Dawood
I stretched my shoulders and plopped down on the large black sofa that Kamal had brought back from his place. He was changing his furniture and thought it would be a good idea to bring it to our foxhole—used for unofficial meetings or, you know, other things.
I ran my fingers through my hair, lighting up a cigarette and exhaling a small puff. Ah, if only I could be this alone and peaceful. I usually hate hair gel, but goddamn, that was neat. I kind of liked how it kept my hair in place. It could save me a lot of work. Usually, the scar on my left eye was hidden, which made me look less intimidating. I suppose for a casual meet up, I sure dressed up a lot. Summers in Karachi are the worst.
“Kamal... Kamal!” I sighed, throwing my head back.
He entered with a man in his midis, I would say. Too neat for this world. I glared down at him, spitting out the cigarette from my mouth, waiting for him to speak.
“معذرت,” Kamal said, knowing better than to waste my time on the silly little issues of civilians that barged in here for help. Ah, I'm not so merciful! I'm not a god.
Silence filled the room; suddenly, I was in a bad mood. Usually, people came here for their selfish reasons. Quite cynical, huh?
“Spit it out,” I said, clenching my teeth.
“بیٹا—”
I grabbed the knives lined up on the table in front of me: a dagger, combat tactical knife, classic Bowie, modern Bowie, kukri, throwing knife, pressing dagger, karambit, machete. Aha...
I picked up the classic Bowie and flung it across the room at the man before me. He dodged it by mere inches.
“Shh, missed a beautiful eye!” I laughed, but it died down really quick.
“Listen here, you fucker, say what you came to say and be gone. I hate people who make connections or use emotional manipulation. I don't have a family, got it? Nor do I have those sleazy, silly feelings that you all have. Alright?”
He trembled in fear, falling to the ground. Kamal eyed me, unsure of how to react to my erratic behaviour. He had been my right-hand man for about a decade now. He knew what could get him or anyone else in trouble.
The word "family" held zero meaning to me. I alone am invincible.
“So, you're saying your nephew is visiting from America, and you want us to look into their business, pull some strings, and in return, you'll give us legal rights to 20% of your shares in KASP, that company of steel manufacturers?”
“Yes…”
I snorted and rubbed my slight stubble, winking at Kamal as I called him up close.
“Give this man some tea.” I suppose he relaxed a bit, the sweat slowly drying from his face.
“What is your name again?” I questioned, leaning back and lighting another cigarette.
“Rahim...” His head was still bowed. How shameless.
Sad.
“Rahim, for someone who called me 'beta' earlier, you sure are a man of greed.” I chuckled, to which he laughed nervously. I picked up the machete, sliding my finger across the blade until it bled.
“آہ... آستین کا سانپ ہیں آپ؟” I licked the blood.
“مجھے ڈسنے میں بھی دیر نہیں کریں گے؟” I pierced him with my gaze. Loyalty matters everywhere—in mafias, business, relationships. There's not one place where it doesn't matter.
“You're betraying your own blood. How can I be sure you won't sell us out?” I spoke.
“N-NO, this is because my sons are the rightful owners! My brother was the eldest, and he tried to take everything from us. We are left with less! I have four sons; it's going to cause an uproar with everything.” He explained, clearly distressed.
I agreed to his terms. Kamal brought out a written contract, which was a must in any case. I stood up, looking at my watch. I gave him a grim nod.
Fixing his tie and collar, I whispered, “If I find out your statements are false or you mess with our deal, your daughter is in Kings University, right?” I smirked.
His eyes widened.
He must know not to mess with us.
One of the exhausting things in the world is pretending. To play pretend, its worst. And if that's the core of your survival, its gruesome. If I talk about it, I am good actor. My whole life I held a mighty facade. It took me more than a decade to build trust. I was not unaware of conscience of mine feeding on me.I was alive, morally; dead.
My sole survivor came from forgiveness from God.Often i feared , that i may be even fooling myself , making myself believe after all the inhuman things i did – faced , i was so sure i was unforgivable yet some part of me was convinced he was all forgiving , merciful .A tear of piled up frustrations rolled down my cheek. It wet my stubble fell on the prayer mat.
I breathed a loud, I needed to be saved, I needed salvation, i needed in form of human, in form of God. I started off as right. I went wrong. I strayed of so cold. Was I playing fool? I was not pious I could confirm. Lately, the more it got to my head the more my brain was fogged.
Have I finally lost sight of right and wrong?
******
Dawn broke, 12-year-old me wouldn't have known any better. My bed was comfortable place. Spider man comforter which I asked mother to buy me on my birthday. We celebrated it alone. She stopped telling me about dad, I never asked after I turned 10. there was always feign of hurt in her eyes which I never wanted to see again. I was slowly learning to be more patient .as patient as 12-year-old kid could be. It was slowly becoming a part of me.
The little tiptoeing of my feet to check up on her at 3 am crying on prayer mat. Her swollen eyes every night. The wrinkles that came too early on her. Her soft hands that always felt cold on my skin.
It may be not good sight for anyone, to me it was one of the beautiful ones. Something that always allured me was her connection to Allah more than anyone. Who was He?
Why was she talking about Him a lot? If he was really God; someone who created us all? Then why did she cry and not let Him take away her pain?
I sneaked up from behind and hugged her. Hoping to scare her a little. She turned around her eyes were again glossed. Smile on my face disappeared.
"Ami Jaan, are you feeling pain in your stomach again?"
"Haye, my love, you're so worried about your mama, aren't you?" She pulled me into a hug, tickling away my worries.
"بہت تکلیفیں ہیں دنیا میں، تکلیف مٹانے والا کوئی نہیں۔ میں تو اکیلا دنیا تب فتح کرتا جب میرے ساتھ آپ کا سایہ ہوتا۔ میں نے تو کہاں سوچا تھا کہ میری نمازیں بھی اُس وقت ادا ہوں گی جب میری محبوب چیز مجھ سے چھین لی جائے گی۔ خدا نے مجھے ایک جھلک دکھائی ہوتی دنیا کی سازشوں اور مستقبل کی، میں تو آپ کے پلو سے لپٹ جاتا۔"
Once again sleep was torn from my eyes and I laid awake. I could barely hear azan but there was faint sound. It was same time, same me but different circumstances.
*****
Work is always early. Often it also has no timings. I called Kamal and asked him to gather our men. We needed somethings done before plunging into action with the man who offered as a job earlier. The work was not bad. If we needed to make money for our territory having legal work only helped us clear our name more.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“Alright, I want you all to hear with open ears. Mess up and I'll hold prayer myself", I said staring down at them intently.
“Find out about the COO of Cosmos Tech. Look into him thoroughly—his life, relationships, family, his arrival. Dig into even the slightest details, his appearance, we want it all. Got it?”
I continued, “We need to know if he’s connected to any mafias or if he’s someone not to be trifled with.”
I sat up straight to underscore the gravity of the situation. “We don’t need to clash with other parties, not at the moment. Peace isn’t always the answer; there’s always someone waiting for even the smallest slip. Got it?”
I finished.
I had no time to relax there was meeting in the south wharf, a ship was to unload which contained girls from UAE . A deal was sealed between Taiju and Jhang Group.I was hell bent on recovering them no matter what it cost me .OfCourse there was whole ass theatre play that needed to be set out before I could have them under my protection.
It was worth it. Even my life was. I needed to come up with something really quick.
Riyah
“Walaikumaslam Khala, you know it is not about me not wanting to get married. It’s just you know I have never found my person yet "I sighed. I knew she was worried about me being alone for the rest of my life and not even having someone to carry my dead body. It occurred to me more often than not. Something about her constant nagging even gave me hope. A little. Faith.
She was like a mother to me, even holding a more significant place than my own mother. She gave me all her support. She was visiting her son in Pakistan. I never visited Pakistan much, but she would always tell me about the people and places. I don't remember much from my last visit, just the pretty shops and market areas, the feeling of it is what I reminisce about.
This time, I planned a surprise visit to her. Maybe the visit won't be so bad. Since I had never asked for leave at work, they gave me two easy months off.
If I talk about my life, it's quite depressing. I went to Pakistan with my aunt once when I was young. It was nice, but not enough for me to want to be there. I liked my solitude, and I learned that very early when my mother married a tyrant—a greedy man who, after ripping her off, left us to rot. Well, not quite rotting, since my mother never entirely gave up. She still had a house and was educated enough to make a living and raise me right.
After she died, I never reached out to my dad, nor did he, which I was very grateful for. That man had zero place anywhere in my life. I never went to Pakistan because my only close relative on my mother's side was my aunt, and I didn't want to have anything to do with my dad’s family. God knows if he came to my mother just for settling and then moved after getting a passport. Then what would his family do to me?
My aunt was already at an age where her kids were on their own when my mother died. She spent her years on me and moved back to Pakistan when she deemed me fit to be on my own. I was very grateful to her for that.
I strolled through various aisles to buy gifts, hoping to give them to people appropriately according to their genders and ages. I had only seen a few of them on video calls and not a lot in person.
I did not see her a lot - I never felt like I was someone that belonged anywhere .To me there was not much to life except working and going on solo trips . I failed to make friends due to my nature and the natural circumstances made me feel less judged in solitary confinement .
Well , that was that.
Now, I was excited to pay visit to Pakistan again!
******************
Aswad
My room was plain. White marble floors, simple furniture. I had no interest in decorating with a multitude of colors. As a man, I preferred simplicity. No celebrity posters, no scenic prints. The less, the better.
It might seem gloomy to others, but I liked things decent. It helped me focus on my work and removed any lingering distractions.
That being said, today the bare ceiling irritated me. The empty walls were messing with my head. I needed to do something to shake off this itching feeling. Now that my parents are so adamant about me getting married, everything feels like a nuisance.
It's frustrating that they don't understand where I'm coming from. I sat up, grabbed my pack from the nightstand, lit a cigarette, and inhaled deeply.
“Ahh.” I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and let the smoke take over. I needed a drink—maybe something stronger to ease the uneasiness.
A faint knock on my door. I turned my head, not wanting to respond. I pretended to be asleep, though that was a stretch. I heard small footsteps approach my bed, and the mattress dipped slightly under the weight. I pried my eyes open and sighed. Flicking my cigarette into the ashtray, I sat up straight.
Before I could say a word, my mother spoke.
“You see, son, growing up, we gave you everything—your favorite toys, time with friends, solo trips, family vacations. Now you might think that was your right, which it definitely was. As someone who brought you into this world, it was your right to have the best of it.
But what I regret is not being able to give you the world that comes after this one. Now that I'm in my old age, I regret many things, as every person does. There's always something a person regrets either doing or not doing in their lifetime. For me, it was perhaps both—what I did and what I didn’t do.
I married your father; he's a good man who has devoted his entire life to us. As a mother, I tried to guide you toward religion, but perhaps I wasn’t enough on my own. Seeing you and your father live a life without the major presence of Allah has brought me great pain. I often wonder where I went wrong and why my family lives in all sorts of luxury, yet our home seems devoid of the light of religion, filled only with the riches of this world.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, which she quickly wiped away. She breathed deeply. I felt a pang in my chest for the pain she was going through, but I never really understood the religion part, so it didn’t quite bother me.
“If you’re saying marriage is going to make me religious and pray five times a day—something I don’t even believe in—then you’re wrong,” I said drowsily. Her eyes widened, and the sound of a slap echoed in the room.
“How dare you say you don’t believe! I did everything to make you the best person, so why are you like this? All this drinking, smoking, having a girlfriend—do you realize how dangerous the road you're walking is?” She screamed in my face, her voice cracking.
“That doesn’t make any sense. If I’m not religious, then nothing you or Dad or any woman coming into my life does will change how I perceive God. Do I even perceive God? Who knows! Now do whatever you want. I sympathize with you wanting me to be religious, but I’m not hurting anyone by being who I am, so who cares if I believe in Allah, Buddha, or a stone?” I rolled my eyes. I get wanting a family for me or grandkids, but the idea that religion will come into my life through a woman is ridiculous.
“Do whatever you want, honestly. If the woman turns out to be good, maybe we could live a life like you and Dad. You’re free to do as you please! Just let her not interfere with my life goals, and I’m chill,” I said, closing my eyes and lighting another cigarette.
I watched her get up and walk out of the room without another word.
I got up and walked to the window, opening it to let some air in. I don't get why my beliefs—or lack thereof—are her problem or anyone else's. Throughout my life, she claims to have given me God, but she never really did. She would pray and read the book, but she never actively taught me why I should need God or why I would ever need Him. What form did He exist in?
My friend Ram knew his god was an idol, so he believed and worshipped one. But me? My god? Maybe it was money I worshiped, or my position. Who cares? Were my beliefs harming anyone? No.
Maybe an arranged marriage wouldn't be so bad after-all..
*****