His eyes held no emotion as he watered the plants grown over the mud, below which lied the corpse of his dearest, his beloved.
His heart constricted upon thinking the last words he had murmured to Irtaza to convey it to him.
'Ask Shehryaar to forgive his mother.... and do tell him that his grandpa loves him so much,'
Forgive his mother?
But why....
Why?
Why should he?
When she stole everything from him only because of his first love.
She was never a mother.
When she was the very reason of what he has become today.
It was the last will of his grandfather. And the irony was, he was not able to fulfil just that. His whole life he had done what his grandfather asked for. But this demand.... he couldn't simply fulfil it. Despite wanting, despite trying, he couldn't. The internal battle, the dilemma made him so struck in those web of emotions that he would turn his emotional switch off and commit things which would make him feel less of being stuck in that web. That was where his ruthlessness had been born.
The war has been going on within him since a very tender age. A very innocent age. And that war has made him vulnerable letting others exploit his naiveness. And those others were none other than his own grandfather. He made him a ruthless killer then why he had expected humanity from him. His grandfather made his mother culprit in his eyes then how could he so easily let it go when at the first place his grandfather was the person who taught him not to let go off the culprits easily.
His grandpa's demand with him opposed all the teachings he had inculcated within him.
No.
To this date, he didn't forgive his mother.
He can't.
Even if it would let him be at peace, he wouldn't.
Jaha Ara was the only culprit in his life.
The reason he did what he did with Sheharzaad.
Caressing the mud of his grave, he took a deep sigh. There was nothing but regret soaring in his heart. He wished he could have met him for one last time.
Just one last time.
He had been able to hear his voice or heard it from his lips how he used to call him, 'beta'
(Son)
Sheharzaad stood near him. She could feel an inner turmoil going through within him. His eyes though emotionless, now she was expert enough to read what would be going on within him.
A sudden urge came over her as she stepped ahead. She placed her little hand on his shoulder and it grasped his attention as he slowly turned his head towards her.
He held her hand and kissed her knuckles.
This was what he needed the most at the moment.
Consolence from a person whom he could call as 'family'
She and Chahat were his family.
His little bundle of happiness.
The only people on this world for whom he could set the whole world on fire. He was still obsessed with her. Rather more than that. If she were away, then his thoughts would be occupied with just her face.
He saw her everywhere.
He needed him the most.
And he knew if he left her then his whole world would be crumbled into pieces.
He can't take another step in his life without her.
He was so dependent on her. So much. That he himself did not have an idea.
Still within him resided an unhealthy obsession for her. But not it was overpowered with love.
Her absence had made him realize what love was.
He loved her.
Truly.
Passionately.
Hopelessly.
The only woman who managed to grasp his heart in her claws. He knew he can either crush his heart into pieces and kill him or just deal it with care and give him life. It was all in her hands.
He stood up and faced her. Her hand was still in his.
Sheharzaad passed him a smile. She thought he might need it. And that smile played with the strings of his heart. It made him extend his arms and envelop her in a hug. His face nuzzled in her neck. His safe haven.
"His will was to forgive my mother..... but I can't," he whispered the words playing in her mind in her ear.
Sheharzaad heard it as she slowly relaxed in his hold and hugged him back.
"You can talk to me.... about her," she replied.
These were the words his ears had always strived to hear.
He wanted his story to be heard.
.....
There was utter silence between the two. She struggled with weaving her words together to form a coherent sentence. His past was dull, blank and dark. There was no love in it. That was why he only knew how to forcefully grab what he wanted. That was the reason for the mistrust he always carried within him for her. That was the reason what he did with her.
There was no justification to his crimes.
But now she knew why was he like that.
Why he always had been like that. Towards her. Towards his family. Why his grandfather was his ideal. Why he wasn't attached to his father. Why he did not respect women. Why he never trusted women. Why he always kept on suppressing all the signals his heart sent to him that he loved Sheharzaad.
It all made sense.
It was crystal clear.
A person like him, whose childhood was this dark, this abandoned, alone and desolated would never in his life be able to give out any love. Rather love was what he needed the most then how could he give it to others. He only gave others what he saw, what he felt. He reflected back to the world what he received but with double indemnity.
But in this scenario that was narrated to her, the jigsaw of emotions that was just revealed to her, she only found one culprit. Only one culprit. The person who was the reason what Shehryaar has become today.
Just one.
No.
It wasn't his mother, Jaha Ara.
It wasn't Jaha Ara.
It was his dearest, his loveliest, grandfather, Shabbir Haider Syed.
He made what Shehryaar was today.
He had the power to change his mind. He could have given Shehryaar the love that was amiss from life rather than handing over a gun to him.
Shehryaar's childhood was destroyed by his own grandfather.
Shehryaar was naive. Just a child.
His grandfather taught him, never trust a woman. His grandfather taught him to never let the culprits go. His grandfather was the person who handed over the gun to the little 8-yeard old boy and made him kill people at this tender age. That too in cold blood.
He never let him mourn over his mother's death. And that wound which needed little Shheryaar's tears to be healed, was never healed. It was left open . And his grandfather exploited that wound. Maneuvered the young child. Made him just like his own self. Made Shehryaar a reflection of himself.
Only if he could have tended to his sorrows, maybe, he wouldn't have been like that today.
Maybe he would have been a changed person.
His whole life, Shehryaar, had been in wrong hands. And he didn't even realize that.
His past made her heart heavy. She wasn't prone to hear such dark miseries. It never settled well with her. And on its own accord a tear made its way to her eye and then rolled down her cheeks.
Shehryaar noticed that. His thumb moved as he cleared her tears strolling down her cheeks.
She felt like hugging him so instinctively she threw her arms around him, hugging him by herself for the very first time.
"Nobody deserves that," she uttered and he heard it but he didn't say anything. Rather he kept on stroking her hand against her back, comfortingly.
"Your grandfather was right..... forgive your mother," she whispered what her mind had righteously concluded.