Chapter 3: The Hunter's Knock
It was a Sunday afternoon when Arsalan's white car pulled up in front of Hammad Sahab's house. Jamila, Shamma Begum, and Arifa were prepared to perform the biggest "act" of their lives. Jamila had traded her usual flashy style for a simple, dignified outfit to appear as a sophisticated elder sister. As she stepped inside, the elegance of the house—the scented library and the literary quotes on the walls—sparked a flicker of greed in her eyes, which she quickly masked with a humble gaze.
Jannat Bibi (Amma Ji) welcomed them, but her experienced eyes found their excessive "gentleness" a bit unsettling. In the lounge, Shamma Begum immediately sat by Shaanzay's grandmother and kissed her hand. "Auntie, meeting you feels like the scent of my own mother. There is so much peace in this house, just like we try to maintain in ours," she said with such feigned humility that even the principled Dadi Jan began to melt.
Turning the conversation toward Hammad Sahab, Jamila spoke with honeyed words. "Brother, we aren't just looking for a match; we are here to take a daughter. Arsalan is an only brother, and his sisters adore him. We want a daughter-in-law who can nurture our home with love, just as we do." Hammad Sahab felt relieved, believing his daughter was heading toward a "Safe Fortress."
When Shaanzay entered with a tea tray, Arifa rushed to take it from her. "Oh no, Bhabhi! Why bother? You are the princess of our home. Your hands are meant for books; we sisters are there for the kitchen work." Shaanzay blushed and offered a shy smile, unaware that these cunning women were already plotting how easily they could control her innocence.
Dadi Jan, moved by Jamila's words, remarked, "Dear, our Shaanzay has been raised with great tenderness. No one has ever raised their voice at her." Jamila squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Auntie, don't you worry. In our house, raising one's voice is considered a sin. Arsalan is so obedient he doesn't even take a sip of water without my consent. Just say yes, and you will never regret it." This was the sentence that washed away Dadi's last bit of hesitation.
During dinner, their behavior remained exemplary. Jamila even brought up Arsalan's first marriage with calculated caution. "Brother, Arsalan's first wife was a good person, but it wasn't in her destiny to stay with us. She had 'modern' views and no interest in domestic life. We tried our best to save the home, but perhaps Allah had other plans." They told this lie with such conviction that Hammad Sahab actually felt pity for the family instead of the first wife, Nousheen.
Before leaving, Jamila slid an expensive gold ring onto Shaanzay's finger. "Consider this match fixed! Next time we come, we will take our bride with us." Dadi embraced Jamila, thinking she had found a diamond of a family for her granddaughter. Little did she know that what she mistook for diamonds were shards of glass that would soon make Shaanzay's life bleed.
Once they left, Hammad Sahab breathed a sigh of relief. "Mother, Jamila is so sensible, isn't she? I think Shaanzay will be very happy there." Dadi nodded in agreement. Meanwhile, in the car, the fake smiles vanished. Jamila turned to Arifa and smirked, "See? That's how you handle 'educated' people. Once the wedding is over, we'll show this 'professor's daughter' how a house is really run."
While Jamila wore a mask of nobility in public, her own home was in moral decay. Her son, Mohsin, the apple of her eye, was spinning out of control. That evening, as she returned, she hoped to talk to him, but he was already heading out with friends. "Mohsin, wait! Look at the 'diamond' girl I've found for your uncle," she called out. Mohsin didn't even look back. "Mom, I don't have time for your emotional dramas," he replied coldly and drove away. Jamila's face flushed with anger, but hearing her husband Afzal's car, she instantly fixed a fake smile. For years, she had hidden Mohsin's misbehavior from Afzal to maintain her "ideal mother" image.
As she served tea to Afzal, her daughter called, crying about her in-laws. Jamila took the phone to a corner and whispered "tips" she had practiced all her life. "Listen to me! There's no need to serve your mother-in-law. Rest in your room all day. The moment your husband returns, run to the kitchen and look exhausted. Tell him the others forced you to work despite being unwell." Jamila wasn't teaching her daughter how to build a home, but how to destroy one through manipulation.
Back at Arsalan's house, wedding preparations were more about cunning than joy. Shamma Begum and Arifa were sorting through Nousheen's (the first wife) old clothes. "Mom, these outfits are still new. We'll just change the laces, repack them, and give them to Shaanzay. She'll never know," Arifa suggested. Arsalan stood nearby, watching his family's petty greed. He felt a wave of disgust seeing his ex-wife's belongings being recycled for his new bride. He wanted to speak up, but Jamila's sharp gaze silenced him. He walked out to a friend's place, hiding his helplessness in clouds of cigarette smoke.
These women had high expectations; they believed a professor's only daughter would bring a car, gold, and a massive dowry. To them, Shaanzay wasn't a bride; she was a "golden goose" about to enter their cage.
Jamila played one last card. She called Shaanzay's Dadi Jan and acted noble. "Auntie, we hear people demand dowry these days, but we want nothing. Just your blessings." On the phone, Dadi was deeply moved. But as soon as Jamila hung up, a venomous smile touched her lips. She called her mother next. "Mom, I told them we don't want anything so our reputation stays high. Don't worry, she's an only daughter; they won't send her empty-handed. The more we say 'no,' the more they will give to show off. Get ready, we're going there tomorrow to finalize the date—and dress well, we need to look like royalty."
To be continued...
Written by Ishrat Khanum
Copyright © 2026 by Ishrat Khanum. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced or copied without the author's permission.