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Muna, Tipu,and Badal were in their room.
Muna was lying on a mattress spread out on the floor, Tipu was sitting against the wall opposite him, and Badal was sitting near the door mixing hashish into cigarette tobacco.
There was a knock at the door.
Muna and Tipu sprang up with lightning speed, pulling out knives and standing ready—one on each side of the door.
Badal, however, kept mixing the hash into the tobacco as though he were oblivious to everything happening around him.
Muna stretched out his hand and unlatched the chain. Both of them braced themselves to attack whoever entered.
When Jaida walked in, they immediately shrank back and moved aside.
Jaida went and sat next to Badal. He looked exhausted and filled with anger. Taking out his wallet, he tossed it towards Tipu.
Tipu quickly opened it and counted the notes.
"Four hundred and fifty rupees and ten annas short?" Badal asked. His fingers made the meaning clear.
"And what about her, Ustad?" Tipu gestured toward Naz's room.
"We'll see," Jaida replied carelessly.
"My advice, Ustad, is to sell her," Tipu suggested. "She won't go for less than fifteen or twenty thousand."
"Yes, Ustad," Badal said, lighting the cigarette he had packed with hashish and handing it to Jaida. "She's been eating for free for six or seven months now, and she's still not falling in line."
Jaida took a long drag. The smoke filled the room, making its sinister atmosphere even darker.
"There's Shami, Guli, Gulnar," Muna said. "And what about Bali? Didn't she start walking the path within five or seven days?"
"See, Ustad," Tipu added. "Do something—either fix her or get rid of her."
Jaida took another drag, then opened the door to Naz's room.
Naz was sitting at the table, elbows resting on it, her head buried in her hands. Even though she had forced herself to accept this prison-like room, her future still refused to reveal itself clearly. Once again, she felt the weight of drowning come over her.
This room had become her refuge. She had even established her own authority within it. But now, within only a few days, the same room had begun to turn against her.
So far, she had not been physically tortured there. She was fed rich food and given silk clothes—the very things she had once dreamed of while sitting beside Aslam. But Muna, Tipu, and Badal had begun pressuring her morning and evening to "become private." Their tone had once again grown harsh.
Now even the walls of the room seemed to whisper to her:
"Naz, sell your body. You no longer belong in this so-called respectable world. This beauty of yours can no longer be the adornment of any one home."
At times, Naz accepted the challenge of these voices. Other times, she fled from them. But there was no escape. Her mind had begun to unravel. For several days, she had been losing sleep and appetite, and a bitterness had crept into her nature.
"Naz."
Jaida's voice startled her.
She stood up quickly and moved toward him, stopping a few steps away. In a choked voice she pleaded:
"For God's sake, tell me what will become of me. Am I to remain imprisoned like this forever?"
"The decision is in your hands, Naz," Jaida replied indifferently.
"Then why don't you just kill me? Oh, this prison—" She hid her face in her hands, then uncovered it and cried:
"Kill me, Jaida! End my life!"
Jaida locked eyes with her, and she fell silent, drained.
"Sit down," Jaida said, pointing to the cot.
Naz's bitterness began to fade. The turbulence in her mind started to settle, and she sat down on the cot.
She…Naz looked at him—he was still staring straight into her eyes. A shiver ran through her body, and she lowered her gaze.
"I didn't kidnap you. I bought you," Jaida said calmly. "I invested five hundred rupees in this business. I want to earn five hundred rupees every night."
"You won't earn a single penny from my body!" Naz cried in anger, tears running down her face.
Jaida smiled faintly under his breath.
"Set me free—I'll give you back your five hundred rupees," she begged.
"You want freedom, don't you?" Jaida asked softly. "Where will you go if you're free?"
"To my home. Where else?"
"The doors of that home are already closed to you. For them, you are untouchable now." Jaida spoke in such a tone that Naz stared at him wide-eyed. His voice carried no anger, no mockery, not even sympathy—just a bitter edge that seeped into her being.
Jaida continued:
"Everyone in your world knows you weren't kidnapped. You ran away from home, secretly, with a man. Can you face that world now? Can you face those people who have already spat on your name? Tell me—who would marry you now?"
Naz kept staring at him, her eyes wide and stunned.
Jaida walked over to the window and flung both shutters open.
"If you want freedom, Naz—then go! Run away!"
Naz's expression began to change, as if the nervous tension was easing. But her mind would not obey; she was incapable of thinking clearly.
"Get up, Naz," Jaida urged again. "I'm serious."
The room fell into silence, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock. Then Jaida's commanding voice tore through it:
"Go. Leave this house. You are free."
Naz stood up and looked at Jaida as if he would suddenly seize her. She hurried toward the window. One glance at Jaida, then her eyes darted outside: tall apartment buildings, families bustling in balconies and windows, the road below choked with buses, rickshaws, and cars. The sidewalks overflowed with a restless tide of humanity.
Everywhere there was the chaos of free life—but to Naz it looked like the storming waves of a furious sea.
She shrank back as though the crowd outside was pointing fingers and shouting at her:
"Look at her—the runaway girl! The actress! The fallen one! She stole herself away from her home!"
Inside, an earthquake raged through her. Waves of drowning and surfacing swept over her, dizziness struck her, sweat broke across her forehead. She was trembling.
"Go, Naz," Jaida said again, thrusting a bundle of notes toward her. "Here—take this. You'll need travel money."
Naz looked at the notes but didn't reach for them. She stood at a crossroads, as if gripped in a whirlpool. Her eyes began to close. She shut the window, pressed a hand to her forehead, staggered, and collapsed before Jaida.
"No… no…" Her voice shook as her body trembled. She clutched Jaida's hands tightly.
"If I leave, where will I go?" she whispered.
Jaida listened silently.
Gathering herself a little, Naz spoke:
"The dreams I drowned in—the ones I ran away with Aslam for—those dreams have died. Aslam is dead… that world is gone. Let me stay here, Jaida!" She clutched his hands tighter and pressed her face against his lap.
"You're right—I can't face the world anymore. That life… it no longer exists for me."
"Go, Naz," Jaida said, placing his hand gently on her shoulder.
But Naz clung to him like a frightened child. Her face was burning, her lips quivering. She glanced anxiously toward the closed window, as though the crowd outside would suddenly burst in, drag her to the streets, and disgrace her. In her mind, her conscience was dancing naked before her—she was searching desperately for some ground to stand on.
And now, Jaida was her only support.
"Jaida…" she spoke in a broken voice. "There's something buried inside me—it burns in my chest. If you let me, I'll tell you."
Jaida sat down on a chair. Naz sat on the floor in front of him, placed her hands on his knees, and said:
"I once begged you to free me, and you refused. Now you say, 'Go, you are free'—but I don't want to leave. I've begun to fear the free world. Out there, there is nothing left for me but taunts. Sometimes it feels as if you've shackled my feet. I want to run—but some unseen force compels me to stay."
She looked at him with thirsty, yearning eyes and went on:
"For many days now, I've felt as though you've cast a spell on me. I even thought of killing myself—but every time, the thought of you pulled me back from death. Perhaps you alone stand between me and the grave."
She fell silent. Jaida kept staring at her intently, listening to every word with complete attention, yet his expression did not change, nor did his inner state.
Naz's face showed pain, sorrow, torment; her restless eyes were the very reflection of her helplessness.
"I've thought so much, Jaida… thought so much," she said weakly. "I tried to break free of your shadow, but it's not in my power. I've tried a thousand times, but I could not drive you out of my heart."
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To be continue....