Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat that threatened to drown out the murmur of the party. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the heavy wooden doors to the red and gold drawing room. The long, rectangular hall blazed with the light of countless chandeliers, each one a miniature sun, their brilliance reflected in the polished wooden floor. Servers in crisp black and white uniforms moved gracefully through the room, balancing silver trays laden with colourful juices and delicate finger foods. Her father, Chaudhary Allahyar, a commanding figure in his black sherwani and kulla, with his impressive moustache and a swirl of dark silk against his cheek, stood near the entrance. Abidah's steps faltered. She lowered her gaze, offering a respectful greeting to her father before venturing further into the room, her eyes scanning the crowd for her mother. Amidst the vibrant array of sarees and ghararas, the elaborate coiffures adding to the festive air, Abidah struggled to locate her mother.
Abidah finally spotted her mother, Neelam, deep in conversation with Ms Fatima Jinnah, a prominent Muslim leader and sister of the nation's founder, Muhammad Ali Jinnah. Ms Jinnah! Abidah thought, a thrill of awe mixed with nervousness. She ambled towards them, half-hidden behind her mother's shoulder as she offered a quiet greeting.
"MashaAllah, Neelam, your daughter has grown into a beautiful young girl," Ms Jinnah said, her voice warm and kind. "I hope you are doing well in your studies, Abidah."
Abidah nodded shyly, a blush warming her cheeks. If only Shair could see me now, she thought, her heart fluttering. She desperately hoped he'd notice she was no longer the awkward child he'd once known.
"Do you wish to study any further?" Ms Jinnah inquired, looking the epitome of elegance in her soft peach gharara.
"If my father allows me," Abidah replied, her voice barely a whisper, "I will become a dentist, like you."
A gentle smile touched Ms Jinnah's lips. "That is brilliant," she said, her eyes twinkling. "Fulfil your mission, and a great and sublime future awaits you, my child."
Abidah, flustered by the praise, managed a small smile and a mumbled "Thank you" before slipping away, her cheeks still flushed. She could feel Ms Jinnah's kind gaze following her as she made her way toward her giggling friends, who were waiting for her in a corner of the room. A dentist! She thought the idea suddenly seemed both exciting and daunting.
The party, hosted by her father, Chaudhary Allahyar, was a grand affair. As a senior politician, he had won the 1951 Punjab elections unopposed and was now a member of the National Assembly. The drawing room buzzed with the chatter of influential guests.
As Abidah looked around, she recognised faces and names whispered with deference—Nawabs, Chaudharies, Sardars, Maliks, and Waderas. This gathering was a living tapestry of the subcontinent's hereditary feudal system, a power structure that, for centuries, had vested absolute authority in men like these. Their influence was rooted in the limited education, weak democratic institutions, and scarcity of economic opportunities available to the common people, ensuring a populace that largely followed their commands. While such supremacy could breed both pride and apathy, the loyalty shown to these leaders, whether through love or ingrained habit, was undeniable. It was a system the British had cleverly reinforced during their rule, granting further power to those who cooperated, and tonight, its legacy was on full display in this very room.
Much like his ancestors, Chaudhary Allayaar considered the responsible stewardship of his lands and the well-being of his people his primary duty. However, he distinguished himself from his predecessors by becoming the first in his family to pursue a university education and actively engaging in national politics. His time at Aligarh University, often referred to as the "Muslim Oxford," proved formative. He had the privilege of interacting with luminaries like Sir Allama Muhammad Iqbal, Sir Aga Khan III, and the Nizam of Hyderabad. These exceptional leaders and their contemporaries ignited the spirit of the freedom movement in an entire generation of young Muslims. Aligarh became a melting pot, shaping a new wave of thinkers who recognised the devastating effects of illiteracy and economic dependence.
Now, as Chaudhary approached his twilight years, a sense of urgency gnawed at him. While he had cultivated numerous alliances, he lacked a true successor, someone with the energy and vision to carry his legacy forward. He yearned for a confidante, a trusted right-hand man who shared his commitment to building a better, more prosperous Pakistan. He needed someone to whom he could entrust his mission.
Since the untimely death of his dear friend, Nawab Umar Bahadur Khan, Chaudhary had taken a keen interest in his son, Shair. He recognised the young man's vulnerability, knowing that without guidance, he could easily fall prey to those eager to exploit his position and wealth. Chaudhary's years in the freedom movement had instilled in him a sharp understanding of character. He believed that, unlike other potential suitors, Shair's interest in his daughter, Abidah, would not be driven by her family's fortune or social standing. The nawab belonged to one of the subcontinent's most respected families, a lineage marked by significant contributions to the region's progress. Abidah, his only child, had been raised in a sheltered environment, and Chaudhary longed for her to find genuine love and care. He believed Shair could provide her with the security and status she deserved. In essence, Chaudhary had chosen Shair not only as a husband for his daughter but also as his political heir, a successor to his influence and vision.
***
As if orchestrated by fate, Shair arrived at the party at the very exact moment as Mr Latifur Rahman and Mr Akhtar Hussain. It was a happy coincidence, as the latter two gentlemen were celebrated members of Pakistan's gold-medal-winning Field Hockey team—the nation's first Olympic triumph. The assembled guests, who had been dispersed throughout the drawing room, now converged, drawn by the excitement. A wave of applause, enthusiastic and heartfelt, engulfed the three men in their impeccably tailored tuxedos. Abidah, her face radiant, felt a surge of emotion so powerful it brought tears to her eyes. It was a moment of national pride, a symbol of Pakistan's emerging identity, and to Abidah, it felt like a homecoming, a reaffirmation of belonging.
A distinguished gathering of politicians, bureaucrats, diplomats, feudal lords, and business owners formed a receiving line, each eager to greet the arriving guests of honour. Shair, the last to emerge, was a striking figure. His eyes, like polished emeralds, sparkled against the backdrop of his impeccably tailored, pitch-black tuxedo. His slicked-back hair accentuated his already handsome features, and an air of effortless charm radiated from him as he moved through the room. He greeted acquaintances with a warm smile and effortlessly made newcomers feel welcome, his easy charm putting them at ease. He was, after all, not just a gentleman but a rising star in the political arena, adept at navigating the complexities of this influential circle. A subtle buzz rippled through the room as he moved from group to group, his presence electrifying the atmosphere.