HBAS Chat corner - Page 79

Originally posted by: melovesja

Congratulation Taniya for promotion and good luck for job 👍🏼

Thank you😊😳

Big hug to stuti and Adwi. Good wishes for Anandita and her family.

Originally posted by: melovesja

Good after noon baisa.😊

Hurray! Chellam and me got so many hands to ask update👏

Lashy baisa evere you feel lazy for next update call us ( me in those 15 friends na😒) we will be in london by next flight😉🤗

Originally posted by: Kalgi22

You sound so cute, Mitu!! 😆 🤗

She couldn't believe it - the peace that'd been ruffled earlier, hadn't settled yet. After all, neither had she wronged anyone, nor had she been wronged by anyone. It was just petty tit-for-tat game by her maids and his men. Then, why was 'she' left feeling so perturbed by it?

Where was her voice of reason that never allowed such silly affairs to get to her? Where was her positive spirit? Why couldn't she be the sportive 16 year old she always was? Why was a kind of 'ego' she couldn't recognise, beginning to rear its ugly head - disrupting her prayers in unprecedented ways?

Originally posted by: lashy

Yes yes

Last editing in progress... hopefully after morning school run, it should be up 👍🏼

Originally posted by: karkuzhali

HIDING BEHIND

A

STRANGER

( A Historical Romance by Lashy)

( Abridged)

Part 1. The Tornado

Chapter 6.

The Melting Moments..

Pulling in a deep breath, she strived to slip into a fresh bout of meditation - but, gave up shortly thereafter. It was her third unsuccessful attempt that evening.

She couldn't believe it - the peace that'd been ruffled earlier, hadn't settled yet. After all, neither had she wronged anyone, nor had she been wronged by anyone. It was just petty tit-for-tat game by her maids and his men. Then, why was 'she' left feeling so perturbed by it?

Where was her voice of reason that never allowed such silly affairs to get to her? Where was her positive spirit? Why couldn't she be the sportive 16 year old she always was? Why was a kind of 'ego' she couldn't recognise, beginning to rear its ugly head - disrupting her prayers in unprecedented ways?

'Stop!' she shook her head - for, even in that troubled state, her subconscious knew the answers to all those questions. She'd lost her sense of composure, because she was annoyed with HERSELF. Annoyed with her mind for having acted illogically. Annoyed with her heart for having briefly misbehaved. Even if only for a moment, this unfamiliar 'misbehaviour' had somehow sneaked in - and shrouded her judgement.

Yes, he'd saved her life. And yes, he helped abandoned children. But, what else did she know about him to begin having such anticipations at all? This was someone whom she'd barely met 4 days ago, and someone she'd never meet again 4 days later.

So, what in God's name had she been thinking? Why had she lost her sense of judgement and acted that way? Was it because her mind was eager for some distraction to escape the anguish it was suffering? Or, was life so lonely that she'd become desperate for some intelligent company after the demise of her jiji?

Her words gradually floundered 'Tomorrow is the 12th day...' the stern inner voice that'd been reasoning with her whims for so long began crumbling into disarray. The first signs of a faint tremble seized her lips. Her vision became poorer with new layers of moisture blurring it. Then, in a sudden fit of impulse, she lurched forth and grabbed the urn from its holy platform, nearly losing her balance as she did so. Tomorrow would be the 12th day - the day she would submerge those ashes in the river. The day she would say her final goodbyes. How was she supposed to prepare her mind for something as gravely permanent as that?

She wept, clutching the urn tightly, along with its precious contents - remains of what was once a graceful young woman in her prime - a woman who had always been her guide and guardian, mother and friend. Probably, disheartenment and loneliness had gotten the better of her. Definitely exhaustion too. Whatever the reason, she wept like she had on that fateful day - cradling the urn like she had cradled her sister's lifeless face near her chest 'What am I going to do without you, jiji? If such a pointless issue can push me into turmoil, how am I going to take care of the bigger things in life?'

As she sobbed relentlessly, her warm breath brushed against the cold curves of the lifeless urn. Her balmy tears flooded its barren designs - as though those desperate final struggles would bring to life that dead urn 'I miss you immensely...'

Heera wasn't aware for how long she'd been lamenting that way. She wasn't aware how late it was - but it was the reassuring tones in a voice calling out to her, which managed to gently awaken her comatose spirits

'Bitiya...'

'Yes Maharaj kakasa...' Since the heiress could not let him see her in so distraught a state, she hurriedly wiped her tears dry and drew the veil over her swollen face, before turning around to glimpse at the silhouette of her visitor. From the brisk manner in which his chubby outline had stationed itself at the entrance, she was grateful the cook hadn't brought her bad tidings.

'Maharaj kakasa' she softly responded to his bow 'What is it?'

'Baisa... we have managed to find a priest locally... he is prepared to perform the final rites... tomorrow... here, at Aidabad!'

'Oh! That's good...'

After a while, Heera slowly placed the urn back on its platform.

So, it WAS time to let go. A major part of her was still overcome with crushing grief, but there was a small part of her that was beginning to find a soothing relief in the news he'd just brought. For the past 11 days, she hadn't been able to perform her sister's rites thoroughly - and it was something that'd been nagging her conscience a lot. Because, the least she could do to repay a sister who'd gifted her everything in life, was grant her soul a proper farewell.

Now that the 12th day rites would be conducted as per Rajput customs, she felt a kind of peace she hadn't felt in days. A kind of peace that managed to blanket over the worries and tears that'd been hounding her - the same sort of peace she was certain her jiji's soul would feel too!

Main haveli...

Reaching across to the rosewood table, Azeez moved the many used-and-charred oily wicks lying beside a brass lamp, before pulling out the silver pitcher. Careful not to spill even a drop of the precious liquid, he poured the four of them a drink. The sweet syrupy smell of rose rising from that Sherbet straightaway masked the whiff of dust that drifted around the unused corners of the large chamber.

'Chacha jaan!' Azeez spoke up after having taken his first sip 'Even their SHERBET tastes better than yours... and I thought Persians had perfected the art of sherbet-making centuries ago!'

'Perfect?' chipped in Ibrahim 'As long as Chacha jaan can cook something edible...we must consider ourselves fortunate!'

'You traitors!' the old man grit his teeth playfully, but was overrode by raucous encouragement from the other two friends.

For the three young men, such laughter and conversations were not unusual - after all, the haveli was a home away from their homes. For Akbar Mahmoud Khan though, these conversations would be the only sounds that would temporarily rid the chronic stillness haunting the many rooms of that haveli. These friendly conversations were what made this haveli a home - the only 'home' he ever knew.

No doubt, the group were an epitome of professionalism during the day, upholding their master-employee roles without exception. However come nightfall and after a day's hard work, those barriers were pulled down and formalities done away with. More so on those nights when the friends decided to stay back after dinner and wind down for an hour or so.

Needless to say, the prime outcome of such a gathering was sipping on copious amounts of Chacha jaan's watery sherbet, while picking on a scapegoat and pulling his leg till the late hours of the night.

Only tonight, they hadn't bothered finding a scapegoat yet - what with the delicious sherbet doing its rounds, having arrived from the kitchens of guest quarters.

'Mock me all you must...' the old man guffawed 'But, Akbar survived on my culinary skills all these years... and if anything, he's more hale-and-hearty than all of you put together! So, I must have done something right!' casually setting straight a fresh goblet, he poured some drink into it and peeked across the room, at his nephew.

As was always during such gatherings, the young man was lounging at the far end with his head buried in official sheets. Though he did have a ear out for their chatter and shook his head when the jokes got too hilarious, he never joined them in it.

So, sighing in disapproval, Chacha jaan traipsed up to the other end of the chamber with both glasses in hand 'Here' he offered him a drink

The businessman stared, his frowns wary.

'Akbar...' his voice became mellow 'Please have a sip of this... you will not regret it! This is how REAL food tastes...'

Having raised a brow, he returned to the sheet he'd been poring over - like he hadn't heard a word of it.

'Well... when you're out travelling... you do eat what's available, right?'

'When out, yes... but, when I'm in my house I eat what 'I' like to eat!'

'For 4 nights, I've been asking you to taste the food that comes from their kitchen, and you have been refusing to... but, this is only a drink... so, it shouldn't matter right?' the uncle waited with growing impatience 'Why don't you assume I was the one who made it?'

When Akbar responded to none of those pleas, Chacha set down both goblets on a table 'You are one stubborn man... but, I can be adamant too... this old man will not continue indulging himself, when his son refuses to enjoy the little pleasures in life!'

Following an extremely long pause of nothingness, the tradesman put down his scroll with a vexed sigh and picked up his goblet 'Oh! All right... have yours now!'

The man's wrinkly features lit up like a thousand lamps. He was astonished, as were the three friends, by the turn of events 'Ai Khuda... thank you for this miracle!' he celebrated, while reclaiming the drink he'd given up 'Anyway...' announced chacha with an air of newfound authority 'I'm tired of cooking for you rowdy lot...' he pointed to the faces staring at him 'If only I could walk up to that group with a proposal of marriage... then, I would request for their Maharaj Sahib as part of the wedding gift!'

'If this is how you men behave after a few sips of Sherbet' Akbar remarked flatly 'I must consider it fortunate that none of you touch alcohol...'

'Tch... tch...' Chacha ignored the comment, and continued addressing his enthralled audience 'This Khan Sahib to learn to let go... to smile... don't you agree?' when that audience didn't nod, he had to prod them for an answer 'Oh, come on... speak up!'

'We'll agree ...' the fearless Azeez decided to take the bait 'but first...'

'Listen young man...' interrupted Akbar, his flat tone suddenly gaining an icy edge that forewarned them he wasn't joking 'You've already had your share of mischief this morning... so, pipe down if you don't want something coming flying at you...'

WHOOOSH!

The scroll had abruptly whizzed towards him - but like the true athlete that he was, Azeez had ducked and caught the missile with his hand. 'See... this is what I mean!' he complained playfully, while the remaining members went on to cheer his proficiency.

'That was only a warning...' Akbar mentioned with an air of nonchalance 'Hold your tongue... or next, it'll be my dagger!'

'But I haven't finished yet...' Azeez placed the scroll down 'Chacha jaan, I do have a good solution to this... Harka sahiba!'

Akbar conspicuously moved his fingers towards the hilt of his dagger, the frown between his brows deepening 'You heard me...'

But Azeez wasn't intimidated by the sight of a dagger. Neither were his friends . After all, they were a red-blooded group of men, who'd been trained by the master himself. Men who loved to live dangerously, and who considered such risky games as sport.

So not surprisingly, Azeez continued, undaunted 'My men, I've heard Harka sahiba is quite the healer... she should have a magic potion that should help our Khan Sahib lighten up...'

WHOOOSH!

The steel of a blade flashed across the room!

Letting out a deep breath, the exasperated merchant arose from his couch. It was apparent that he had become their scapegoat for the evening and unfortunately they weren't going to stop anytime soon. So, he grabbed his goblet and strolled towards the terrace at a far end, the serene nightly spectacle on offer, a welcome respite from the disorderliness inside.

At the terrace...

'Harka sahiba... quite the healer...' the words lingered on, although this topic was one of the reasons he'd abandoned the group. His gazes fell upon the grounds adjoining the guest quarters. And thereupon, on the neatest corner of the garden.

Despite the fact that he might have abruptly rode off from her presence that morning. Despite the fact he might not have admitted it yet - even to himself - there was little doubt that the patch of garden she'd tended to with such precision and care, was going to grow to become the most beautiful aspect of the entire haveli. Even in the sparse light of night, those saplings and flowerbeds appeared so tender and promising - as if hinting to anyone who gazed upon them, of the nature of the Sahiba who'd planted them.

He took another sip of the delicious sherbet, his mind simultaneously taking another step into this unknown chasm he'd stumbled upon. As if the repeated recollections of her words and skills weren't enough, the thoughts were beginning to ruffle other memories too. Memories so evasive that they'd somehow found their way through all his walls and masks he'd kept intact for so long. Subtle memories, which had stubbornly lodged in a far corner of his mind - that try as he might, he couldn't oust them.

His thumb unwittingly rubbed the bare spot on his ring finger. It'd been a few days since he'd stopped wearing the brown topaz. But its absence somehow reminded him of the cherished ring even more. Like how the very pair of eyes he was meant to forget, never actually got forgotten.

'Well, most days, are good... and I can use my sight to get by... on those days that are bad, I use my senses to get by...'

He recalled how those elegant earthy eyes had twinkled with such self-assurance when she'd described her abilities, a night ago. And yet, how the same 'self-assured twinkle' that set them apart, had gone missing too. Just once. When she'd gone on to reveal a sinister secret

'There have been threats to my life...'

His jaw seemed to tighten for an instant, as it had on the previous night - a fleeting reaction to the morbid reality. But, why such a response? Wasn't she supposed to be only a stranger to him? Someone he'd met barely 4 days ago, and someone he'd never meet 4 days later. Then, why the anger?

Was it because his subconscious knew her spirit was unique, too unique to allow it to be extinguished? Was it because he knew she was a noble soul - a soul so noble that it would make any man want to protect its essence from dying out, though she'd never ask for such protection herself?

He felt a strange but certain twitch in his chest - and ironically, it was that unfamiliar twitch that brought him face to face with the facts.

Abruptly dragged out of the forbidden chasm he had entered, his fingers coiled around the neck of the cup 'Cursed fires of hell!' he swore under his breath in escalating anger. Six nights in a row - and the phenomenon was only getting worse. Why was he being affected by such thoughts and sensations?

Even as a man in his prime, he'd always managed to walk away from women as one would walk away from a dull statue - with apathy and disinterest. If so, why was that self-restraint not serving him well at present? Why was his mind not as steady lately? Didn't it realise that the life he'd chosen was too ominous and the paths he took too dark, to afford him the luxury of such mistakes?

This lapse was unacceptable, even if only temporary.

'I am done for tonight...' the man gave his friends an abrupt explanation and stormed out of the chamber rightaway.

[Journey continues]

Originally posted by: karkuzhali

HIDING BEHIND

A

STRANGER

( A Historical Romance by Lashy)

( Abridged)

Part 1. The Tornado

Chapter 6.

[Journey continues]

Originally posted by: karkuzhali

Yippee...!

Originally posted by: karkuzhali

Yippee...!