My name is Siddhi, I'm melancholic unable to get over anything run down stores urban death maladaptive daydreaming laptop camera lost old films brick red lipstick medieval india archaic awadhi ayodhya dispute core (i think)
scrolled down and why do I only post my worst works here lol, this is like my notes app and notes app is my archive, asli masterpiece toh drafts mein hai.
Tag list : @hum-suffer @sebbymybaby21 @akshi-the-nirmata @helios1960 @ramayantika @natures-marvel @rhysaka @yalina-rangi @stxrrynxghts ( I tagged ppl who might be interested and anyone else who wants to get/or removed from tags plz comment)
[Rehman x Ulfat]
A/N : I was really inspired by that one scene if you can't tell. This is basically written from Rehman's perspective, but I'll delve a bit on Ulfat as well. It's more on the topic of Rehman's grief over the murder of his son rather than particularly over a pairing, but it will focus on his relationship with Ulfat quite some bit as well.
The soft warm glow coming from the foyer of the house had lit the three men in a splendorous display of light and shadows, their chiselled visages and warring expressions brought into sharp contrast against the almost deadly quiet of the night.
The meeting with Major Iqbal seemed to have left a palpable fog over all of them.
Hamza’s passionate rebuttal to the arms deal with the ISI had only thrown the uneasiness of the night into further disarray.
“What did you say to me?” Rehman saw the indignation in Hamza’s face falter into something resembling fear the very moment he advanced onto him.
Good. Let him be afraid. Let everyone be afraid. That is what Rehman Dakait was good at. Inspiring terror with just a look.
The satisfaction of seeing the young man cowering in the face of his slowly emerging fury would have satisfied the gangster king some other time— only if the bitter truth in Hamza’s outrage hadn’t slapped the muggy drunkenness right off Rehman’s hazed brain.
And with that red hot rage had come an onslaught of such a vitriolic pain that it was almost like a freight train had hit him right to the chest. And with that anger the actual truth of the matter had slipped out before he could stop it.
Spilling like blood from a wound so deep inside his soul that it was impossible to scab over.
Like puss oozing out of a rotten carcass his body had become from the inside.
“Baccha khaa gye woh mera! Toh maine kuch wapas leliya unse toh kya galat kiya!”
His vision was going white at the edges, the alcohol loosening his inhibitions like the silver tongued Devil that it was— and with it came the suffocating weight of grief and regret mired into an impregnable, bottomless, fathomless pit.
Because that was the truth of the matter in all of its rank glory.
Forty days and his son’s body was rotting underneath the empire he was building. The sharp frothing betrayal - his blood killing his own blood. The violence catching up to him finally. The city extending its price and the weight of it, finally shattering him with one clean strike.
“Bhai chod dijiye! Baccha hain bhai! Chod dijiye bhai… galti ho gyi usse.. Abbe Hamza jaa yaha se! Dimag kharab ho gya hain tera bewakoof! Nikal yaha se.. jaa!”
Uzair’s arms were two steel traps around the older man’s lurching frame, his raspy beseeching and mad scramble to hold him back was the only thing keeping Rehman from letting himself lose on Hamza. Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew that he wasn’t being completely fair to the kid. Hamza was new, still wet behind the ears, too much fire in him to realise the ugly truth behind the frivolity of this useless concept - his kaum didn’t care one shit about him.
They never had and they never will. They only take and take and take till there is nothing left to give.
Hamza was backing away from him, stumbling, face pale with fear. Maybe he had seen the wisdom in Uzair’s words finally.
Uzair has always been calm in stressful situations. His younger cousin was the only one except his wife, who could stand in front of Rehman’s anger without being completely burnt. He was also perhaps the only one who could hold him back physically without getting his arms hacked clean off for such a detestable offense.
But right now, Rehman could care less.
Forty days.
And now the dam had finally shattered and his blood was spilling and spilling and now it was a gushing river.
“Baccha khaa gye woh mera…”, he said again, this time his voice gravelly and so low that one would have had to strain to hear the words if it hadn’t already been deafeningly silent around them.
The fight had suddenly gone out of him like a blazing light going out with a measly flick.
The alcohol must have completely muddled him.
Rehman Dakait showing even a slight waver in his voice was an anomaly as rare as a blue moon.
The man would die before he showed an ounce of vulnerability.
But now, his walls had finally weakened. Cracked open by the force of an ancient grief. The likes of which not even the so monikered Sher-e-Baloch could fight and win against. With the insides of his father’s head splattered across the streets of Cheel Chowk, the bubbling boiling lust for vengeance quenched had only given way to the buried scream Rehman could no longer keep in.
Uzair had dropped his hold over Rehman in shock. Hamza flinched violently and looked slightly ill. He must be remembering that horrible night.
“Mera baccha khaa…”
The rest of his words couldn’t even materialize and Rehman’s knees buckled. Uzair’s arms shot out immediately, steadying his fall till he was leaning against the pillar, half sprawled on the stairs beneath. His limbs seemed to have given up on holding him upright. Or maybe his so-called iron will had finally given way.
“Bhai.. sambhaliye apne aapko…”
Uzair’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle and Rehman wanted to snarl. He wanted to hit and slash and scratch and gouge. Wanted to curl up like a kicked dog and growl at everyone till they left him alone.
“Mera bachha…”
Yet as mortifying as it was, all he could do was curl inwards like he had been kicked on the chest repeatedly and bray like a dying animal, his heart continuously howling for Naeem, the absence of him cutting chunks of his flesh out with a poisoned blade.
Why couldn’t Hamza understand, why can’t anyone — that none of the power, wealth and fear in the world would bring his boy back to him? And nothing else mattered now. Not his empire, not his principles, not even the Kaum, nothing at all.
Rehman gripped his face, trying to stop the stinging burning scorching beneath his eyelids.
My boy, my boy…
My sweet innocent child…
What he wouldn’t give to feel him breathing against his chest again - alive and full of vigour. To rip open his ribcage and stuff his oldest inside alongside his decaying heart and close everything back up.
To feel his gangly limbs wrapped around his body like a clingy octopus, the smell of Ulfat’s favourite pomegranate shampoo in his silky hair, his eyes, so dark like him yet so different in the vitality and wonder of life that the fifteen year old hadn’t lost yet.
Ulfat hasn’t forgiven him yet.
And neither should she.
He will never forgive himself.
Naeem’s blue tinged face, rigid under rigor mortis adorned with the foul stench of decay and formaldehyde, lying peacefully on a cold metal slab, Hamza’s waiter’s uniform covered in dried blood, the sky blue kurta torn and shredded from bullet holes, stained maroon, Faizal’s cries, Ulfat’s screams, the grunting prayers masking the evening in a grief filled shroud on the day of the funeral — would haunt Rehman’s nightmares and his every waking hour for the rest of his days.
Ulfat slept alone, his side of the bed empty. She couldn’t even look at him. He could barely look at her, the accusation in her dark beautiful eyes would kill him faster than any bullet. He could barely look at Faizal. Terrified that the demons circling him would touch his youngest as well and if something happened to Faizal— Rehman knew it would be the end. Neither Ulfat nor him would be able to survive that.
They were barely holding on as it was.
He didn’t want his men to see him like this. But he couldn’t take it anymore. The silence in his home. The distance from his wife and younger son. The haunting absence of his older one. The pity in his closest men’s lowered eyes, the empathy in his cousin’s. The leering half caved blood soaked gleeful expression of his dead father — the fucking alcohol swirling in his blood.
Rehman knew he was scaring Uzair and Hamza.
The nausea he had abated somewhat had come roaring back as Naeem’s last moments flashed like an unforgiving reel in front of his tightly closed eyes.
The bitter truth of what his betrayal would do to his tribe, his kaum, to the people who have placed all their hopes and dreams and unwavering faith in him was taunting him.
Rehman was tired.
He wished those pieces of trash had shot him that night instead.
A groan escaped his broken chest and he… oh!
He was crying wasn’t he?
The tears he had swallowed down like shots of venom since that fateful day, forty days ago came roaring out with vengeance and he could do nothing but hang on for dear life. He only hoped Uzair and Hamza would be wise enough to let him escape this purgatory with some semblance of his dignity left intact.
Suddenly, a gentle touch on his shoulder startled Rehman into looking up from the cage of his hands and his heart missed a couple of beats.
Ulfat was kneeling beside him, her hair moving in the cool night air softly across that tired beloved beautiful face. Her eyes were dry but sad as has been the usual since losing their son and the pain in them mirrored so strongly his own that the anguish curdling his insides threatened to drown him.
Ulfat was holding his hands.
Touching him on her own will after what felt like eons.
Her lips quivered once and then steadied. She had learnt to grieve in silence just like him. Her dupatta had fallen over him like a shawl. It was almost like she was trying to shield him from the world.
What a ridiculous thought…
Her fingers stroked over the tear tracks on his right cheek and his eyes met hers with trepidation. She was holding his entire self at this moment. One gentle push and he would topple over and fall into an abyss and break all his bones from the momentum or the impact.
Sometimes the power she had over him terrified Rehman.
Ulfat smiled as if sensing his inner thoughts. The pain on her face, in that gentle quirk of her rose hued lips added to the mountain of crushing weight over his ribs. His breath stuttered and shame caught his throat in a chokehold.
Breathing was a process written in some old latin manuscript forgotten to Rehman Dakait for those few moments.
“Yahaan akele beithe hain meri jaan? Bhul gye iss dard pe mera bhi haq hain…”
Her words were like a songbird’s first cry after a heavy downpour.
Beautiful, full of yearning and hit Rehman with such a baffling, such a devastating force that it nearly caved his aching chest in.
I realized, two nights back, that the ends of my hair almost touch my elbows and finally got over the length dysmorphia I have and thought "my hair has gotten long, longer than ever before."
I then went over the reason I refused to get a trim all this time, the reason being I want to preserve my ends from when I was with him...
हर कथा में नयी सीख है,
हर सूर्योदय में एक नयी कथा।
सूरज की हर किरण ने सबको,
नया हौसला, उत्साह दिया।
जीना सिखलाया जिसने सबको,
वह है भारत महान हमारा॥
यह सीख सिखाई सब को,
गलत मार्ग न अपनाना कभी।
रावण खुश था संसार जीत कर,
विरूद्ध उसके हुए खड़े सभी।
छोटी थी अयोध्या मगर,
सत्य पथ की जीत हुयी॥
यह सीख सिखाई सब को,
तुम भटको न बुरी संगत में।
दानवों के बीच रह कर भी,
प्रहलाद मगन विष्णु भक्ति में।
धमकाने पर भी डरे नहीं,
संगति का प्रभाव ना दिया पड़ने॥
यह सीख सिखाई सब को,
सम्मान ज्ञानी का करो सदैव।
दुर्वासा को अपमानित कर,
देवलोक में बुलाया प्रलय।
मंथन कर अमृत पिया मगर,
हलाहल अभिशाप का रहा स्मरण॥
यह सीख सिखाई सब को,
श्रृंगारित प्रेम से हो परिवार।
कुरुक्षेत्र में घृणा के कारण,
भाई ने भाई पर किया प्रहार।
अस्त्र-शस्त्र करके धारण,
अतिप्रिय परिवार का हुआ विनाश॥
अनेक सीखें सिखाई सब को,
यह संस्कृति है भारत में छायी।
नैतिक मूल्यों से भरी हुई,
प्रेम, दयालुता, मैत्री और सच्चाई।
सीखें कथाओं में घुली-मिली हुई,
ऐसी महान है ये संस्कृति॥
chat I am officially the first in my bloodline to be enlightened with this revolutionary historical revelation. truly, it's... incredible I couldn't help passing on this absolutely epoch‑making knowledge on tumblr so y’all can also witness my ancestors’ accidental crimes against erm fanfiction history.
