Dilbar | ???? ?

Swirling the paperweight in his hand with an absent mind, Zaigham was only vaguely aware of what the minister was speaking about. The cabinet meetings were the reason for Zaigham's deep-rooted hatred and more so, were the suggestions by a certain group of people to buy votes at the time of the election.

"What is so wrong with it? Everyone turns to something corrupt at least once and this time, we need the votes!"

"I agree with him. Abbasi sahab, it's not like we indulge in all this every time but once in a while is not bad."

"We're eager to get the votes, Jamshed, not desperate."

Noman Abbasi, Zaigham's grandfather and head of the party spoke for the first time since all this began. He might seem calm and collected on the outside but Zaigham could spot the brewing wrath behind those eyes that were eerily similar to his.

"Lekin Abbasi sahab, the competition this year-"

"Is a little more intense than the last time, we're aware but our faithful ministers have done a great job to secure their seats for the second time in a row."

Zaigham gave his own opinion, earning a few appreciative nods from the said ministers.

"Nothing goes in being sure about the votes. I say we go with Jamshed's idea."

It was Rehan who spoke and if possible, by the looks of it, Noman would've lashed out at his son if they weren't in a room full of people.

"Siyasat keechad zaroor hai, Rehan, lekin iska matlab yeh nahi ki hum gande hone ko tayyar ho jaye. No bribing, no fake promises, no out of limit talks. These elections will go just as the past many have aur Khuda kasam, agar koi mere pass yaha mawjood kisi bhi shaks ke bare mein isse judi shikayat laya, toh Khuda toh dekhe ga hi use par main bhi narm dil nahi rahunga."

(Politics maybe a puddle of dirt, Rehan, but that does not mean we willingly get dirty- By Lord, if anyone present here turns to be the one against whom I the complaint regarding this matter, then God will see him but before that, I'll not let it slide with a feeble heart.)

Zaigham hid a smile behind his palm upon seeing numerous people present in the room shiver due to the intensity and promise in his grandfather's voice.

Noman Abbasi had accompanied his father as a child in the freedom struggle. He might have been too young to comprehend what exactly it was that they were doing but as time went by, one thing engraved itself in his mind.

Our ancestors, the numerous freedom fighters, did not die to leave behind a nation neck deep in corruption and crime nor did they face struggles as tough as mountains only for the world of politics to head towards the deepest pit of desires and mockery of justice, truth and honour.