06-09-2025, 07:19 AM
Saga 5 - Scene 1 - Usman Miya - Dil mein Doodh Ki Khushboo
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Next Sunday.
Dipa was in the garden, playing with Tukun, a rare moment of simple, uncomplicated peace. Her phone rang, the screen flashing an unknown number. She answered cautiously. It was Sabina, Usman's wife, and her voice was a frantic, weeping torrent.
Sabina: Memsahab! Dipa beti! It is Usman… he is… he is dying! Please, you must come! He is calling for you!
The news hit Dipa like a physical blow. Guilt and pity warred within her. She had been so focused on her life at home, she had forgotten her other "duties."
Dipa: Aunty, calm down. What happened?
Sabina: He has not eaten, he has not moved! He just lies there, whispering your name! The doctor says there is no hope! Only you… you are his only hope! Please, beti, come quickly!
The line went dead. Dipa stood frozen for a moment.
She threw the phone on the sofa. She didn't bother to change. She ran out of the gate in the simple white sari and blouse she was wearing, hailing the first auto she saw and giving the driver the address of the slum.
The slum felt hotter, dustier than she remembered from her last time.
She burst into the small, dark hut, her heart pounding. The air was thick and stale. Usman was lying on the cot, looking even more frail and wasted than she remembered. Sabina was kneeling by his side, sobbing.
Dipa: Chachi! What happened?
Sabina: I don’t know, beti. He has been like this since yesterday. He won’t eat. He won’t drink. The doctor came… he said his body has just given up.
Sabina pulled back the thin sheet covering his body. His skin was sallow, his frame even more emaciated than before. He was wasting away.
Dipa: Usman Chacha… can you hear me? It’s me, Dipa.
His eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. She knelt beside the cot, her heart aching with a familiar, overwhelming pity.
Usman: (a faint whisper) Dipa…
Dipa: Yes, Chacha, I am here.
Usman: My time… has come…
Sabina: Don’t say that! Dipa-beti is here now! She will help you! She will heal you again! Beti, please… do for him what you did before.
Dipa: Chachi, I can’t.
Usman: She is right… she cannot… she should not… I am just a dirty old man…
His lustful gaze, however, told a different story. His eyes were no longer on her face, but fixed on the front of her blouse, at the heavy swell of her breasts. He tried to move, his mouth opening slightly as if in search of something.
Sabina: Beti, please. He needs you. He needs your milk. It is the only thing that gives him life.
Dipa: But Chachi, I can’t keep doing this. I know I fed Usman Chacha before, but if I give in again, I’ll develop an emotional or physical connection with him. It will become harder to stop in the future. Main rok nahi payongi phir. I won’t be able to stop then.
Sabina took Dipa’s hands, her eyes full of a strange, knowing intensity.
Sabina: I completely understand, beti. And we don't want you to stop feeding Usman. He needs you. And maybe… maybe you both are helping each other.
Dipa stared at her, the truth of those words hitting her like a physical blow. She didn't want to stop. The memory of the last time… the power, the release, the feeling of his mouth on her…
Her hands came up to her chest, almost of their own accord. She lowered her pallu, exposing the front of her blouse to Usman and Sabina. She began to gently massage her own breasts through the thin white cotton, her eyes closing. A soft moan escaped her lips.
Dipa: The last time…
Sabina: What, beti? What about the last time?
Dipa: (whispering) Bahut achcha laga tha. It felt very good.
She felt her nipples harden, poking against the fabric. Her pussy, which had been dormant, began to ache and leak. She wanted it. She wanted him. She wanted that feeling again.
She opened her eyes and looked at the two of them. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
A look of triumphant relief washed over Sabina’s face.
Sabina: Usman, utho. Upar utho. Usman, get up. Sit up.
Usman slowly, shakily, pushed himself into a sitting position on the edge of the cot.
Usman: (softly, trembling) ,.' tum par reham kare… tum jaisi aurat… aaj ke zamaane mein…
(,.' have mercy on you… a woman like you… in today’s world…)
He reached for her hand, not to hold but to steady himself, his gaze lingering a little too long on her chest.
Usman: (voice breaking, almost a whisper) Bas… ek tum hi ho jo mujhe yaad dilati ho… maa ki god… woh sukoon… woh narmi… sab kuch tum mein hai, beti…
(Only you remind me… of a mother’s lap… that peace… that softness… everything is in you, my daughter…)
His voice softened further, trembling with emotion but carrying an undertone of claim.
Usman: (softly) Zara… zara paas aao… aankhen kamzor ho gayi hain… tumhari chehra dekhna hai…
(Come… come a little closer… my eyes are weak… I want to see your face…)
She hesitated, her heart pounding, but moved only slightly closer. He leaned forward, his trembling hand bracing against the cot. His breathing was slow but heavy, filling the silence.
Usman: (whispering, reverent) Subhan,.'… itni roshni… itni rehmat… tumhari baahon mein toh… maut bhi asaan lagti hai…
(Subhan,.'… such light… such mercy… in your arms, even death would feel easy…)
His fingers brushed her wrist, lingering as he shifted closer, his frame fragile yet insistent. She swallowed hard, her body stiff, torn between pity and a rising tide of arousal.
Usman: (quieter, almost pleading) Ek baar aur… woh narmi… woh sukoon… mujhe jeene ki wajah de do, beti…
(Just once more… that softness… that peace… give me a reason to live, daughter…)
The words hung heavy in the air. His face, lined with age and longing, hovered near hers as he gently lowered himself, inch by inch, as though drawn by an invisible pull toward the soft, white promise of her breasts.
To be Continued..
===========================================
Next Sunday.
Dipa was in the garden, playing with Tukun, a rare moment of simple, uncomplicated peace. Her phone rang, the screen flashing an unknown number. She answered cautiously. It was Sabina, Usman's wife, and her voice was a frantic, weeping torrent.
Sabina: Memsahab! Dipa beti! It is Usman… he is… he is dying! Please, you must come! He is calling for you!
The news hit Dipa like a physical blow. Guilt and pity warred within her. She had been so focused on her life at home, she had forgotten her other "duties."
Dipa: Aunty, calm down. What happened?
Sabina: He has not eaten, he has not moved! He just lies there, whispering your name! The doctor says there is no hope! Only you… you are his only hope! Please, beti, come quickly!
The line went dead. Dipa stood frozen for a moment.
She threw the phone on the sofa. She didn't bother to change. She ran out of the gate in the simple white sari and blouse she was wearing, hailing the first auto she saw and giving the driver the address of the slum.
The slum felt hotter, dustier than she remembered from her last time.
She burst into the small, dark hut, her heart pounding. The air was thick and stale. Usman was lying on the cot, looking even more frail and wasted than she remembered. Sabina was kneeling by his side, sobbing.
Dipa: Chachi! What happened?
Sabina: I don’t know, beti. He has been like this since yesterday. He won’t eat. He won’t drink. The doctor came… he said his body has just given up.
Sabina pulled back the thin sheet covering his body. His skin was sallow, his frame even more emaciated than before. He was wasting away.
Dipa: Usman Chacha… can you hear me? It’s me, Dipa.
His eyelids fluttered, but didn't open. She knelt beside the cot, her heart aching with a familiar, overwhelming pity.
Usman: (a faint whisper) Dipa…
Dipa: Yes, Chacha, I am here.
Usman: My time… has come…
Sabina: Don’t say that! Dipa-beti is here now! She will help you! She will heal you again! Beti, please… do for him what you did before.
Dipa: Chachi, I can’t.
Usman: She is right… she cannot… she should not… I am just a dirty old man…
His lustful gaze, however, told a different story. His eyes were no longer on her face, but fixed on the front of her blouse, at the heavy swell of her breasts. He tried to move, his mouth opening slightly as if in search of something.
Sabina: Beti, please. He needs you. He needs your milk. It is the only thing that gives him life.
Dipa: But Chachi, I can’t keep doing this. I know I fed Usman Chacha before, but if I give in again, I’ll develop an emotional or physical connection with him. It will become harder to stop in the future. Main rok nahi payongi phir. I won’t be able to stop then.
Sabina took Dipa’s hands, her eyes full of a strange, knowing intensity.
Sabina: I completely understand, beti. And we don't want you to stop feeding Usman. He needs you. And maybe… maybe you both are helping each other.
Dipa stared at her, the truth of those words hitting her like a physical blow. She didn't want to stop. The memory of the last time… the power, the release, the feeling of his mouth on her…
Her hands came up to her chest, almost of their own accord. She lowered her pallu, exposing the front of her blouse to Usman and Sabina. She began to gently massage her own breasts through the thin white cotton, her eyes closing. A soft moan escaped her lips.
Dipa: The last time…
Sabina: What, beti? What about the last time?
Dipa: (whispering) Bahut achcha laga tha. It felt very good.
She felt her nipples harden, poking against the fabric. Her pussy, which had been dormant, began to ache and leak. She wanted it. She wanted him. She wanted that feeling again.
She opened her eyes and looked at the two of them. She gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.
A look of triumphant relief washed over Sabina’s face.
Sabina: Usman, utho. Upar utho. Usman, get up. Sit up.
Usman slowly, shakily, pushed himself into a sitting position on the edge of the cot.
Usman: (softly, trembling) ,.' tum par reham kare… tum jaisi aurat… aaj ke zamaane mein…
(,.' have mercy on you… a woman like you… in today’s world…)
He reached for her hand, not to hold but to steady himself, his gaze lingering a little too long on her chest.
Usman: (voice breaking, almost a whisper) Bas… ek tum hi ho jo mujhe yaad dilati ho… maa ki god… woh sukoon… woh narmi… sab kuch tum mein hai, beti…
(Only you remind me… of a mother’s lap… that peace… that softness… everything is in you, my daughter…)
His voice softened further, trembling with emotion but carrying an undertone of claim.
Usman: (softly) Zara… zara paas aao… aankhen kamzor ho gayi hain… tumhari chehra dekhna hai…
(Come… come a little closer… my eyes are weak… I want to see your face…)
She hesitated, her heart pounding, but moved only slightly closer. He leaned forward, his trembling hand bracing against the cot. His breathing was slow but heavy, filling the silence.
Usman: (whispering, reverent) Subhan,.'… itni roshni… itni rehmat… tumhari baahon mein toh… maut bhi asaan lagti hai…
(Subhan,.'… such light… such mercy… in your arms, even death would feel easy…)
His fingers brushed her wrist, lingering as he shifted closer, his frame fragile yet insistent. She swallowed hard, her body stiff, torn between pity and a rising tide of arousal.
Usman: (quieter, almost pleading) Ek baar aur… woh narmi… woh sukoon… mujhe jeene ki wajah de do, beti…
(Just once more… that softness… that peace… give me a reason to live, daughter…)
The words hung heavy in the air. His face, lined with age and longing, hovered near hers as he gently lowered himself, inch by inch, as though drawn by an invisible pull toward the soft, white promise of her breasts.
To be Continued..
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