I spent the next two years searching for Faizan, Shahzadi and Saman with only little clues about their expected whereabouts. Shahzadi was taken by her fiancée and I knew the name of her village. I also knew that Saman went to Karachi with Shakoor where their relatives worked at the port.

However, I did not have any idea about Faizan except where he lived before shifting to Ayesha Manzil. He was Hakeem’s cousin and that was all I knew about him. After killing Hakeem and stealing my gold, he was on the run. Therefore, I decided to start searching for him as my first priority. I searched his room thoroughly but found nothing worthwhile that could lead me to him. I sat down and contemplated. He left early in the morning and the railway station was near the haveli. I spent next few days asking every person who worked at the railway station if they had seen anyone resembling Faizan but to no avail. Then I decided to go to the place where he lived before shifting to the haveli.

I went to his old house where he lived on rent.

“Faizan moved to this house on rent about three years ago after he got married,” the landlord told me.

Faizan belonged to Fazilka and I was aware that going back to Fazilka with family was not a safe option. It was the end of 1947 and the anti-Muslim riots especially in India continued unabated. Although I suspected that he might have left the gold at his native place because he had come back to Ayesha Manzil empty handed. It meant that he had come to take his family. He would probably leave them at some safe place and then go back to Fazilka and bring the gold. I was thinking on the same lines and was a little disappointed when the landlord told me something worthy.

“Once, some relative of Faizan had come to meet him from Sheikhupura. I had also met him as he stayed for a couple of days with Faizan. His name was Hamid Ali and he was in the business of scrap. He had come to Lahore to find a buyer,” the landlord told me.

Time was running fast. I decided to go to Sheikhupura and look for Faizan and if I failed at finding him then I will start looking for Shahzadi, whose village was near the city of Qasoor.

Sheikhupura is about 40km from Lahore. I thought about the current scenario and reached to a conclusion that Faizan might have gone to Sheikhupura to have a makeshift arrangement for his family. I came back to Ayesha Manzil and put Fazloo Baba, who belonged to one of the refugee families staying in my haveli, incharge of things.

“Look Fazloo Baba, I am going on a very important trip and it might take me a few days to return. Even if it takes longer, you know where the money is kept,” I said to him.

I told my mother that I would be back soon and she just kept looking at me in the answer.

Next morning, I started my journey towards Sheikhupura in a bus that took about one and a half hour to reach. It was not proved difficult to find the scrap dealer Hamid Ali in the small city. I met him at his shop that was filled with all types of material in scrap. The place was stinking horribly.

I introduced myself as a scrap buyer from Lahore and he looked at me with suspicion in his eyes. To him, I did not look like a businessman because of my age but my physique was good enough for him to believe in me. I even showed him the money which I was carrying and his eyes almost popped out.

“Get this whole scrap loaded in next few days and bring it to my place in Lahore,” I said to him giving him some advance and a fake address.

“Plus, I also need a place to stay for a night because I have few more errands to run,” I added hopefully.

“You can stay at my home,” he said, happily offering me his place.

It was about 2 p.m. when he took me to his place for lunch.

“I need to have some nap,” I said to Hamid after having a heavy lunch with him.

“You can take rest in the baithak,” he said before leaving for the shops.

It provided me with a golden chance to go inside his house. There was also sound of a small child in the house. I still needed more information to plan ahead. I went to the door which opened in the house and found it locked from other side. I knocked on it couple of times and then heard a female voice, “What do you want…?”

I replied instantly, “Can I get some tea.”

“Hamid Ali will be back soon and then you can have tea with him,” she said.

“I have a severe headache. Please make me a cup of tea,” I requested.

“Hamid Ali had told me not to open this door,” she replied and started to walk back. I heard her footsteps and knocked again.

“Please listen to me. I will pay you five rupees and Hamid Ali will never know about it,” I pleaded this time.

There was no response from the other side. 10 minutes passed and I started planning to forcefully enter the house. The door looked quite heavy. I was thinking of going out and climbing the wall but doing so in broad day light would be risky. I was still standing at the door when it opened and a hand appeared holding a mug full of tea.

“Here is your tea. Give me the money,” she said in whispers.

I took the mug and touched her hand that she retracted immediately and shut the door.

“Here is your money,” I said putting the cup on the table. The door opened again and there she was, standing right in front of me extending her right hand to get the money. I was not at all surprised to see her. She was though mesmerised to see me. She knew me well. She was Faizan’s wife. Before she could realise and turn back, I got hold of her arm and dragged her to the baithak.

“Do not shout or make any noise or I will kill you and your kid,” I warned her to which she obliged and stopped resisting.

I tied her hands with her dupatta.

“Where is Faizan?” I asked her in a threatening tone, my sharp knife on her throat.

“I swear, I don’t know. After he came back from where you had sent him, he brought us here and told us that he had some urgent piece of work and asked us to stay here until he is back. I suspected that something was not right but he did not tell me anything. Hamid Ali was very pleased to keep us here as he always had a liking for me. His wife is sick and he needed some attendant too,” she told me in one breath.

“Who else is here in this house?” I asked her.

“It’s only Hamid Ali’s wife, me and my child. There is nobody else here,” she replied instantly. She was a beautiful, young woman but her face had turned pale. Her eyes were wide open. She was terrified. She had started crying too. I was still thinking as to what to do next.

“What did Faizan do? Why are you looking for him?” She asked me.

“Faizan killed Hakeem and took all my gold,” I dropped the bombshell.

Expressions on her face changed from fear to disgust. She stopped crying. Then she looked at me and said, “I knew something was wrong when he woke us up so early that day and took us out of your house. I asked him several times but he did not tell me the truth. He, however, hinted once that our good days have started. So, this is what he meant from good days. I hate him now more than I ever hated him before. I never liked his greedy nature. I will do whatever you will tell me to do. I will fully cooperate with you.

I remained quiet and freed her hands. She wiped her face and said, “You gave us shelter and food and he betrayed you. He killed his own blood for gold. I will never forgive him. You just wait here. I will bring my child and go with you wherever you will take us.”

I had a plan to keep Faizan’s family hostage here and wait for him to come back with the gold. It was though a risky affair. Keeping Faizan’s family in the house was not a problem but holding back Hamid Ali for indefinite amount of time in his own house could raise suspicion. I immediately thought of an alternative plan. Now since, Faizan’s wife was cooperating with me I thought of taking them back to Ayesha Manzil.

It was only after a week that Faizan walked back into Ayesha Manzil with a bag full of my gold.

“Please forgive me and release my wife and child,” he begged. He had killed my friend and I was not in the mood to forgive. Yet I took the gold and let his wife decide about his fate. She was standing right beside me when from nowhere she took out a knife and pierced it though his heart.

“This is what you deserve. You killed my brother and I have taken his revenge. You must go to hell now,” she said in a hysterical voice.

It was only then that I came to know that she was Hakeem’s little sister. He had never told me about her. What else did he keep secret from me? Only the time will tell. Her name was Kulsoom and now I had to take care of her.