aaya kis mod pe afsana

i. mohabbat jurm hai kyun

The talaaknama had been signed. Zaara was a free woman. And yet, she felt more trapped than ever. Veer was with them no longer. She had thought that she would be able to stay faithful to her marriage, cherishing those few moments that she had with Veer for the rest of her life, as long as she was alive. As long as Veer was alive. But he wasn't, not anymore. 

Sarhad paar ek aisa shaks hai, jo aapke liye apni jaan bhi de dega, he'd said. A fact. A universal truth. The earth is round. Oxygen is necessary for every living thing to survive. Veer would die for Zaara. She'd believed him too. But never had she ever imagined even in her worst nightmares, that someday, it would be true. That Veer would die and it would be her fault. 

Because it was her fault. Shabbo and Ammi may try to deny that as much as they tried, but Zaara knew. Knew within the very core of herself. She was the reason Veer was dead. If she had never told Shabbo about how deeply she loved Veer, if she'd kept quiet and gotten married to fulfill her responsibility like she was supposed to, it wouldn't have had the domino effect that resulted in Veer's death. 

She'd promised Bebe (could she even call her Bebe now?) that someday, she would come back. Someday, she would see those fields again, would see the school that Bauji was building for the girls in the village. How would she ever face them now? How would she face herself now? How would she look in the mirror everyday and bear to see the face of a killer? Of a murderer? Of the person who had killed her most beloved? How would she go on living in a world where there was no Veer to spread his happiness and joy, no Veer to take pride in his des, no Veer who would love her for the rest of his life even when she was married to someone else?

"Zaara," Shabbo called softly, entering the room. Zaara was lying in bed, listless. It was not a new sight for Shabbo. It had become commonplace since Zaara had heard about Veer's passing. She'd come straight home and begged her father to set her free, to let her end the marriage. She couldn't do it. Not without Veer on the other side of the border, living and breathing, heartbroken like she was, but at least still alive.

Jehangir Saab, who loved his daughter more than anyone else, who had felt guilty for doing what he'd done, who had cursed his weakness for choosing his own goals over his daughter's happiness, had folded like a pack of cards in the face of his daughter's grief. He'd agreed to the divorce. Since then, Zaara had all but locked herself in her room. She didn't come out, not even to eat. The only time she'd left the room was to sign the talaaknama a couple of weeks ago. His daughter had been married for less than a day before she became a divorcee. No, a widow, he corrected himself. Because that's what she was, in her own heart. She was that Indian man's widow, and she would be, for the rest of her life. 

Jehangir had never known love like that could exist, much less in his own daughter's heart. Mohabbat, she called it. Jehangir had always thought it to be the fancies of fairy tales that mothers told their daughters, that poets recited to their patrons, and authors wrote to their readers, only to bring them some hope in this bleak world. He always thought it to be fictional. He loved his wife, he knew that. But, he wouldn't give up his life for her. Never in his dreams would he be able to do that. 

But he could. Veer, the name tasted bitter on his tongue. Brave. And brave he was, to love so recklessly, so fearlessly, so wholly, and so very irrevocably. He used to be an officer in the Indian Air Force, Shabbo had told him. Squadron Leader Veer Pratap Singh. A rescue pilot. Who had saved his daughter's life on more than one occasion. Who had given his daughter so much love, that she would be content to live with the memory of those two days, those two moments, spent with him, for the rest of her life. He said that he would happily die for Zaara. And now, he was dead. 

Jehangir knew that his family would never recover from this loss. This man, who Jehangir had seen all but once, that day in the dargah, when his daughter had mindlessly rushed into his arms, not giving a single thought to their family's reputation, had somehow become the centre of all their lives now. The centre around which they would all live their lives. Zaara would never marry again, he knew. His wife would never smile the same way again, he knew that too. He didn't know how, but he knew that this seemingly inconsequential man had made a place for himself in Mariyam's heart. Mariyam had always been softhearted and kind. It didn't take a lot for someone to beholden themselves to her. She gave too much and too freely. But this? This was different. Veer had made an impression on her so strongly that the news of his death had made Mariyam weep inconsolably. As for him? He would always carry the guilt of Veer's death. It was his insistence that had resulted in him having to leave the way he did. 

For a second, Jehangir let himself think about what would have happened if he would've accepted Veer. Maybe they'd ask Veer to stay for a few days, get to know him better. Mariyam would whip delicacies for meals that they would all share heartily. Jehangir would show him around his office, would introduce him to his colleagues, who would all be awestruck by his accolades. Maybe Zaara would try to steal a moment or two with him in privacy, and they would both blush, absolutely red-faced, at getting caught. Veer would bring Zaara flowers, he would charm Shabbo with his quick wit, would make Mariyam grin with joy as he wove tales of the life he'd share with their daughter, and would impress him with anecdotes about work. And then, when they'd spent some time with Veer, but never enough, they'd all go to India together, to Veer's family, where they would all dance merrily at Veer and Zaara's wedding. But, it was just a pipe dream now, which would never come to fruition, because Jehangir was weak. He was a coward. He didn't have the courage his daughter did. 

Jehangir was brought out of his self loathing by one of the guards, alerting him of Abdul Shirazi's presence. Jehangir was surprised at the news, and didn't manage to hide it well enough before Abdul was walking into his office.

"Jehangir Miyan," Abdul greeted. Jehangir looked away, ashamed. He would never be able to look this man in the eye again. His daughter had wrecked the Shirazi family apart and it was his fault.

"Nazrein mat churaiye," Abdul added softly. "Humein aapse koi shiqayat nahi hai."

"Abdul Saab," Jehangir whispered, surprised. 

"Bete ke moh mein andhe toh hum bhi ho gaye the," Abdul stated. "Raza ke sisayat ke sapne ko poora karne, uska nikaah ek aisi ladki se kara diya jo hum jaante the ki kisi aur se ishq karti hai. Itni badi bhool ki humne. Aur aapne bhi. Lekin, aap mein itni himmat toh thi, ki Zaara ki khushi ke liye apni galti sudhaarein."

"Shukriya, Shirazi Saab. Aapne ek bojh halka kar diya aaj," Jehangir admitted.

"Ek bojh halka karne toh hum bhi aaye hain," Abdul replied.

"Main kuch samjha nahi," Jehangir answered.

"Raza do din pehle hi New York ke liye nikal gaya. Ab wahin jaa kar bas jaayega," Abdul started. "Kuch dinon mein hum bhi wahin chale jaayenge. Lekin… Jaane se pehle, jo himaaqat humaare bete se hui hai, usse sudhaarna humaara farz hai."

"Yeh aap kya keh rahe hain?" Jehangir questioned.

"Veer Pratap Singh abhi bhi zinda hai, Khan Saab," Abdul stated, shaking the ground Jehangir was standing on.

"Yeh— yeh kaise ho sakta hai? Woh bus toh…" Jehangir trailed off.

"Veer Pratap Singh uss bus par tha hi nahi," Abdul told his old friend. "Woh toh yahaan ek jail mein qaid hai. Hindustani jasoos hone ke jurm mein."

"Abdul Miyan, aap khul kar bataein ki kya hua," Jehangir said.

Sighing, Abdul launched into an explanation. Of how he'd heard Raza talking to a friend of his, saying that even if Zaara wasn't his wife, Veer would still stay in prison. Abdul had demanded the whole story then, and Raza had told his father about how he'd had Veer arrested on false charges. How he'd extracted a promise from Veer to not utter a single word in exchange for Zaara's happiness. How Veer, wanting to not malign Zaara and her family's name, for her happiness, had wordlessly signed all documents that ensured that he would spend the rest of his life in that prison. 

"Raza aisa kar sakta hai, humne toh kabhi socha bhi nahi tha," Abdul said. "Lekin ek insaan ki zindagi iss tarah barbaad kar dena… Iska bojh liye hum saari zindagi nahi reh sakte. Isliye, aapko sab batane chale aaye."

Jehangir couldn't help himself. He broke down. He'd never displayed such vulnerability before anyone else in his entire life. And yet, right now, he could not stop the tears falling, much as he tried. Veer was alive. Zaara's Veer was alive. That far-fetched pipe dream wasn't a dream any longer. It could be reality. It could be his reality. His daughter's reality. Her happiness. And it would be. He'd made the mistake of choosing his own happiness over his daughter's once. He wouldn't do it again. Veer would come home. And Zaara? She'd be happy for the rest of her life, content in the arms of the man she loved like the fairy tales, the man who really would die for her.