Revolt Read Online Free Page B

the woman’s beseeching gaze, requesting his permission to either step forward into the crowd or to disappear into anonymity once more.
    Laila drew her garland of thickly knotted rosebuds from under her
chador
. Ali closed his eyes tight. Hers continued to plead.
    ‘Please let me!’ they begged.
    Ali surrendered, humanity kicking in. A smile of approval flickered across his face, head dipping. It was up to almighty Allah now.
    Heart thudding, Laila took tentative steps into the crowd, pressing the flower garland to her chest, her other hand holding the fold of the
chador
up to her mouth. Some well-wishers, recognising her, let her pass and waited with bated breath.
    Laila hovered three paces behind the tall broad-shouldered young man. Soft lips parting and voice husky, ‘Arslan,’ she whispered.
    Arslan turned, his handsome mouth parting in pleasure, the cobalt-blue eyes scanning the partially hidden face of the woman standing in front of him. Laila heard the indrawn breath of Master Haider, standing two yards away.
    Laila held her garland in her hands. Standing on her toes, she reached up for his neck, but another masculine arm neatly sliced between them, pulling him away.
    Laila stumbled backwards and the garland fell to the ground. Arslan glared at his father, electrifying the villagers looking on.
    Keeping his face straight in front of the well-wishers, Haider coldly announced, ‘Your mother is waiting, my son!’ digging his fingers hard into his son’s elbow. ‘Let’s go inside!’ Arslan felt the full ruthless strength of his father’s fingers and surrendered, letting himself be pulled, his bewildered gaze fixed on Laila’s lowered face.
    Then, before his horrified eyes, his father’s silver-embroidered
khussa
-clad foot fell flat on Laila’s garland, crushing the neatly threaded rosebuds into the dust.
    Laila raised a pain-filled face, but the head had already turned.
    Attempting to salvage the situation, Ali dutifully stepped behind Arslan’s figure, cutting him off from Laila. Ali’s tearful eyes begged forgiveness of the woman who offered an anguished screen of shimmering blue water.
    The shocked well-wishers nervously stepped aside to let Arslan and Haider pass. Some mischievous pairs of eyes remained on the crushed garland and the woman who mutely stared across at Mistress Gulbahar’s stricken face peeping from behind the
hevali
door. Then Mistress Gulbahar hurriedly drew back as her two beloved men entered, thrusting the tall door wide open. A small group of relatives followed behind.
    Ali, last to enter, shut the door behind him.
    The village people, talking in hushed voices and casting their last glances at the woman still staring at the closed gates, made their way back to their homes.
    Behind the
hevali
gates, a pair of keen eyes rested on the remaining pink and red roses scattered on the dusty ground.
    *
    In the
hevali
courtyard, Arslan stood stiffly in his mother’s arms, letting her rain kisses over his face and shoulders in a bid to reassure herself that he was actually back – all in one piece. Gulbahar just couldn’t get enough of her son.
    ‘He’s home, Haider Sahib!’ her quivering voice addressed her unsmiling husband from across the courtyard. Then she looked expectantly at her son. Smile faltering, Gulbahar stepped back.
    ‘Arslan?’
    Arslan pointedly held his father’s gaze, mouth parted to storm at them, but the words died on his lips as he watched the light of love slip from his beloved mother’s face. The dull wary look was back, the beautiful mouth drooped. Where had that sparkle from his childhood days gone? But he knew – did he not?
    ‘I’m tired from the journey, Mother,’ he gently offered, masking his thoughts and feelings; after all, it was not his mother’s fault. ‘I need to rest.’
    ‘Guests are waiting to meet you, my son,’ his father mocked.
    ‘They can wait!’ Arslan swiftly rounded on his father. ‘As someone else had to wait for ten years