Revolt (27 page)

‘But then as a
vakil
, she knows how to save her face!’ drily quipped the bricklayer’s married daughter, who had eagerly
extended her stay in the village just to attend Master Haider’s party. She had secretly made sure of coinciding her visit with the arrival of Master Arslan from America. Such a good-looking young man and she was not quite over her teenage crush on him yet. Not that he had ever paid her any attention. ‘In his eyes we are just the gauche, village girls!’ she had bitterly reminded herself.

‘Yes, you are right, dear,’ the milkwoman eagerly agreed with the bricklayer’s daughter as she sat at the same table.

‘How is it possible for any woman to treat another
sokan
like that? Well, if it had been me in Saher’s place, I tell you that the
goorie
would have lost a handful of that short golden crop!’ The baker’s wife laughed aloud at the scene in her head, of soft silky tufts of golden hair coming away in her hand. In reality, she knew she could never carry out such a deed.

She pulled herself up short from her thoughts, spotting half of a bowl of meat disappear before her very eyes. Bali, the greedy
bricklayer’s
wife, had skilfully scooped up all the lean chunks of meat in the
shorba
curry, leaving but pieces of bone and gristle. With the equally greedy Resham, the baker’s daughter-in-law, poised to dip into the bowl, there would be no scrap of meat left; or only the bony ones miserably swimming in the reddish, chilli meat soup. Did they have no manners or concern for other people?

Raising her hand, its fingers studded with four rings, she signalled down the aisle to the waiter serving them. As the wiry young man sidled to her table, she grabbed one bowl of meat. Not to be outdone by the other women’s greed, she spooned away four of the best chunks of meat onto her plate, telling herself philosophically, ‘If they are all eating heartily, why shouldn’t I?’ After all, meat was what most of them looked forward to at such parties. And it came in abundance at Master Haider’s party, A very generous man he was; he had dozens of
daigs
of meat cooked.

Next, her eager eyes were scanning the table for the trays of rice and roast meat. Did that daughter of Hafiz not think of passing the tray of roast meat around? Now, the milkwoman was reaching for it. Good. Then she began to count in her head. If
everyone on this table plucked two pieces of roast chicken, what would be left by the time it reached her? Her face fell. Just then, the other waiter leaned over her shoulder and placed a tray of steaming roast chicken in front of her, nearly hitting her hand as she reached to pick two pieces, already able to taste the succulent meat juices even before she had placed a morsel of it in her mouth. Their village chefs were the best in the land, their landlord host made sure of that.

With her plate full, the baker’s wife happily settled back in her seat to enjoy the feast. This was the best part of any party, especially when there was no obligation whatsoever to offer presents or money garlands.

Meanwhile, things weren’t quite right in the outer courtyard. The news of Haider Sahib’s granddaughter snubbing the family by strolling out of the
hevali
upon seeing him had begun to circulate around the women’s marquee. And now rumour had it that mother and daughter had left the village.

‘
Bechari
Laila came to celebrate her brother’s homecoming and did not even peep at the party and now she’s gone, poor mite!’ mumbled Massi Fiza. The sweetmaker’s wife had come off the same bus that Haider’s daughter had taken. Jennat Bibi had been to consult her
pir
again. This time to get a new ‘good luck’
tweez
containing a special prayer for her daughter-in-law to conceive again.

‘Is it not a sad state of affairs with these
big
people,’ the
milk-woman
loudly tutted, whilst spooning a dollop of rice pudding into her mouth. ‘You just don’t know what’s happening inside these marble-slabbed
mahals
, with their posh roof galleries.’

The baker’s wife passed the tray of roast meat to the goldsmith’s wife. Rukhsar stared down at it, contemplated it for a few seconds, then pushed the tray aside, eliciting a strange look from the woman sitting beside her as she slipped two pieces onto her plate. What was wrong with the goldsmith’s wife’s stomach?

Massi Fiza snorted, covertly keeping her eyes on Rukhsar’s plate from across the table. What was her neighbour trying to prove by loftily snubbing the meat? Perhaps they did have meat twice a day in the goldsmith’s house!

Someone was in the room and, thinking it was Begum, Gulbahar remained with her back to the door.

‘You wanted to see me, Gulbahar.’

Liaquat’s cool voice had her sharply turning round and she noticed immediately that he didn’t address her with the customary title of ‘sister’. Now that she came to think of it, he very rarely had, or perhaps only in the early days of his marriage. Afterwards, he had addressed her by her forename. Today, she wished that he had used the conventional term ‘sister’ and regretted her impulse in calling him upstairs.

The tall man hovering in the middle of the room was intruding into her and Haider’s intimate world; and here she was in bed. Heat rushed into her cheeks. Liaquat was a
ghair mard
, with no right to enter her personal space. Then she brutally reminded herself that this was her brother-in-law, a close friend. Not some stranger. He had been in this room so many times; it was natural for all her family members to enter the bedroom. ‘So why am I behaving so idiotically?’ she chided herself.

All of a sudden hatred rushed through her. But for whom? Mehreen, for soiling her world? Or for the man standing in front of her who now made her feel so self-conscious. Both had in equal measure spoilt her
pak
world, her pure world. Nervously, she draped her
chador
around her shoulders and over her head, discreetly tucking the stray strands of wavy grey hair under the soft cotton lawn fabric, and dropping its loose folds over her chest.

Venturing to look him directly in the eyes she immediately
dropped her gaze; the heat of shame flooded her body under the sheet.

‘All those hours I spent enjoying this man’s company. He was always there to lend a listening ear and offer me moral support, especially after Laila’s elopement.’

Just as she had always been there for Mehreen, Liaquat had been there for her.

Blind! BLIND!

Adoration!

No attempt was made at masking it. It was there in the
coal-black
eyes; only her sister’s anguish had now made her see it. Gulbahar rose tall out of her misery, in command once more. No matter how painful, she would protect her vulnerable sister. A dignified way had to be found to deal with the matter and salvage what she could from this ugly scenario.

‘Yes, I did,
Brother
Liaquat,’ she affirmed, laying particular stress on the word ‘brother’. ‘Please sit down.’ Inside she was debating fast.

He waited. Wondering. Was it some errand for the party? Perhaps to supervise the cooks in the kitchen area. Gulbahar, trusting his skill in managing catering staff, normally delegated this task to him.

‘Brother Liaquat.’ A reddish hue ran through Liaquat’s olive cheeks. The twice-repeated word ‘brother’ was not lost on him. Slightly perturbed, he continued smiling but knew something wasn’t quite right. His eyes widened, becoming alert to Gulbahar’s body language and demeanour; the way she had tightly cloaked herself with her
chador
, the manner in which her eyes kept wandering off.

Mehreen!

‘Sister Gulbahar, is everything all right?’ he finally asked, quickly adopting the conventional form of address. Gulbahar’s body relaxed, thankful for his sensitivity. Raising her head, she was able to look him squarely in the eyes now. His use of the word ‘sister’ had established conventional parameters of communication for them.

‘No! Brother Liaquat.’ Her tone was cool, eyes drifting away again. ‘Especially not according to Mehreen.’

It was Mehreen!

‘It has been a tough time for Mehreen, Sister Gulbahar, with the
goorie’s
arrival and Rani’s animosity,’ he rushed to explain, sighing in relief, his body relaxing.

‘Yes, it’s been tough for our poor Mehreen … The world has not been very kind to her lately, has it? She seems to be cut adrift – from everyone, from you, her husband, her sisters, her son and all the way down to her servants.’

‘I know!’ he heartily agreed, smiling.

A pause.

‘You and I have not helped matters.’ The voice was dipped so low, he barely heard her.

‘What do you mean?’ He moistened his lower lip.

‘My sister is very unhappy – in her marriage … I mean, at the moment.’

‘You mean in her son’s relationship with the
goorie
?’ he coldly questioned.

‘No! In her relationship with you!’ She stopped, eyes squarely meeting his again, letting him mull over her words.

‘I don’t understand,’ he uttered finally after a long silence, gaze lowered.

‘I see.’ She chose her next words with care, wondering how she could communicate with Liaquat without hurting him or embarrassing them both.

‘Perhaps you don’t understand your wife well enough or are unfamiliar with the crazy ideas locked in her head.’

Liaquat paled. It was to do with the subject his wife had broached with him earlier.

She waited.

‘Mehreen is a foolish woman! We both know it,’ was his defiant reminder, a reddish hue now chasing down his neck. Gulbahar looked away.

‘Yes, my sister is foolish at times.’ Voice raised, face flushed, Gulbahar came to her sister’s defence. ‘But perhaps she has reason to entertain such ideas … Tell me, Brother Liaquat, are they all fiction, part of her imagination? Is she just being paranoid or has she jumped to some sort of semi-accurate
conclusion? Liaquat-ji, as you well know, I love Mehreen more than my life itself at times. Therefore, I would never do anything to hurt her knowingly or unwittingly, but would always want to protect her, as I’ve been doing all my life. A vulnerable creature, little things make our Mehreen jealous and insecure in herself. At this moment in time she feels threatened by the apparent respect you have for me and the close friendship we have shared over time as brother-and sister-in-law. I know you respect me very much and I am truly honoured by that, but it hasn’t helped my poor sister. Has it?

‘I know Mehreen remains a challenge for you – she’s not the easiest of people to live with. As we don’t have a brother ourselves, Rani and I have always regarded you as such. I truly value your friendship, Brother Liaquat. You’ve been such a pillar of support to me after Laila’s elopement, but we remain, in the eyes of Allah Pak and of the world, a brother and sister. There can never ever be any other form of friendship between us.

‘I’m sorry to say that life doesn’t always offer us everything we want or give us the choice of people we want in our lives. On the contrary, we should make the most of what we have and hold onto it and protect it. Therefore, we must rid Mehreen of these harmful ideas of hers. No doubt you’ve been a wonderful husband to Mehreen by indulging her every whim and supporting her throughout. Go on doing that. Spend more time with her.

‘Again, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for the support you gave to me in the years after Laila’s marriage. More than my own two sisters! However, things are now much better. Please don’t overburden yourself on my account – I have a son and a husband there for me.

‘Just make Mehreen feel incredibly special – that would please me enormously!’ Gulbahar breathlessly ended her long speech, assessing his reaction. He had let her talk uninterrupted, noting the beseeching look in her eyes, the unspoken words, ‘If you harbour any feelings for me, then do this for me.’

He continued to stare at her, bemused by her words. She had said everything and he had been put firmly in his place. He sadly 
accepted the wisdom of her words but he wouldn’t leave without making his feelings known. That was his right as a human being.

‘Why couldn’t Mehreen have been more like you, Gulbahar?’ He could not disguise his longing.

Colouring, Gulbahar dropped her gaze, but felt it pertinent to add with a nervous laugh, ‘Brother Liaquat, you may not like me very much if you truly knew everything about me.’

Smiling wryly, he honourably let the matter rest. His eyes, however, revealed what he truly felt: ‘For me you’ll always remain the perfect woman.’

Formal and correct as always in his bearing, with a nod he strode out. Sadly, he knew that she would never confide in him nor seek his company again. Outside her room, on the balcony, he stood lost in thought. Where did one trespass onto the boundary of what was right and what wasn’t? How far was it socially and morally acceptable to enjoy the company of one’s sister-in-law, before it entered the red zone? Had he already, so unwittingly, entered that dangerous zone? If so, how long ago was that – a decade?

He shuddered, uttering aloud, ‘The things we do!’ as he went down into the central courtyard. For the last few years, he had visited Gulbahar’s home almost twice a week – on some errand or other. In his heart of hearts he knew it was a pretext to spend some enjoyable and intellectual moments in her company. She was an extremely witty woman and they shared a love of poetry, reciting Rumi, Ghalib and Faiz Ahmed Faiz to each other. Mehreen, on the contrary, did not even know which century Ghalib lived in and often scoffed at her husband’s reading habits.

Haider was in conversation with Begum under the veranda. Quietly and not wanting to draw attention to himself, Liaquat passed them by and returned to the men’s marquee where dinner was being served; but he had no appetite for food.

Upstairs in the
hevali
, Gulbahar tucked the quilt cover closer around her body. How naïve and blind she had been for so long,
in not recognising what was staring her in the face – Liaquat’s attraction for her.

‘Strict parameters of behaviour must now be in place! I have compromised my female modesty with Liaquat. No
ghair mard
will ever pass through my bedroom door,’ she vowed to herself.

She was the one who hastily drew back from the sight of other men, keeping behind doors in semi-purdah. Haider adored her modest, shy ways, immensely pleased with her. Distressed at the thought, she cried
‘Haram! Haram!’
Only her sister’s shocking words had alerted her to the ‘immoral’ path that she had unwittingly taken.

‘Allah Pak, I love my husband and am a pure woman in my heart, soul and body. Please forgive me!’ Gulbahar closed her eyes, beseeching her Lord’s forgiveness.

Downstairs, Haider had out of the corner of his eye noticed Liaquat pass by. After instructing Begum about the distribution of sweets to the guests, he strode up the stairs to their bedroom.

His wife was lying down. Gulbahar heard the firm footsteps and waited with trepidation for Haider to say something. Pulling his legs up, he sat beside her, looking down at her. She turned, her nervous eyes scanning his face, seeking any telltale signs of what he was thinking. He had no intention of helping her; they both knew Liaquat had been up here.

‘Brother Liaquat harbours no feelings for me, save that of sisterly respect.’ How true that was she didn’t care, but it was the answer that she was going to give her husband.

‘Good,’ was Haider’s quiet reply, tenderly looking down at his wife and then, leaning forward, he kissed her firmly on the mouth and slipped off the bed. The matter was closed. Gulbahar stared after him, confused and relieved, yet still uneasy that her husband wasn’t going to discuss it further. That was it.

Next it was Mehreen.