Shabeer was ankle deep in muddy field pulling out the paddy from nursery making neat bundles, which will then be transferred to the plots which were specially prepared for it. It took him, all the male hands available in his household and the Azad Kashmiri laborers to prepare the fields for this rice crop. He was wearing a worn out Shalwar and vest, which used to be of white color but was now Khaki because of working in muddy waters; ‘this is the uniform of a farmer’, he thought.

There were lots of things going on his mind. Last year’s crash in potato prices has left a great dent in his financial position. The loss that he sustained had eaten away almost all the cash reserve that he always maintained for the difficult times. ‘But that is the reason, I always maintain a cash reserve’, he shrugged his shoulders thinking, and had he not encountered this new situation of Rana Ahmad Khan, he still would have been in a comfortable position as he still had enough money to buy inputs for the rice crop. He cursed the Niamat Hanjrah, who died without a son. If he had a son, this situation would never have arisen, as his son would have inherited his eight acres and would have carried on the farming. But as he had no son, his daughter who inherited the land and is married to his sister’s son in a village almost twenty miles from here has decided to sell the lands.

‘Taya!’, someone called him. It was his nephew Imran; ’what is it’?

‘Taya, it is Tufail nayee (barber) with his son Kaloo. They are asking that can they cut some feed for their donkey. Bhain yakk (sister fuckers), can’t they find any place else’, replied Imran.

‘Na puttar (son), their family is a very old saipi (party to a sort quasi contract, where both parties fulfills the need of counter party) of ours. Don’t talk about them like this. Go take Kaloo to that field, and tell him to cut the feed from there, and make sure to tell him not to cut from new place. Cut from where we are already cutting.’, said Shabeer pointing to another field nearby. ‘And prepare a fresh chilam for us as I will join Tufail in the farmhouse’.

Imran went back to farmhouse which was about two fields away, and took Kaloo with him to the field where Shabeer has instructed him to go. Shabeer looked at the paddy nursery with satisfaction, told the boys to be quicker and walked away towards farmhouse.

‘Assalama alaikum, Choury Shabeer, ki haal hay (how do you do)’, Tufail said while getting up to greet Shabeer.

‘Rabb da baRa karam hay Tufailia’, tooN suna (God has been very kind Tufail, how about you).

‘Karam hay Moula da Choury Ji (God is very kind)’, replied Tufail.

‘Where is this boy’, said Shabeer looking around, ‘I told him to refresh the chilam’.

‘No problem Choury Saab; youth makes a man forget many things. Tell me where is tobacco and guR and I will make the chilam.’, Tufail rose up and followed Shabeer’s raised hand pointing to a shelf in the wall. He took some cow dung cakes from the neatly laid stack and prepared the fire.

They sat quietly for a while saying nothing, while looking at the fields filled with water in preparation of rice plantation.

Shabeer broke the silence, ‘Tufail!, I am worried about Imran. I am worried that if he goes astray, people will say that I could not bring up the son of my dead brother properly. Last night, I saw Cheemo SaiN coming out of the farmhouse. I don’t know, what this boy is upto.’

‘Why you worry Choury Shabeer’, smiled Tufail, ‘this is not something new. You yourself were used to have nocturnal visits to the ‘sayyaaN di vasti’ (christian’s quarters) in your youth. The boy is not doing anything new if he is sleeping with Cheemo’.

‘HaaaN (yes), you are also right. Everyone passes through this stage.’, said Shabeer looking sheepishly at Tufail who was putting guR and tobacco at the bottom of chilam, and then filled it up with the pieces of red hot remnants of cow dung.

‘Take it up,’ said Tufail forwarding the huqqa towards Shabeer.

Shabeer tried the huqqa two or three times before the tobacco taste hit his mouth. Tobacco was really good, and was given to his wife by her brother when he came over to meet her a few months ago.

Shabeer took a few more puffs before handing it over to Tufail, and said, ‘you know Tufail, Niamat Hanjrah’s daughter is selling his father’s land.’

‘I have heard that’, replied Tufail while taking the puff from Huqqa waiting for Shabeer to continue.

‘Rana Ahmad Khan is trying to purchase this land, and he has asked Karam Shah for that.’, Shabeer looked at Tufail before continuing. ‘Now, Karam Shah is saying that as my lands are next to Niamat Hanjrah’s lands, so I could purchase it if I want to.’

‘So, what are going to say to him. Are you planning to purchase them.’, said Tufail while passing the Huqqa back to Shabeer.

‘I can if I want to, but in that case I will be left with no money left for the expenses for the rice crop, and I have to take a loan, which I don’t want. But, if I do not purchase this land myself, Rana Ahmad Khan will purchase it, and I don’t know what type of person he is, as he is not from our village. You know, once he is my neighbor, I’ll be stuck with him forever.’, explained Shabeer.

‘So, if this person is a good person, then you have no problem’, inquired Tufail.

‘Of course, good neighbor is always a blessing.’, said Shabeer handing Huqqa back to Tufail.

‘Well, that is not a big problem. Why don’t you ask your mother. She knows the family of Karam Shah very well, and one of Karam Shah’s aunt is wedded in the Gondlanwala, which is the village from where Rana Ahmad Khan is’, said Tufail while taking a deep puff of Huqqa taking out the last remnants of tobacco in his lungs.

‘Ah, now that I a good suggestion. I think Bay ji will know much about them already.’, said Shabeer while getting up. ‘Okay Tufail, I have to go and check on these Azad Kashmiris working in my fields. They are good people, but you have to keep eye on them to make sure they are working.’

***
In the evening, when Shabeer was eating white boiled rice with whole masoor daal, he asked his mother, ‘Bay ji, do you know anyone in Gondlawala?’

‘Puttar (son), there are many homes in our village who have family relations in Gondlanwala. There are many girls of Gondlawala married to the boys of our village, and there are also many girls of our village married there. About whom do you ask specifically?’, said his mother while feeding the rice and daal to the four years old son of Shabeer.

‘Is there anyone married into Ranas’ of Gondlawala?’, inquired Shabeer finishing his meal and cleaning his fingers by licking the last residue of daal from it.

‘Yes, I know. The munj family is wedded to the Ranas. You know Naveed; his paternal aunt Nusrat is wedded there, and she is a good friend of mine. But what exactly you want to know.’, she asked curiously.

‘Bay ji, there is some Rana Ahmad Khan. I was just wondering, if you can find out about him because he wants to purchase Niamat Hanjrah’s land’, said Shabeer drinking water, and then easing off on the charpoy.

‘Ah, okay. His daughter died last year of cholera.’, his mother said slowly.

‘Died of cholera? Bay ji, no one dies of cholera nowadays.’, said Shabeer puzzlingly.

‘hmm, you are right that no one dies of cholera nowadays, but sometime it does happen; that is what they told the people.’, said her mother sheepishly.

There was silence as both fell silent for a while. Shabeer’s fourteen years old daughter brought huqqa for her father. ‘Jeendy reh, kaki (long live, my girl)’, said Shabeer as he sat up on the charpoy.
After taking a few puffs, he said, ‘‘Bay ji, you must have the knowledge as to what happened. This cholera story is not true, you know that.’

‘Puttar, she was in fourth year in college, and would have dome her BA, when her uncle asked her hand for his son, who did not even reach up to eighth class in school. As there was no other boy of her match in the biradari, so her father agreed to the proposal. But her mother and she herself loathed him. She even told her mother that she will not marry that boy.’, told his mother.

‘His father must have become mad at her when he would have been told’, Shabeer said while looking at his mother.

‘Yes, he was. He beat her up, but she wouldn’t budge. So one day, she eloped with a Gondal boy who used to go in the same bus with her to Gujranwala for his college, and married him.’

‘Bay ji, you are telling me that a rana girl eloped with a gondal. This is insane; what the world is coming to’, remarked Shabeer as he got up from his charpoy, and sat with his mother on her charpoy.

She continued ignoring his remarks, ‘When they ultimately found it, they met with the elders of gondal biradari, and told them to give their daughter back, otherwise someone might get hurt from their clan. Gondals consulted each other, and agreed to it. They made their boy divorce the girl and handed her back to Ranas.’

‘What happened next?’, asked Shabeer.

‘They beat her up badly, and decided that she be married in the first instance after her iddat of three months, as Rana Ahmad Khan threw his turban in the feet of her uncle to save his honor to which he agreed. They locked her up. But her mother was also with her daughter in this. One day she gave her all the jewelry that she prepared for her wedding and some money and helped her run away.’, she stopped as Shabeer’s daughter was coming towards them. She took all the utensils in which meal was eaten and took them away to wash them.

‘So, the mother also did not had any sense; no surprise that the daughter was like this.’, said Shabeer.

She continued, ‘When she was boarding the first available bus, her father saw her. He took the motorcycle, and took his son, and followed the bus, and caught it in Kalaskay. When bus stopped there, he entered the bus and dragged her out of the bus. People tried to intervene, but he said that it is his daughter and no one should interfere in this matter. So, people stayed away. Then he hired a van from there and brought back his daughter home. Next day she dies of cholera.’ There was a long pause before she continued, ‘and a few days later when her mother was visiting her mother’s house in another village, she died too. They say that the mother died by falling from the roof where she went to collect the red chillies drying in the sun. On way back, she just slipped when trying to put her foot on the ladder.’

He got up without saying anything and walked towards his wife. ‘I am going to the farm house to irrigate the fields, and will spend the night there.’, saying this he went out of the house.

On his way to the farmhouse, he took a detour to the farmhouse of Karam Shah. He knew that Shah ji would be there because Shah ji and his friends normally stayed there till mid night and discussed all sort of religious stuff there.

‘O ji aayaN nooN (welcome) Chaudhry Shabeer Hussain. How are you? Come and sit with me.’ said shah ji making place for Shabeer on his charpoy.

‘No Shah ji, I will not sit or stay. I was going to my farmhouse. You know someone has to be always there in this season to make sure that things are going okay. I just came to say that though I would love to buy the land of Niamat Hanjrah, but nowadays, my financial condition is a bit tight. Moreover, if you know Rana Ahmad Khan Saab, he must be an izzatdar person.’

‘Izzatdar person he is, for sure. But you at least sit for at least a puff or two of huqqa’, said Shah ji.

‘HaaN ji, vaari laan ch koyee haraj naheeN (yes, there is no harm in puff or two)…