The ancient city of Hyderabad, with its rich history and majestic architecture, was bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun. The grandeur of the old havelis and bustling bazaars was a testament to a bygone era, where power and respect were earned and commanded in equal measure. Murtasim Khan, a name that echoed through the streets with both reverence and fear, walked alongside his beloved wife, Meerab. The people referred to him as "Khan" with a mixture of awe and trepidation, and Meerab, as his "Khaani," was the embodiment of grace and dignity, admired by all who laid eyes on her.
The couple had decided to spend a quiet evening together, away from the formalities of their feudal responsibilities. Murtasim, though feared by many, was a man who cherished the simple joys of life, especially when it came to spending time with Meerab. They strolled through the crowded bazaars of Hyderabad, the lively chatter of vendors and the aroma of street food creating a vibrant tapestry of the city's culture.
Meerab’s eyes sparkled with excitement as they passed by a stall selling traditional jewelry. The vendor had laid out an array of oxidized jhumkas, each pair more exquisite than the last, catching the light in a way that made them irresistible. “Murtasim, look at these jhumkas,” she exclaimed, her voice filled with delight. “Aren’t they beautiful?”
Murtasim smiled, his heart warming at the sight of her happiness. “They are, indeed. Why don’t you pick a pair you like?”
Just as Meerab was about to indulge herself in the selection, Murtasim’s phone buzzed insistently. Glancing at the screen, he saw Bakhtu’s name flash across it. Bakhtu was his most trusted man, and the urgency in the call was unmistakable. “Meerab, I need to take this call. I’ll be just a minute,” he said, his tone apologetic.
Meerab nodded, understanding the responsibilities that came with being Khan’s wife. She turned her attention back to the jhumkas as Murtasim moved a few steps away, his voice low and authoritative as he spoke to Bakhtu.
As she began to browse through the collection, admiring the intricate designs, her moment of peace was shattered. Two men, dressed in shabby clothes and exuding an air of disrespect, approached her. Their gazes were predatory, lingering on her with an intensity that made her skin crawl. The narrow street, which had moments ago felt so full of life, suddenly seemed suffocating.
One of the men, his breath reeking of stale cigarettes, leaned in closer, his voice dripping with lewd intent. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing all alone here? Looking for some company?”
Meerab’s heart pounded in her chest, a mix of fear and revulsion coursing through her veins. She instinctively took a step back, her eyes darting around for Murtasim, but he was still engrossed in his conversation, his back turned to her.
The second man, emboldened by her apparent vulnerability, laughed cruelly, his eyes raking over her form. “Don’t be shy, love. We’re just being friendly.”
Panic surged within Meerab as she tried to retreat further, but the men closed in on her, their intentions clear in their twisted smiles. “Stay away from me,” she demanded, her voice trembling despite her attempt to appear strong.
One of the men reached out, attempting to grab her arm. But before his fingers could brush against her, a shadow fell over them—a shadow that brought with it a cold, terrifying silence.
Murtasim.
He had seen the scene unfold from a distance, and in that instant, the composed and calm demeanor he usually carried vanished. His eyes blazed with an anger so intense that it sent shivers down the spines of everyone around them. The transformation was instantaneous—from a loving husband to the feared Khan whose name alone struck terror into the hearts of men.
