*(Karachi, 1896 - Jinnah's Homecoming as a Barrister)*
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### **The Harbor Watch**
The steamship *SS Arabia* loomed through the morning mist at Karachi Port, its funnels belching coal smoke across the docks. Twelve-year-old Fatima Jinnah stood on tiptoe between merchants and porters, her fingers leaving damp marks on the brass compass she'd kept polished for three years.
"There!" Maryam pointed as a familiar silhouette emerged at the gangplank.
Mohammed Ali Jinnah descended with the measured grace of a man who'd crossed oceans, his Savile Row suit cutting an alien figure among the dhoti-clad dockworkers. The gold watch chain across his waistcoat caught the sun as he adjusted his homburg hat - a gesture so impeccably British it made Fatima's throat tighten.
"Doesn't even walk like our brother anymore," Maryam muttered.
Fatima broke from the crowd before anyone could stop her.
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### **The Reunion**
Jinnah was handing his luggage to a porter when small hands grabbed his briefcase.
"That contains confidential—" he began in English before looking down.
Fatima stared up at the stranger-brother: his pomaded hair, the unfamiliar scent of sandalwood cologne, the sharp angles of his face now softened by a carefully trimmed mustache.
"You grew," he said in Gujarati, and suddenly he was Bhai again.
She thrust the compass at him. "The needle lied. You didn't come back last year like you promised."
Jinnah's lips twitched as he took it. "I was called to the Bar at Lincoln's Inn. Delays were unavoidable." He studied her faded frock and ink-stained fingers. "I see you've been using my books."
"Not just using," Fatima shot back. "Correcting. Your notes on tort law had three—"
"Jinnah!" Their uncle Alibhai pushed through the crowd, arms outstretched. "Allah has brought our lion home!"
Fatima watched her brother's posture stiffen into formality as the men embraced. Over Alibhai's shoulder, Jinnah's eyes met hers - a silent conspiracy renewed.
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### **The Welcome Feast**
That evening, the Jinnah residence buzzed with every prominent Muslim in Karachi. Fatima crouched on the staircase, eavesdropping as British-trained barrister Syed Amir Ali quizzed Jinnah in the drawing room.
"You realize the Bombay High Court has never admitted a Muslim barrister?"
Jinnah stirred his whisky soda. "Then I shall be the first."
Alibhai sputtered. "Our people need traders, not barristers! Your father—"
"—would have wanted his son to conquer new worlds," interrupted Sir Adamjee Peerbhoy, the textile magnate. He raised his glass. "To our English-educated hope!"
Upstairs, Mithibai fretted over the biryani. "They'll expect him to marry now. The Tyabji girl in Bombay—"
Fatima dropped a spoon with a clatter. "He just got back!"
Maryam smirked. "Wait till you see his trunk. Full of English ladies' photographs."
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### **The Midnight Confession**
Past midnight, Fatima found Jinnah in their father's study, running fingers over the dusty ledgers.
"You hate it," she accused from the doorway.
He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "The sycophants? The expectations?" A bitter laugh. "I spent three years becoming someone, only to return and find they want me to be something else."
Fatima plopped into Poonja's old chair, her feet not touching the floor. "Tell me about the Inns of Court."
For two hours, Jinnah spoke of oak-paneled libraries and mock trials, of how British barristers had whispered "wog" until he demolished them in debate. He demonstrated the "stare" that made witnesses crumble, the precise wrist-flick for opening legal tomes mid-argument.
Fatima mirrored each gesture until he suddenly stilled.
"You'll need this." From his trunk, he produced a calfskin briefcase embossed with *M.A. Jinnah, Esq.* "For when you argue before the Privy Council."
She hugged it to her chest, inhaling the scent of new leather and possibilities.
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### **The First Case**
News came at dawn - a Hindu merchant was suing the Jinnah family over an unpaid debt.
"Let me handle it," Jinnah told his uncles.
The Karachi Small Causes Court overflowed with spectators. Fatima squeezed into the back, ignoring glares from men unaccustomed to girls in courtrooms.
Jinnah's opponent, a portly pleader, smirked at the young barrister's pristine robes. "My learned friend may be accustomed to English courts, but here we—"
"Here we follow the Indian Contract Act of 1872," Jinnah interrupted in flawless Urdu. "Section 25 states consideration must—"
"Objection! The witness cannot—"
"Overruled," the British judge said, hiding a smile.
By noon, Jinnah had dismantled the case using precedents from both Mughal-era fiqh and British common law. When the gavel struck, Alibhai wept with relief.
Outside, Hindu and Muslim merchants alike pressed business cards into Jinnah's hands. Fatima watched her brother become someone new before her eyes - not just a barrister, but a symbol.
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### **The Parting**
"Bombay?" Fatima shrieked when he told her a week later. "But you just—"
"The Bombay High Court is where empires are made." Jinnah adjusted his cufflinks. "I've arranged for your continued education with the Sodha family tutors."
She kicked his trunk. "I don't want tutors! I want—"
"What?" He knelt suddenly, eye to eye. "To follow me? Then prove you can." He pressed a key into her palm. "My study stays yours. Master every book. When you're ready, send me a legal opinion worth reading."
At the carriage, Mithibai clung to her son. "At least meet the Tyabji girl before—"
"Not now, Amma." Jinnah's gaze found Fatima's over her shoulder. "We have work to do."
As the carriage rolled away, Fatima realized the compass in her pocket was pointing north again - toward Bombay.
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**Historical Anchors:**
1. **Jinnah's Return** - Actually occurred in 1896 after being called to the Bar
2. **Bombay High Court** - Did initially resist Indian barristers
3. **Syed Amir Ali** - Prominent Muslim jurist who mentored Jinnah
4. **Sodha Family** - Progressive Muslim educators in Karachi
**Key Themes:**
- **Dual Identity** - Jinnah's Anglicization vs. family expectations
- **Education as Power** - Fatima's clandestine studies
- **Colonial Justice** - British courts as battlegrounds for respect
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