cw: this blog is completely sfw but occasionally mentions mental health, colonialism, war, terrorism, etc. all of these mentions will be appropriately tagged
dms and asks open - if you have nothing nice to say then save us all some time. otherwise, pop in and say hi!
dni if you're a creep and/or bigot of any kind (THIS INCLUDES HINDUPHOBIA AND ANTISEMITISM) or have an untitled blog. you will be blocked.
CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR DHURANDHAR:THE REVENGE. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T WATCHED THE MOVIE.
A/n: wrote this while sobbing, listening to aakhri Ishq. My babies deserved a happy ending. He loved her. HAMZA LOVED HER AND JASKIRAT LOVED HER, YOU CAN FIGHT THE WALL OF YOU DISAGREE! Y'all I'm sorry if this'll make you cry.
Hamza Ali Mazari/Jaskirat Singh Rangi x Yalina Jamali*♡°.•
Summary: it does not matter what name your heart whispers when it's always been the same person
Omar can burn in hell for touching my son.
Also not tagging my usuals because I don't wanna expose them to spoilers.
THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. IT IN NO WAY OR FORM ROMANTICIZES, PROPOGATES OR JUSTIFIES THE ACTS OF CHARACTERS OR ANY REAL LIFE PERSONALITY. IT IS SOLELY WRITTEN IN CONTEXT OF THE CHARACTERS OF THE MOVIE.
Jaskirat singh rangi. Hamza Ali Mazari. Sher-e-Baloch. He lived several identities. Leaving one before taking on another as if it were clothes. After Jaskirat returned to the ‘Balidan’ project, deciding that his family was better off without him, they had moved on. Returning would only open old wounds and hurt them more if he had to leave again. His sister and mother deserved a peaceful life, a life of closure, not of constant fear of his safety and his life.
His wife, his son, Hamza’s family. Jaskirat died the day he became Hamza and Hamza died the day he finished his mission. Who was he? Was he Jaskirat anymore? Was he Hamza? He did not know. He did not have anyone to ask this. Nobody knew both of them. Nobody knew Jaskirat and Hamza out of the confidential files.
He clenched his jaw and hardened his heart as he was again called in by Ajay Saniyal.
“Aao Jaskirat. Baitho, baat thodi zaroori hai.”
He sat without a word. He knew the drill he'd be called in once in a while, do the job- now it did not involve that much of a complicated long term mission. He'd get in and out- get the job done, cases. He'd come back, help with training new recruits and then return on a new mission.
“Ye tumhara aakhri mission hoga. Maine tumse bohot kuch maang liya hai Jaskirat. Aage aur kuch maangna galat hoga.”
He pushes a Manila folder and a Canadian passport towards Jaskirat. To his surprise it said his real name, Jaskirat singh rangi.
“Ye jo address hai, tumhe yahaan jaana hai. Tumhara mission tumhe tay karna hai. Na wahan koi tumhara handler hoga na tumhe kisi ko officially report karna hai. Tumne iss desh ke liye bohot kuch kiya hai, ab ye aakhri mission hai. Na yeh desh aur na hum kabhi tumhara ehsaan chuka paayenge. Vancouver Airport utarte hi tumhe lene ek aadmi aa jayega aur tumhe tumhari manzil tak pohcha dega. Yahan ki chinta mat karna, tumhari behen aur maa ki zimmedari ab humari hai. Agar kabhi koi bhi zaroorat pade ho toh beshak batana. Happy retirement Jaskirat, Mere Babar Sher.”
Ajay pulled Jaskirat into a tight hug. He was confused. Was this mission so secret that he had no instructions? What could this even mean? He had learnt not to question but to listen so that is what he did. He listened and kept it in his head. The very next morning he had left for Vancouver. After a long journey of almost the whole day he reached the airport. As Ajay had said, a man came in and took Jaskirat to his mission. The man stopped the car outside of an identical suburban home in the neighborhood. However, this one was a bit isolated, the land around it was bare and empty. The house looked ordinary if he described it at best. The man who dropped him just nodded towards the door, making him realise like Ajay had said this was his mission to decide.
He climbed the steps on the front porch, and knocked on the door firmly. Nobody opened the door for a minute so he knocked on the door again. Seeing the person on the other side of the door knocked his breath away.
She looked the same, just more mature. The long six years had been harsh on her. Her eyes no longer held the innocence he reluctantly fell for, neither did her lips stay curved into a smile at all times as always. He had done that to her. He had stolen her life away from her and now he was standing in front of her again.
“Hamza….”
His name, or the name given to him that somehow felt just as his own now. Hamza. It meant him because he was Hamza, Hamza Yalina's husband, Hamza Zayan’s father, Hamza Uzair's brother. Nobody had called him that in the last six years.
“Yalina main-”
“Andar aao”
He just nods in response. Ushering him in, Yalina closed the door and the curtains. He gestured to him to sit as she saw him stand idly in the middle of the room.
“Main nahi jaanta. Mujhe bas yahaan mera aakhri mission keh kar bheja gaya tha.”
“Maarne aaye ho humein? Aakhri mission?”
“Nahi Yalina! Mujhe koi orders nahi mile. Mera mission main khud chununga, yahi kaha gaya hai mujhe. Shayad main samaj gya hoon ki iss sab ka kya matlab hai.”
“Hamza saaf-saaf batao tumhe hum se chahiye kya? Maine tumse che saal pehle kaha tha aur woh aaj bhi sach hai. Jo karna hai karo, mere bacche ko kuch nahi hona chahiye. Uss din goli nahi chalayi thi maine, iss baar mere haath nahi kaapenge.”
“Mujhe yahan tum logon se milne bheja gaya hai. Mujhe riha kar diya hai unn logon ne. Har rishte se, har karz se. Main aazad hoon.”
“Toh tum yahaan chale aaye? Tumhe kis ne bataya hum khaan hai? Abbu ne? Ya nazar rakhwa rahe the tum hum par? Humne kya bigada hai tumhara?! Peecha kyun nhi chhodte tum mera aur mere bete ka?!”
“Yalina, mera yakeen mano main nahi jaanta tha ki tum yahaan hogi. Shayd unhone mujhe yahan apne parivar-”
“Hum tumhara parivaar nahi hain. Na tum Hamza ho aur na main kisi ki biwi. Tumhe kya laga ki main tumhe baahon mein bahr lungi jab tumhe dekhungi? Main tumhe maaf kar dungi? Main tumse ab bhi mohobbat karungi?”
Somewhere between her rant she had stood up and so had Jaskirat. She pushed his chest hard, hard enough that he staggered a few steps back.
“Jaante ho kaise guzre hum ne ye che saal? Ek din aisa nahi gaya jab Zayan ne mujhse tumhare baare mein na pucha ho. Kya kehti? Tumhara baap, toh ek fareb tha! Jooth tha sab! Jooth!”
She kept hitting his chest harder and harder. Instead of defending he accepted the blow after blow until her sobs weakened her. Her body wreaked with deep visceral cries. He took her into his arms and both of them collapsed on the floor. Watching her break down he too let go. Both of them cried in each other's arms. Jaskirat for what had been, and Yalina for what could've been.
He kissed her hair and she held his jacket in death grip. As the sobs ebbed away, she sniffled.
“Kyun aaye ho yahan? Main yeh sab dobaara nahi jhel sakti.”
“Mujhe nahi pata Yalina. Mujhse kaha gaya hai ki main abse aazad hoon. Ye mera aakhri mission aur kya karna hai meri marzi. Mujhe unhone tum dono ke paas bheja hai. Mujhe Mera parivaar wapas kiya hai. Lekin main tum par dabav nahi daalunga. Main chala jaunga, bas mujhe ek baar Zayan ko dekhna hai. Chahe tum mujhe usse na milao, bas door se dekh loon main usse. Bada ho gaya hoga na? Pichli baar dekha tha tab-”
He chokes on his words.
“Tum phir jaane ki baat kar rahe ho?”
“Yalina…”
“Humein chhod ke mat jaao. Main iss baar nahi jee paungi. Zayan nahi jee payega. Tum jo ho humein usse koi fark nahi padta. Humare sath ruk jaao. Tum ne bohot kar liye sab ke liye. Mere liye-”
Jaskirat pulls her in his arms. Sobs wreaking both of their bodies again like a tidal wave. He will never let her go. Not again.
“Jaskirat”
“Hmm?”
“Jaskirat naam hai mera. Lekin tum chaho toh Hamza-”
“Jaskirat. Jaskirat. Jaskirat-”
“Jaskirat Singh Rangi”
“Hamza ne humein chhod diya, lekin Jaskirat nahi jaayega na?”
“Nahi Yalina, Jaskirat nahi jayega. Main kahin nahi jaaunga.
They stay on the floor in each other's embrace for what felt like forever. Neither of them believed their fate.
“Zayan kaisa hai? Kahan hai?”
“Theek hai. Uski aakhein bilkul tumhare jaise hai. Football ka bahot shaukh hai. Wahin gaya hai, football khelne.”
He kept asking all the significant and insignificant questions he asked himself every night, missing them. Missing his son growing up. She kept answering him, his all silly useless questions. Everything she wanted to share with him about her life, about their child while he was away. They didn't know if this was real or not or if a harsh ray of sunlight would shatter this reality into an impossible dream, but right now they were just two people who loved each other, who wanted the other to know that they loved each other.
Yalina might have loved Hamza, and Hamza might have loved yalina.
But sitting on the floor talking, how the slope of Zayan's nose was inherited straight from his nanu, were right now Jaskirat and Yalina.
BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing happens, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out 💕
Long time no see, how are you? 🥹
diii I missed you so much I love you too <3. The past few months were so hectic pata nahi kabh itna time chala gaya but I've missed you so much. how are you??
Was randomly inspired to share this. Kanha, why are you so healthy compared to all the desi parents out there 😭😭
(Quick note: Matula means maternal uncle in Sanskrit for anyone unfamiliar with the word.)
Abhimanyu was alerted to his Matula's footsteps from behind him as he sat on the swing, staring off into the distance.
He made no moves to indicate he had heard Krishna.
The other side of the swing dipped slightly as Krishna sat beside him.
“Pranaam, Matula,” he murmured, out of habit more than anything.
“Kalyanamastu, Abhimanyu.”
You will be happy.
Abhimanyu didn't completely understand why, but his uncle's blessings always made him feel as though they would actually come true, compared to the customary blessing any other elder would give him.
“How? How can I be happy, Mama?”
His voice shook, and Abhimanyu hated that.
“Abhimanyu. Look at me, vatsa.”
He obeyed. He turned towards his uncle and looked into his eyes, and somehow he was reassured that everything was going to be alright, looking into eyes more ancient than the earth. The storm of emotions that had begun to swirl within him calmed instantly at the sight of his uncle’s dark countenance and small smile.
“Do you remember what I told you about babies laughing when their fathers throw them up in the air?”
“...Yes,” he answered, expression guarded. “They laugh because they trust their fathers to catch them every time. It is something instinctive, not born of thought but emotions.”
His uncle smiled, and clasped Abhimanyu's hand.
“That's exactly what I'm asking you to do now, vatsa. You are entitled to your emotions, even if Partha had no other options in the moment. It's alright to feel bitter and resentment. Such is the nature of emotions, even in unchangeable circumstances, emotions are unavoidable. But if you cannot trust your father, at least you know that you can trust me. Okay? You will be happy. I promise.”
Abhimanyu took a silent breath and exhaled quietly. There was none other, except perhaps his mother, whom he trusted on the level that he did his uncle.
“You would never let anything bad happen to me, Mama. Of course I trust you.”
Krishna's expression saddened briefly, but it was gone so quickly that Abhimanyu thought he hallucinated it. He smiled again.
“Of course, Abhi.”
