The tribal elders stared from one face to another in uncertain silence. They had been gathered for a tribunal on the immediate orders of their leader, Shah Zaman. It had been five years since they had sat in this room - awaiting a momentous decision. But for some of them, anticipation had been replaced by a growing feeling of betrayal.

Shah Zaman had not informed them that he had been visited before as the threatening city boy had said. Why had they been kept in the dark about such a growing threat? Their children, their women, and their entire future were now at stake.

"Shah Zaman!" One of the daring tribal elders exclaimed. "How could you hide this from us? What a grave crime you have committed against your own!"

"Silence!" Shah Zaman roared, his eyes bloodshot with fierce retribution. How dare that swine send the filth of his loincloth to their doorstep? How dare they threaten him and his family after everything that had occurred because of them?

"Today there were three! Tomorrow there will be more!" The father of Palwasha and Bakhtawara cried. "You saw what they did to your daughter and Nazli! Tomorrow it will be our daughters!"

They nodded mutually - not caring that they were essentially threading on mutiny. Their leader had demanded silence yet no one cared for his commands. They wanted action. They wanted answers. And they wanted them now.

"I will speak to him tomorrow." Shah Zaman promised, looking suddenly weary. He was too old - his tired eyes had seen much, but never had he thought that he would ever face the threat of being homeless. His tribe had never asked much from anyone. They had been content with farming and working hard for their own survival. Until five years ago when the accident had occurred.

"Wahda karo! (Make an oath!)" They warned - pointing towards the sharp dagger that sat on a step underneath the Holy Qur'an. Shah Zaman glared disappointedly at the mistrust he spotted in their eyes before clutching the Qur'an with a cloth.

"I make an oath upon the word of my Khuda (Allah) that I will never give up our land." He kissed the Qur'an with a heavy heart and then grabbed the dagger. It was an old custom of theirs to make a blood oath - a principle that had been applied only a handful of times. Yet, this situation and the distrust he saw in their eyes called for it.

With a quick slice of his palm, he let ruby blood roll off his wrinkled skin. Yes, he was making a promise but did Shah Zaman and his people have it in him to defend their land? Could they with a few dozen guns and horses fight against men who had every evil invention at their disposal?

"Main wahda karta hoon. (I make an oath.)" But the words were hollow and did not come from his heart. Outside thunder erupted and a downpour of torrential rain came from the heavens. He heard the women scream and scramble to save their clothing that had been left to dry. Innocent children giggled, choosing to run under the rain rather than take refuge from it. And somewhere off in the distance, he heard a whisper of a voice - one that he hadn't heard in five years . . .

*** *** ***

The hotel waiters trembled and wished that the walls would engulf them as Anarkali had once been. The presence of the four men - no doubt, no normal men were sending ripples of fear in their hearts. Not to mention, they had booked the entire hotel and were now relaxing in the VIP lounge with pistols, rifles, and briefcases stashed with money littered everywhere.

But more than that it was the dark brooding look the one named Asadullah was sending to the newcomer. A murder was about to take place and they were about to witness it.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Finally, the question that everyone awaited was asked. Khalid merely chugged down a shot of whiskey - his demeanor relaxed and somewhat offensive when he put his feet up on the table and pointed them directly at his half-brother.

Asadullah glared down at his feet and then pulled out his Colt handgun. Without a momentary hesitation, he shot merely a breath away from his feet causing the waiters and the younger man to jump away.

"Bhai (Brother)! Is this how you will greet your baby brother after so long?" Khalid looked agitated. His half-brothers were all dangerous - far more than he and his siblings, but Asadullah was next level on this list. His father had warned him about staying away from Asadullah, but Khalid was going to prove to his father that he could lead the Black Panther Mafias better than a crazy, hotheaded psycho.

"Don't call me that, harami (bastard)." His fury was blinding him and his father would soon lose another offspring. Imad stepped forward - always the pacifist in difficult situations, yet his presence did little to tame the tumultuous waves of anger in Asadullah's veins. "Did Baba send you here?"

"Of course not," Khalid said, truthfully. "I came because I merely intended to lend you a helping hand." The second part of his statement was a blatant lie. He would make a deal with those smelly villagers before Asadullah could.

"I'll chop your hand off before that, baby brother!" Asadullah smirked darkly, extending his hand towards Fahad. He handed over the kukri dagger that he had used to threaten that insane girl who had nearly scratched his own skin off. What a crazy woman.

Khalid didn't miss the scratch marks on Fahad's hands. "It seems that they gave you a lot of trouble, eh Asadullah? Maybe you were too gentle with them."

His older brother merely twirled the dagger between his fingers. An image of a golden-haired girl sprang to his mind and he rolled his eyes irritated. Ever since they had returned to the hotel, Fahad had moaned about the crazy blonde who had nearly killed him. Imad had laughed at his remarks and Asadullah had remained quiet.

The truth was that he did not like riddles. And this certainly was a riddle for him - the girl being discarded off to the side like she didn't exist did not sit well with him. Also, he didn't like the fact that he had remembered her name. Nazli. She was insignificant - not one bit relevant to his endeavor yet he had remembered her name. And the sad, pathetic look in her eyes when the villagers had ignored her.

"You look perturbed, Bhai." Khalid was always perceptive when it came to emotions. Yet he always had a problem reading this particular brother of his - until now. The raw look of confusion and intrigue was as clear on his face as the blue sky outside.

"Yes, I am thinking of the different ways I am going to chop off your lending hand." But contrary to his words, he dropped the dagger and moved to the window. The valley was far off in the distant - the fog just barely allowing him a sight of the view. The tribals had one night - one night to make a rational decision for their future. For tomorrow, he would not show them any further clemency.

"Baba expects this deal to be sealed by the end of this week." Khalid reminded, more to himself than to Asadullah. Time was of the essence and he desperately needed to speak to those villagers. "By hook or crook."

"The only one who is crooked here is you, Khalid." Fahad laughed, stabbing the slab of meat before him. This valley had a lot of game and he would certainly have loved to spend time hunting deers. A markhor would be a nice addition to his collection.

"That's rich coming from a man who is the son of a whore." At his words, both Imad and Fahad tensed, but only one stood up with a gun pointed at his head.

"Say that again, kutte. (dog.)" For once Imad did not restrain his older brother. In fact, he had a strong desire to see that poor excuse of a man be put under six feet. Sometimes he wondered if Asadullah and Khalid were truly related. The only alikeness he ever spotted between them was the jet black eyes that were trademark to their family.

"Nazaaqat se baat karo. Gun mere paas bhi hai. (Talk nicely. I also have a gun.)" The hotel owner trembled. He should have known something was suspicious when a mysterious phone call had called a week before demanding to book the entire hotel. Plus, they had made double the payment for any troubles. As a pandemic rippled through the country, the business had been slow. So he had eagerly accepted the more than generous offer.

Asadullah had enough. First those bumpkins and now Khalid. His temper had little restraint, but everyone today seemed eager to get on his bad side. Promptly, he pulled out his gun and precisely shot his brother on his right arm. The gunshot was barely heard thanks to the suppressor, but Khalid gasped loudly and held his damaged appendage - a slight chunk of his muscle blown off.

"WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO!" He wailed, not bothered that tears were pouring down his sweaty cheeks. Asadullah had shot him. Him. His father had been right - this son of a bitch had gone crazy. His mother's death had made him insane.

"It barely touched you." The growing pool of blood and the pale faces of the staff were the only indicators that something serious had occurred. "I warned you, Khalid, to not interfere in my business. I warned Baba too. Guess no one wants to take me seriously until I start shooting."

"Baba will know about this, harami! (bastard!) I will make sure he strips you of everything! And when he does, I will be waiting!" At his words, the two supporters of Asadullah chuckled. The claim was ridiculous - everyone knew that only Asadullah was capable of inheriting the Black Panther Mafias. And Asadullah's father, Sikandar Khan was an opportunist - he would never throw away the only efficient breadwinner of the family.

With those final words, Khalid stumbled out the door - leaning upon a waiter. There was no ambulance service, so the hotel owner had offered to drive him to the nearest clinic. Finally, Asadullah thought, relaxing onto a plush sofa. No more dogs to deal with and he could for once get a shut-eye.

Soon the voices of Fahad and Imad dulled in the background. The hushed whispers of the waiters became muted and he was suddenly reinforced with the sight of a girl. Forgotten and discarded like he once had been . . .