Chapter 3: The Jirga's Verdict
The news spread like wildfire, scorching every ear in the district. Bushra Afridi had not demanded gold or land for her brother's blood. She had demanded a man. And not just any man—Jasim Karani, the golden heir.
The tribal jirga was convened at dusk in the open field between the two families' lands, a neutral ground soaked in old grievances. Elders from surrounding clans filled the rope-bound enclosure, their faces grave under the lantern light. The air thrummed with a tension thicker than the gathering night.
On one side sat the Afridi men, Sohail and Yazan radiating impotent fury for being upstaged by a woman. Bushra sat slightly apart, draped in a simple white *shalwar kameez*, her head covered but her face exposed—a bold statement in itself. She was a solitary island of calm in a sea of masculine agitation.
On the other side were the Karanis. Waaris looked decades older, his eyes hollow. Beside him, Jasim was a study in controlled storm. Dressed in a crisp grey *shalwar kameez*, he sat perfectly still, but his knuckles were white where they gripped his knees. His wife, Hurma, was conspicuously absent, locked away in shame.
Sar Chaman, the head of the jirga, a man whose beard was white with wisdom and whose eyes missed nothing, called the gathering to order. The facts were presented: the secret meetings, Zaron's fatal rage, his flight.
Then, the floor was opened for the blood price.
Sohail Afridi stood, pounding his fist into his palm. "We demand five crore rupees! And the eastern farmland! And Zaron's head!"
It was a brutish, traditional opening bid.
Waaris Karani stood, his voice weary. "We will pay the blood money. We will give land. My son is a fugitive. Punish me, but do not destroy my entire line."
Sar Chaman listened, his expression inscrutable. This was the old dance, and they all knew the steps. He was about to speak, to begin the negotiation, when Bushra rose to her feet.
A ripple of shock went through the assembly. A woman speaking in a jirga was like a fish addressing a parliament of birds—an unnatural, disruptive act.
"Sar Chaman Sahib, respected elders," her voice rang out, clear and unwavering, cutting through the muttered disapproval. "My brother is not a piece of livestock to be priced in rupees and acres. He was the future of our family. The Karanis have taken our future. I ask for theirs."
She turned and pointed directly at Jasim. "I demand Jasim Karani enter into *nikah* with me. He will live as my husband in the Afridi haveli, his autonomy forfeit, until his brother is delivered to justice. This is my *qisas*. My retribution."
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the crackle of lantern flames. Then, the uproar erupted.
"This is against all tradition!"
"A woman cannot claim a man as compensation!"
"It is an abomination!"
Jasim shot to his feet, his control shattering. "You wish to make me a slave in the house of my enemy? To parade me as your trophy? This is not justice; it is your twisted revenge fantasy!"
Bushra didn't flinch. She faced the elders, her logic as cold and sharp as a surgeon's blade. "For generations, our women have been given as *vani* or *swara* to settle men's disputes. You call it tradition. You call it peace. Today, I use your own tradition. If a life can be compensated with a person, then I choose the person who represents their family's future. Is the life of an Afridi man worth less than that of a Karani woman? Or are your rules only sacred when they subjugate *our* gender?"
Her question hung in the air, a challenge that struck at the very hypocrisy of the system. The elders exchanged uneasy glances. She had boxed them in with their own customs.
Sar Chaman stroked his beard, his keen eyes studying Bushra, then Jasim, then the seething faces of the men. The tension stretched taut enough to snap.
Finally, he raised his hand for silence. When he spoke, his voice was heavy with the weight of a precedent about to be set.
"The blood has been spilled. The debt is owed. Bushra Afridi's demand is… unprecedented. But it is not, in the strictest interpretation of our ways, invalid. She claims *qisas*—an eye for an eye. They took her family's male heir. She demands theirs."
Jasim's father cried out, "But Sar Chaman Sahib—!"
"I have not finished," the old man said, his tone brooking no argument. "Jasim Karani will be given to Bushra Afridi in a *nikah* of blood compensation. He will reside at the Afridi haveli. His movements and major decisions will be subject to Bushra's approval until the fugitive Zaron is captured or killed."
He paused, letting the devastating verdict sink in. Jasim looked as if he'd been physically struck.
"However," Sar Chaman continued, "this is a *nikah* of compensation, not necessarily of consummation or lifelong bond. Once Zaron faces justice, Jasim may choose to annul this union. But until that day, he is bound. The jirga has spoken. The matter is settled."
Settled. With those words, Jasim Karani's life was unraveled. His freedom, his pride, his very identity were legally signed over to the woman whose brother's blood stained the earth.
The Afridi men were stunned into a grudging silence. They had won, but the victory tasted alien, claimed by a woman's will.
As the jirga disbanded, Bushra walked past Jasim. She didn't look at him, but her words were for him alone, a soft, lethal whisper.
"Pack your things, *Khan*. Your new home awaits. And do not worry about your first wife. I am not interested in sharing a bed with you. I am only interested in owning the space above your head."
Jasim stood rooted to the spot, watching her walk away, a white ghost fading into the darkness. The heat of humiliation burned through him, but beneath it, something else stirred—a fierce, calculating resolve. She thought she had caged a trophy. She had no idea she had just brought a wolf into her home.
He would play her game. He would endure her ownership. But he would find a way to turn her own weapon against her. This was not the end. It was the first move in a new, more intimate, and far more dangerous war.