Chapter 4
Bibi - Jaan : Dear Lady ( term used for respected motherly figure )
This chapter is not edited so read at your own risk. Please vote, comment and follow for updates.
The living room couch was overflowing with gifts, hampers, and baskets — all wrapped in soft pastels and shiny wrappers that sparkled under the ceiling lights.
“Aap logo ki tayyari hogayi?” I asked Dad, who was busy stacking all the suitcases and duffel bags near the foyer, his brows furrowed in concentration.
(All preparations are done?)
“Almost done. We just need to take some more gifts,” Dad replied, counting the presents once more, like he’d done at least three times already.
Just to be sure. He ticked something off in his tiny pocket diary — the one he carried everywhere for reminders — and then he scribbled something underneath in his neat, tiny writing.
“The problem is we’re taking one car and there’s just too much stuff to fit,” Mom chimed in from behind a tall hamper of dry sweets.
She carefully placed the last basket on the dining table, let out a tired sigh, and pressed her hands against her lower back.
Without saying much else, she started walking towards the kitchen.
“Wese mein soch rahi thi mein bhi aati hu aap logo ke saath.” I cleared my throat loud enough to get their attention.
(I was thinking to accompany you both on this trip.)
There was a split second of silence. Then — Mom, who had just stepped into the kitchen, practically ran back like she’d heard a fire alarm. Both of them stared at me like I had grown two heads.
“Tum chalogi hamare saath?” they asked at the same time, stunned.
(You’ll come with us?)
Well, yeah, I had sworn I’d never step foot in Azamgarh again — especially after knowing how that place treated them. But something in me wanted to go. Maybe because I was born there. Or maybe, it was just because I needed a break from everything that was happening.
The truth was I needed to breathe. I needed to get away from this never-ending cycle of dull, grey days and fake smiles.
Away from the online activists posting nonsense about me, from Adeel’s creepy threats, from Neelo aunty and her kaala jaadu ( black magic ) stunts with her totkas ( rituals ) and bhaboot.
( Sacred ash/powder ). Azamgarh might’ve been stuck in the 19th century, but that made it the perfect hiding place.
No one would even think to look for me there.
“Areh bhai, kyun nahi. Vacation bhi ho jayegi,” I said, stretching my arms with a small smile as I stood up.
(Of course, why not? It’ll be a vacation too.)
“Ruko, Safiya.” But just as I was about to leave the room, Dad’s voice stopped me mid-step.
(Wait, Safiya.)
“Kya hua Dad? Any problem?”, I paused and turned around.
(What happened, Dad?)
“Beta, wahan jaane se pehle kuch baatein hain jo mujhe lagta hai tumhein pata honi chahiye.” Dad gently put aside the gift box he was holding and patted the empty space next to him on the couch, signaling me to come sit.
(Before you go there, my child, there are some things I believe you should know.)
I tilted my head a little, confused. What more was there to know? I already knew Azamgarh was clinging onto old traditions like a worn-out family heirloom. A place where outdated nawabs still walked like kings and women still whispered secrets behind pardahs ( veils ).
“What do you mean?” I asked. Mom had already taken her seat beside Dad, their faces stoic with something unspoken. Dad sighed, his expression softening as he looked at me with that warm, fatherly smile.
“This is going to be a long conversation. Come, have a seat.” I dropped onto the couch with a soft bounce, sitting straight with my hands folded on my knees, ready to listen.
“Meri jaan, tumne hamesha Azamgarh ke baare mein sirf humse suna hai, aur us jagah ko sirf hamari aankhon se dekha hai. Lekin har cheez itni simple nahi hain jitni dikhayi deti hai.” I blinked slowly, trying to follow where he was going with this.
(My dear, you've only ever heard about Azamgarh from us, seen it through our lens. But everything isn't as simple as it appears.)
“I don’t understand, Baba.”, He nodded like he expected, and kept going.
“Safiya, maine hamesha tumse kaha ke woh log mera parivaar hain.”, I leaned back slightly, my attention sharpening.
(Safiya, I always told you they were my family.)
“Lekin mein tumhare Dada-jaan ka apna khoon nahi hoon. Jab mein das saal ka tha, ek yateem, tab tumhare Dada-jaan ne mujhe godh liya tha.”
(But I wasn’t your grandfather’s blood. I was just a ten-year-old orphan when he took me in as his own.)
My breath hitched a little. Orphan? That meant… we weren’t actually blood-related to the family back there? Was that why Dad always looked so guilty whenever Azamgarh was mentioned? It wasn’t just about history — it was about obligation. He was obligated to the family who had provided for him.
“Unhone mere sar par apna haath rakha, mujhe ek naya jeevan, ek ghar diya. Lekin jab maine tumhari Ammi se shaadi ki, unhe yeh rishta kabhi manzoor nahi tha.” Dad passed me a sad smile, his arm wrapping around both Mom and me.
I could feel the weight of the past in his embrace — how much he had given up for the life we had now.
(He kept his hand on my head as a guardian, gave me a new life and a home.
But when I married your mother, he could never accept our union.)
“Tumhari Ammi... meri zindagi thi. Aur unke liye... sirf ek mulazim ki beti.” Mom didn’t say anything, just lowered her eyes, quietly holding Dad’s hand.
I knew this story, in bits and pieces. She used to visit the haveli with her mother, who worked for them.
That’s how Dad first saw her. He said it was love at first sight — he had fallen for her quiet smile, her soft voice.
He never saw her status. Just her.
(Your mother.
.. she was my life. But to them, she was just the servant’s daughter.)
“Main tumhari Ammi aur tumse se bohot pyar karta hu, aur tum dono ko chhod nahi sakta tha. Isiliye maine woh ghar hamesha ke liye chhod diya.”
(I love your mother and you, and I couldn’t leave either of you. That’s why I walked away from that house forever.)
I exhaled, shaking my head slowly.
“And you’re telling me all of this now? Baba, I already knew they were against your marriage. It’s not news to me.”
Dad gave me a tired smile, like he was expecting that too.
“Beta, unhe dosh mat do. Bhai aur Bhabi ne tumhare Dada-jaan ko samjhane ki bohot koshish ki, lekin woh apni anah aur khandani riwayat ke khilaaf nahi jaa sake.”
(Don’t blame them, my child.
Your uncle and aunt tried to make your grandfather see reason, but he could never go against his pride and traditions.)
I turned slightly, facing them both, my arms crossed.“Aur kya Azamgarh ab bhi waisa hi hai? Kya log ab bhi purane soch mein jeete hain?”
(And is Azamgarh still the same? Do people still live in that outdated mindset?)
Dad hesitated, and I could see he was holding something back.
“Beta, wahan ke log bure nahi hain…” Mom offered quietly. But I had heard enough.
(The people there aren't bad, my child…)
“Yeh sab jaanne ke baad there's no way I'm going there. That place and the people are dead to me now.”
Their heads snapped up at my words, eyes wide. For a second, I saw something strange in their expression — relief? But their faces were shocked when they heard my next few words.
“Kya aapko laga mein esa bolungi?”, I got up, circled around the center table and faced them with a look of stubborn amusement.
(Did you think I would say that?)
“I really wanna see what kind of place Azamgarh is. So I’ll go there.” Dad sighed, already looking stressed.
“Beta waha ke logo ke saath tum adjust nhi kar paogi aur pta nhi hume kitne din waha rukna pareh.” I shrugged.
(Child, you won't be able to adjust with the people there, and we don’t even know how many days we’ll have to stay.)
“Baba, kounsa mujhe waha settle hona hain? Bas ghumne hee touh jaa rahi hu.”
(Dad, it’s not like I’m going there to settle. I’m just going to visit.)
I turned on my heels, ready to pack my bags, but then glanced over my shoulder.
“Adjust kar bhi kon raha hain unke saath. I don't adjust to people, Baba, I make them adjust to me.”
(And who’s even trying to adjust with them? I don't adjust to people, Dad, I make them adjust to me.)
·
·
·
·
·
Safiya's footsteps faded up the stairs, soft and certain, but the silence she left behind in the living room was anything but calm. Her parents sat there, still frozen in place, their eyes trailing after her like they could somehow hold her back with just a look.
Wajahat sighed, a hand resting on his knee, while Rabia sat down slowly, pressing her palm to her forehead like the weight of the past had just dropped onto her all over again. Her voice was low, laced with fear, “Aapko usse mana karna chahiye tha...”
(You should’ve stopped her...)
Wajahat didn’t look at her, but the guilt was written all over his face.
He was trying to stay calm, trying to pretend like this wasn’t the worst thing that could be happening.
“Kaise mana karta... usse shak ho jaata. Tum jaanti ho hamari beti yoon...” he snapped his fingers softly, “sab samajh jaati hai.”
(How could I?
She would’ve suspected something. You know our daughter — just like that, she understands everything.)
Rabia didn’t argue. She just nodded, her fingers curling slightly into her lap. Safiya wasn’t like other girls. She could read people better than books, especially the ones closest to her. Hiding anything from her was like trying to stop the wind — impossible.
“Main nahi chahti ki woh wahan jaaye... Usse kabhi sach nahi pata chalna chahiye. Pachis saal pehle jo bhi hua, hamara yun poore khandaan se door rehna...” Rabia’s voice cracked midway, thick with emotion she had buried for decades.
(I don’t want her to go there… She should never find out the truth.
What happened twenty-five years ago… the reason we’ve stayed away from the entire family…)
There it was. The truth neither of them dared to say aloud. A truth that had wrapped itself around their lives like a chain. And now, their daughter — sharp, curious, stubborn — was walking straight into the very place they had spent years avoiding.
Wajahat tried to stay strong, but even he couldn’t hide the shake in his voice.
“Usse kuch pata nahi chalega, Begum... Kuch hi dino ki baat hai.”
(She won’t find out anything, Begum. It’s only a matter of a few days.)
But he didn’t sound too sure. Because deep down, they both knew — Azamgarh was not the kind of place that let secrets stay buried forever.
Rabia leaned back against the sofa, her worry etched across every line of her face.
“Mujhe ek ajeeb bechaini ho rahi hai...” she whispered, her heart restless, her mind filled with all the wrong possibilities.
(I have a strange restlessness inside me…)
Wajahat reached over and placed a comforting hand over hers. “Chinta mat karo... sab theek hoga!”
(Don’t worry... everything will be fine.)
Rabia nodded faintly, but her eyes slid shut as she silently prayed under her breath.
Not just for Safiya’s safety.
But for the past to stay where it belonged — in the dark.
·
·
·
·
·
The whole mansion was in chaos. Cleaners rushed around, dusting every surface like their lives depended on it. Some were hanging decorations and changing the fabrics around the house, while others were busy making sweets and all kinds of food for the guests.
Riffat, the lady of the house, was at the centre of it all—walking in circles, giving instructions left and right.
“Shabana, dono kamre saaf ho gaye?” She asked one of the maids, who quickly nodded in response.
( Shabana, are both rooms cleaned? )
“Jee, Bibi jaan. Har cheez waisi hi hai jaise aap chahti thi.” Riffat spotted another servant carrying some offerings meant for the dargah. Her eyes narrowed, clearly not pleased.
( Yes, Bibi jaan. Everything is just the way you wanted. )
“Mene kha tha na sab kuch vakt par pohoch jaana chahiye. Aur tumlog abhi bhi yahi ho.”
All of them lowered their heads as she scolded them.
She might be loving at heart, but when it came to discipline—she didn’t compromise.
( I told you, didn’t I? Everything should arrive on time. And yet, you’re all still here. )
“Ab jaldi jao. Zaviyar neh tumhe yaha dekh liya touh shamat aajayegi.” The men didn’t waste a second and almost ran out. Nobody wanted to face Zaviyar’s temper. Riffat shook her head and turned towards the other maids who were standing nearby, waiting for what to do next.
( Now hurry up. If Zaviyar sees you here, all hell will break loose. )
“ Mein chahti hoon ke haveli ka har kona chamak uthey. Aur haan, Safiya ka kamra—usey achche se sajana. Khwaish se mashwara le lena, har cheez behtareen honi chahiye.” The moment she said Safiya’s name, a few maids looked at each other, curious.
Everyone in the house knew about the guests who were coming.
Especially the girl—the one who had been away with her parents for so many years.
They had only heard stories about her and now, finally, she was coming back.
Just then, a few women came out from the kitchen holding small plates filled with food.
(I want every corner of this haveli to shine. And yes, Safiya's room—decorate it beautifully. Ask Khwaish for help but make sure that everything is perfect.)
“Yeh kya Ramsha? Maine kaha tha na pheerni mein kaaju mat daalna. Theek hai, ek kaam karo—Safiya ke liye sheer khorma bana do. Aur is baar, kaaju door rakhna.” Riffat sighed, rubbing her forehead.
It was getting exhausting trying to make everything perfect.
(What’s this, Ramsha? I told you not to add cashews to the pheerni.
Fine, do one thing—make sheer khorma for Safiya.
And this time, keep the cashews far away from it.)
But before she could say anything more, a deep voice echoed through the hall, and suddenly, everyone froze.
It was him.
The servants quickly bowed their heads as Zaviyar appeared at the top of the stairs.
Dressed in a white pathani kurta and a royal-looking black shawl, he looked like he had walked straight out of a period film.
Tall and broad, every step he took felt heavy with power.
His eyes were dark, unreadable, and intense enough to make anyone nervous.
“Assalamualaikum, Ammi... koi mehmaan aa rahe hain kya?” He greeted his mother politely, bending to kiss her hand. Riffat smiled warmly, though it faded a little as she answered.
(Assalamualaikum, Ammi... are we expecting guests?)
“Woh... Wajahat aur Rabiya aa rahe hain.” The moment he heard the names, his jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything, but the irritation was written all over his face. After a brief pause, he tried to move the conversation along.
(Yes... Wajahat and Rabiya are coming.)
“Aap kisi ka zikr kar rahi thi abhi?” Both of them walked toward the dining area where Khwaish and Kabir were already sitting, clearly mid-fight until they saw their older brother. In a split second, they straightened up like nothing had happened.
(You were mentioning someone just now?)
Zaviyar raised an eyebrow when he noticed something strange. A fork. In Kabir’s hair. Khwaish gave Kabir a hard nudge, making him groan out in pain, “Abeh moti itni jor se marta hain kya koi.”
( Hey fatty, who the hell hits that hard? )
“Huliya theek kar nhi touh.”, She hissed, trying not to laugh seeing his sulken face that resembled a donkey according to her.
( Fix your appearance, or else... )
Zaviyar walked over and sat at the head of the table. Riffat signaled the maids to begin serving breakfast.
“Haan, unki beti... Safiya. Yaad hai tumhe? Bachpan mein tum dono saath khela karte the, din bhar.” Zaviyar didn’t respond at first. He looked at Kabir for a moment before getting up, walking over, and calmly removing the fork from Kabir’s hair.
He placed it gently on the table with the rest of the cutlery, then flicked Kabir’s forehead making him wince in pain but he fought back the moan of agony that ought to come out.
(Yes, their daughter... Safiya. Do you remember? You two used to play together all day long when you were little.)
Riffat and Khwaish chuckled at the scene, while Kabir sat there, rubbing his head and pouting.
“100 hitler aur noyan mare honge tab yeh paida hue honge.”
( A hundred Hitlers and Noyans must’ve died before he was born. )
Riffat smiled a little as her thoughts drifted to the past, happy memories of when they all lived together as a happy family.
“Haan, tab tum aath saal ke the aur woh sirf teen ki. Itni chhoti thi... jab maine usse aakhri baar dekha, uski yaad bhi dhundli si lagti hai.”, she sighed, gently tilting her head to not fall apart on the mention of the family who she had held dear to her heart.
(Yes, you were eight and she was only three. She was so small the last time I saw her, even the memory feels like a blur.)
Kabir quickly pulled out his phone, scrolling through it with wide eyes.
“Maine dekha hai unhe. Kisi politician ka case lad rahi thi, na?” He held up the screen to show a clip.
(I’ve seen her... she was fighting a politician’s case, wasn’t she?)
In the clip, a girl draped in black robes spoke with confidence and authority, her voice powerful like the tiger's roar and head held high, ‘ Someone had to fight this case, Miss Maya. But I fail to understand how you can question my integrity when you yourself bailed out your brother—if I recall correctly, he was jailed for allegations of sexually harassing a young girl. ’
Her words were firm, impactful and compact. No beating around the bush, straight to the point and one that spoke only when absolutely needed. Riffat nodded proudly.
“Bohot khoobsurat hai woh, Ammi. Aur unhone jo dalil di activists ke saamne... kamaal thi.” Khwaish chimed in too, remembering the court hearing that was live broadcasted along with her answers to the press and the activists.
(She’s really beautiful, Ammi. And the way she held her ground in front of those activists... it was remarkable.)
“Mene bhi unki ek viral clip dekhi thi. Esa lag raha tha ki bhai baat kar rahe hain.”, Kabir said non-chalantly biting into an apple.
He failed to notice the tremble in the poised movements of the lord of the mansion.
( I also saw one of their viral clips.
It felt like the guy was actually talking. )
“Khan'o ka khoon hain, nidar aur dilair touh hogi hee na.”
( They’re Khans by blood — no wonder fearless and brave. )
Zaviyar looked up from his plate, his spoon stuck mid-air as he glared at his brother. Riffat noticing the silent, intense approaching storm quickly stepped in dismissing all talk at the table.
Riffat raised her hand to stop the chatter, “Bas! Ab sab log khaana khao.”
(Enough now! Everyone, start eating.)
Then she turned to Zaviyar again.
“Zaviyar, woh log ab tak pohochte honge. Tum unke swagat tak ruk jaate.”, Zaviyar stood up again, adjusting his shawl without saying much.
His expression was calm, but distant. His gaze travelled across the room, his blood boiling at the sight of people celebrating the arrival of people he least wanted to have any connection with.
(Zaviyar, they will arrive any minute now. You could’ve at least stayed to welcome them.)
“Yahan unka swagat karne ke liye kaafi log hain. Ek aadmi kam hoga toh farq nahi padega.” Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.
(There are plenty of people here to welcome them. One man less won’t make a difference.)
“Khuda Hafiz.”
(Goodbye.)
·
·
·
·
·
The two cars stopped in front of the huge metal gate, which was beautifully decorated. People lined up on either side of the entrance.
( I didn't get a pic according to my vision so..... )
There stood as she was usually addressed — Bibi-jaan, also known as their badi Bhabi-jaan for their welcome. She beamed at the couple, wiping a stray tear that trailed down her cheek. She was finally seeing them after 25 years, she couldn't help but break into fits of tears as they approached her.
“Bajjo...” No more words were shared as Rabia clung to Riffat and cried. Wajahat smiled seeing his wife and sister in-law.
(Sister…)
Riffat crossed her arms when Wajahat approached her and turned the other way, making an angry face.
“Itni narazgi ki humse baat bhi nahi karengi ab aap?”, she wiped away the tear that trailed down her cheeks.
She slowly turned around facing the grown up man.
So many years had gone by, so many lost moments.
(So angry that you won’t even talk to us now?)
“Kyun chale gaye, Wajahat?”, she placed her hand on his cheek wiping away the tears from his eyes. Her voice cracked at the end.
(Why did you leave, Wajahat?)
“Main reh kaise sakta tha, Bhabi?” Another man approached the trio making Wajahat look at him with guilt. It was Nauman Khan, Wajahat's elder step-brother.
(How could I have stayed, Bhabi?)
“Bhai-jaan...” (Brother…) he was engulfed in another hug by his elder brother who stood with authority but Wajahat could see how he struggling to keep a strong front.
“Ab wapas nahi jaane dunga main tumhe. Yahin rahoge hamare saath.” (Now I won’t let you leave again. You’ll stay here with us.) Nauman says with certainty.
“Waise hamari lawyer sahiba kahan hai, nazar nahi aa rahi...”
(By the way, where is our lady lawyer? Haven’t seen her yet…) Nauman asks looking around for his niece, excited to meet her for the first time after years.
“Woh rahi...” (There she is…)
Wajahat looked back, pointing towards the approaching car that stopped by the entrance. Safiya who was driving her own car, stepped out of the car. She spotted her parents standing next to another elderly couple and walked towards them all the way feeling several prying eyes at her.
‘Yeh hai kya, chhote sahab ki beti?’
[Is that really the younger sir’s daughter?]
‘Kya pehen rakha hai isne?’
[What is she wearing?]
‘Sheher ki ladkiyon ko kya pata haya kya hoti hai?’
[City girls don’t even know what modesty means.]
‘Maine suna koi badi wakeel hai.’
[I heard she’s some big lawyer.]
‘Tauba hai, jawan ladki ko mardon ke beech court kacheri karne bhej diya.’
[Shameful—sending a young girl among men to fight court cases.]
She could hear the people whispering about her which made her conscious of her surroundings but she pushed that to the back of her mind and walked towards her family.
“Assalamualaikum, yahan sab ro kyun rahe hain...”
[Assalamualaikum, why is everyone crying here...]
“Ek minute, Mr. Khan—aap yahan?”
(Wait a minute, Mr. Khan—you’re here?), Safiya squinted her eyes at the sight of her client standing before her. Her words left everyone shocked, the sudden revelation unexpected by the other three.
“Beta, tum bhai sahab ko jaanti ho?”
(Child, you know him?) Wajahat asked surprised at his daughter recognising and addressing her uncle.
“Baba, yeh mere client hain.”
(Baba, he’s my client.) She stated overcoming the shock trying to piece the puzzles together.
“Aap sheher mein chhup chhup ke Safiya se client bankar milte rahe aur humein bhanak tak nahi lagne di?”
(You kept meeting Safiya as a client in secret and we didn’t even get a hint?)
Riffat gasped at the sudden realisation of why her husband used to go to the city to meet his lawyer even though they already had an outstanding lawyer with years of experience.
“Apni bachchi ko bade hote hue dekhna chahta tha.” ( I just wanted to watch my daughter grow up. )
Everyone's heart melted at the sight of Nauman placing his hand on Safiya's head blessing her. He always wanted a daughter and before his own daughter was born he had already fallen in love with the little angel that filled their house with love and happiness.
Riffat gestured to the servants to bring over the baskets of clothes and food. She took a stack of notes circling it around Safiya's head and gave it one of the servants.
“ Beta ek baar inn cheezo par apna haath rakhdo. ” Safiya found it weird but nonetheless went along with whatever they were doing. She watched as all the clothes and money were distributed among the people.
“Chalo sab andar chalo. Aaj ki daawat behtareen hogi.”
(Come on everyone, let’s head inside. Today’s feast will be grand. )
Riffat announced welcoming all of them inside the house. Safiya took in her surroundings, the big castle-like infrastructure of the building had her in awe.
Did her family belong to royalty? Was she a lost Princess or something? She chuckled at her thoughts and proceeded inside the castle-like building.
This was going to be a long vacation.