The Promise of October
The late afternoon flight in early October from Chattrapathi Shivaji, Mumbai to Raja Bhoja, Bhopal touched down at exactly 1600 hours and dislodged the usual mix of tourists en route to the tiger parks of Madhya Pradesh, businessmen, builders and conservative Muslim families with burqa -clad women and men wearing the trademark beautifully cut sherwanis and caps. Sprinkled in was a smattering of sheikhs and their begums as well.
A tall, well-built man with a pony tail, sporting a stubble and a Harley Davidson jacket hefted guitar cases, two heavy bags and a duffle off the baggage carousel and dumped them on to two carts. Pushing them with ease, he walked out of baggage claim, but was flagged down by a couple of officers. He turned and looked at them levelly, nonetheless, he banked the blaze in his eyes by donning a pair of oversized Rayban glares. Studiedly calm, he followed them along a passage and went into a wood paneled room.
One of the sheikhs followed this little incident with narrowed eyes. He half turned and gripped his burqa-clad begums forearm comfortingly.
The man sat in the comfortable wood paneled office and waited. He seemed taut, yet strangely relaxed. Taking a deep breath, he fingered the filigree earring in his pocket and smiled to himself as he pictured her face with those beautiful big eyes and smile. He turned his head as the door opened and the sheikh and his wife walked in followed by a rotund, balding official looking person and an extremely short assistant.
Mr. Bhatawadekar, the Indian Immigration Dept. crack officer, turned up the a/c, motioned to Dolly for some chai and shook hands cordially with the stubbled and ponytailed man.
"Mr. Khan, good to finally see you again. Nice hairdo! I might confuse you even more with Ms. Zoya right about now," he deadpanned.
Asad Ahmed Khan smiled a little dangerously. Mr. Bhatawadekar cleared his throat and continued,
"We have been in conversation for a long time and your information about Tanveer has been extremely useful. She has many powerful and ruthless clients on her list of infamy, and in following her, we have made some key sting ops successful in the trafficking racket. I am very happy to return the favour. I must remark on the investigative skills of your Mr. Prasad at your firm, who figured out that Feroze, your sisters mother-in-laws brother, has been keeping an eye on your house and activities, and been keeping Mr. Siddiqui in the loop. Mr. Siddiqui seems to be capable of going to any lengths to prevent your nikaah from happening. However, this time we shall prevail, and your fiance, Zoya , will be able to move freely around Bhopal once again, as Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan."
Asad turned towards the Arab couple. His rare grin cracked his face, leaving deep dents in his cheeks as he stepped forward to be engulfed in the sheikhs and his wifes hugs. Shrugging off their outer robes, they revealed themselves to be the dapper Anwar Farooqui and his charming wife Zeenat. Asad turned to Mr. Bhatawadekar and said,
"Mr. Bhatawadekar, always glad to help an Indian officer who is principled and follows the law. I also know that you have a big heart. I can never forget the kindness you showed Zoya and myself at the airport. Although we were foolish enough not to realize our love at the time, you saw through us and knew what we had was the real deal. You even gave us a clue about Tanveer, although it was only many months later, when Zoya and I were debriefing each other on everything that happened between us, that we figured it out. Let me introduce Zoya's adoptive parents. Although she does call them Aapi and Jeeju, they are her legal parents and they have all the documentation that proves that she is a US citizen, that she was adopted by them and that they have the full authority and right to be the witnesses at our wedding. Mr. Siddiqui , who hired Feroze, may indeed be her biological father, but he has made no move to legalize that relationship. However, his influence at the committee of the Badi Masjid prevents me from making the nikaah happen. Old loyalties run high behind those closed doors and you know that I am a self-made man, with no godfathers. No one feels the compulsion to listen to me. However, with your help and your stature and credibility with the Govt. of India, I know that I shall succeed. Thanks to your intervention, we were able to sort out Aapi and Jeejus visa issues and they are here. Your guarantee of the veracity of their documentation should convince, rather compel the committee to accede to my request for a completely rock solid and tamper proof nikaah."
Anwar and Zeenat smiled. More and more with each passing moment, they were convinced that Asad was the right man for their little girl. Zeenat smiled to herself as she remembered Zoya's half angry, half fangirling accounts of Mr. Khan. The fake nikaah, the drama that she had witnessed, the blaze in Asad's eyes when he looked at Zoya all those months ago and said that for him the nikaah was real. She knew that he had been playing along with Zoya through her journey of confusion, giving her time to come to terms with the fact that she loved a guy whom she thought was totally the wrong type for her. Zeenat knew that Asad knew that he loved Zoya long before Zoya knew that she loved him.
They had travelled to London last week from NYC, and there Asad had met them, being there on the pretext of work. They travelled just on their US passports, since they did not need visas to the UK.. Since Asad had found out that Gaffoor had moles at the Indian Embassy, according to plan, he had escorted them to Mumbai, knowing that his every moment was being watched by the man who was determined that if he could not control his daughter, then no one else would have her. The arm of Mr. Siddiqui was very long. Mr. Bhatawadekars influence with immigration at Mumbai had given Anwar and Zeenat a tourist visa for two weeks, upon landing.
Striding out of the airport, Asad slung his luggage into the trunk of his black BMW X5 and drove off, leaving his driver behind with taxi fare. He went to the Badi Masjid first, to pray and ask for strength. He would have to wing it very carefully, he thought to himself. He finished up and left for home in the gathering dusk. Two weeks was too long away from Zoya and Ammi. He also had another agenda at the Badi Masjid - to be spotted by Feroze who parked there on a regular basis at the beck and call of Mr. Siddiqui. With his frequent visits there, Feroze and Gaffoor were convinced that Asad was planning a surprise move at the Badi Masjid and they spent their days on yellow alert, with the happenings at that historical mosque and the formidable pony tailed man foremost in their thoughts.
He had not gone unnoticed. Feroze had marked him almost immediately and watched his every move. As he negotiated the crowded streets of Old Bhopal, Asad scored himself one.
Back in their disguise, Anwar and Zeenat had left Bhatawadekar's office about half an hour after Asad left and checked into the quiet rooms of the Lalit Moti Palace.
The mosque was just a three minute ride away.
KHAN MANSION
The lights in the mansions around the Bhopal lake twinkled into life as the X5 tore up the lakeside drive and nosed in through the gates of No. 21. Asad Ahmed Khan stepped out of the SUV. He gave the keys to the waiting driver who had returned earlier, to move the bags in and walked in the door, his heart pounding in anticipation of a certain warm body being launched at him.
"Mr. Khan! Your flight landed almost three hours ago, and the baggage was cleared as well, what took you so long? I have been waiting! Are they here? Did everything go as planned? Where have you been? Did you get ... "
Zoya flew to the door, pulled him into the middle of the room and flung her arms around him, talking non-stop. He just stood there, basking in her warmth and feel and her voice as her words floated and tumbled around him. She stopped talking suddenly, stepped back and looked at him. He looked a little tired, but the stubble shadowed his face in the most intriguing way. Combined with the quiet purpose in his eyes, their flame carefully banked but still visible, he looked dangerous and ready for anything. Her heart skipped a beat as she took him in, and he smiled his trademark half- smile at her.
"Hello back at you, Khubsurat! Miss me?"
After hearing one day how Razia always referred to her as "that khambakt Zoya" and punching the wall (again) in his frustration at her tears and hurt over her fathers and stepmothers treatment of her on one of her tumultuous visits to SIddiqui Farm, he'd started calling her that. It made her feel like a million dollars instantly and he always greeted her so, just to see that light shine in her eyes and to get those dimples to flash.
He stepped forward and enveloped her in his arms and squeezed her until he could hear her breath rush out. Stepping back, he grinned at her unrepentantly and swung away to his room. She ran after him, only to have him pull her in, slam her against the door and give her a smacking kiss! They pulled apart after a while and smiled at each other.
"My darling, I want you to listen carefully."
He curled his hand around her neck and pulled her in close. Speaking softly and rapidly into her ear, for a long time, he concluded with an amused and tender glance at the emotions that crossed her face.
"Clear?" She nodded, her face tight with anticipation.
"And after that ..." he bent his head, cupping her face this time, and spoke again, and she looked back at him with such a fangirling expression that his breath caught.
"All present and accounted for, Jahanpanah!"
"Your stuff is all in. I have had it moved to your room."
Her eyes messaged her gratitude. All her childhood stuff from NYC, packed by Zeenat and checked in by Asad was in Khan Mansion now. Her memories. Her possessions. Her life. Now merged with the Khan family. Her new family.
One more hard kiss, and she turned and went out of his room. She knew exactly what she had to do.
Ammi walked in a few minutes later and gave her son a typical Mom hug. He sat her down and knelt before her, holding her hands, again issuing a stream of soft but precise instructions. She smiled, stroked his hair, kissed him on his forehead and left.
N-DAY!
The fifth of October brought to Bhopal cloudy skies and a faint drizzle. The dudh wala and the paan shop at the end of the drive that ran past the big lake mansions plied their usual trade. Feroze's constables had seen the black X5 pass up the drive the previous evening, with the familiar arrogant, hard profile on the driver's side and they knew that their mark was back. At the stroke of 6 am, the gate at No. 21 opened and a figure in a dark hoodie, tracks and Oakley sports eye wear emerged. The constables watched as the figure broke into a run and made way along the lake. A little slow today, perhaps the night was busy ... the constables shared a few horse laughs at their crude humour.
The run seemed normal, the runner heading as usual into a tiny copse by the right end of the lake from their viewpoint, emerging about twelve minutes later. Forty minutes after that saw the runner pound into Khan mansion and shut the gate.
The constables drinking their chai failed to notice the loud guy emerge from the copse in a red hoodie, headband, monkey cap, blue tracks and cheap sunglasses walk slowly, swinging his arms like a cheap wrestler, get into his boneshaker Maruti Alto parked outside the small public park in the distance, and rattle away.
Breakfast was the usual affair at Khan Mansion. Fruit and cereal for Zoya, egg whites and oats for the man of the house and Dilshaad toyed around with a boiled egg and toast. At 8:30 am sharp, a small white Indica pulled up, with Najma and a burqa clad woman who walked with a limp in tow. The ivory-skinned, doe-eyed, plump and pretty Najma skipped up the steps of her mothers house, looking back impatiently at the slower woman. They went inside. The constable surveillance team barely bothered. Their "inside man", the road sweeper for the lakeside drive, had told them that the woman was a cook, and was on substitute from the Qureshi household for the past two weeks. She seemed ultra-conservative, not venturing out of the kitchen unless fully covered.
An hour passed and the constables saw the ponytailed head atop the broad shoulders stretching the dark blue Armani jacket tightly across them get into the X5, followed by some impatient honking. They snapped to attention as a plump woman, moving gracefully in a beautiful cream anarkali, veil pulled low over her head, got into the back and they felt they had hit the jackpot when the slender and tall figure of a woman in white and red, veiled as well, with Gucci shades covering half of her face rushed in quickly into the front. They caught the crooked smile of the driver as the car headed outside the gates and arrogantly roared past them. Punching Feroze's number into their phones, they headed for their bikes and attempted to follow the speeding SUV, but could not keep up. They told Feroze which direction the X5 was headed in, and went back to their chai drinking. In a town like Bhopal, the X5 stood out, not difficult to track at all. The Dudh wala handed them extra special cardamom flavoured cups, with a sympathetic gleam in his eye.
In all this, the constables failed to notice that the Indica had left the driveway of Khan Mansion as well. They drank their chai, oblivious to the fact that the Burqa clad woman with the limp had left in it.
SIDDIQUI MANSION
Gaffoor stood in his spotless white sherwani in the smaller lounge area, perusing through the paper. A community nikaah notice at the old madarsa across town from Badi Masjid caught his eye. His lip curled in disdain. These nikaahs. The committee with their impoverished maulvis, spouting religious dogma at him while salivating for his money ... he knew a trick worth two of that! His careful guardianship of his image was only outdone by his lust for money. His phone buzzed.
"Hello?"
He listened and his face darkened. Quietly, so as not to let Razia know, he called for the driver and asked him to take the car out of the gate. She could not understand the beef he had with Zoya marrying Asad. She could not understand the damage it did to his ego. They had been fighting bitterly of late, and he did not have the strength or endurance left to continue for much longer. He casually walked out into the garden and slipped out of the gate. Collapsing heavily into the car he said a few terse words to the driver and the car sped away.
BADI MASJID
The NRI couple came into the Mosque and offered up Namaaz. Shaking off numerous offers of postcards, key rings and other souvenirs from hawkers, they strolled around the area and entered a gully where imarthis and jalebis were being fried. Doubling back, they went up to the decrepit back of the Mosque grounds and re-entered.
They had been noticed by Feroze and his men staking out the place, but their Arab disguises at the airport had prevented Feroze from identifying them for who they really were. They just seemed like another anonymous couple to him.
Mr. Bhatawadekar emerged from the shadows of the gracedul Indo-Saracenic arches and motioned to them. Relieved, they followed him up weatherbeaten stairs into a sunny and surprisingly modern room, not unlike a school library. They entered the room and looked at the stern faces of the committee members in some trepidation, but with purpose. Anwar stepped forward and after the greetings, laid all the documents, impeccably organized, in front of the committee members. Mr. Bhatawadekar stepped forward and spoke a few forceful words and stepped back. Then Anwar stepped forward, clear eyed, and started to speak. The eyes of the committee members narrowed and soon, he was interrupted by questions, but after a few minutes clarity began to emerge on the faces of these venerable old men and some amount of appreciation and admiration as well. When he ended, he looked up to find approval and thanked Allah silently as he read the green signal in the committees collective eyes. Mr. Bhatawadekar flicked an eyelid at him before calling someone on his phone and gesturing to Dolly.
Outside, the burqa clad woman with the limp got out of the white Indica taxi and proceeded to bargain with the driver long and hard about the fare in a shrill and testy voice. Finally parting with some currency, she passed into the mosque grounds and sat in the womens courtyard. Soon, a short figure approached her and they went out of the courtyard, but not before she noticed a man with neatly cut silky hair, smooth cheeked, in spotless a white kurta and sandalled feet, his glance searing through her. A shiver ran through her and she hurried after the shorter woman.
Feroze relaxed in his jeep and waited for his men to call him from the location of the community nikaah. Really, that arrogant Asad miyaan. Did he really think a community nikaah would afford him the anonymity of a secret wedding when he was going to arrive in his imported car, with his English-vinglish, and his imported woman with the airs? He completely missed the white kurta clad smooth shaven man, observing him sardonically as his sandalled feet took him inside the mosque grounds.
MADARASA, ROAD LEADING TO
Gafoor growled in impatience as the Mercedes inched along behind the singing Fakirs. He could see the blue and white logo of the BMW just ahead of the motley group. He still had fifteen minutes. Staring daggers at the car, he watched in rage as the pony-tailed head leaned towards the passenger seat and planted a kiss on a rounded cheek. This time he would destroy Asad Ahmed Khan and force Zoya back to Siddiqui Mansion. He waited, breathing deeply as the car finally rolled into the courtyard of the old madarasa.
MADARSA
Gafoor charged towards the trio hurrying inside the building and whipped the tall and slender woman around. She took the Guccis off her face and stared at him defiantly, a half smile on her face.
NIKHAT!
Gobsmacked, he swung around to see a smirking Farhan take off a wig and smooth his curly shingle down, as Najma dimpled beside him.
" Assalam waaleykum Maamu,!" they chorused, enjoying the trolling.
Snarling, he went out and got back into the car for the long ride home. This time, he was going to get rid of Feroze for good.
BADI MASJID
The graceful woman, the burqa clad lady and the man with the sandals burst into the committee room on the heels of the tiny woman, earning raised eyebrows from several people within and a smirk from Mr. Bhatawadekar.
Dilshaad had driven herself in with her customary efficiency, incognito past the foolish constables who were dozing because of their laced chai. Her deal and long time good standing with the dudh wala had paid off. She entered the Masjid swiftly and quietly and joined her son. They made haste into the committee room, her sons eyes fixed on the disappearing back of the burqa clad lady who walked straight with no limp, following the short as short immigration officer.
Zoya went into the corner of the room and doffed her burqa. She stole a shy glance at her man. You clean up good, Asad Ahmed Khan, she thought to herself, looking at that face and short hair. Faint color stained his cheeks as he felt her eyes on him, and she smiled softly.
The Qazi rose and indicated that Dilshaad and Zeenat set up a screen. Dilshaad produced a white dupatta and raised it between Asad and Zoya seated in chairs, with Zeenat at the other end. Zoya glanced with brimming eyes at Anwar and Zeenat, but now was not the time for sentiment. Asad sat still as a stone. Producing a bare bones sehra, he tied it around his head, forcing himself not to think about Rashid Ahmed Khan. He felt a hand at the back and looked up to see Mr. Bhatawedakar nodding kindly.
Anwar proudly bore witness to his daughter Zoya as did Dilshaad to her son. Mr. Bhatawadekar stood behind Asad, feeling a little sentimental. This fine young man would have been a gem in service to the country. The Qazi questioned the pair gently and the answers rang out in a deep male voice and a soft female voice clearly.
"Qubool Hai, Qubool Hai, Qubool Hai".
The Qazi brought the Nikaahnama to the bride and groom, they signed and then the nikaah was declared complete.
Zoya stood up shakily, her burqa gone, clad in the most beautiful white and red anarkali. With diamonds at her throat and a huge rock glinting on her finger, she looked very much the bride of the hottest, most successful architect in town. Asad stepped towards her, his eyes melting out his feelings for her, and eased her hair back behind her ears. As he had requested, only one ear had a gold earring. Asad put the filigree earring on her other ear and whispered
"Now that you are mine, all mine, I don't need a nishaani from you. In any case you are written in my fate!" and he rubbed her finger over the "Z" in his palm.
Zoya smiled, feeling her mothers presence very much through her earrings. She was Mrs. Asad Ahmed Khan now. Nothing and no one could change that. Zeenat stepped forward and handed Zoya a platinum wedding band, encrusted with a single diamond, which she slipped on Asad's finger. He looked at it and smiled at Anwar and Zeenat, and they smiled at him, tears threatening to fall. He spoke softly,
"Aapke ghar ki roshni ab hamaare paas hain. Ummeed karta hoon ki main unhe utna mohabbat karein jitne aapne kiye hain"
And with that, hugs and kisses were showered all around including a smacking one by Zoya on Mr. Bhatawadekar's cheek. The disapproving glances of the committee members put short stop to all the love and the group exited the room.
The jubilant little party proceeded towards the Lal Chowk Yateem Khana.
Feroze choked on his kachori in the messy stinky police jeep as he saw the happy five get into Dilshaads' white Honda. As the three older people squeezed in the back, Asad handed his wife into the front seat of the car, his gaze and touch lingering wherever possible until she blushed. The doors slammed shut and they drove off. Filled with dread, he dialed Gafoor's number again. His face grew red as he listened to the thunderous voice and he collapsed back in his seat sulkily.
An hour and a half later, Gafoor charged into the committee room and skittered to a stop as he encountered Mr. Bhatawadekars beady eyes. The doors closed and the conversation began.
Gaffoor emerged forty five minutes later, stone faced and stone eyed. He went home quietly, and locking himself in his study, stared out at the lawn with unseeing eyes. Completely disempowered, he struggled to come to terms with himself.
LAL CHOWK YATEEM KHANA, POST LUNCH
The children laughed and played, replete with a festive lunch of biriyani and seviyaan, served personally by the happy couple and their parents. Asads eyes were bright and happy as he watched his Zoya speak to the children tenderly. The BMW roared up, dislodging the Qureshi trio. Asad winced somewhat at Farhan's cavalier handling of his baby, but took it in his stride. After all without Nikhat, Farhan and Najma serving as the double blind, this would not have been possible!
Soon, a white Corolla drove up, with Ayaan , Humeira and Nuzzhat. The brothers and sisters hugged. Asad looked up to see another man get slowly out of the car. His jaw clenched, but someone slipped a hand around his, and held it softly. Together, Asad and Zoya watched Rashid approach hesitantly. Something gave in Asad. On this day, one of the happiest in his life, he could not in good conscience refuse his father.
He came forward.
"Abbu," he said quietly.
Rashid embraced his son tightly and they both fought tears. It ended as abruptly as it started. He silently placed his hand on Zoya's head and smiled at them both. Stuffing an envelope into her hand, he walked away quickly. Things were still not OK, but this was the first step.
SIDDIQUI MANSION, LATE EVENING
The dinner table sat four adults lost in their thoughts. Eyes on their plates, or staring into space, they injested their food without tasting it. Their past actions filled their stomachs with bile. Their isolation and loneliness stared at them in the face. They did not ask where their children were. They knew. And they could do nothing about it.
KHAN MANSION, LATE EVENING
The chill breeze blowing off Bhopal lake after this pleasant day met lights and the sounds of laughter and talk floating out of the house as the party continued into the night. Chais, soft drinks, pizza, snacks, home videos, nach gaana and some rogue guitaring had all been done to death. As the moon rose to mid-sky, the youngsters slowly left. Car doors slammed and engines gunned outside as Dilshaad, Anwar and Zeenat trailed upstairs, exhilarated but exhausted.
Leaving Asad and Zoya alone downstairs.
They walked towards each other slowly ending up chest to chest, and she leaned in and whispered,
"Your room or mine?"
His laughter rang out, mingled with hers, and then sounds of a scuffle, muffled squeals and a deep laugh choked off in a gasp floated upstairs to the listening parents. Shaking their heads and smiling slightly, they closed their doors firmly to any further ensuing noise.
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