Major Iqbal (Indian agent) x wife!reader
Read part 1, part 2 , part 3 here!
Summary: AALAM BHAI’S MOVIE CANON DEATH AND THE AFTERMATH PLS approach w caution
Warnings: ANGST [with major (no pun intended) hurt comfort]
ALL TERRORISTS ARE UGLY POS AND SHOULD D!E I DO NOT CONDONE THEM THIS STORY IS A WORK OF FICTION AND DOES NOT GLAMOURISE TERRORISTS, NOT EVEN THEIR UGLY FITS OR HAIRSTYLES MAKES THEM ATTRACTIVE THIS FANFIC IS PURELY FOR ARJUN RAMPAL’S HYPERFIXATION
Pointless point of pride was not so capable of moving the agent to do anything unwise or unadvised, but with him that dynamic shifted even if she were to know better, which she did. However crossing him, was a thrill in its own. He shouldn’t live to believe he has any authority over her, “Hume bulaya hain toh jayenge hi na.” She shrugged.
“Pata bhi hain kya chal raha hain waha?” He questioned, straightening his cuffs as she was on a stubborn streak to go to Hamza’s house for the mehfil apparently his wife had invited her to.
“Pata hain, hume toh hafte bhar se pata tha kaun aane wala hain, kaha aane wala hain.” She replied, narrowing her eyes. She was the one who passed the briefing around initially as to which Punjabi party was coming about here for the drugs consignment, she moved information about these areas and back to India as if words slithered.
“Toh yeh bhi pata hona chahiye hum kyu mana kar rahe hain.” At times he felt like she simply crossed him for the love of the game and not rationality.
“Aapke mana karne se kya hi ho jayega? Aap se puccha humne?” The rigidness in her tone was unwavering. The more he ‘refused’ her, the more she would want to attend.
“Bachpana chhodiye.” He sighed, at his wit’s end with her. It was a long forgotten duty, being her husband which only touched him like a cold apparent summer air in the dead of the night and it always felt like he was an outsider to someone else’s world every time he imagined her face, imagine being her husband to fall asleep. For he could easily separate the Major from Arjun, it was the second skin of a savage he wouldn’t want to taint her beautiful memory in. She shattered this distinction so easily now that she was here, he could never separate her from his y/n and the country’s asset. The country’s asset could never fool him away from husbandly duties. He was living in an endless winter, a season of darkness and she came in with sun in one hand and spring flowers in the other. He’d be dammed if he let anything happen to his sun, “Aapka koi matlab bhi nahi waha jaane se, aalam bhai hain udhar, Hamza bhi humein brief kar dega.”
“Matlab kaise nahi?” She was very immune against seeing his point, he was her senior not her handler. Besides Hamza and Aalam bhai weren’t her. None of them could fill in each other’s shoes so it didn’t make sense for him to conclude she wasn’t required, “1-2 ghante me waapas aa jayenge, Yalina ne khaas bulaya hain humein.” The lady wife of his ‘right hand man’ had grown close with herself the same way and she had called to invite her in a choice-less way.
“Waapas?” He let out a sharp breath, she truly wasn’t budging. “Aap ja hi nahi rahi. Fizul me behaas na karein humse.” He was as it is getting late to leave for the errand of his own, if he were to attend the party he might as well bring her along with him. But by herself with such personalities, it was barely safe for the rest of them with the SP, other officials and whatnot attending for her to be added to the mix.
“Na toh hum behaas kar rahe hain na hi ijazat mang rahe hain.” In the calmest of composures she told him, crossing her arms.
Finally he realised the pointlessness of this entire conversation. “Thik hain” he said through gritted teeth, she was a fast flowing river, a big tide, a restless rigidity from nature itself. He couldn’t flow against it, “Yaad rakhna aap majboor kar rahi hain humein.” Putting his shoes on, as she didn’t even warranty him a last word taking his threat idle.
She had left for her own room to finish getting ready herself, on his way out, he had instructed the driver to leave be and the militant security to not let her out of the manor’s premise. When she asked the driver to prepare the car, the officers informed her that their Major had granted apparently ‘all’ the drivers to leave for the night. She did not need to be conversed to know that other officers at the gate of their house were supposedly situated for her. Such a pathetic attempt, she thought to herself shaking her head. Going back inside the house shuffling through the drawers she found the keys to one of the cars. She could certainly drive herself anywhere she wants to. She wasn’t helpless without a driver or bound to his word. Rounding the car around in the large compound she honked mercilessly until she reached the gate. The men guarding the gate, instructed to keep her inside tried to reason with her but no words could get to her with the blaring car horn.
They tried talking to her about their major’s orders to her but the relentless honking from her had nothing reach to her, with a small apologetic smile she kept honking for them to let her out. Eventually after a while they had to give up, other officers followed her behind for security as she drove off. A win. She thought to herself with a small smirk looking at the manor through the rear view mirror, Arj—Major thinks he can keep me cooped up in the manor against my will? Adorable.
“Kitni der laga di!” Yalina’s voice reached her later than Zayan himself did, she was barely at the doorstep when the little boy ran up to her.
Catching the little one in her arms, crouching a bit to his level, “Woh major sahab kuch kaam se nikal rahe the toh unke jaane tak ghar rehna pada.” She replied to Yalina with her attention on Zayan tugging the end of her suit.
“Kyun?” Yalina asked confused seeing three cars, two with militants but the one she usually came in didn’t have any driver parking it but well didn’t ask about it.
“Unki tehzeeb thodi alag hain. Raat ko der se aayenge toh ho sake utna saath rehna pasand karte hain.” She explained, not wanting to get into the whole ordeal of not-being-allowed by husband dearest.
“Unka bas chale toh aapko har jagah saaye ki tara lete phire.” Yalina made a small jest about the major doting over his wife, she did not know much of the man apart from what Yalina heard from her husband and the major’s wife.
“Bas woh nayi-nayi shaadi hai na toh…” she trailed off, pretending to be flattered like a proper, dutiful and coy wife.
“Itni bhi nayi nahi rahi ab!” Yalina quipped enjoying teasing her about it.
“Yalina!!” She simply giggled in response and before she could question or answer further, zayan rushed back to her showing her his new toy truck, “Arre waah!” She crouched to the boy’s level and Yalina excused herself to check on the guests outside for a while.
“Aapko yeh truck rakhni hain toh mere saath khelna padega.” Zayan said doing an innocent little trade off, both Yalina and Zayan had the same amount of cherishing in the new friendship of her.
“Zaroor khelenge.” She nodded ruffling the little boy’s hair a bit. She could never deny the young lad anything, even when he raised his hands to be carried out. Oftentimes Yalina refused her to carry him, for he was getting much heavier and older but well she simply couldn’t refuse.
“Bahar. Bahar!!!!” Zayan pointed to the direction outside, he had a lot of things to get done in the while he was still being carried. His dear aunt toured him in the gardens trying to keep away from the party, he showed her features of his toy truck. Even got her to allow him a soda juice, until his mother intervened. All in all a good run for the boy.
Yalina was a bit occupied left and right with the house staff and all the guests they had to attend, y/n had stepped in to look after Zayan without a word, she enjoyed it nonetheless. He kept her on her toes in a good way. “Hum 30 tak ginenge thik hain?” She confirmed with the boy as they settled on playing hide and seek inside the house given the party outside was growing more in public and rowdiness, best keep him inside.
“Okay!” Zayan agreed and ran to a hiding place once she had closed her eyes.
After her proper count Raynna took her hands away from her eyes, readjusting to the light she took a step back, walking vigilantly to find Zayan hiding for sport, she accidentally bumped into a figure. “Oh-“ she turned around to apologise at the slightest brush with her back against someone, “Maaf kariye.”
The man wasn’t difficult to be deduced as someone zonked out of his mind. He nearly lost his balance, seemingly did not have it in the first place, “koi na ji, koi na” The man said, dilated pupils, distinct Punjabi accent. She examined him in one quick glance stepping away, as Hamza was escorting the man to the bathroom.
Hamza gave her a quick nod of acknowledgment, lowering his gaze with one hand on his chest out of respect as he moved about. There was something odd about the interaction, an oddness in the body language a certain tension in the air she couldn’t placate without prying in a way which would seem suspicious so she let it be for the moment. The following minutes of the same interaction would prove to be a devastating affair for them…she would have had no idea. The stranger she bumped into was once brother in arms with Hamza.
The commotion continued for a while as she played hide and seek with a little boy until a loud thud made it ever so concerning for her to not check, she stayed about the premise of the bathroom simply lingering in a non alarming way but when she saw Aalam bhai walk inside it was clear that something unpleasant was around the corner. However she let it play out for a while, but it was taking them both far too much of time, she kept an eye around the passage before taking matters into her own hands.
Taking a small hairpin, leveraging its use to open the door in an instant, the men inside had their hearts stop at the door opening on its own. She did not know if knocking would have made any difference, swiftly she let herself in closing the door behind her an extension of time granting her away from the horror she was about to lay her eyes on.
How could this be? Her eyes widened at the man lying around in pool of his own blood, barely a few minutes ago he was walking around bumping into people like a proper junkie. Her thoughts were racing: what would this mean for the India consignment, the repercussions for all of them, the entire mission setting and what course it would take, wishful thinking inside of her had her believe he was still alive, “Saasein chal rahi hain?” She could muster out, keeping her nervous system on a hold, blocking it out because a panicked mind could contribute nothing. All Hamza could do was shake his head, Aalam bhai had already refused his accident proposition, this time around he couldn’t think of a way out. “Aap jaaiyen.” She told both of them straightening the dupatta of her suit, “Keh denge ki hamare saath baatameezi kar raha tha aur galti se-“
“Nahi keh sakte. Hamza ko saath jaate bahar sab ne dekha hain.” Aalam bhai interrupted quickly, somewhere within himself he had already come to the altruistic decision. It would be beyond suspicious to make believe that the effete new bride of the major, a mere woman herself would be capable of fighting off a jacked up junkie. She easily could fight him off with her training any day if she was willing for it, there was no doubt in it. Her calibre however was in deep secrecy behind enemy lines which was, where they stood. “Aur tumhari zubaan par sabka yakeen baithana mushkil rahega.” He informed the dazed lady running hundred possible solutions for an innevitable situation. “Tum dono niklo” he somewhat demanded of the two, who stood there like deer caught in headlights as he searched for something sharp.
After Aalam bhai’s inaction on his face, Hamza remained confused only to delay the realisation of what the event was about to turn into, “Aalam bhai aap-“ hamza was soon enough interrupted by him.
A gentle shove from the man had hamza move away only a few steps, both of them were coming to terms with what Aalam bhai was meaning to do. The unfortunate dark gloom of sacrifice heavy in the air and rather opposed by the two. A pickpocket from Bareilly was about to become a martyr for the country and the two super-operatives could not stomach it, they looked nothing like intelligence department’s finest, but two kids stranded out in a storm of life. Hamza tried to struggle against him trying to shove him outside the room to leave.
She just stood there paralysed with grief and fright, in a smarter conscious she would not add to the brave man’s distress to have her leave the room herself. But she wasn’t, leaving her and Aalam bhai she held a heavier self deception thinking she could still save him, “Mat kariye na…” trailing off she nearly pleaded. “Koi aur rasta nikal sakte hai—“
“Bitiya.” He said putting her fretting body language to a rest, “Itna mayus ho kar vida karogi aalam bhai ko?” He reassured her shaking his head over the grievance she carried, “Koi beti nahi hain meri toh jisko beti bulaya hain uska saath thodi chhodunga?” It was a promise, his wisdom and his training would live on he knew she would remember him well, a soft heart and a sorrow prayer both warranted in his name even in his passing. At this point her eyes had gone bloodshot at the tears and the scream she was holding back, her entire face flushed and no words appeared to her. She couldn’t even say goodbye in any language as if her tongue had lost the capacity to connect words with her own mind. The panic and shock had settled, the finality of death lingered in her air making all her senses go numb. “Chalo…jao…” he gave her a pat on the head and then placed his hand firm on top of her head for a moment, a blessing. Have his blessing watch after her whenever the universe makes a misstep. For the universe should know whose hand lays on her head.
There it was, he made her trace her steps outside the room and she complied, not as if she had any other choice. Having to gather herself like a scrawny figure in a windy storm she looked around the room and walked out of the passage, thankfully Zayan found her, unable to pull her out of her thoughts but he came as an alibi nonetheless. “Pakad liya!!!!” He wrapped his arms around her knees where his height reached at best. With a deep breath she lowered her gaze to him, hoisting him up in her arms. Trying to steady herself and hide her teary gaze from the boy as she hugged him. He was too young to think anything of it, “Ab khargosh wali kahani sunayengi? Hum jeet gaye na?” He referred to their little deal of him winning a story-time from her should he catch her in their hide and seek game.
Allowing herself the distraction, moving about the autopilot she nodded with a smile, moving the two of them to the couch, sitting down close beside him. As she told him the story of a rabbit in a forest, making up funny voices herself adding other talking animals. The general child’s play, she couldn’t shake off the stark realisation that this was the last sense of normalcy accounted for her, could not necessarily call it the calm before the storm for the storm had hit, she was sitting in the wreckage. The quiet softness of something unsalvageable.
Even though she knew the outcome her heart couldn’t stop from racing further once the commotion moved from outside to inside the house, a restless conversation and calls from authorities. Men rushing about and a confused Zayan was handed over to the house help as Yalina asked her to come with, inspecting whatever was going wrong.
As they merged within all the other men gathering in the room, wide eyed at the blood pretending to be taken aback by the horror, y/n could not bring herself to look at Aalam Bhai at all. They declared him to be a Hindustani agent, asking him to name his others, roughing him up. His whimpers and pleadings were a sound that would haunt her for all nights to come she thought to herself trying to remain composed.
“MERE GHAR ME GHUS KE, MERE MEHMAAN KO MAAREGA?” Hamza’s voice boomed through the room as the rest of them remained spectators to the brutal scene. Keeping her face neutrally anxious not as someone who sympathised, she could only hope it did not show on her face just how much her heart was aching for Hamza having to give his mentor a quick death. She could not even look in the direction of such befalling and Hamza had to perform it. “MAZAL KAISE HUYI HARAMZAADE KI?” He screamed so loud yet she was the only one who could see the desperation in his voice, standing beside Yalina. “HAMZA ALI MAZARI KA GHAR HAIN YEH.” He pointed real aggressively to the cruelty his duty made him commit. There was no diffrence in the intensity of prayer she was saying in her head and the loud bemoaning Hamza was doing for the same man. “Laashein…jaala dena inki” he said pointing at rizwan pointing at the body, he said it with such distaste for the spy as if he was able to feel his mortal soul within the heaviness of his grief.
She stood there like the rest, no idea she was gripping the edge of her dupatta so tight the nerves on her wrists were popping out. Almost as if she would slip away from reality into the void of despair if she let her grip loosen. She did not know what to do, she wanted to sit down by him, hold his hand in her hand whisper a prayer instead of saying it in her head and be with him whilst his brave form leaves this world into ash, she wanted to rush out of this room and scream at the top of her lungs, she wanted to be soaked into the warmth of his cremation, the last warmth the world will ever have to offer her. Yet all her body could offer her was a stillness up to no end. It was only then, her ‘brother’ Rizwan gently made her step aside, a gesture to move out of the room with the rest of them. She did walk out of the room with her steps since her feet allowed it however she would never be able to leave that room, a part of her had died in there.
The authority figures were rather startled, Hamza was intoxicated contributing the make believe of being a ruthless gangster. Yalina accompanied y/n sitting in the corner of the living room, to her the woman had never seen such blood in all her life and as the host who invited and forced her to attend this mehfil the entire afternoon by calling her relentlessly, she felt embarrassed the events took such a turn. “Tum thik ho?” Yalina asked, Zayan was put to bed already and she had a sense of humility towards her guest.
“Ji bilkul…woh bas khoon-kharaba dekh kar sardard ho raha hain” she replied pointing to her head as if a headache as all the bother bloodshed did to her. She wanted to run to a secluded place barefoot, but the militants sent with her for security were now busy with the spy speculation, securing the premise.
“Dawai leni hain?” Yalina offered along with apologetic eyes.
“Arre nahi nahi, itna bhi dard nahi hain” responding with a smile to neutralise the air she averted the subject “Zayan so gaya?”
“Ha baas thodi hi der pehle.” Yalina was somewhat glad about the change of conversation. “Wahi khargosh wali kahani sunne ki zidd ki wapas.”
With a small smile she nodded, “Bada pyaara hain.”
“Aapke ghar le jaiyen thode din.” Yalina said as the other lady simpler let out a slow chuckle deeming it as a joke “Mazak nahi kar rahe. Kitna pyaara hain sab pata chal jaayega.”
Before she could say anything else, some tires screeched outside. Steps following in with volume before people came into sight only highlighting the urgency. A lot of officers rushed out, as did the SP before he glanced at the women on his way out. Steps, voices, steps, voices. “Aap dono andar jaaiyen.” Hamza instructed them with a voice that left no room for interruption.
It had been over an hour. A slow agonising hour talking much about nothing with Yalina. To her, the whole hour felt as if she wasn’t even in her body, soul and survival instinct completely separate. And survival instinct taking over. She kept waiting for the militants to escort her home by the end of their processions. But other voice down the passage caught her attention, “Kahan hain?” The major was here.
Somebody must have gestured at her for him to reach the room aside living room, he made it in a paced stride. Not a word he said, simply gripping her by her upper arm, there was an unkindness in his grip. Yalina stood up and y/n wasn’t given the time as he manhandled her to be up. Yalina’s gaze softened, it was perhaps the major’s enragement for the spy that he was taking out on his wife, her supposedly dear friend. She bid her a goodbye with eyes and could only watch as the major practically dragged her away.
“Maana kiya tha na aapse.” He muttered through gritted teeth walking out of the residence. He had initially came all the way here to collect her, stumbling upon the death of Aalam bhai was anew to him just as much. He spent the hour discussing the details with SP and his officers, a torrid affair but he was used to the numbness of a loss.
She said nothing. She had nothing to say, allowing him to walk her to the car as it felt like her own feet would give out. Settling her in the backseat of the car he gestured the driver and made them wait for a bit, as he gave last of instructions to the SP and Hamza. The car ride home was eerily quiet. He did not even spare her a glance yet she could feel the overwhelming anger oozing off of him just sitting next to him.
Even the long ride home came upon its end, he yelled at the guards he had left in charge. How could she make it out when he had personally instructed them to keep her in. Upon following his way inside, “Ruko.” He asked her stopping her in her tracks when she was making her way up to her bedroom. Raising his sleeves up his elbows he let out a deep breath. The door shut behind them, quiet house with all the house help left for the day. “Aap ba-zariya humein jawab dene se juudi hain. Baithye.” It was so irritating to him, that she wanted to slip by after crossing such lines with him. The events of the night having been so heavy on her were unbeknownst to him.
With a heavy sigh she sat down on the couch unable to find the strength in her to argue in any way, “Humein nahi pata tha itna sab ho jayega.”
“Humein pata tha!” He tried not to yell, he never had. There was some desperate rage within him, to get a point across mixed with the fear of the prospect that something would have happened to her. “Aapko kya hasil hota hai aisi be-akal harkate karte rehne se? Paata bhi hain aapko kitna sab dao pe laaga hain hamare liye? Kitne saal lage hain yaha tak aane ke liye?”
She could barely register his words, for the greater part of it she didn’t even want to. When tragedy strikes in the clock of life does the seconds-hand even count for anything? She couldn’t even afford blinking or it would make her think of his face, pleading, teary eyed, pretending to be not scared of death.
“Aap do-pal sochti bhi ya nahi? Kisse puchkar hamare itna inkar karne ke baad bhi khud chali gaayi?” He let out, her lack of trust in his instinct and better judgement because of their past. “Hum aapse baat kar rahe hain!” He snapped when she refused to give him a proper well thought answer. She simply sat there idle like he wasn’t even worth an answer.
“Hamari galti thi.” She was able to muster the words out and had it not been for the razor sharp intel department wits he would have overlooked the fact that she was saying it, because she owed him an answer not because she felt answerable. He had to prove it to her somehow that when he asks or demands of something in this field as someone who has created a huge chunk of their world he wants it done. Not crossed, edited, delayed, he needs it complied with.
“Aapko baat karni nahi ya aapse ki nahi jaa rahi?” He scoffed, being unreasonably bitter. It was yet to dawn on him, the catastrophe of Aalam Bhai’s passing. A long term…friend. A friend. A loss. A drama by misfortune on the great stage of patriotism.
“Ji?” She blinked brought back into surreality of the conversation, the numbness was loosing its grip on her and it was getting increasingly difficult to hold everything together.
Ridiculous. He thought to himself. One difficult situation, a house full of authorities on a bad day and she is dazed and scared? “Itni hi kamzori bhari hain aap me toh aapka yaha hone ka matlab hi kya hain?” He walked across the couch to stand closer against her, leaning downwards a bit with his hands on his ones to meet her at eye-level, “Kya hi soch kar aapko bheja hoga yaha? Aapki fitrat hain? Barbadi saath rakhna?” The words slipped out of his mouth before his mind went over it twice, it was too much and he realised it before the tears kept brimming her eyes told her so.
It only helped her internalise the catastrophe even further. He coined her to bring about all ruin with her. And so he was not wrong. She wasn’t brave by choice, not destined for peace, a lot of cruelty by the hands of life…surely all such distinctions are suited do one damnation after another. It was beyond her tendencies to bring ‘ruin with her’ it was in her nature. She stood up, overcome with the pain meaning to walk away when he stopped her holding her wrist, “Nahi hamara matlab—“ he did not mean it. How could he mean something so cruel for his literal source of light?
“HAATH MAT LAGAIYE HUME-!” She was quick to get herself free from his grip, which was nothing like his earlier grip but it burned nevertheless. It burned as though, the longer she allows his touch the longer he is subjected to the despair her nature brought. With that she rushed to her room as she had planed earlier, shutting the door behind her. Crestfallen and sobbing her heart out. It was everything now. The words he had said, the lives she’d lost, even the ones she’d lived. She could never have anything stick. No role, no rank.
Even later in the same hour after what he did, he tried knocking on her door to get her to come out or at least let him in. But she won’t even tell him to go away, all he could do was keep knocking in the hopes of her giving in. But she did not and he stood outside her door listening to her soft sobs through the shut barrier of the door, “Humne aapse jo kaha woh hamare darr ki paidaish thi…hamare liye toh aapse hi sab kuch raha hain. Hamari fitrat, taqdeer, naseeb sab aap hi rahi hain…” he was leaning against the closed door talking to her hoping to get at least some words across even if she refused to open the door. “Darr rehta hain aap saamne nahi hoti toh, aaj hum ghar aayein aur aap nahi thi. Hamare kehne ke bawajud aap nahi thi, aap par jo bhi beeti waha humein woh nahi pata—aapke haalat waqai mushkil honge. Humne aur battar kar diye, assal mein barbaadi toh sari humse hi hain. Aapki ho ya…hamare pariwar ki. Iss liye zyada gussa hain aap par, khud-garz hain na hum…aur kamzor bhi, kyunki abb aapke beena jeene ki humme woh himmat nahi.” Even though she was one of the primal sources of his perseverance all these years, at least in a memory, truly having her back was completely different. She had not returned to him as the same person he had left behind however if the world was to freeze over for ages only for the sun to reappear would it not gleam the same? Would warmth not feel the same? That is all she was if he could describe her without words. She was the splendour of summer mornings, the familiarity of light shinning over a lake and love: however he knew it. He knew it as hers. So the stakes were higher for him now, because in a way she does bring the ruin with her. It’s always lingering for he will be ruined in every sense if anything happens to her. Ruin is when she isn’t around. Her absence is the true damnation of his soul.
He stayed by her closed bedroom door leaning against it for a while, losing track of time until eventually he had to give up. Moving to his own bedroom for the night. Thoughts heavy with the events of the god awful day. He probably won’t be sleeping that night, check on her bedroom door again, in a bit. But before he could be granted that, there was a knock on his own door. He opened it to find her crying, devastation evident on her face. A helplessness even words couldn’t be put through. So she didn’t, and he didn’t force her to. Allowing herself right into his embrace she cried against his chest without saying a word. Her breath shallow, chest heaving as the sobs pierced through her like daggers in the place of words.
Holding her tight in his arms, carrying the weight of her against him like his own. Feeling her limp against his chest as she cried uncontrollably. He kept her upright on his support, holding her secured through the waist whilst his other hand rubbed her back. “Shh…” he said gently sinking them both to the floor because he could feel her legs give out. Not once did he separate the space between them, enlacing her within his arms. Situating her onto his lap, her trembling figure close with his own was an ache in its own. Seeing her all apart was a karmic debt he was paying for because no amount of psyop could ever hurt him more than this. “Meri jaan.” He whispered addressing her sweetly. Her head by the crook of his neck as he tried to gently rock her into a comfortable silence.
“Sirf tamashai banke reh gayi hun…kisi ko bacha nahi paayi.” Her voice was almost a mumble with the tears still flowing down her face, “Na aalam bhai, na Ma-papa…na—hamari nanhi jaan.” Self blame came to her easier than other prospects. Some days it came louder and better suited to her self actualisation, like today. All she could ever do is stand to the sidelines and watch life take its cruel course. Terrible things to gods own creatures.
“Zara nazar uthaiyen aapni" he told her, his tone softest one he could come up with. When she looked up at him still entangled within his lap, he traced his thumb by the delicate skin beneath her eyes to wipe her tears, “Aise khayal apne zehen mein na laaiye, aap se jo door ho gaaye hain woh aapki pehchan nahi hain, unhone aapko jo hausla, pyaar aur parwarish di hain woh aap hain. Isse mehfooz kya hi ho sakta unke liye jinka iss duniya me rehna aapke haath me hi nahi.” It was important for him to get it through her just how much of all the bad things that had happened were not her fault, to any extent.
He was right, she had never heard it said before which made her hesitant to even adhere it when spoken to for the first time. Surely it would take a while to undo the self blaming for all the tragedy to and from her; but it was exhausting. This day the whole ordeal…the unpacking it required was too much. “Thak gayi hu.” She mumbled resting against his chest again and he caught her as if she was falling.
Running his hand through her soft hair he nodded, kissing the top of her head only to reassure her for the moment. “Paata hain.” He spoke softly allowing her to fully adjust within his embrace before picking her up, walking them the short distance to his bed whilst carrying in his arms, her knees dangling over his arm as the other held her by the waist.
She made no attempts to move away from the indulgence of the safe haven his arms provided. She felt at home. “Arjun” it slipped out barely above a whisper almost asleep.
And in that moment he felt just as much at home. “Hum kahin nahi ja rahe.” He settled himself onto the bed, pulling the covers over her as he coaxed her to a sleep some good fortune should allow her. Either ways he had no plans to leave or even blink in the wrong direction whilst she snuggled closer to him, gripping his shirt within a fist like an anchor.
It could barely be termed as sleep. For she had passed out for the good two hours, out of fatigue from the crying and emotional overwhelming. Stirring awake from discomfort and pain for no reason in particular he woke up just the same. It was barely 5 or so in the morning a gentle sunrise overlooking their window. Since she could not fall back asleep he brought her downstairs at her little demand, a change of scenery. However she barely moved even in their kitchen dinning table, she kept staring out the window from her seat as if it would have some answers to her turmoil. “Bade akele honge na woh abhi? Iss waqt?” She thought out loud as he poured the two of them tea.
“Kaun meri jaan?” He occupied her conversation, even if vague but he knew it was rooted in something sad.
“Aalam bhai.” She said, his face, his voice, repeating over and over in her head. She couldn’t stop rethinking the entire horrid situation. What must it have been like for him? Pretending to be wilfully optimistic and unafraid of his death. A cruel joke in itself. How alone must he be, all these years in the skin and clothes of a man he wasn’t. Only to pass away for the rank and duty of the man he truly was: yet with the same pain. He must still be so alone no? His body lying around cold at some autopsy table or burnt at the crypt with no one to claim him as family simply mourn. It was all she could think about, the last selfless interaction she had with him he even called her his daughter—
“Ek shaheed ka pehra khatam hua hain…abb woh jaaha hain, yaaha se behtar hain.” He tried to console her out of the torment her own thoughts pushed on her. Her thoughts were interrupted at the touch of his hand by her forehead, the back of his palm checking for her temperature. Then moving to her neck, it was a fever. “Aapko bukhar hain.” He pointed out because he did not have the other answer to feed to her unease. The lonesome burning body of an Hindustani spy miles away from him. The most decent thing was to remember him and yet to the fallen brave spy the most indecent thing would have been tears shed in his name. She did not respond because she couldn’t tell apart her bodily fatigue from the fatigue of misery taking over her. Didn’t even move to put the tea cup to her lips even though she wanted it, her fever ridden body seemed it too difficult. He took the matters in his own hands, figuratively. As he blew small bouts of air from his lips to cool the hot liquid, before bringing it to her mouth. “Subah hoti hain toh doctor ko bulate hain.” He noted out loud whilst helping her sip her tea.
Sinking into the chair letting him take over, to help her sip the tea she shook her head. “Koi zaroorat nahi doctor ki.” Even in such a state, opposition over needful requirements came easy to her.
Her nose was tomato red, eyes could barely be kept open by her without the starry sickly gaze watering tears down her face and the fatigue which kept her from picking up her own tea cup. Yeah the doctor was definitely coming for the check up. “Hum aapke kehne paar aapki sehat dao par nahi laga rahe.” He reminded her unapologetically.
Once again, too tired to argue she just rested her head against the table once her tea was finished. His was finished soon after because in the time he was helping her drink from her cup his had gone cold and frankly he didn’t care; holding her in his arms again he moved about to make her rest. It was still too early in the morning to the house help to cater to all her needs yet this was a position he favoured to have for himself. “Doctor Jo bhi kahe woh hum baaki sab ko bata kar jayenge—“
“Aap aaj bhi kaam par jayenge?” She interrupted him, him leaving for work arising her concern.
“Jald hi aa jaunga.” He responded, her fright and nervousness of feeling unbecoming felt very natural and easy to her since she had him yet the phase been this scared perhaps all her life. The surreal ghastliness this line of work demanded was first time for her to witness. He laid her gently on the bed, pulling the covers on her again, “Waapas so jaayein? Hum subah tak toh yaahin hain.”
She let out a soft breath, her fever ridden body glad for the warmth of the covers and him all the same. “Aapka jaana zaroori hain?” Her voice came out meek and a bit muffled as she snuggled against his chest. Tiresome and grief struck. There was a long forgotten perturbing for him that had reappeared within her.
As much as he was fond of her indifference breaking away. This was not the situation he would have liked for her to grow closer to him. She was not moving past their reckless abandon she was clinging to him out of sheer terror. The aftermath of something so so horrendous, laid bare to witness. Her training would never fail her but it could not separate her from being someone with a mortal soul. Mortal soul is but a joke in this profession. With a gentle trace over her face he moves the hair out of her face, “Aaj ke liye zaroori hain.” He explained, keeping his voice soft as to not overwhelm her in bad health. It was important for him to attend his businesses for that day, he had to get strict with the security protocol as well in order to not arise suspicion. “Aap pura din aaram karein hmm?“
With a soft shudder she looked up at him from where she laid her chest at his torso, the soft morning hue from the sun was seeping in through the curtains, “Kab tak wapas aayenge aap?”
“Yahin toh hain hum.” He told her, for he was right in front of her yet she was worried, her pin was stuck in the same weary issue of a fever suffering body and an extreme troubled nervous system from the events of earlier evening making her rightfully frightened. He would leave for his day once the doctor comes, some later part of the morning.
Even though he held her through the misery the entire night just as he was doing so in this very moment. It was difficult for her to stop letting the worry eat away at her. “Shaam ko aayenge ya dopahar?”
“Aap kahein tab waapas aa jaayenge bas.” He told her caressing the back of her head gently, whatever to put her at ease. It was difficult to talk full rationality with someone overcome with devastation so much so that she was physically sick. Flushed face, weary eyes and a brain fog. Yeah he wasn’t about to argue with her unto anything. In his head he planned to hold her through the day till she would be sound asleep on the doctor prescribed antibiotics, might be late for him to return but as long as she was asleep through it she would not realise it. There was no point feeding to her distress.
“Ghar hi rahiyen na toh phir.” It was an impractical demand she could not see reason with, just relentlessly afraid as if he would step out of their house and something bad would happen.
In response he nodded with a blink of his eyes and kissed the top of her head, rubbing her arm to get her to rest. Somehow grow free from the thoughts that kept her paranoid like this. However she kept writhing and whimpering in pain even through the earlier hours of the morning. He spent the time right next to her, adding now covers to her in her sleep, changing the warm cloth on her forehead, massaging her feet, the sore muscle ache helping her with the feverish fatigue. Kissing her forehead and making no attempt to move out of her tight grip over his hand, he could only hope the next gentle caress would lessen the weight of tragedy on her.
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