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Badal had been cowering, but now anger flared in him. He had bowed only because Jaida was his master. The arts of lockpicking and burglary that Jaida had taught him—no one else could.
The respect a teacher commanded among criminals was unmatched in any other circle of society. The disciples and boys held such reverence for the "ustad" (teacher/master) because he kept them safe from arrests; and if they were caught, he would arrange their bail and even bear the expenses of their families. By maintaining contacts with the police, he would have cases twisted around or get them released. One of the main reasons Badal was subdued before Jeda was this very influence. Jeda's connections were not limited to the police—he also had ties with political leaders of that era who frequently became ministers. Whenever those leaders were in opposition, Jeda would become their biggest strength.
Badal had been saved by Jeda from arrests in serious crimes. But when it came to Ibn's daughter, Jeda said certain things to him that enraged Badal.
"Maulvi, not you, Ustad!" Badal said. "I have folded my hands before you and admitted my mistake—please forgive me."
"I don't know how to forgive," Jeda replied.
"I know what punishment you'll give me," Badal said. "But Ustad, remember, even you have skeletons in the closet. There's a dead body buried in this house and also a kidnapped girl. If you punish me, I can punish you too."
Muna and Tipu stared at Badal in shock. He was the first disciple and companion of Jeda who dared to speak to him in such a way.
"What nonsense are you spouting? Fall at Ustad's feet!" Muna shouted angrily.
Jeda's hand went to his navel to draw out a dagger, but before he could, Badal stepped back, left the room, and fled the house. By the time Jeda had drawn his dagger and reached outside, Badal was already gone.
Three days later, newspapers carried the news:
"This morning, a body was found in a street of Kharadar, riddled with bullets. Police say it is the body of Ramzan, alias Badal, a three-time convict and wanted in three cases. A responsible police officer stated that Badal was probably killed by his own criminal companions in a dispute over stolen goods. A case under Section 302 has been registered, but no arrests have yet been made. Since the body remained unclaimed after postmortem, it was buried under police arrangements."
That night, when Badal had escaped, Jeda went after him but returned from the door. He walked into the room where Naz was waiting for him. Jeda sat on a chair beside the table without looking at her. He placed the dagger on the table and buried his head in his arms.
Naz walked close, placed her hand on his shoulder and said softly, "You seem worried."
"Yes," Jeda muttered absentmindedly.
"Why?"
"This doesn't concern you," Jeda said.
"Why?"
Annoyed, Jeda snapped, "Is it necessary for me to answer every 'why' of yours?" He opened the drawer under the table, pulled out a bottle of liquor, and uncorked it.
"Jeda," Naz pleaded, "give up drinking."
"Why?" Jeda asked coldly.
"Because it disgusts me."
"Why?" Jeda asked again without looking at her.
Naz took the bottle from his hand, set it aside, and said, "Is it necessary for me to answer every 'why' of yours?" She leaned on his shoulder with her elbow. Her gesture was so spontaneous that Jeda didn't find it unpleasant. He looked at her. Naz leaned even closer, smiling.
"Go to sleep," Jeda said.
"I can't sleep," Naz replied.
"Then let me sleep. You go." But his tone wasn't irritated.
Naz had seen his true self in the diary, otherwise she'd never have dared to be this open with him. In becoming informal with Jeda, she even felt a sense of joy.
"Go, Naz," Jeda said again. "Sleep."
"You should also sleep soon," she said tenderly, and walked toward the bed. Sitting on the cot, she asked, "Will you have tea?"
"No," Jeda replied absentmindedly. Then he suddenly realized what she had asked. "What did you say?"
"Tea? I made a kitchen today myself," Naz smiled.
"Yes, I'll drink."
Naz went outside. Jeda sank into thoughts.
A little later, Naz returned with a tray carrying a new tea set. She prepared the tea, placed a cup in front of him. Jeda didn't pick it up, but bent forward and sipped directly. He didn't swallow immediately; it was as if he was tasting something long forgotten. Finally, he gulped it down, staring into the rising steam. His eyes widened, his forehead tightened with furrows.
When he raised the cup again, he recoiled as if the tea was too hot. Something stirred violently within him. He looked around, trying to recognize something invisible.
"No, Naz, I won't drink this tea," Jeda said in a sorrowful tone.
"Why? Has it gone cold?"
"No."
"But it's hot, drink it."
"No, no… I won't drink."
"Why? Didn't I make it well?"
"Only because it's made too well," Jeda's voice trembled with pain. "Tell me—what have you put in this tea?" Then louder: "Naz! Take this tea away. Bring me tea from the hotel instead!"
His voice rose and fell in strange waves that Naz had never heard before. She listened silently, slowly beginning to understand his inner turmoil.
"Bring me hotel tea," Jeda said in despair. "That filthy tea made by some wretched cook, brewed from the discarded leaves of big hotels, stinking of old dregs. Your tea has fragrance, Naz. It's served in a beautiful, new cup. I want tea in a broken glass like those in hotels."
He fell silent, overcome with a strange madness. "What is this fragrance, Naz? Tell me honestly—what have you added to this tea?"
Naz looked at him deeply, locking her gaze with his. A delicate smile played on her lips, like that of a child smiling in a dream.
Jeda had no idea that while he could break handcuffs, he could not tear apart the threads of memory. The past he had buried somewhere was now surfacing in the delicate steam of tea. Just one sip had begun to weaken him.
"What did you put in this tea?" Jeda demanded irritably.
"Woman's love," Naz said softly, romantically.
"Hmm…" Jeda muttered to himself. "Something is coming back to me. Some forgotten crime, some lost memory… What is it that's coming back, Naz? Tell me!" His voice rose. "Tell me, or I'll smash this cup! This sip of tea has set fire to my chest."
If Jeda's disciples had seen him like this, they would never have believed it was him. Their Ustad Jeda—staggering like this? Standing at a crossroad? Never.
Naz's left arm slipped around his shoulders, circling his neck, her arm brushing his cheek.
Jeda was not unfamiliar with a woman's touch. He had dealt in women's trafficking. To him, women were objects of entertainment. But he had never known this kind of tender, emotional touch—or perhaps he had forgotten it. Now he was entering a new world, one he did not wish to enter, but some power, or some weakness, pushed him forward.
"Does a woman come to mind?" Naz whispered over him. "Perhaps a sister… a mother… or a home."
Jeda looked at her. Her breath scattered across his forehead; her silky dupatta brushed his cheeks. He had seen women's nakedness before, but never the devastating beauty of modest femininity. The warmth of her breath, the caress of the dupatta, drove him mad. The ruthless criminal's mind became pitiable.
"What did you say?" he asked in a pained tone. "Say it again, Naz. Perhaps a sister… a home… a mother…" He leaned his cheek further, letting the dupatta touch fully.
Naz's dupatta lifted the veil of his past. He saw a child playing with his mother's dupatta. Jeda slowly slid his hand forward and placed it over Naz's hand lying on the table.
"What is this burden in my heart?" he said, squeezing her hand. "It feels like I'm afraid."
"Afraid, Jeda?" Naz bent so close her hair brushed his forehead. "You and afraid?"
Jeda pressed his face against hers, his cheek resting against her. Silence engulfed him. He turned his head slightly, and his eyes fell on his own hand clutching hers. Suddenly, he snatched it away.
The spell broke.
Love had lulled the wolf to sleep, but it awoke again.
"No, no!" he cried in grief-tinged anger. "Take this away—I don't want this tea."
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To be continue