The crowd packed around the stage watching the politician shake his left fist in the air. They watched wondering whether he was brave or a fool rebelling against Dilawar-Baksh. The politician turned to Muzzamil seeking his approval. Was he saying the right words? Muzamil gently nod his head with approval.

The sound of tyres screeching, horns blaring approached from the far end of the bazaar. Confusion erupted.
"Choudhary Shah Nawaz Qureshi has arrived! Choudhary Shah Nawaz Qureshi has arrived! Run!" The crowd yelled in panic and ran in all directions. Muzzamil's guards dressed in white, cocked their pistols read to fire. The audience filled with fear were trapped. The black cars locked them in from both sides of the bazaar. Guards dressed in black stamped their boots marched into the bazaar like the army loaded with heavy superior artillery appeared.
"Stay where you are!" Wajahat Ali roared shooting his pistol into the air spreading fear through the disobedient crowd. Guards dressed in black with the Qureshi household emblem printed on their kurtha fenced around the crowd. Meh'r-bano was familiar with their uniform, but never had she seen the sheer number of guards flood from all sides.
Muzaamil and his men stood up in alarm on the stage. The skinny politician stood behind Muzzamil in fear for his life. The guards pushed the crowd aside, parting the sea of villagers and created a gangway for Shah Nawaz Qureshi. Muzaamil's guards held guns to Dilawar-Baksh's guard, all locked with guns pointing at one another waiting for the second they are ordered to shoot. It would be a blood bath. Silence ensued. Everyone held their bated breath. In the crowd, Meh'r-Bano was pushed to the side. She was trapped. Nowhere to go. She heard the thunder of boots on the ground marching towards the stage. The screech of the microphone fed back. Men in black marched onto the stage to secure it for the arrival of Shah-Nawaz Qureshi. They all waited. The rally was secured by Shah-Nawaz Qureshi's army of guards dressed in morose black. The crowds eyes were fixated on the stage. Expectation silenced them waiting for the pinnacle moment. Hearts beat collectively. Meh'r-Bano raised herself up on her tiptoes to peer through the tall heads, but she couldn't see anything. Just figures, chairs, stage. A roar of applause and cheer erupted out of guilt for Shah-Nawaz . It was sparse and confused. Meh'r-Bano was pushed from side to side in the euphoria. Hands waved, shouts and called were yelled but Meh'r-Bano was lost in the crowd. She couldn't see anything.
"He's here!" A woman whispered. "Allah save us! He won't forgive us for being here. We've betrayed the noble household." There was nowhere for them to go but listen. Meh'r-Bano heard footsteps approach the stairs and then it was silence.. She took a deep breath.
"People of Jahanpur." That must be Shah-Nawaz, thought Meh'r-Bano. His voice was rich, deep with authority. He spoke clearly without the need for a microphone. He sounded calm. He was younger than the politician. "My father told to keep my friends close, but enemies closer." His voice echoed. Tense silence filled he gap. "I wear my enemy like a badge of honour on my chest." He thumped his chest. "Here."
"Every morning, when I get dressed the scar is on my bare chest and when I look at it, I remember the reason why I lived; to lead Jahanpur."
"His uncle, Choudhary Muzammil tried to kill him. It's common knowledge." The women filled in the gaps.
Silence ensued.
"On July twenty-eighth I will take throne of Jahanpur taking over from my father Choudhary Dilawar-Baksh."
A murmur of agreement erupted in the audience. Muzaamil's eyebrow creased. He rubbed his hands together and crushed his tasbeeh beads in his hand. In bid to steal a glance at the strong, powerful and deep voice on the speaker, Meh'r-Bano pushed passed the women in front. Through the shoulders, she finally glanced at Shah-Nawaz. She feasted upon his large figure. Meh'r-Bano dipped her knees and hunched down to see through the crowd. With a Kashmiri grey paisley shawl draped over his right shoulder with regal elegance the other end swathed over his left arm representing the young heir's noble status. He carried the shawl well, his back straightened, his shoulders square and elbows pointed back and out. His presence demanded the attention of the crowds. The stream of three lines of pearls dangled to the right sight of his black turban like a bridegroom, uniting at the front with a wine-red ruby seal brooch with a cluster of peacocks feather that formed a plume. They added his height exuding an air of royalty. Handsomely tailored crisp cotton white kurtha with a roguish open collar. On his right hand, dressed on his small finger, a sterling silver aquamarine topaz ring glimmered under the radiant sun. His attire was distinctive. She pushed through now eager to see glance at his face. But the women shoved her back.
"Jahanpur is a jewel." Shah-Nawaz continued. "Our wealth is the river, the fertile soil, our cattle and land. Night and day raiders enter land to loot our wealth."
Muzaamil shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. His tasbeeh beads speeded through his fingers. "I will protect this land from enemies." He glared at his uncle. "You will have puppets come and promise you democracy, freedom-" He scoffed at the wily politician who stood behind Muzaamil's seat.
"Look at the lands they currently lead, it's in turmoil. Load shedding, poor roads, poverty, unemployment. Let me tell you something, there is 0% unemployment in Jahanpur!" The crowd agreed in pockets.

"Everyone has food, shelter and water. Everyone has electricity. We are leaders. We are champions. I will continue my father's legacy." He exclaimed with confidence. "I come here to warn you of open emeries that sit along here, promising you the world, when it's their pockets they are enslaved to." He glared at his uncle.
"On July twenty-eighth every home in every village will be gifted with flour, sugar, rice!" The crowd cautiously cheered.
"A gift and a promise that each year on my inauguration anniversary all villagers will receive." His voice amplified with conviction. Meh'r-Bano struggled to see, only able to hear. The crowd cheered to support his stance.  Muzaamil lost the battle of words.
"I, Choudhary Shah-Nawaz Qureshi, will strengthen my father's legacy and continue to serve the people of Jahanpur so you won't have to rely on puppets of democracy or open enemies." The crowd roared in agreement. They all yelled his name.
"Choudhary Shah-Nawaz Qureshi Zindabad!" Arms in the arm, hands waving with the euphoria.

Excitement like electricity sent waves through the ladies complimenting on his handsome features, his strong powerful stance and his speech. His guards shot celebratory rounds in the air. Shah Nawaz lifted his hand to silence the gunfire, the crowd and finally made an announcement.
"I reward bravery, but I punish treachery!" His tone turned sinister. Shah Nawaz  snatched his guard's 9mm handgun and pointed at his uncle. He rotated his gun horizontally with a side grip aiming for his chest. The crowd gasped in fear. With the barrel pressed against his uncle's chest, he glared into his eyes. Muzaamil widened his chest and tilted his chin up glaring at his nephew in the eyes. Both men stood face to face. The guard's fingers on the triggers ready for a battle.
"I could shoot you here, Chacha Muzaamil." Shah-Nawaz grit his teeth. "It would be over in one shot."
"Try it! You won't get out here alive, my nephew." Muzammil responded with grit.
"You think so? My guards outnumber your twelve measly guards. I have another thirty on their way. All armed and ready to kill the moment I lift my finger. You want to play that game, I'm ready dear chacha." He promised.
"You won't win. You won't take Jahanpur." Muzaamil propped his chest forward against the pistol inciting his nephew.
Shah-Nawaz grinned. "But I won't shoot you here Chacha. After all, where is the joy in that. I want you alive." Shah-Nawaz smirked. "You witnessed the day I was born. You witnessed the day I survived an assassination. You, chacha Muzaamil will witness my inauguration."
Muzaamil grit his teeth. His face reddened with anger. His tasbeeh snapped and beads bounced on the stage floor. The crowd couldn't hear them, but read the rage through their body language.
"Once I take the throne, I will come for you and your family. I won't be lenient like my father. I will kill every male member-even your handicapped grandson." He screwed his nose. "Then, I will take your women to Manghal Haveli and sell them every night to different men!" He grunted. Shah-Nawaz pressed the gun hard against his chest. "You won't have a legacy left to claim Jahanpur, I will destroy it and strengthen my hold on Jahanpur." He promised. Muzaamil glared in his nephew's grey eyes with rage. His hands balled into fists. The crowd watching in anticipation unable to hear the threats  Shah-Nawaz promised. In a swift movement, Shah-Nawaz removed the gun from his uncle's chest and stepped back addressed the crowd.
"I will punish dissent. Everyone that is standing here will be punished. My guards will take your name, your thumb print and you will be fined ten thousand rupees, or two bags of wheat and corn from your harvest."
The crowd cried out in grief raising their arms. "Take them away!" Wajahat Ali ordered.

Muzaamil's plan failed. He climbed off the stage and made his way to this car leaving the crowd behind to be punished. The rush of the crowd grew wild. People panicked pushing and shoving. Another gangway was creating shoving the villagers back for Shah-Nawaz Qureshi. Meh'r-Bano was caught in the rush. The elbows jabbed her. Her shoes loose, she was worried she'd lose her shoe. The crowd cried out, their arms raised pleading for mercy. The guards struck them back with the end of their rifles. An old man fell to the ground and the crowd gathered around him. He crawled to Shah-Nawaz Qureshi's foot begging for mercy.
"Forgive me! Forgive me! I cannot afford another fine. We will die!" He held  Shah-Nawaz's peshwari chappal. Shah-Nawaz Qureshi shook his foot, but the old man held his foot with all his might.
"Get off me!" Shah Nawaz yelled.
In the melee, Meh'r Bano was shoved to the side, crushed in the furore. She tripped on her shoe and fell on the back of the old man. Fear crippled her. She gasped under the veil of her chador. She looked up in terror. There, in front of her, stood Shah-Nawaz Qureshi.
"Please! I beg you. I plead to you. Do not fine me." The old man cried.
Shah-Nawaz  grew frustrated. Wajahat Ali charged into the crowd making his way towards him. When Shah-Nawaz Qureshi looked down, he saw a veiled figure packed in the crowd piled on the old man's back. Her chador was black as the night. She placed her hand on the old man's back propping herself up and tilted her head back revealing her piercing emerald green eyes. Shah-Nawaz Qureshi held her wide eyes looking directly at her. He peeled off his shades removing the barrier between them. The cacophony of the crowd faded. Who was she? What was she doing kneeling with the old man? Her eyes narrowed with worry left him conflicted. Wajahat Ali arrived and pointed the barrel of his gun on the old man's head.
"Move! Get out of the way!" Wajahat Ali roared.
The crowd yelled and called out to Shah-Nawaz Qureshi. Briefly, Shah- Nawaz looked to Wajahat Ali, warning him not to shoot. When he looked down, the glimmering set of eyes were gone. He looked around but couldn't see the veiled figure. He pushed his shades over his eyes and nod at Wajahat Ali to shoot. A warning shot aimed into the sky set the crowd into a frenzy as they screamed in panic. The old man released Shah-Nawaz's foot allowing his to leave the madness of the crowd.

***

Sitting in the safety of the SUV, Shah Nawaz Qureshi leaned back with pride. He'd caught and killed the traitors and schooled his uncle. The inauguration was looming and there was ten days left to party.
"Where now, Choudhary Saab?" Asked the driver. "Sang e Mar Mar haveli?"
"No! Take me to Manghal Haveli." He ordered.
Tonight, he would drown in self-indulgence of beautiful women. At Manghal Haveli, young, agile and scantily clad women awaited him, ready to sway their hips for his attention to the sound of the tabla and sitar. Surrounded by good food, wine and the smell of sandal wood oil massaged into his muscular body promising a passionate night between silken sheets. 

***
On entering Manghal haveli, Shah-Nawaz peeled off his sunglasses glaring at the marvel of a building. With a large oval shape swimming pool at the foot of the haveli, the four storey building was constructed from marble and sandstone. This haveli was not like Sang e Mar Mar haveli. It was private and only those invited came and left. Standing at the front entrance between the large marble pillars stood Dilruba, Shah-Nawaz Qureshi's most desired thwaif. Dressed in heavily embroidered skirt, her henna pattern feet adorned with gold anklets and foot rings gifted by Shah-Nawaz. Dressed in gold from her fingers to her heavy earrings, her nose ring, she was a spectacle of gifts which Shah Nawaz Qureshi presented to her for each night she he devoured her flesh. He owned her. She danced for other men, but he warned the madam that she only spent the nights with him. Dilruba's heavy gungros jingled as she made her way towards her beloved, her eyes hungry devouring his hulking figure. 

"Salaam." She lifted her hand towards her forehead. Shah-Nawaz Qureshi doffed his head at her staring rudely at her beauty. Her black glossy hair decorated her shoulders, her heavy laden dupatta pinned securely on her head. She bowed before him taking his large strong right hand in her hands and kissed the back of his hand breathing in the smell of gunpowder and salt. She pressed his hand to her forehead showing a sign of respect and obedience.

"My heart has yearned for you, Choudhary Shah Nawaz Qureshi." Her crimson red lips pursed as she spoke softly to him. She pressed her hands on his strong arm.

"Tonight, is in my name." Dilruba feasted on his commanding presence. She ushered him into the betak where she'd prepared the evening. The room was sweetly perfumed with incense sticks and perfumed flickering candles with tinge of sandalwood. Carpets lay thick across the floors, edge to edge until there was no glimpse of the marble underneath. Crystal decanter filled with red wine, rustic brown whiskey and coal prepared hukah pipes ready to puff. Sofa divans spread in a semi circle the floor ready for the classical trained and skilled dancers. A band of four men, two masters at tabla, and a sitar ustad sat on plumped cushions in the far corner of the room ready to fire the tabla for the dancers. In the far end the highly skilled dancers dressed exquisitely in glittering diamante dresses waited demurely. The dancers glided on the thick Persian rugs, their ghunghroo jingled dancing on their ankles as they made their way towards Shah-Nawaz. One by one, the dancers bowed before him, taking his right hand and kissing the back of his hand and pressing it against their forehead.
The four dancers raised their hand to their forehead and greeted Shah- Nawaz.
"Adaab." They spoke softly with lure in their tones. Their madam trained the girls the art of seduction from an innocent age. Their life's goal was to please wealthy men in every way possible way and donning the garb of femininity with their wares. Dilruba tightened her grasp on Shah-Nawaz reminding the young inexperienced dancers that he belonged to her.
"Go. Fill the cups and bring them to Choudhary Saab." Dilruba ordered the girls.

Dilruba planned the evening for Shah-Nawaz pleasure. The tabla masters began to beat the drum preparing the first dance of the night. The music amplified echoing through the haveli. The dancers danced. Money showered on the dancers and drinks flowed. Shah-Nawaz Qureshi watched the elegant and skilled dancers sway their hips to the beat of the tabla. Their slender waists snaked on the carpet charming him with their dance. They bowed before him filling his glass with wine revealing their low cut buxom cleavage for him to feast his eyes. Their wide kohl adorned eyes held his wolf like gaze and they batted their heavy eyelashes demurely thanking him.
"You know the way to my heart, Dilruba." A dancer offered Shah-Nawaz crystal glass of whiskey carried on a silver tray.

Despite their sultry beauty, Shah- Nawaz shared his silken bed sheets and humid nights with Dilruba. The night was a long, sticky and humid night. His hulking figure weighted upon her slender body and her flingers splayed upon his back digging in whilst he passionately made love to her. She gazed at his manly thick beard with yearning deep and protruding. He was a wild passionate lover, rough at times when he'd return from a battle, but tender when he felt vulnerable. Shedding blood was for the day, the night was for shedding his clothes and satisfying beautiful women. 

***

Together with the old man, Meh'r-Bano pulled him from the ground and saved him from being trampled. He was a weak old man, dressed in a beige dusty kurtha and white salwar. He'd wrapped a small shawl around his head to protect it from the sun. He'd come to the grand bazaar to sell his home grown honey for a pittance.
"Stay on your feet Baba ji," Meh'r-Bano remained strong for the old man. "The queue is that way. Stay with me." She looked ahead where the guards packed the crowd and lined them up to take their details.
"I can't give my thumbprint beti." He lamented. "I can't afford it." His eyes were puffy and bloodshot. His skin blanched with fear.
"I know baba ji, but we are in the wrong place at the wrong time." Her voice muffled under her veil.
"My wife is bed ridden. I am her only carer. She is waiting for me. We have no children. The little money I make from selling my honey will be lost. I can't afford the fine. We will die. What am I to do?"
Meh'r-Bano's heart sank for the old man. If Shafiq found out she was at the bazaar, she would be in trouble. She held the old man's arm and observed the crowd. The guards watched with caution at the crowd. She had to get out with him. 
"We need to create a diversion, baba ji. We need to distract the guards and then we will escape."
"Oh no beti. My legs are frail I can't run." He shook his hands.
"Don't worry Baba ji. I am with you. This is our only chance. The crowd is dispersed into a line over there. Before we reach it we must escape or else we will have no choice but to press our fingerprints on the register."
"How will we do that?" He questioned.
Meh'r-Bano had no idea. But one thing she was certain of, she wasn't going to let her name or baba's name be recorded and thus fined. It wasn't a crime to attend a rally. They didn't deserve to be penalized.
"We'll get out of here baba ji. I promise." She was determined to  find a way, but time was running out.  

***
There you go guys, your introduction of Choudhary Shah Nawaz Qureshi. 

Like him or loathe him? Your thoughts?