fact, even though the statement is a lie. They look at you. Dressed in your most expensive lawn suit, with black spherical frame nestled on your equally round face, you made an extra effort to look dignified and posh considering you were going to confront a member of the Baloch family.
The name Jamali does the trick and the fake freckles guy leads you to the porch where Rehman Dakait is sitting with his wife Ulfat Baloch. They were watching their sons play football while enjoying a cup of chai. You stood in front of them, sweat beading at your forehead. You reminded yourself why you were here and you were not leaving till you got what you wanted.
You clear your throat and address the man who was now looking at you with curiosity.
‘Rehman bhai ab aap hi meri kuch madad kar sakte hai. Uzair miyan se koi rabata nahi ho raha.’
Rehman stands up and addresses you ‘Kya baat hai? Batao’
‘Mujhe insaaf chahiye. Hone wale bacchon ke liye’
Rehman and Ulfat blurt in unison ‘Kya?’
‘Ji. Aise iss halat mein akela kaise chod sakte hai woh? Kal main factory gayi toh woh waha nahi the. Aaj unhe cheel chowk pe uss tanker jaise aadmi ke saath dekha. Maine awaaz bhi di toh bhi unhone ne suna hai. Aise kon karta hai bhala?’
Ulfat, the angel that she is, walked towards you ‘Tum pehle baith jao. Pani piyogi?’
You were taken aback by her warm and gentle nature.
‘Shukriya’ you gulp the glass of water handed to you by a househelp. The kids saw the serious exchange and stood near the cars to eavesdrop.
You continue ‘Aapko toh aaj kal ke haalat ka pata hi hai. Iss mehengai mein main akeli kaise yeh zimmedari uthau. Kya unka koi farz nahi banta?’
Rehman looks at Ulfat, who in turn is glaring at him. ‘Baat toh sahi keh rahi ho par humara Uzair itna laaparwah nahi. Pata nahi kya ho gaya?’
‘Unhe zimmedari ka bojh nahi uthana shayad’ you reply
As if on clue, the devil makes an appearance. Dressed in navy blue kurta and jeans, he looked more like a vintage movie star than the feared gangster that Lyari spoke of in hushed tones.
‘Tum yaha kya kar rahi ho?’ he asks, irritation evident in his voice.
‘Aapse milne aayi thi par aap hai ki mujhe taal rahe hai’
Uzair notices Ulfat looking at him in anger while Rehman has disappointment written all over his face
‘Uzair yeh sab kya hai?’
Uzair lets out a choppy breath, the forced air ruffling hair falling on his forehead.
‘Bhai yeh ladki pagal hai!’
‘Ha ha main hi pagal hu! Aapse kitne baar kaha tha maine ke yeh sab galat hai par aapne meri ek na suni’ you reprimand him, reminding him of all the times you asked him to mind his lane.
‘Aur toh aur jab kaha ke aise kisi ke ghar ki deewar kudke aana acchi baat nahi toh kehte the yeh sab toh fitrat hai, tum apni khidki theek se bandh rakho’
‘Ab dekho kya ho gaya. Ab bacchon ki zimmedari kon uthayega?’
Uzair is perplexed while Rehman and Ulfat are shocked.
‘Bacche? Kitne hai?’ Ulfat asks in a gentle tone
‘Pata nahi par 2 toh hai hi. 3 ya chaar bho ho sakte hai’ you reply
Rehman was embarrassed while Ulfat was taken aback ‘Kaise?’
‘Aap toh aise bol rahi hai jaise yeh koi anokhi baat hai’ you look at the three of them who are wearing shock, surprise and embarrassment as facial accessories. Behind, you hear the Sumo wrestler whisper something to the tanker, both giggling like school kids
You turn to them ‘Yaha kya comedy circus chal raha hai? Itni hassi kyu aa rahi? Serious baat chal rahi yaha!’
You turn to look at Uzair but Rehman clears his throat ‘Kya chahiye tumhe?’
Finally! Someone asking the real question
‘Muafza aur dekh bhaal. Aur bacche hone pe equal zimmedari’
He immediately replies ‘Theek hai. Par tumhe bhi toh dhyan rakhna chahiye tha’
‘Rehman bhai, main akeli kitna khayal rakhu. Inhe toh parwah hi nahi. “Jo hoga dekha jayega” yeh attitude hai inka’ you huff in annoyance.
‘Isse toh main baad mein dekhta hoon par tum chahti ho toh bacche hone tak yaha ruk sakti ho. Uske baad bhi yaha reh sakti ho.’
You interrupt him, horrified at the suggestion ‘Nahi warna inka billa meri billi ko aur tang karega’
Rehman and Ulfat are confused. It is the tanker who asks ‘Billa? Billi?’
You turn around to look at him. ‘Ha. Yeh dekhiye’ saying so you fetch your beautiful, green eyed indie cat from the wicker basket.
‘Meri pyari Razia Sultan. Kya haalat kar di inke Pele ne’
Rehman turns to Uzair ‘Abbe, yeh Pele kon hai?’
Before Uzair could reply, you fill him in. ‘Are inka woh mota billa. Factory mein rehta hai. Loafer saala chindi aashiq. Fenke hue chicken se meri Raziya ko behla fusla ke maa bana diya.’
‘Naam bhi kitna behuda ashleel hai’ you say under your breath.
‘Aye ladki woh bohot bade footballer ka naam hai. Tameez se’ Uzair charges at you, as if you had just called him a slur.
‘Par aapka billa toh badtameez hai. Jahil, playboy!’ you throw the unsolicited character certificate at him.
Everybody breaks out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, leaving Uzair and you confused and irritated.
Ulfat finally calms a bit, speaking in between her laughing fit, ‘Are tum fikar mat karo. Tumhari billi… Raziya ki dawai ka kharcha aur bacchon ki dekh rekh Uzair dekhega’
‘Ji pura nahi par aadha hissa. Baki meri Raziya ke liye aadha kharcha main uthaungi’ you say with pride of being a self made woman.
‘Bohot pyari ho tum. Kya naam hai aur kaha rehti ho?’ asks Ulfat.
‘Main Y/n Gillani. Yehi paas mein rehti hoon’
You notice before anyone else how Ulfat’s expression changes from one of amusement to that of sympathy and maybe a bit of pity. ‘Tum Harris Gillani ki beti ho na?’
‘Ji. Mujhe der ho rahi hai, main chalti hoon Baji. Salaam Rehman bhai’
Not wanting to engage in a conversation that could potentially make you uneasy, you decide to bolt from there.
All this is noticed by Uzair who is now intrigued more than irritated. You had first entered his workspace over two months ago to complain about his stray cat harassing her pet.
Ever since then, he has seen you arguing, fighting, giving it back without any fear or inhibitions. But today, at the mention of your father, he saw vulnerability. The sadness that crept into your eyes, disturbed him as he had always seen them lit with a vivacious spark. Seeing the sudden change in your mood unsettled him, making him wonder whether the teasing and the arguments were a way for him to keep you in his life a bit longer. He looks at your retreating form, determined to solve this mystery.
Next morning you open your door to cat food and neonatal supplies. These would cover at least two months of the pregnancy.
You settle your fur baby in her new comfortable nesting box and coo ‘Meri Raziya. Billa aur Bille ka baap bhale jahil ho par khaandan accha hai’
────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ────── ────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────
‘Uzair mere saath chaloge?’ Ulfat asks Uzair on a Saturday, dressed up to step out.
‘Kaha bhabhi?’
‘Woh bazaar mein kaam hai aur saath Y/n ko milke bhi aayenge. Aakhir samdhan hai tumhari!’ she laughs.
His family and friends had made it a point to tease him mercilessly, reminding him of the eventful Sunday evening and the consequences.
‘Bhabhi aap bhi!’ Uzair mutters, the blush painting his cheeks red as he later understood how everyone had assumed it was you two who were the expecting parents.
Ulfat’s eyes softened seeing Uzair blush. ‘Mazzak tha. Bechari itna pyari bacchi aur itna dukh’ she sighed, the words feeling heavy.
‘Uski ammi ka inteqal hue barson beet gaye. 6 mahine pehle abbu bhi chal base. Bhai Islamabad mein hai par koi rabata nahi. Iske abbu ke janaze pe bhi nahi aaya.’
Uzair’s heart broke for you. The realisation of the pain you silently carried, the strong persona you were forced to project at all times made him see you in a different light.
‘Akeli hai bechari. Mrs Faraz ke yaha kaam karti hai. Bohot tareef karti hai woh iske designs ki’
Hearing someone praise you brought in a sense of pride, making him smile. He always wondered how one woman could be so indifferent to others yet turn into a gentle kind soul for the helpless. It is then that he realized what he felt for you was more than admiration.
Ulfat and Uzair arrive at Mrs Faraz's boutique, surprising you and the other staff members. Ulfat specifically asks for your assistance. You begin showing her around while painfully aware of the six foot two inch guy shamelessly staring at you.
You pick out a black sharara and hand it Ulfat. ‘Baji, yeh aape bohot accha lagega’
Ulfat looks at the material and smiles at you.
‘Pack kar do. Aur baki ke 4 suit bhi pack kar dena’
‘Zaroor!’ you beam at her, making your way to the billing desk. You pack the stuff and hand it to Ulfat.
‘Yeh lijiye’
Uzair steps forward, taking the bags and brushing your hands in process. You look at him expecting this touch to be an accident. Instead, you see him grinning at you.
Ulfat sees this and soon bids you goodbye, leaving Uzair to settle the bill.
He hands you the money and bends down to whisper ‘Tumpe yeh peela rang bohot accha lagta hai. Par laal rang zyada jachega.’
His voice makes your little heart flutter. You turn away quickly, not noticing the way his eyes were mapping your curves.
Ever since that day he started becoming more and more obvious, not hiding his intentions and definitely not letting you escape him.
He was invariably near your workplace before and after your shift. Your colleagues had now started teasing you, making you cringe hard. It got so bad that you literally felt like hitting them on their heads with a bat to restructure their brain.
By day four you had had enough. You make your way to his jeep to give him an earful.
‘Aapko ladies wear mein dilchaspi abhi hui hai ya yeh shaukh pehle se hi hai’ you ask him, only for the tanker aka Hamza to laugh and disappear into the crowd.
Uzair straightens up and leans towards you. ‘Mujhe kapadon mein nahi par inhein banane wali mein dilchaspi hai’
Was he flirting with you?
‘Toh main kal Rumana khala ko aapse milwa dungi. Wohi silai karti hai. 70 saal ki hai par jodi theek lagegi’ you reply with no emotion. However, his flirty smile was making your head spin.
‘Tumhare kehne pe toh main goli bhi kha lu meri jaan, yeh khaala ko patana toh bohot choti baat hai’
Flustered, you begin reprimanding him
‘Dekhiye..’
‘Dekh raha hoon’ he says, staring at you, specifically your lips.
You huff ‘Zyada free hone ki zaroorat nahi. Main aapke type ki ladki nahi hu’
He sighs, ‘Pata hai! Isiliye puch raha ke main tumhare type ka kaise banu?’
‘Jahannam jaake. Ajeeb aafat hai!’ You turn back irritated. He honks his car horn making you turn back to look at him. You glare at him to which he puts his hand on his heart, falling back on the car.
Such a drama queen!
He became more obvious, emboldened by the fact that you did nothing to push him away. He made sure to turn up at the tea stall you frequented, never letting you have your favorite chai in peace.
‘Lyari mein aur koi chai ki dukaan nahi ke idhar aa jaate hai baar baar’ you say as soon as he slides next to you, painfully close.
‘Hai par yaha jitni meethi chai kahi nahi’ he says, too close for your comfort.
You shift a bit farther, ‘Itna meetha khayenge toh diabetes ho jayegi’
‘Tum kaho toh aaj se meetha kya sab chod du’
‘Mera peecha chod de’ you reply
‘Are ab toh hamara rishta hai. Ha par mujhe kuch khaas pasand nahi woh. Raziya ki ammi, kaisa rahe agar main Raziya ka abbu ban jau?’
You cough your chai, taken aback by his shameless proposal. ‘Jaisa billa waisa baap. Jahil! Besharam! Behaya!’
‘Kitna pyaara bolti ho. Aur bolo, accha lag raha’
‘Joota naya hai warna fek ke maarti’
‘Apne haathon se maar do, yuhi marr jaunga’
You leave from there, running, making sure that no one sees the crimson tint on your flushed cheeks.
────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ────── ────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────
Today was rather a somber day where you didn't feel like interacting with anyone.
Strangely enough, Uzair somehow understood your emotional state just by looking at your face.
‘Aaj please mujhe pareshan mat karna’ you pleaded as you stood in front of him post your shift.
‘Ghar chod du?’
‘Ha’
He drives you to your home quietly. You look out of the window to will the tears away. It was your brother's birthday and you had called him thrice to wish him. However, to no surprise, he did not receive the call, nor did he attempt to call you back. Sometimes you wonder if it was your destiny to be alone. Otherwise, how could you explain why your brother, your only living relative in this world, wouldn't want to keep in touch with you. Why was life so mean to you?
Uzair stops the car outside your small house. ‘Andar aau?’ he asks
‘Theek hai’ you reply as you wanted him to be close to you. His presence made you feel warm and protected. Something you stopped feeling since your father's death.
You both enter the house to see Pele sleeping next to Raziya. You sigh looking at the two cats.
‘Chai piyoge?’ you ask Uzair, unable to meet his gaze.
‘Ha’
You hand him a steaming cup of tea, while you take yours and turn towards the window to wrestle with your feelings in peace.
His voice pulls you out from your gloomy thoughts.
‘Mere abbu bohot acche the. Imaandar the. Transportation ka business tha. Ammi bohot pyari thi par usoolon ki pakki thi. Khush the hum. Par phir jo hua woh toh puri Lyari janti hai.’
You turn to look at him as he continues ‘Rehman bhai ne mujhe apnaya aur bhabhi ne apne dil mein jagah di. Naieem aur Faisal bhi bohot pyaar karte hai mujhse. Ammi Abbu ki kami aaj bhi hai par pyaar ki kami nahi’
He walks towards you taking the teacup from your hand and placing it on the side table. He takes your hands in his, forcing you to look at him.
‘Yeh sab main isiliye keh raha hoon taki tum apne aap ko ijazat do. Agar khudko aur dusron ko mauka nahi dogi toh tumhe tumhare hisse ka pyaar kaise milega?’
The gentleness in his voice and the impact of his words are enough to break you down completely. Before you know, tears start rolling down your face as your carefully built guard comes down. You crumple in his arms, tears straining his jacket. You keep crying and crying, the little girl in you tired and exhausted at being strong. For the first time in months, someone acknowledged your fears, assuring you that you're not alone.
After a while Uzair whispers teasingly ‘Rona bandh karo warna Raziya mujhe nakhun maregi ke “Mere ghar mein ghuske, meri ammi ko rulayega, himmat kaise hui iski”’
Unable to help yourself, you giggle into his chest, ‘Meri Raziya shareef hai’
‘Ha bilkul tumhari tarah’ his voice comes out gruff as you take in the way your body melts against his. You look up at him, his brown eyes turning obsidian with desire.
His eyes move down to your lips.
‘Can I?’ he asks, only for you to move forward and plant your lips on his.
And thus began your life with Uzair Baloch. If he was irritating before, he is insufferable now. Despite telling him not to treat you like his girlfriend, the man showed up everyday at your doorstep to drop you to work and returned home with you every evening for ‘Chai’ which would invariably lead to you two making out on the couch. Sundays were spent with him, Naieem and Faisal at the bowling alleys or games zone. They had started calling you Chachi! You pretend to cringe at it but secretly love it too much.
Tanker aka Hamza addressed you as bhabhi, while his other gang members averted their gazes as soon as you were in their line of sight.
Uzair as a boyfriend was 100/10. He was calm and patient with you during the initial days of your ‘Relationship.’ You tried to put your worst behavior forward, wanting him to ditch you before things got serious. You indulged in petty things like getting mad at him at every occasion, not answering his calls, leaving messages at seen, making him wait for hours on a chai date, unbothered and nonchalant about it. He was not only composed but had a flirty retort for everything.
But this facade broke the day you heard there was a shoot involving Uzair and rival gang members. You ran to the hospital expecting the worst. Instead you found him outside the hospital, smoking as if everything was normal. Relieved, you hugged him tight and let your tears flow freely. That day you decided to give up the act and admit to yourself that you were indeed truly, madly in love with Uzair Baloch!
Still, you had your days where you tried to get on his nerves. Like today. Leaning against his car, you saw him carrying the beautiful vibrant red rose bouquet in his hands. Your heart did a merry little dance but you quickly composed yourself.
Instead of irritation, his eyes had a knowing glint. ‘Pata hai. Mujhe pasand hai so main le aaya. Ab phoolwale ko toh bol nahi sakta na ke yeh ajeeb shaukh hai mere!’
You couldn't help but laugh at this. He looks at you lovingly, noticing you wearing red kurti and beige palazzo.
‘Maine kaha tha na…Laal tumpe zyada jachta hai’
────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ────── ────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────
Weeks went by and finally Raziya gave birth to 5 kittens.
‘Mubarak ho 5 bacche hue hai’ you wish Uzair as soon as he enters your home, with Pele in his arms. Naieem and Faisal had also tagged along to see the fur babies. The litter had 2 females and 3 males. You ask Faisal to name them, which in hindsight was a mistake as boys got named after footballers- Zizou, Bex and Ibra. One kitten was named after his favorite dessert Rabdi while the other one got a sane name- Fiza. Wait, wasn't Faisal's classmate named Fiza?
A week went by in a wink. The kittens were growing stronger and louder. Pele had ditched the dusty factory and taken up residence at your home becoming your ‘Ghar Jamai’. The family of 7 lay fast asleep after an uneventful day.
As Uzair lay sprawling on the couch with you in his arms, he started stroking your bare arms, whispering in a low voice, ‘Accha suno. Woh main soch raha tha- Pele bhi idhar rehta hai. Bacche bhi chotte hai. Tumhe bhi roz kaam pe jaana hota hai..’
Clueless to where this was going, you lift your head from his chest and look at him, ‘Toh?’
He continues, albeit nervously, ‘Toh kyu na Raziya aur bacche aur tum mere ghar aa jao’
You start laughing, considering he is kidding.
‘Pagal ho gaye hai kya’ you say in a merry tone but your laughter quickly vanishes when you see him staring at you with dead serious intensity. He isn't joking!
You think about his statement for a few seconds and finally reply, ‘Hmmm soch sakte hai.’
He smiles at your reply.
‘Socho aur jawab haa mein hona chahiye’ saying so he kisses your head as you both fall asleep in each other's arms.
────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ────── ────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────
Karachi rains were notorious. It would start with a drizzle and a few hours later the entire city would get flooded by gushing rain water.
During one such downpour, Uzair lands up at your door to check on you. With no electricity and very heavy rains, he wanted to whisk you to the lively comfort of theBaloch Haveli where you would be at ease. Why? Because he remembered your statement about being scared of thunder and darkness!
You open the door to a completely drenched Uzair, relieved at having some company in this scary weather. It was good that Faisal and Naieem had fetched the felines this morning to look after them over the weekend. Poor babies would have been scared here. You drag Uzair inside and fetch a towel to dry his hair. But he has a different plan as he pulls you on his lap, kissing you senseless.
You break the kiss- hot, bothered and gasping for air.
‘Aap mera fayda uthana chahte hai?’
His hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you closer, your body plastered against his.
‘Nahi! Main toh keh raha hu tum mera fayda uthao’ he breathes in your face to carry on worshiping you with his hands, body and lips.
Ever since then, Uzair and you became borderline shameless. He would turn up at home during wee hours, knocking at your door in the afternoon on your days off, taking you out for long drives that had very little to do with the driving part of it. Hell, he even dropped Pele Raziya and their litter at Hamza's one day as you insisted that ‘Bacchon ke hote hue koi ashleel harkatein nahi hogi’
But as all good things ran their course, your happy bliss with Uzair was now at the dead end. It seemed so to you atleast. You started throwing up, turning repulsive to food and fragrance, tired and irritated all the time. You even lashed out on poor Zizou l, making him curl at your feet for forgiveness. The sight of the kitten staring at you with sorry eyes made you cry like a baby. Your fur babies were too kind so they behaved well for a day at least. Even Pele didn't bother you.
In the meantime, you stopped answering Uzair's calls, turning blind eye to his messages and ceased going to work for a few days. You made a quick trip to the doctor to confirm your doubt.
As you made your way back home, you saw Uzair sitting at your doorstep, looking angry and restless. But the moment he saw your slumped tired form, his protective instincts took over. You opened the door, slumping on the couch with him following you.
‘Kya baat hai Y/n. Na mera phone utha rahi ho, na mere messages ka jawab diya aur na kaam pe bhi nahi jaa rahi ho. Ghar ka darwaza bhi nahi khol rahi thi mere liye. Hua kya hai?’
The gentleness in his voice got to you and you burst out crying. He sits beside you, lifting you from the couch to place you in his lap. His hands start soothing your back as you ugly cry into the crook of his neck. After a while your tears slow down, as you realise you needed to come clean now.
‘Maine kuch kaha? Kuch kiya maine? Bolo naa’
You try speaking in between sobs, ‘Uzair, main…aap… main’
‘Kya hua jaan?’
Unable to speak, you fetch the medical file and hand it to him, expecting him to get mad at you.
‘Sach?’ he asks, his voice laced with wonder. You just nod in affirmation.
‘Toh ismein rone wali kya baat hai?’
‘Mujhe laga aap gussa honge. Darr lag raha tha kahi aapne isse…’ you start crying again.
‘Meri jaan rona bandh karo pehle. Please.’
‘Main bohot khush hoon. Maine toh bhai bhabhi se humare Nikkah ki baat bhi kar li hai. Woh iss itwar aane wale the. Khair ab hum itwar ko Walima rakhenge. Agar tum chaho toh’
You look up at him to see him happy and hopeful about the future. Nikkah? Walima? Your head started spinning
‘Uzair’
He beats you to it by asking you a very important question.
‘Nikkah karogi mujhse, Raziya aur mere hone wale bacche ki Ammi?’
Overwhelmed at the series events that transpired in last 1 hour, the emotional roller coaster and the cuteness of his proposal, your wacky hormones make you kiss him before you say ‘Haa’
‘I love you meri jaan’
‘I don't hate you Uzair’
He laughs at this, the joy in his voice and the spark in his eyes warming your heart
‘I love you Uzair’ you whisper, finally saying the words out loud.
‘Finally!’ he says with a mock sigh.
You laugh as you settle in his arms.
You quip at him ‘Billa meri beti pata le gaya aur Baap mujhe’
────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ────── ────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────
Bonus
Rehman and Ulfat are staring at you two while Naieem and Faisal are busy dragging the kittens and their belongings.
Ulfat finally addresses you ‘Yeh sab kya hai Y/n? Aur iss baar Muafza aur dekh bhaal chahiye ya Uzair se kaam chala logi?’
Embarrassed at her teasing tone, you plead her to stop.
‘Bhabhi please’
Rehman puts his hand around Ulfat.
‘Rehne do Ulfat. Bas Allah se dua karo ke humare yaha ek saath 5 bacche na aaye. Ek ek karke aaye, chalega’
You are too embarrassed to speak while Uzair looks smug at the suggestion.
Oh how he looked like a cat that got the desired cream!
PS- using @mainyahaankyunhoon ka taglist as I didn't know who to tag. Dotn't worry about me bothering you all with unnecessary tags in future as I might not post a Fic again
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Here's a few more videos of Danish from the Satya Paul showcase.
I love how he walks up the staircase with a slow, relaxed gait, like he owns the place. And thats on being an actor 🔥
In this outfit, he is giving stunning but morally dubious Crown Prince, especially the way he keeps gracefully swishing the coat as he walks and that princely bow at the end of the show. I am so here for it 🥵
I am so happy for this precious bubba for getting his dreamlike, main character, 'beau of the ball', fairytale moment in such a regal setting. 🥺🥹😍🥰🤩
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A/N:- I am clearing my drafts. Even I don't know why I wrote this but sometimes I just need to scribble whatever nonsense comes to my mind.
It all started because of a strip of land.
It wasn’t even that big of an area.
But unfortunately it encompassed a narrow trisection that passed through one of the most secure routes connecting Lyari to the coast. Anyone who could gain complete access to that road would be able to not only secure their shipments but also triple their profits by cutting down the transport cost and time.
Thus most of the businessmen in town were behind it.
And so were its masters.
Rehman Dakait had maneuvered deals ten times more complicated with the heavyweights of the murky world of both business and politics with the annoying ease of a seasoned player and yet acquiring this one measly piece of land was proving to be quite a headache.
The land owner used to be a small-time working class man who had a shop in the market. He had died from tuberculosis a long time ago and his widowed daughter had inherited the land. Now one would think, for Sher-e-Baloch himself, getting the land out of a hapless widow who lived inside his own territory, would be a piece of cake.
So had Rehman.
But he hadn’t anticipated the sheer level of trouble a single woman with no apparent power or influence could cause for him.
He had sent one of his more polished enforcers, a lad named Saqid to secure the land and offer the widow a more than fair compensation for it.
“She refused”, Rehman said deadpanned, repeating the dumb statement his mighty enforcer had just told him instead of asking a question like one would expect.
Saqid on the other hand looked like he had seen a ghost.
“You mean to tell me, you couldn’t acquire a measly strip of land from a puny woman half your size and probably one third your weight, despite the twenty lakh in your pocket?”, Donga,one of his more intelligent men, asked the imminent question instead.
“Bhai, I swear, I tried everything. Sweet talking, cajoling, threatening— the entire works. I told her you were the one asking and no one in town has the guts to deny anything to you but she was adamant. I even offered a twenty percent hike on the money still..”
“And she still refused?”
Saqid nodded miserably and then for some reason looked strangely shifty.
Rehman was leaning on his chair, observing the little beads of sweat that had collected on his man’s forehead. He was nervous. Not the kind of fear that facing one’s boss without having completed the job would be. But an odd kind of primal terror that Rehman has rarely seen on the faces of his battle hardened boys.
“Bhai, there is..something strange with that woman—”
Donga rolled his eyes so hard they almost dropped off his sockets and swatted Saqid on the back of his head making the latter yelp and stagger in front.
“Don’t tell me even you have bought into that bullshit cock and bull story”
Rehman just raised a single eyebrow. And that was a gesture enough.
Sajid looked away embarrassed.
“Pallavi Thakur was born in wealth. Her family migrated from India to Bangladesh and then found themselves in Pakistan. Her father was a deeply religious man but he had his vices. He had apparently gambled away most of their wealth when Pallavi was very small. Later he got her married to a local strongman.”
The entire warehouse was silent now, all ears perked up to Donga’s outlandish rendering.
“Mysteriously, the man was found dead just after his wedding night. Not a single wound on his body, only all his blood had been drained off. Pallavi was sent back to her father. Then the old man was found dead a few days after and the doctors ruled it as tuberculosis. Then I heard Arshad Pappu had sent his minions to snatch the land from her somehow and all of them were dead before the week was out”, he paused for dramatic effect.
“There is something seriously wrong with that woman. Some say an ancient Goddess protects her. That it is a blessing and a curse at the same time.”
Donga had a habit of spinning tales out of nothing, putting forth a rumour or story in an increasingly theatrical way to dazzle his audience.
Rehman indulged him usually.
But this time, his frustration had overpowered his benevolence.
“Don’t feed me stupid shit, Donga. Boons and banes are human constructs fed to people to keep them in line, either out of gratitude or fear. And Gods don’t come down on earth to shield mortals and their immaterial lives.”
Donga looked appropriately chastened. Sajid was still sweating. The rest of the boys were trying their level best not to end up accidentally meeting his eyes.
Rehman sighed and got up from his throne in a fluid move.
He was the apex predator in this town. And no razor mouthed widow and her imaginary protectors are going to keep him away from what he wanted.
If Rehman Baloch wanted something, he would get it, by hook or by crook.
“Fine”, he drawled through the clenched cigarette between his teeth, “I will do it myself.”
________________________________
The house was as modest as it gets.
Rehman had rung the bell and was waiting at the doorstep trying to bore through the heavy teak door with his vision alone. The afternoon sun was sweltering and his anger was steadily on the rise.
The thing with Rehman was that the more furious he got, the icier his disposition became.
The wondrous widow and her so-called protector wouldn’t know what hit them.
The doors opened the next moment and something chilly immediately ran down Rehman’s heated blood. It had been instantaneous, jolting him a little.
Pallavi Thakur was a strikingly beautiful woman.
Delicately built, a wheatish gold complexion with raven black wavy hair reaching her curvy waist, she was donning an unsettlingly milk white saree that wrapped around her slender figure like an amorous lover.
Yet what had arrested Rehman’s vision were her eyes.
She had large fish shaped eyes, lined with kohl and slate coloured irises and the look in them bespoke of a million galaxies spinning nebulously. There was something deeply melancholic in that gaze and yet it had a strange amalgamation of innocence and a sharp wit fighting for dominance.
Rehman had rarely found himself tongue tied, in any situation.
Not even a firing squad, neither powerful men, nor any of the seductresses all ready to throw themselves at him on a moment’s notice.
And yet he felt like whatever temper and sharp words he was about to spit had evaporated right out of his mouth.
His throat had dried up like the desert.
He must be looking like a fool, gawking like a goldfish.
Those hypnotising eyes flashed with sharp recognition before the corners crinkled slightly in a smile that didn’t reach that plush cupid’s bow.
“What can a beggar offer a king?”
Her voice was a melody that chimed like delicate anklets wrapping around his suddenly thundering heart and yet somehow made something unnerving tighten its roots around his vulnerable throat.
“A few minutes of her time… madam”, he finally managed to utter. His voice had turned into gravel.
Pallavi cocked her head like a considerate sparrow and then a small smile painted the corner of her pink stained lips.
Rehman had never believed that fairies existed.
At least till now.
His hands were sweating and he wished he could rub them in his black kurta. But he couldn’t show how much he was affected by the opposite party before the negotiation had even begun.
He was feeling like an insect pinned to a board in front of that gaze.
How is it even possible?
This tiny mite of a girl, a whole head shorter than him and making him fumble like a teenage boy seeing a girl’s ankles for the first time.
“Well then, I will be honoured to host the Sardaar in my humble abode”, her eyes twinkled as she performed a tiny bow, almost mocking and just walked back inside the house, as if expecting him to follow her.
Rehman stepped in and felt a violent force suddenly arresting his entire body. He looked around panicked, for a moment, expecting the police or his innumerable enemies to jump from the shadows and laugh at him, for being trapped because of his own foolishness.
But there was no one.
The living room was a modest affair but his eyes were drawn to the numerous portraits of the Hindu gods and goddesses adorning the peeling walls. Their faded eyes seemed to jump at him from the frames, almost daring him to make a single misstep.
Goddamn, he shouldn’t have listened to Donga’s idiotic stories before coming here.
Now he was imagining things.
Like the way the air seemed to thicken around him, proving a slight difficulty in breathing. The heavy scent of incense was a scratchy sensation at the back of his throat. It stung his eyes and burnt the back of his tongue.
Pallavi placed a single china cup in front of him and took the opposite seat.
Now in the dim afternoon light coming from the courtyard beyond, he could see the stack of brown beads she was wearing around her wrist. There was a single spot of something whitish on the hollow of her throat.
“That is the only thing remaining that my father hadn’t managed to gamble away”, Pallavi whispered, eyeing the tea cup in his hands, “that and this land.”
Right. The land. That piece of earth that had started all his troubles. The reason why he had come to her. Not for staring at the poor woman like a creep.
“Fiftey lakhs”, Rehman whispered and sipped on the beverage inside the porcelaine. The cup was inlaid with real gold and the blue pattern made over it reminded Rehman of Persian pottery.
Pallavi laughed.
It hit him right in the center like a boulder aimed for his ribs.
It should have made him feel humiliated.
“So much money, Dakait sahab. When you can always snatch it by force.”
“I would rather not go into unpleasantries that would inconvenience us both. And then I have heard what your supposed protector does to people who try that route.”
The woman was staring at him in a way that made him feel exposed. It wasn’t a very nice feeling. The paintings staring from above judgementally were already making him feel strange.
“So you believe in the rumours?”, she asked, a raised eyebrow.
“I believe in caution”, he put the cup down gently.
“Be as it may, I cannot take your offer”, she arranged the ends of her saree, straight back and graceful. Her hair was a silken river at one side of her body.
Rehman hadn’t noticed the pink hibiscus tucked into those curls at the other side of her head when she had opened the door.
“Sixty”
She was mum.
“Seventy”
He continued undeterred.
“Ninety”
She just smiled beguilingly. Patience was something that unfortunately Rehman didn’t have in endless supply.
“One crore.”
She had to be a right fool to not take it. He had to be a right fool to even offer so much. Was it even about the land anymore or was this just his arrogance refusing to back down at being opposed for the first time since he had sat on the throne of this decrepit town?
No, Rehman doesn’t operate on ego. His entire empire would become vulnerable if he gave credence to his emotions and not cold logic. Maybe, this was just morbid curiosity.
Pallavi sighed and looked at the ceiling.
“For you it might be a piece of dirt and gravel that would help your business interests. To me it is sacred. You can offer me your entire kingdom, Sardaar and I shall still not part with it.”
The words rang clear in that congested little room.
Open defiance.
So the damsel had teeth.
“I understand you might want to keep it, considering most of your possessions had been sold off by your father. But holding onto a rootless rock during a thunderstorm will only make you drown. That land is not fertile. It is blocked by my routes and people more powerful than me have interest in it as well. It would only cause you further grief.”
He leaned back in his chair, opting to ignore the steadily rising pressure at his nape. He didn’t believe the bogus Saqid had spewed. It had to be the oppressive heat that was irritating him. Or his steadily rising blood pressure.
Pallavi’s pulchritudinous face was a mask of stone by then. Her eyes were flashing madly. The steel grey of her luminous irises, twin embers of volcanic residue trained with almost a military precision on him.
A lesser man would have squirmed.
“Your concern is duly noted.”
And promptly thrown into the trash, it seemed.
“So you won’t sell the land to me?”, Rehman narrowed his eyes, jaw still loose with practised nonchalance.
Pallavi stood up gingerly, letting the crisp fall of her white saree straighten, as if dismissing him already.
The sheer gall of this girl.
“I shall not sell it to anyone, sir”
Rehman got up. The pictures stared at him beadily from their perch. The air was getting too heavy for his liking. He needed the open scorching dust of the streets. The dank walls of this house were pressing onto him from all sides.
“Such a shame. Then I shall take your leave, madam.”
He gave her a half mocking bow like she had at the beginning.
Pallavi joined her palms together in a gesture Rehman knew the Indians predominantly used to greet someone or see them out.
The sheer fucking gall of this beautiful brave girl.
_________________________________
The strange happenings started right after.
Rehman had called a minister who had called his ward secretary who had called another guy who knew a guy, it was an entire channel—as it has always been with him, who had started imposing unearthly amounts of taxes on Pallavi’s little shop.
His boys had surrounded the land and had started building their fences easily, it was not like Pallavi could afford to put security. And even if she did, the gang would just either buy or threaten them out.
Money worked so much better than fear ever did.
Rehman on the other hand was almost cursed with seeing Pallavi Thakur everywhere he looked. She came in his dreams, mischievous eyes and sharp smiles. She was the face of every girl he accidentally gazed upon. He could barely breathe without her image filtering in front of his eyes like a goddamned curtain permanently fixed to his irises.
This was a strange disease that had no seeming cure.
Never before has the thought of a woman afflicted him so.
He was almost stricken with it.
Struck down by thunder and a brand deep into his soul, she appeared like a particularly annoying scar that refused to scab over.
Rehman couldn’t afford to get distracted like this.
She didn’t matter.
She was just another cog in the wheel he has crushed for his own benefit.
And yet he couldn’t unsee those marble eyes, that light caramel skin, those silky waves, the silhouette of those curves from that swanlike fabric draped over her. Her laugh that had lit an inferno beneath his skin. Those witty words tangling like knots into his heart.
He was in a feverish daze.
And then the incidents started happening. Falling one by one like dominoes in a game he could no longer see the end of.
The minister met with an accident. A truck t-boned his swanky sports car. The ward secretary threw himself off the roof of his own office. People cried suicide. The other two men involved died one after the other in strikingly weird situations.
The income tax officer levying the duties on Pallavi’s shop was found drained off all his blood in a gutter beside the municipality building.
Rehman refused to see the pattern that was clearly visible.
He poured over every evidence, every chit of paper he could get, talked with all the investigating officers, racked his brains for nights together and yet he couldn’t find a single suspect of outside interference.
It was like the killer if there even was any was invisible, existing in two places at the same time, scarily overpowered and had influence till the upper echelons of the Karachi elite.
And then his boys started hallucinating.
The three men he had appointed to oversee the construction of the tunnel underneath the land came back, white faced and slashed all over and shit scared, one afternoon.
They had apparently been attacked by an invisible entity.
Strange demonic noises had been coming from beneath the earth.
And then they had seen a jackal emerging out of the woods that lined both sides of the land. It had glowing amber eyes and was the size of a full grown tiger.
Rehman had whacked Khurram right on his head, as hard as he could.
“How many times have I told y’all to not mix drugs with alcohol? Idiots, the lot of you! Must have gotten attacked by a wild dog or something and had conjured up jackals with glowing eyes and demonic noises.”
They had made timid protests but Rehman had sent them back the next day. This time fully armed with their best Kalashnikovs.
They had found their dead bodies two days later. Torn up into shreds and spread all over the land like it had been anointed with their blood and guts. Rehman had directed the forest department to search for wild animals— especially jackals.
“There are no hints of animal bite marks, Sardaar”, the forensic expert had stammered under the Dakait king’s spectacular glare.
“The strange thing is, none of their guns have fired a single bullet. Why wouldn’t they fire, if they were being attacked? It makes no sense, Bhai”, Uzair had said puzzled.
The half built tunnel had collapsed mysteriously as well.
Rehman was at his wits end.
Quite literally.
It couldn’t be.
It was simply not possible.
All it had been; a bunch of bullshit carefully curated to scare everyone away.
And yet the evidence of the same lay in body bags and pieces in the morgue.
Pallavi Thakur still came in his dreams. This time, she looked a little sad to him. She smiled rarely and always seemed to want to say something to him but he would wake up before she could finish her words.
Rehman didn’t even need the land that much. But he would not be scared away by petty tricks and hidden assassins and fucking glowing jackals.
_____________________________
It was a mid afternoon sun glazing the streets of Lyari when Rehman almost got his teeth knocked out because his car had stopped abruptly from seventy to zero and he had almost slammed face first with the dashboard.
“What the fuck Donga!”, he snarled at the bigger man who was gripping the steering wheel of the car white knuckled.
“Sorry Bhai..but I think I just ran over a kid—”
The blood drained off Rehman’s face so fast Donga was afraid he would faint. But before he could do anything, Rehman was out of the car and hurrying in front.
It was a girl, maybe seven or eight, mercifully alive. There was blood on the ground and the girl was crying up a storm. Rehman’s hands shook as he dropped to his knees and gathered the shivering wailing kid against his chest.
“Hush hush..there there, nothing will happen, sweetheart. You are fine—”
She was eerily dark, her skin almost the color of ebony, her hair was a mass of curls tied into two pigtails with bright red ribbons. She was wearing a school uniform and her large almond shaped eyes were the most striking shade of pale honey and ochre brown hitting the sunlight, like the flames of a firestorm.
There were abrasions on her knees and elbows and she was sobbing clinging to Rehman as he picked her up off the ground, looking around for her guardians.
A strong fragrance of frangipanis and sandalwood incense appeared before she was right beside him.
Rehman startled and found himself just as dumbstruck as he had been the very first day he had seen her.
Pallavi was looking frantic, batting all over the girl’s quivering body as the child kept crying in the crook of Rehman’s neck. Her inky waves of hair were tied into a practical looking bun at her nape, a few strands kissing her cheeks. She was still donned in that white saree but had pinned the pallu to a cream jacket she had worn with it.
Her wrist had those strings of brown beads, tied with what he could now see were saffron and red threads.
“Arre…arre..what happened, Krishna? Why are you crying? Oh maa…did you get hurt, shona?”, she asked the crying kid who shook her head violently.
“She came in front of the car”, Rehman explained while walking towards the tea stall at the side, the girl named Krishna, sniffling loudly against his kurta.
“What!?”, Pallavi gasped as she followed them both.
“Don’t worry, she didn’t break a bone. No internal bleeding, I checked. Just a few scratches”, Rehman put the kid down on the bench and gestured for the owner who hurriedly gave him a bottle of water.
“Hush hush, baby. You will be fine. Why did you run on the road? How many times have I told you not to go on the road?”, Pallavi scolded the child gently but had picked her up to sit with her, on her lap.
She didn’t seem bothered about the dirt and blood staining her white saree at all and wiped the girl’s pearly tears gently.
“Kuch nhi hoga, meri jaan, thoda dard hoga..”, Rehman whispered as he set about cleaning the gravel and dirt off the bloodied wound on the girl’s knees with the water.
Krishna sobbed a little but quietened down slowly through Rehman and Pallavi’s soft ministrations.
Rehman tied the bigger of the abrasions with his handkerchief neatly.
“There, all done.”
Pallavi nudged Krishna, looking at her meaningfully.
“T..thank you”, Krishna stuttered, looking wide and teary eyed. Rehman caressed her cheek lightly and got up finally. His heart had stopped galloping by then. He could see Donga and Mansoor staring at him, leaning against the car that they had now parked on the opposite side.
“Pallavi bibi, walking back home from school?”, Rehman asked, finally.
The woman looked at him slightly startled and then flashed that annoyingly pleasant smile.
“Why am I not surprised? Of course you know—”, she muttered, brushing Krishna’s hair with her fingers.
Of course he did.
Not a single leaf moved in Lyari without Rehman Dakait’s permission.
Alongside managing the small business her late father had left her with in the form of that tiny grocery shop, Pallavi also taught third graders in a public school for free. From the girl’s attire, he could deduce the school had been dismissed for the day.
“I had been walking this little devil home after school for the past few days. Her mother had fallen ill. Today I had stopped to talk to Munshiji and Krishna had wandered off by the time I was done. I don’t know why she would run out into the road like that, she is usually very well behaved ”, Pallavi said, patting Krishna’s head.
“I am glad we could stop in time”, Rehman said and he was genuinely glad. He had almost had a heart attack when Donga had said they had run over a kid.
“Good reflexes”
Okay, now she was clearly teasing him. Those dark metal eyes were glinting coyly.
“You should thank my driver for that”, Rehman countered, smirking.
“Maybe I would have, had he not been speeding in the middle of the market like it is an express highway”, she said loftily, getting up with Krishna clinging to her like a small monkey.
Rehman raised an eyebrow.
She wasn’t wrong.
Yet he should stop himself from enjoying this girl’s cheek, a bit too much, especially when it's clearly directed towards him.
“How is the acquisition going, anyway?”
Oh now she is playing with fire. All those strange deaths flashed in front of Rehman’s eyes. His boys were amongst them. And that was something he couldn’t digest lying down.
And despite how beautiful Pallavi Thakur looked, holding a dusty child on her hip, a stained white saree and those wavy tresses flying in the sunny breeze— she needs to know not to kick a sleeping tiger.
His chiselled face hardened like carved granite.
“I don’t know how your assassin managed to kill so many people but they shouldn’t have gone after my boys. Tell them to beware, when a lion hunts, he is silent and the prey wouldn’t even know when their throats would be torn open.”
There was an odd expression on Pallavi’s face at that, a mixture of resignation and a hint of fear. But somehow it didn’t seem like it was him she was afraid of. There was something in this case, this woman— that he was missing.
“I know you won’t believe me, when I say it but I still feel like I should warn you. Leave that land alone. There are forces at play here that not even lions can fight against”, she whispered.
“I am not easily scared off, madam, I hope you know that.”
“I know. And that is what is scaring me the most.”
The words were sincere and that was perhaps what was the most confusing thing of it all. He had expected Pallavi to be furious at him. Or rather, hateful. It would have been, after all, deserved. He had illegally snatched her land, harassed her by increasing the duties on her only means of livelihood, knowing that she could barely afford rent on most days.
But she looked strangely detached from all of it.
Like the land she had so fiercely guarded, refusing to sell even for the price of a few diamonds, seemed like an afterthought at most.
Or else, it was just confidence.
That, in spite of every twisted ploy Rehman manages to cook up, he would never succeed. The arrogance was irritating but also strangely familiar.
And now, it wasn’t the question of profits and business anymore, it had become about his reputation. Everyone knew he was trying to take over the land and his business rivals and opposing gangs shouldn’t come to the conclusion that he got defeated by a mere girl and a baseless rumour.
“Do you like horses?”
The sudden squeak of a question startled both of them. Krishna was staring at him from Pallavi’s shoulder, with those pair of unsettlingly large eyes. It looked like she was not at all bothered about the injury that had made her wail for the past fifteen minutes.
“I..admire them”, Rehman answered, a little warily.
Kids had the strangest intuition regarding people and most adults might think they are speaking nonsense, which they might do most of the time but sometimes their words rang with an unnerving truth.
“Pallavi didi has horses”, she replied almost sagely.
Rehman raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“They aren’t mine technically. I have a stable where people can keep their horses for a minimal fee. I like animals and had learnt riding long back”, her eyes held a strange distant look and for some reason Rehman knew she was thinking of her home in India and maybe Bangladesh, “would you like to show dada, the horses?”
Rehman raised his other eyebrow. Maybe because of the sudden invitation or maybe because of the nature of the addressal. Or both.
A sudden blush stained Pallavi’s cheeks and the bridge of her nose that somehow accentuated the tiny nearly invisible freckles on her face and Rehman felt his heart skip a few beats like an annoying broken drum.
“If you have a minute to spare, of course. I know you keep busy, being Sher-e-Baloch and what not—”, she was rambling, clearly embarrassed. Rehman was amused. This was the first time he had seen her this flustered.
But he took mercy on her and cut across her rambling.
“I shall be honoured to see your beasts, Thakurain”, he gave her a mock bow, acknowledging back to their first unintentionally shared tradition.
“What did you just say?”, Pallavi’s eyes widened like saucers. She had paled all of a sudden, almost dropping her hold on Krishna who squawked inelegantly and clung on to the older woman.
“Isn’t that what they called you, back home? Thakurain… the noblewoman?”, Rehman asked a little hesitantly. He was certain that it was the correct term. Hopefully, he hadn’t accidentally and completely unknowingly offended her.
Pallavi stared at him for a few seconds. Almost like she had seen a ghost. Then she shook herself off and laughed a little forcefully.
“Ahh, those days are long past, Sardaar. I am just a peasant girl right now. Thakurains were daughters and wives of conquerors.”
“A simple peasant girl does not have the courage to defy kings, madam. You will always be a Thakurain. The blood of conquerors doesn't dry up just because their wealth has.”
The silence between them was interspersed by the occasional barking of vendors and the cars passing by. Pallavi was cocking her head like that of a sparrow, again. She seemed to be reading him. Boring into him with those sharp irises of hers. It was like being flayed alive.
“That is the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me in a long time”, she whispered.
“Well then, most people are fools.”
Rehman wore his sunglasses back, if only to hide his gaze somewhat and swept his hand at the side to gesture at his car, that they could take to this stable Krishna wanted him to apparently see.
This time when Pallavi smiled at him, there was no mockery in the twist of her plush lips. Only a shy pleasure. And something else he couldn’t decipher. It just made his stomach tie itself into knots.
Shit.
He was so fucked.
_______________________________
The mystery of the chain of deaths seemed to have been shelved despite Rehman’s influence in the Karachi police department. Someone higher up had blocked him and he couldn’t find out who.
He had set up camp with Donga and Siyahi and a few of his most trusted men outside the land for two days straight yet they hadn’t heard any voices or caught a glimpse of that glowy eyed tiger sized jackal.
It should have driven a man, who had always held the strings of his life by methodical and clinical precision, mad with helplessness but Rehman had found himself being increasingly distracted of late.
So much so that even Uzair had noticed it.
“Bhai, I don’t need the details but seriously, whoever has managed to take over your heart and mind like this— I need to meet them”, his little cousin had said cheekily, pleasantly warm from the whiskey they had been sipping in one of those endlessly boring parties.
“I will smack you in front of everyone, Uzair. Shut up”, he had grumbled into his drink, trying his level best to forget how much he wished he was back in that slightly unsettling courtyard of the Thakur house, sipping chai with Pallavi while Krishna regaled them with her daily misadventures.
He was slipping.
Hard and fast.
And no matter how much he griped at his brother, he knew that it had started to become visible.
That day they had gone to the stables and he had let himself be dragged by the suddenly energetic eight year old, all around the place, pointing at her favourite steeds and their names. Pallavi had followed at a more sedate pace, giggling and joining in at appropriate times.
“I never apologized to you for the harassment your shop faced”, he had said a little subdued.
“Water under the bridge. You did give me a prior warning”, she had teased, brushing the mane of an ochre brown horse.
“That shouldn’t be a reason for forgiveness—”, he had countered, nudging the nose of a silver spotted white stallion, curiously.
“Well, help me around the stables once in a while and I shall consider us even”, she had fired back nonchalantly, smiling at Krishna’s unbound energy as the latter jumped around the straw bales.
He had smirked at her.
Turning a gangster to a stable hand— not bad, Thakurain, not bad at all.
Rehman had then gone around and acquainted himself thoroughly with a black and white beast, a right beauty, by the name of Fariq who had left horse hair all over his kurta as he had nuzzled his great head with his chest and face.
He belonged to some whatsisname businessman who was all too happy to get rid of it when Rehman had proposed to buy it off his hands.
“I did not expect to send you off with a horse, when I brought you here, trust me”, Pallavi had laughed, petting Fariq on his white mane.
“Trust me, I had no intention of buying one”, Rehman had winked at a jubilant Krishna.
He had left Fariq in the stable itself, asking Pallavi to keep looking after the animal for him and had increased the rent twice, despite her protests.
“I want you to feed her the premium products. No skimping”, he had instructed and handed her the advance.
“As if I would ever do something so base to my poor dears”, Pallavi had sniffed haughtily and kissed Fariq on his forehead.
Rehman would throw himself off the mountains in Balochistan before he admitted he was a tad jealous of a horse.
Idiot.
It had been months after the incident.
Rehman was spending his days, almost as he always had— looking after his several operations, trying not to accidentally kill his annoying little brother despite his penchant for irritating him up to no end but the new addition to it being— trying his level best not to fall in love with Pallavi Thakur.
And he was failing.
Badly.
He found himself talking with her about the most trivial of things on some days. The white cat he had accidentally adopted, that left fur all over his throne. The boys ruining his mental peace on most days and being the main reason for his increasing blood pressure. The politicians he wished he could shoot on sight. The daily problems of Lyari had kept him awake at night.
But he also found himself discussing things he had never spoken aloud with another person.
His traumatic upbringing and early days in Haji Laloo’s gang. His constant fear for his younger cousin being hurt because of his crimes. His need for absolute control over every situation. His inability to hold onto relationships and the demon inside of him that he sometimes feared would take over his entire being.
“I am afraid, one day I will get desensitized to everything. And when that happens, there will be nothing left to redeem in me”, he had said aloud one afternoon, sipping on that masala chai he had begun to get a taste for while Pallavi embroidered little blue flowers on a piece of saree that she would then send to her store for selling.
“No matter how unfeeling you think yourself to be, Rehman. You are still human. And humanity is imminent to feelings. You cannot become numb no matter how hard you try. That is the beauty and the tragedy of life”, she had said, a faraway look in her eyes.
“But what if I do”, he had whispered.
Pallavi had looked straight at him then, a scary conviction steadily burning in those pale orbs.
“I will never let you. I promise.”
It had been one of the better promises made to him.
Pallavi told him such fantastic tales from her childhood that half of them seemed make-believe. He didn’t quite care if they were. She had a penchant for spinning engaging stories, almost as good as Donga. And she always somehow managed to link it with some deep philosophy or the other. It was frustrating but also intriguing.
Just like the woman, herself.
But the stories always had such a strong nascent scent of heartbreak and longing for her childhood, for her homeland that it made something uncomfortable bubble up inside his heart.
He wanted to protect her, hide her in his arms and somehow pull that melancholy right off her eyes.
“Why do you always wear white?”, he asked her, one evening sitting at the steps of her humble store.
“It was a tradition in my home. Widows always wear white. They also shave their heads and live like austere sages, devoid of the pleasures of life. I didn’t want to live like that. I guess the white is a little like an armour. It makes people uncomfortable”, she replied seated beside him on the steps, a half coy smile dangling from those irresistible lips.
“You are a strange woman, Thakurain. You live under the shadow of some mysterious protection charm, look after horses, run a business, teach little children for free, observe fasts and offer ablutions to gods, fight with monstrous monarchs and then invite them to tea at your home”, he counted, eyes sparkling with mischief.
She had grinned at him, a pearly set of little incisors hinting at repressed mirth as she threw the mass of waves on her back from the side and had handed him that same china cup.
“Beware, my monstrous monarch. Who is to say that I am not slowly poisoning you?”, she said, eyes twinkling in amusement.
There must have been something in her smile, or in that heavy incense filled air that had him blurting out some semblance of his true feelings despite his legendary self control.
“I shall gladly drink poison if it's by your hands.”
He gulped down a mouthful of the tea the next moment, scalding his own tongue, if only to stop his face from bursting into flames at the clear freudian slip.
Pallavi instead of throwing her own cup of hot beverage on his face like he had expected, only blushed rather heavily. It was a pretty sight and made her look more bewitching and god if only his stupid heart would stop running away from him like a mad donkey.
“Oh you incorrigible flirt”, she swatted in the air, trying to swallow back the flush that only spread down her swan-like neck and vanished beneath the dove white fabric covering the alluring swell of her breasts.
Rehman wanted to follow that trail with his tongue.
So he deliberately let his tongue be burnt by swallowing another mouthful of that hot tea as punishment for his less than noble thoughts.
“I have never pretended to be anything but a rogue, madam”, he inclined his head if only to hide the color on his own cheekbones and neck.
“A charming rogue, nonetheless”, Pallavi blurted out and quickly focused on the cup cradled in her hands.
Maybe it wasn’t as one sided, as he had been thinking.
They met each other's eyes for a second before looking away quickly.
The winter sunlight was a nice blanket over their trembling figures as they sipped the spicy ginger flavoured tea in a more sedate pace, opting to enjoy the comfortable silence instead of acknowledging the words passed.
__________________________________
Rehman was slowly starting to believe that there might indeed be some larger conspiracy afoot in that accursed piece of land. It had been almost a year and the tunnel he had tried to construct had collapsed three times. Three different third party construction companies have come and gone, his boys who were sent as guards with HK416s to oversee, had all fallen deadly sick within days of the patrol.
“I think…maybe we should leave it alone”, Uzair said finally.
“Don’t tell me even you have started buying into that bullshit”, Rehman snapped, laying over the blueprint of the tunnels he wanted to build underground and the map of the land, one by one on the desk in front.
“Bhai, sometimes the universe tries to give us a message and maybe there will be some logic to it that we cannot see at the moment, but isn’t it wise to at least accept it when something has been repeatedly thrown in our faces?”
“What? Accept that some Djin or demonic entity is killing the men?”
“Pallavi, herself doesn’t seem too bothered about the land at all. And we have tried everything we could, guys and guns and surveillance and three different contractors, ministry officials, private parties— what else is left?”
Uzair’s words had wisdom. But for Rehman who has never believed in anything supernatural, be it Gods or monsters, the defeat scathed like something personal. He was still debating on the merits of calling it quits when his phone rang.
It was Maqsood.
“SP Sahab, kaisi khidmat kar sakte hein aapka?”, Rehman drawled into the line, eyes still trained on the maps in front.
“Bhai, woh aapne kahaan tha Pallavi Thakur pe nazar rakhne ko—”
Rehman straightened immediately. All pretences of false camaraderie dropped within a split second.
“Speak”, he barked into the phone. Uzair straightened up immediately from his slouch.
“There has been a coordinated attack on her house a few hours ago. The police are there already. She is fine. Strangely enough the attackers are all dead. We—”
Rehman was already walking towards the car.
“Bhai?”
He slammed the door close to the first car he could see and drove off, dropping the mobile on the floor carelessly. Though Maqsood had said nothing had happened to her yet his mind was already a splintered mess.
The attackers were all dead.
How?
The house was a circus by the time he reached. The police were everywhere and so were the assailants spread all over the courtyard. The unsettling thing was how there were patches of fresh blood pooling from the bodies yet none of them had any visible wounds.
And perhaps even more unnerving were the faces of the dead men, frozen in the rictus of some terrified horror.
And in the middle stood Pallavi Thakur, pale faced, clearly shaken but firm. Her white saree bellowing in the wind, unstained and pure. Like she was some goddess herself, descending from the heavens to witness the carnage left at her name.
Her hair was freshly washed it seemed, still half wet and smelling of mogra and jasmines.
She saw him the moment he stepped over the courtyard. Something broke in her stilted expression.
Rehman covered the distance separating them in two long strides, unbothered about the police officers, snapping pictures of the corpses and conversing slowly amidst themselves. She was in his arms, the moment he was close enough to touch.
It was a jolting contact. They had never even touched each other before, not even a single graze of hands. It had always seemed somehow strangely inappropriate to Rehman. It felt like he would defile her if he did touch her accidentally.
But now it was a moot point.
Pallavi was clinging to him, sharply. Her nails digging into his back muscles through the kurta. Her half dried hair was leaving drops of moisture on his chest and shoulders. She was still cold from the shower and she was trembling.
His arms had come around her naturally. Wrapped around her slender frame protectively. He cupped the back of her head once, grounding and steady and felt her lips spasm against his chest.
“Thakurain, looks like your protector reached here before I did. I don’t know whether I should be grateful or jealous”, he murmured against her hair. Pallavi snorted muffled in his arms and that was exactly what he had been aiming for.
“I don’t know…why they would want to kill me—”, she whispered finally, separating from him a little. And then, as if she had suddenly realised how close both of them were, she jumped apart, face turning an endearing shade of crimson as she tugged at the edge of her saree and looked everywhere but at his face.
“That useless piece of land, proximity to me…could be anything”, Rehman said but his eyes had caught something on the ground. It was a footprint made from the blood stains dragged off a wet patch from one of the bodies.
It was bare foot.
A tiny bare foot.
Too small to be of an adult.
“Had there been any child in the house during or after the attack?”, he asked and Pallavi stared at the place he had been staring for a good long moment.
“I don’t know”, she said finally.
It was a lie.
Rehman looked upwards at the alcoves made in the courtyard where the pictures of the Hindu pantheon lay hung, almost unassumingly. Suddenly his eyes got stuck to one picture. More specifically, one particular figure in that picture.
His heart slammed into a jarring stop almost immediately.
The heavy scent of sandalwood incense was cloying enough to overpower the metallic tang of the blood pooled everywhere.
His head spun violently for a moment.
It couldn’t be.
“I have to go”, Rehman said faintly and Pallavi looked at him startled.
“Where?”
“To the land..that forest. I need to see for myself.”
“Rehman please—”, there was a sharp distinct note of fear in Pallavi’s voice.
Rehman ignored the sudden entreaty in her tone and turned back and almost sprinted out of the place. His head was aching so hard, he almost saw purple spots in front of his eyes. There was a dull blunt pressure in his lungs.
He had to see for himself. He had to.
_____________________________________
The night was chilling and the forest canopied on both sides of the road, stretching like tendrils of a monster’s claws into the moonless sky abovehead.
Rehman stood in the middle of the path, the ground still stained with the rusted blood of his three men from months ago. His car was parked haphazardly a few feet behind him. The stars were absent tonight, almost mocking him with their absence.
The symphony of the crickets was the only noise audible.
Rehman could hear his own heart pounding.
The flashes of images attacking his mind laid into one brilliant jigsaw puzzle finally solved. Yet despite the fearsome picture it was forming, his mind still couldn’t comprehend the astounding meaning of it.
The sandalwood incense, the demonic noises, the glowy eyed jackal, the hibiscus tucked in Pallavi’s hair, the brown beaded bracelet, the dark skinned curly haired girl with honey eyes, the small footprint in the blood, that portrait of the—
A sudden reverberation under his feet almost made Rehman stumble. He could hear it now. The faint sounds coming from beneath the ground. A strange cacophony of continuous lilting. Like wraiths curling air between their tongues and forcing it out.
The wind had picked up speed.
And Rehman was half convinced he was inside a nightmare, trapped by his own mind.
A sudden howl broke his trance and he snapped his head at the side.
He saw the pair of eyes before the entire silhouette sharpened in the darkness. They were twin embers glowing like tongs of an ancient fire licking in those magnificent irises. This was the stare of an ultimate predator and humans like him could only make a poor imitation of it.
The jackal was not the size of a tiger.
It was bigger.
Its shiny glossy coat shimmered with a myriad of colours. Rehman couldn’t even focus on one for too long. His eyes hurt. There was fear and awe building simultaneously inside his mind, his body locking up completely. He couldn’t even move a finger. Some fractured part of his brain was still deducing.
So this is why his men couldn’t even fire their state of the art guns in defence.
Though Rehman was skeptical whether any man-made bullet could have made a scratch at that beast’s hide.
The jackal was advancing towards him slowly, gracefully. A hypnotizing rhythm. There was an unearthly beauty at seeing death literally materialize in front of someone.
And only when he could lift his gaze from the beast did he finally notice the being perched on the gigantic jackal’s back.
Krishna was a tiny figure atop a beast. Yet she seemed to loom larger than both the animal and Rehman and perhaps the entire forest, earth and sky covering them.
Her pair of honey irises were flaming vermillion, those almond shaped eyes trained like twin lasers on his face. Her hair, usually tied in those twin pigtails was completely loose and blew in the wind behind in a swathe of curly darkness. It was like her ebony skin was one with the night sky above. She was wrapped in a blood red fabric, a saree tied in a strange way he had never seen before and a chain of brown beads around her neck.
There was a single red hibiscus tucked behind an ear.
She was breathtaking. Enchanting. Otherwordly.
His chest was a bright hot brand, collapsing into itself, the force of it snapping all his ribs one by one. And yet he couldn’t focus on the pain. His entire body was locked onto the single gaze of the little girl— the Goddess in front.
“Rehman Dakait… what do you have to offer?”
She whispered. She screamed. The voices were melding and stretching like a tunnel passing through him and seemed to reverberate in all the four directions.
She had a child’s voice, a woman’s voice, Pallavi’s voice, his voice, his dead mother’s voice, the voice of a random street vendor he had seen last week— it was like she had encompassed every living being’s vocal chords in one seamless net.
Either he had gone mad or was high on a cloud of mushrooms or dead.
Krishna grinned and it was frightening. The white teeth cast like a row of blades that she could use to chomp his entire neck off. There was blood dripping down the sides of her mouth.
The air was a sludge at this point. The sandalwood and hibiscuses choked his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. A sharp cloying copper flooded his mouth and then he was bleeding. There was the moon, shining in the curls of the dark skinned girl, peeking at the universe from its inky cage.
There was a strangely curved broad sword in one of her hands all of a sudden.
His knees were feeling weak. They buckled violently and then he was on the ground. The jackal was sniffing over his face, the sandalwood had turned into blood inside his throat. He was coughing.
Krishna was saying something. An undecipherable language. An ancient verse.
It was strangely soothing.
He wished he had been able to tell Pallavi, at the least.
Rehman felt a pressure on his chest, a light touch. Like someone had placed their hand on the center of his sternum and then there was a white blinding pain and sudden blessed darkness.
He hadn’t heard the scream which had rented the air right after.
“Maa!”
When he came to, dawn had given way in the eastern skyline. The birds were back chirping in delight and the forest floor felt strangely soft.
It was almost like he was lying on something else.
Or rather someone else.
There was a faint constant muttering above him. He was being rocked. No, the lap he was lying on was rocking gently with the person who seemed to be deep in some sort of prayer, head faced upwards and joined hands and—
Pallavi.
The fragrance of mogra and jasmines and sandalwood was unmistakable.
He had thought she was praying. There was indeed a distinct note of acute pleading in her voice and she had her hands joined in that ritualistic way, Rehman knew Hindus did when chanting their ablutions to their Gods but she wasn’t repeating any mantras.
“Maa..maa…maa…maa..maa…..maa maa…”
Was she calling her mother?
Rehman tried speaking but ended up coughing. His throat was a desert and yet there was not a single hint of that blood clinging to the walls like he had expected. Had he dreamt up the entire thing?
“Rehman!”, Pallavi exclaimed, finally noticing him squinting up at her.
He only got a glimpse of her beautiful lovely face, strangely pallid and tear stained and those wavy locks were dishevelled like she had run through a storm— before she was right over him, having bent close to his face.
She was pressing desperate kisses all over his face, her tears dropping like a shower of benediction over him and her arms were tight around his strangely lax body.
Was he in heaven then? Had he died after all? The Gods must be pleased with him for some reason and decided to send a spirit with Pallavi’s face to receive him.
Or maybe he was dreaming again.
“Pallavi”, he managed to stutter finally and she reluctantly left her spree of kisses and sat up straight, stroking his hair off his face with tremulous fingers.
“Bhai! Oh thank god!”, Uzair’s thick voice nearly made him sit up straight, if only his limbs would coordinate with him.
“Don’t try to get up. You have lost a lot of blood”, Pallavi whispered, her mesmerising grey eyes tinged with red and it was with a staggering clarity he suddenly knew that he hadn’t dreamt up anything.
Last night was real.
Oh merciful god—
___________________________
It took Rehman nearly a week to be able to stand up straight for more than half an hour without collapsing out of weakness. The doctors were all befuddled with how he had ended up with so much of his blood outside his body without even a single needle pin incision.
And more baffling was perhaps the sudden lack of the numerous scars that had littered his entire body once. It was like they had never been real at all, marking the gruesome violence of his life on his skin.
He wasn’t sure whether the doctors would lock him in a mental asylum if he told them the truth.
The only plus point of being bedridden for most of the week had been Pallavi seated beside him, holding his hand and stroking his hair through the pain and the dizziness and the constant nausea.
When he had finally been coherent enough to stay awake for more than a few minutes, he had dragged the mildly protesting woman to himself, wrapped her trembling figure in his arms and lifted her rapidly reddening face to himself.
“And now tell me please, Thakurain, before I lose my mind— why was your Goddess so enraged at everyone? That also for a measly piece of land.”
Pallavi sighed and finally settled against his chest and closed her eyes, as if preparing herself.
It was a long story, after all.
__________________________
Ganganath Thakur was a dewan of the Chauhans. After Muhammad Ghori captured Prithviraj Chauhan, the Thakur family ran away to Bengal to serve under the Sena dynasty. Ganganath was given the province of Nudiya to rule over.
For years they lived in prosperity before Bakhtiyar Khilji sacked Nudiya and forced the Thakur family to flee to the southwest where the Sena dynasty still held power.
For centuries, the Thakurs held prominent positions in the governance of Bengal, first under the Senas, then the Mughals and then under Siraj-ud-Daulah till he lost to the East India Company in the battle of Plassey. Then they were forced out till they only had control over a few villages in rural Bengal and what would come to be modern day Bangladesh.
The Thakurs were unwilling allies to the British and funded the revolutionaries in secret. And slowly as years under the colonizers passed, they lost vast measures of their generational wealth both to the Independence effort and to the excesses of the descents of Ganganath who turned out to be right wastrels.
It was Chandranth Thakur who had discovered the idol and the chant that was inscribed in a manuscript hidden in their ancestral vault.
It was an idol of Devi Bharavi— a fearsome wrathful form of Goddess Kali. And the inscription bespoke of how to awaken the Goddess and receive her protection. It had apparently been in possession of the Thakur dynasty since the time of Ganganath. One of the many myths running in the family was that the idol was gifted to the dewan by the queen Sanyukta when he had saved her husband from a lion in a hunting expedition.
The Goddess was rumoured to have protected the Thakurs for generations from petty rivals to innumerable conquerors wishing harm upon their family. The only caveat to the boon was that the protection charm had to be weaved around a young unmarried woman, belonging to the Thakur blood and that idol had to be buried underneath the earth in a particular position.
Chandranath, terrified of being caught by the British or the various debt collectors he had on his back, thanks to his gambling addiction had anointed a young Pallavi, his own daughter, to have the protection charm— that had been a single string of Rudhraksh beads wrapped around her wrist three times over.
Later, the British had chased the declining Thakur clan to Chittagong where they had stayed for a couple of years before Chandranath had lost all their savings and had to run from the new debt collectors, again. He couldn’t return to the country, having left many an angry moneylender waiting for him and he couldn’t stay in Bangladesh as well.
Thus he had travelled all the way into Pakistan.
It had always been Chandranath and Pallavi and despite her father’s many faults, she had loved him well. When he had started his usual gambling spree here, Pallavi, disheartened and fearing for their lives, had bought a strip of land in what she had assumed would be an unmarked forest and had buried the idol underneath.
Chandranath had gotten Pallavi married shortly after. Even after knowing what would befall the groom, because of the boon. He had received enough money from that bastard to while away for a good six months. Pallavi had tried protesting but who could she turn to in a place like this.
She had cried for hours before the wedding. Thinking about her mother who had died young and her friends whom she had had to leave behind everywhere and the loneliness that was stretching its claws like breathless clamps around her throat.
As expected, the moment the doors had closed, her newly wedded husband had advanced towards her, lust clear in his eyes but before he could even touch her shadow, he had dropped on the floor, convulsing in agony before a permanent stillness. And that pool of inexplicable blood drained right out of him.
She was a widow.
Society marked her as some demonic entity and she was forced to flee from her in-laws' house, back to her gambling drunkard father.
Yet Fate had always been strangely karmic.
Chandranath under the influence of alcohol and the rage of a heavy loss had demanded his daughter to return the idol to him so that he could sell it and get more money to lose to his wily poker friends. Pallavi had been aghast and had begged her father to understand and then straight up denied it when pressured.
Overcome and in the haze of a drunken humiliation he had struck his own daughter.
And that had been his end.
He had been found dead on his own bed, choked full of his own blood yet no other marks of violence or poison. The doctors had declared it tuberculosis and had moved on.
Pallavi was distraught but now more than ever she couldn’t remove the protection charm if only to defend herself from the parasites circling her to gain access to that land which had suddenly become important for the new port access.
She had met Krishna one lonely night returning from her shop, when the shadows had looked too dangerous in the filthy bylanes of Lyari. The girl had followed her home and left just before she had entered the courtyard. Almost vanishing into the mist.
Pallavi hadn’t thought much of it then.
But then she kept seeing her whenever she would feel threatened and some part of her knew. Through all her enemies dropping like flies, she knew. Yet her human mind still struggled to comprehend it, refusing to believe completely, if only to stop from collapsing into itself out of sheer terror.
There is only so much divinity that mortals can sufficiently handle.
Then she met Rehman.
She had heard of him of course, the invincible, infallible bastard king. The messiah of the Balochs and the lion of Chakkiwara. She had expected the offers and the ensuing harassment and had even expected the land being taken away by sheer force.
What she hadn’t expected was to see Rehman cradling Krishna, terrified that he had hurt her. She hadn’t expected to find a man behind the monster. The one who would hush a child and clean her wounds so tenderly, who would laugh with her about horses and help her clean stables. The one who would notice her.
Who would look at her like someone worth talking to, consulting with even, like a Thakurain— a noblewoman, not a widow or a helpless fruit ripe for the taking.
Who would respect her enough to not even graze close to her shadow if he could help it but also stare at her with such ravenous hunger that it made her own stomach flip.
She hadn’t expected to want another human, a man, with such fervour.
She hadn’t expected sleepless nights and that irritating flush that wouldn’t go down in his presence. She hadn’t expected to look forward to just sitting in silence and sipping tea with another person.
She hadn’t expected the strings of Fate to be so cruel, to show her something she could have so easily yet something she would never dare to touch at the same time.
Pallavi knew of her boon and her curse.
She could only yearn from a distance.
And then Krishna seemed to hover around Rehman, almost like she liked him too.
That was of course before Rehman had tried blowing up the land using explosives if only to dig a freaking tunnel below it. That had disturbed the Goddess immensely and had ended up signing his death warrant.
That night, Pallavi had practically dragged a panicked Uzair Baloch to the forest after Rehman had run out of her house, looking like he had seen a ghost.
She had reached the moment he had slipped into unconsciousness, dropping on the ground with a thud that would haunt her nightmares for life. And he had been bleeding like all of them before.
Maybe this had been her punishment for getting distracted from her duty. For dreaming of such sinful things. Of even thinking of breaking the protection charm, if only to be able to touch another man. Only this time, instead of the relief that she had felt every time those miscreants and monsters had fallen to their deaths, her heart had physically torn itself in half.
Pallavi had flung herself over his sprawled form and had buried her screams for mercy and forgiveness into his almost still chest.
She had cried and prayed, rocked with Rehman’s cooling body for hours till dawn had streaked in gold over them and Uzair had stopped whimpering from beside them.
Till he had opened his eyes, thanks to her prayers being answered and she had finally snapped.
Years of loss and loneliness and yearning and sheer desperate relief.
The idol was still buried and the protection charm was still tied around her wrist only this time, Krishna was nowhere to be seen, not even when she had packed her meagre belongings and had practically settled in the Baloch haveli.
____________________________
Rehman was quiet for a long time after, feeling Pallavi’s breaths hit the skin of his collarbone through the open buttons of his kurta.
She had exhausted herself, speaking for so long.
“What did you see in the alcove that terrified you so?”, she finally asked, drawing circles on his chest with a gentle finger.
“I saw the picture of Goddess Kali and I saw a Jackal at her feet. She was drinking blood and was wearing a string of red hibiscuses around her neck. The exact same shade of Krishna’s ribbons. And her eyes… I hadn’t thought of it then but I remember Khurram saying the jackal had eyes like gold.”
Pallav turned in his arms to look up at him. Her eyes were beautiful. Grey orbs swirling inside the milky way. He brushed the tendril of her wavy hair back from her face.
“Do you think, if I ask your Mother for your hand first, She might spare me when I try to kiss you?”
“Rehman! For God’s sake!”
Pallavi blushed immediately as always and swatted at his chest sharply and then buried her heated face in that exact space, starting to quiver again. This time, hopefully more out of excitement than fear.
“I love you, Pallavi Thakur and you have turned me into a believer. It isn’t so hard to think a Goddess might come down on earth and punish your offenders”, he said into her hair and kissed her head.
“You almost died because of me”, she whispered, clutching his kurta in a vice grip.
“I lived because of you. And I may have deserved it a little. I did try to snatch your land by force”, he stroked her hair, tangling his fingers into those waves like he had always wanted to.
“I won’t win this one, will I?”
“No, but you, Thakurain are the only one who has won my heart—”
Pallavi looked up then, keeping her chin on his chest and her slate eyes danced in that familiar mischievous heat. She pressed an almost shy kiss to his cheek before whispering her agreement there.
“Well, that, Sardaar— is all I will ever want.”
________________________
Pallavi was a vision that could make angels weep in envy.
Her usually open hair was tied with sparkling diamonds into a messy braid twisting like a bejeweled snake down her curvy waist further accentuated by a gold chain. The dark blood red of her saree complemented her amber skin magnificently.
A dozen gold bangles had replaced the brown beads on both of her wrists. They chinked like the bells of heaven as she walked hand in hand with Rehman, deeper into the forest.
The fragrance of mogra and jasmines had wrapped around Rehman like a comforting blanket, tangling with his spicy musk like a pair of lovers at dusk. His cream sherwani had a matching maroon shawl over a shoulder that grazed his bride’s open pallu as they trudged up the dry earth to reach the clearing finally.
“I can’t feel the pressure in the air anymore”, Rehman whispered.
“I have opened the rudraksh. The protection charm is broken”, Pallavi said, turning towards him, taking both of his hands in hers now.
She closed her heavily kohl lined eyes and reminisced the image of Bharavi, the divine Mother who has protected her and her family for generations.
Rehman couldn’t understand what she was saying but the words still weaved like unbroken ropes around him, almost like an invisible shield netted and locked. He squeezed her hands comfortingly and closed his eyes too.
He didn’t believe in God. He never has. And years of defiance wouldn’t break because of a single incident. He still had difficulty believing whatever he had seen that night. Whether Krishna was actually the Goddess, or was it just a trick of his exhausted mind.
But he believed in Pallavi.
Her faith was important to him.
And for her, he is ready to bow down to any belief.
If it was protection that entity had provided, all he would pray is that she keeps protecting his wife. And that is exactly what he asked of this goddess, in his mind as well.
A sudden giggle broke his concentration.
He snapped his eyes open and saw Pallavi staring wide eyed at the side. He turned slightly, still holding her hands and followed her gaze till he saw her.
Krishna was standing in the middle of the clearing. Her charcoal skin glowing almost eerily under the moonless sky. That pair of molten gold irises were sparkling in hypnotic fervour. There was a brilliant smile on that heart shaped face outlined by those wild open curls. She was barefoot, that red saree tangled around a body which seemed shapeless yet had a sharp silhouette at the same time.
“Maa?”, Pallavi gasped.
Krishna giggled again, dimples forming in those dark cheeks. But before they could move, she had vanished into the inky darkness of the tree line behind. There lay a bunch of dew fresh hibiscuses on the ground where she had been standing. They were the color of blood and the color of the sindoor filling the slight partition of Pallavi’s hair.
The heavy scent of sandalwood was abound in the chilling night air.
They came back to the haveli, now mercifully empty, yet glittering with the aftermath of the ceremony. The daze hadn’t left both of them completely. It was only after Rehman had closed their bedroom door, when the haze from the forest snapped to give way to their new reality.
Pallavi was standing in the middle of the room, looking like a damsel waiting to be ravished and a queen waiting to conquer at the same time.
It was a strangely pleasant look on her.
His wife.
His goddess.
“I think She did gave us Her blessing…”, Rehman tugged Pallavi to himself and she went obliging and tucked herself into his arms, leaning her head in the crook of his neck and stared into the distance, as if searching for the laughing child as the wind blew her silent giggles into the earth outside.
“I think She did too”, she agreed, softly.
“So… I will not get struck down, if I kiss you now?”, Rehman teased gripping her waist tightly. Almost a touch possessive.
“You have been testing my patience for months at this point”, he whispered darkly in her ear and felt her shiver delightfully in response.
Pallavi glared up at him which only made her look lovelier, if that was even possible. But her eyes were swirling with mirth and love and she tugged his collar down in an uncharacteristically bold way.
“I think, I shall be rather cross with you husband, if you still don’t”, she whispered right over his lips, angling her head suggestively, those marble eyes getting heavier.
Rehman smirked and closed the distance between them finally.
It was only after that he had kissed her senseless and unwrapped her like a present specially handmade for him. The red silk pooling at her feet as she swung between endearing bashfulness and surprising eagerness, leaving her lipstick stamps liberally from his throat till his abs.
He had made her scream and cry his name over and over again till he was sure everyone within a ten mile radius knew whom she belonged to, left his marks thoroughly all over her naked shivering body, opening up to him with all its hidden secrets like a flower turning towards the sun, the altar of his ardent devotion— when Pallavi was sleep drunk and sated, curled in his arms, having smeared the sindoor all over his chest, her wavy hair spread over them like a blanket of crushed silk.
“I am glad I bought that piece of land”, his wife chuckled against his skin.
“I still can’t believe you refused to sell it for a crore”, Rehman grumbled caressing her back gently.
“Well, if I had, we probably would have never ended up together”
“Don’t discredit me, Thakurain. I wanted you the day I saw you. I would’ve trapped you one way or the other, ancient boons and pieces of earth notwithstanding.”
“I like your arrogance.”
“It is not arrogance if it is strategic confidence.”
“That is not a term. You just made that up right now.”
Rehman laughed, turning them over and Pallavi giggled, wrapping her arms around him, smiling in that familiar coy and slightly embarrassed way.
“I love you, Pallavi Thakur”, he whispered. Her eyes softened immediately before a lazy smile spread over her beautiful exhausted face.
“And I shall endeavor to tolerate you for the rest of my life, Rehman Baloch”
Rehman laughed again and covered her giggles with his lips for the nth time.
Thanks to @unconsciousxreality, @tobyig, and @greatcrestednewt for tagging me :D
Last song(s): Her - Jvke ft. Annika Wells / Neon Odyssey - The Midnight & Avantris / Never Love an Anchor - Crane Wives
Currently watching: Tornado/Storm Event studies on Youtube and various Star Wars things (Animated, Live Action, just whatever tbh)
Current obsession: At this EXACT moment? That'd be Fi and Jesse lol But also Kes and the Batch/the long fic I'm writing of them, as well as the DnD AU of them.
Currently reading: Fics. All the fics. Been on a ObiMaul kick tbh
Currently working on: The Kes/Batch long fic (Working title is Blur of Consequences), a one shot of when Kes and Echo met before the events of Blur, and I'm currently in the planning stages for Fi/Jesse fic (ᵕ ó ᴗ ò)
Last Google search: How to un-fold our electric lawnmower lol
Last song: Not by Big Theif
Currently watching: Rainworld lore videos on YT, specifically on the Watcher DLC
Current obsession: Star wars,,, specifically Mandalorian culture + my ocs
Currently Reading: Started the Republic Commando novels, halfway through Triple Zero
Currently working on: Tattoo 'map'/showcase for my oc Roscoe Arazu, as well as worldbuilding for mandalorian culture again
Last google search: "raptor tail dinosaur" - I was doing some creature design and needed a good ref aha
Tagging (no pressure !!):
@ladyknight33 @whoops-junk-drawer @dick-djarin
Last songs: I Want To Know What Love Is - Foreigner, Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Tears For Fears, Time - Pink Floyd
Currently Watching: nothing in particular. Mostly tornado videos on the ol ‘tube
Current Obsession: STAR WAR!!!! TAR WARS!!!! CLONES!!!
Currently Reading: my own writing! I’ve passed the “writing spree” stage and entered the “reread your own fics and then kick yourself for not finishing them” stage.
Currently Working On: Various outfit/set design pieces for my ocs! I’ve finally pushed myself to flesh out the places these people are visiting/living. I’ve had them for almost three years and I’ve only just gotten around to it. But hey! I’ve gotten round to it! Yay!
Last Google Search: Ehlers Danlos Syndrome (I may have it, I was googling symptoms, lmao). And the one before that was “normal blood pressure by age group”. So I guess I’m more of a hypochondriac than I thought i was?
Tagging (first time, kinda nervous 👉👈)
@t9909-gk @qalanthe @mistycatt (can I tag people who aren’t my mutuals?? What is etiquette) @eobe (oh no I don’t have ten. Send me to the plinko or something)
hi I’ve never done one of these even though I’ve been tagged in a bajillion of them
here we go..
last song: graduate by third eye blind
currently watching: clone wars… again
current obsession: obi wan still. Specifically I’ve been thinking about obi wan directly after order 66 but haven’t drawn it because I don’t usually like drawing sad stuff.
currently reading: rogue planet !! Yay Star Wars book
currently working on: drawing Obi wan. I want to draw him in mando armor and also do some codywan art. I have a whole list of things my friend Finn wants me to work on lol. Also my codywan fic I’ve been working on for months that I’ve hardly made progress on. I’m no author lol
last google search: “jar har” I was trying to type Jar Jar but something went wrong in the process 😔😔💔💔
tags (you don’t have to lol): @finlayflop @atomicheart99 @therestlessbones @coolskeleton66 @coquette-corpsie @saigesays @yapofalltrades
last songs: gommene gommene ft hatsune miku by kikuo, ego renegade boy ft kagamine len by flavor foley, king for a day by green day
currently watching: heated rivalry, South Park, and sw rebels
current obsession: anakin, Vocaloid, and friedrich Engels (I know everyone's favorite trio). Also vtubers cause im getting back into live2d
currently reading: random medical and forensics case studies and also fan fiction (for Star Wars and Dexter!)
currently working on: 3 indie game projects, a vtuber rig who I've been procrastinating, 2 fan fics (one which I posted and is time travel but hasn't had an update in like idk how long and another which I hope can see the light of day one day), a cal kestis and oc drawing for a moot (I love them/p), a codywan drawing that's stuck in the idk what I'm doing stage, and an anidala drawing in a similar stage
last Google search: ao3 (pretty self explanatory)
last songs: Across the Stars, How Lin-Manuel Miranda Orders a Pizza by Daniel Thrasher, Heart Attack by Demi Lovato and Mr. Darkside by Sub-Radio
currently watching: The Clone Wars 2008, probably gonna rewatch some Star Wars movies, probably gonna rewatch Tom Holland's Spider-Man trilogy in preparation for Brand New Day
current obsession: Star Wars (the prequels and the clone wars)
currently reading: Clone Wars: Wild Space
currently working on: The first fanfic in my Happy AU series where Palpatine dies, Padme lives, there's no Empire, and everyone is happy apart from Anakin apparently (don't worry he'll get there). I'm trying to write it realistic in the sense that this is what I think would have really happened if the story played out like this, but I think only the first story will have any politics in it. I love the in universe politics of Star Wars, I think they're fascinating and I wish there was more information out there on it, but there's not. Making random stuff up is exhausting. I don't want to do too much research, so I'm just going to write Happy Skywalker Family fluff and angst instead of galaxy altering shit lol
Google search: How do court trials work in Star Wars? (literally no info on Wookieepedia...)
No pressure tags: @magmeter @user24709 @evildala @herowithfears @vaderscurls @aquaeclipse @anakin03986 @panakin-crywalker + Anyone else who wants to join in!!!!
last songs: underground, i choose you, ufo, sugar free venom, instruction, magic clock
currently watching: taxi driver season 2, good morning call, trying to force myself to finish jjk, gonna start if wishes could kill and the other maze runner movies
current obsession: f5ve
currently reading: myriad and random aot fanfics
currently working on: doing as much revision i can for end of year exams then i'll carry on with my mystery fanfic
last google search: ammonia (i needed the structural formula for an equation)
npt: @holyspirit6 @fairyprincessqueen14 @unapologeticpristinelamb @divinebitch16 @actually-an-angel @t-bird510 + open tags!
Current obsession: the beauty in simplicity, and the parallels between people and nature; within things that just exist and how everything is interconnected + MERMAIDS 🧜🏼♀️
Reading: rereading some Seneca. Also decided to get more into Anaïs nin’s writing (delta of Venus is very interesting…) + satanism and witchcraft by Jules Michelet
Currently working on: my filmography journal — movie analysis, film theory & production, just trying to watch more films again + my favorite the psychology of cinematography (which I love exploring)
Last Google search: some essay ‘the humanness of morality’
Thank you for tagging @hamzakamehroomkurta and @littletigerspeaks2
Last song(s): kabhi neem neem (from Yuva by Madhusree), Sahiba (from Phillauri by Romy and Pawni Pandey) and Aayat (from Bajirao Mastani by Arijit Singh)
Currently watching: Ishqbaaz (rewatching only the episodes starring Danish for research)
Current Obsession: watching travel videos of different places in India and reading fics
june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be good june will be
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Okayyy.. for the Danny boy fans.. guys please watch Ishqbaaz ( on jio hotstar). He was there in a few episodes and I kid you not, he looked so damn good.. like wow.. his fits were great.. and he played the role of Vikram Aditya Thapar, a businessman who was the heroine, Anika's fake fiance, but he had a crush on her at 1st sight.. he initially seems like the good guy who is just helping Anika out but then it turns out he actually wants to marry anika.. he looked damn good.. and it was my 1st impression of Danish, I was in school and I went wow, such a handsome man, and even was like if I was the heroine I would have chosen him..
The video was kinda his introduction as her fiance.. my dumb-ass initially tried to screen record but jio hotstar has a masking feature and then I recorded it on my phone while playing it on my tablet..
Look at the height difference.. damnnn..
Tagging a few of my Danny boy girlies I know: @miraclejin1204 @copeop @lutt-le-gaya @hamzakamehroomkurta @sanamkhanani @sparksfromhell @yearnerray @nevereversaygoodbye @cvclee
Dhurandhar files : A bts interview that was shown during the tv premiere yesterday. Featuring Rakesh Bedi, Manav Gohil and Danish Pandor.
I managed to splice clips from two different sources to make the full video. The first video is HQ with clear audio but the second half (from Jamali's part) is from a janky, bum fuck quality video recording in someone's living room with grandma curtains so pardon the poor video and audio quality.
You will have to increase the volume second part onwards. It is what it is. 🤷🏻♀️
We are in the trenches , fishing for crumbs. Dhar Saheb needs to provide us with a full length bts on youtube.
Why are they being interrogated like that for a bts?😭😭😭😭😭
Once again Dan is back inside the backrooms . Why bro sitting at a 45 degree angle? Help🥴😭
Bro's nervous system telling him this is a real interrogation .He looks hot as fuck and nervous as fuck.
The other two men are chill, but look at Dan's permanent grip on his emotional support glass of water throughout the interview 🥛🥲😭🤣
The jail sequence and this interrogation probably put the fear of incarceration in him 🥴
For the love of God, please give this poor man a weighted blanket and an emotional support plushie.
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izzy806
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