Revolt (31 page)

Rasoola did as instructed and then abjectly apologised. ‘I’m sorry, Mistress Mehreen. From today, I’ll work hard and make amends for that terrible day when I upset you.’

Touched, Mehreen found her lips forming the generous words, ‘Thank you, Rasoola. I’m very glad you’re back.’

Flushed and triumphant, Rasoola kept her back to her mistress.

‘And Rasoola, don’t carry those heavy trays. I’ve ordered some lighter ones – better for your back. From now on Riaz will do all the heavy carrying.’

Surprised, Rasoola stood there with only the sound of the air conditioner breaking the silence. ‘Yes, Mistress, thank you!’ she whispered before leaving.

Overwhelmed, she stood panting outside in the corridor. Master Liaquat was coming down the corridor. About to pass him, she whispered, ‘I found Mistress Mehreen crying, Master.’

Liaquat heard but did not bother with a response; instead he entered another room down the corridor. Rasoola returned downstairs wondering whether she should go to the
goorie
and Ismail – to offer them almond milk drinks. ‘It’s so exciting having a woman who looks so different, speaks another language and has come from another country
and
is staying in the same house as me! How blessed I am,’ Rasoola congratulated herself.

Upstairs, Mehreen debated on whether to drink the glass of milk or not as her doctor had advised her to cut down on dairy products and sugar to reduce her weight. She reluctantly reached
for the glass of milk, unable to insult Rasoola by not drinking it. Her appetite was gone after four failed attempts to win back her husband. Today, he had rebuffed her smiles and her efforts at humouring him, by ignoring her and childishly walking out of the room. As for Rani, Mehreen had stopped worrying about her. Life was bleak, all around.

Ironically the only happy couple appeared to be her son and his foreign wife; they had spent another enjoyable day visiting the famous Khyber Pass in the mountains. Mehreen had tried to stop them because of the fighting with the Taliban in the mountains and was on edge all day, but she needn’t have worried. Daniela had returned with glowing pink cheeks, eyes sparkling.

Mehreen pulled off her
chador
, ready for bed; she couldn’t be bothered with the ritual of cleansing and toning her face today.

The bedroom door opened. Was it Rasoola or …? She waited, heart beating, carrying on with the task of removing the gold
karas
from her arm. She sighed, then on hearing the sound of the duvet cover, rebellion surfaced – did her husband miss his bed or her company? The proud Mehreen got out of bed and stood up to her full five feet and five inches, offering her husband the entire bed! Plucking up her pillow she strode out of the room.

Once in the guest bedroom, she made a mental note to get back to her own room early in the morning. The last thing she wanted was Rasoola gossiping about their sleeping arrangements.

The door opened. Mehreen was surprised to see her husband and shot him a challenging look. Barefooted, he crossed the cool marble floor to the bed and half smiling, he lifted the bed cover and got in beside her, ignoring her angry look.

‘It’s not this bed I want, but my wife.’

Colour swept high in Mehreen’s cheeks. She slid to the other side of the bed, leaving an ominous space between them, and stared stonily up at the ceiling. Inside, bitterness raged. For four days he had rebuffed her, treating her with contempt, so much so that she had begun to despise herself.

So when he reached to pull her into his arms, her legs automatically sidled away, mind screaming, ‘No, I’ll not let him touch me!’

This rift had to be talked through, otherwise it would gnaw away at their marriage. She had to know what he thought of her and he had to face the truth that she truly did have reason for her jealousy.

Teeth gritted, he was out of the bed and out of the room. Stunned by his reaction, Mehreen turned over onto her side and wept.

It was a strange night. Mehreen may have lost respect for her husband, but she had regained her long-lost respect for herself, telling herself sharply, ‘I’m now a grown-up! I don’t need my husband as a lever any more.’

Next morning, not relishing her husband’s company if he was unable to love her as he should, Mehreen walked out of her home with a suitcase; a tall, proud figure, feeling emboldened to even take on her sister Rani. Rasoola immediately noticed her mistress’s poise – Mehreen’s body language and demeanour shouted one word: ‘confidence.’ A gentle smile tugging at her mouth was also highly unusual.

Mehreen wanted to put into practice her new-found independence; had not their Rani managed her land, house and servants all by herself since the age of 24? Why should she, a mature woman, not be able to cope with the simple tasks of daily living? ‘How and why did I become so dependant on my husband and sister?’ Mehreen bitterly mocked herself, instructing her chauffeur to drive her to Rani’s village, ready to brave her sister’s company. This would be her ultimate test.

Stepping on the gravel of Rani’s driveway, it occurred to Mehreen that she couldn’t remember the last time she had visited her sister alone. Perhaps everything whittled down to her continuing guilt for her childish spitefulness in spoiling Rani’s bridal dress so long ago, an incident that had cut them off. Even Ismail and Saher’s engagement had been initiated by her husband and Gulbahar – both equally fond of Saher. For the thought of Rani as her
qurmani
, didn’t entirely fill Mehreen’s
heart with joy. Now she had a foreign
qurmani
, Daniela’s mother. God knew what she was like!

Well, if today Rani wished to vent her rage for Ismail’s cruel actions, then so be it. Poor Rani had every right to do so. Smiling, and feeling more cheerful than normal, Mehreen entered her sister’s house, her head held unnaturally high.

Inside Rani’s
hevali
, Mehreen was disappointed to learn that her sister was out shopping in town with her daughter. Mehreen instructed her driver to take the basket of fruit into Rani’s kitchen and to return home.

She couldn’t quite remember having stayed a single night in Rani’s home; nor, for that matter, had Rani ever spent a night at Mehreen’s. An unwritten rule had been mutually established; simply to avoid the other’s company.

‘Today, there’ll be no squabbles,’ Mehreen smiled to herself. ‘Even if Rani does her worst!’ she vowed.

Rani returned late, hot and bothered from a long day of hunting for silk carpets for the newly furbished TV room in Islamabad. When her eyes fell on her younger sister sitting in the cool breeze on the roof terrace gallery, sipping milk soda, Rani blinked in disbelief, face paling. Mehreen had made herself at home and had asked her sister’s cook to make peas pilau for her supper and to serve it on the rooftop so that she could enjoy the evening breeze.

Rani dispensed with politeness, ‘What are you doing here?’ This was the sister she loathed. ‘Quarrelled with your husband?’ she bluntly asked.

‘No!’ Red-cheeked, Mehreen glibly lied, indignant at her sister’s question. ‘Can’t I come and stay here for a night?’

‘A night!’ Rani’s mouth fell open.

Then a strange thing happened. For the first time in her life, she had the instinct of the protective, older sister.

‘Are you OK? You haven’t abandoned your home, have you?’ she asked with an urgency in her voice, surprising her sister.

‘God forbid! No!’ Mehreen hotly denied, slipping off the
charpoy
. Touched by her concern, Mehreen pulled Rani into her arms. ‘If you don’t want me to stay, I can go back.’ Not at all flummoxed by her sister’s stiff figure she hugged her even tighter. Disconcerted, Rani stepped out of her sister’s arms, asking instead, ‘Have you eaten?’

‘Of course! I instructed your Jamila what to cook for our evening meal. The witch kept on badgering me as to what I liked to eat. As well as pilau rice she has also made me a steamy, syrupy halva, the way I really like it. She certainly is a great cook.’

‘Yes,’ Rani acknowledged, face still tight. ‘I’ll let Saher know you’re here.’ She looked at the portable bed. ‘Is that bed all right for you, Mehreen?’

‘Yes, it’s very comfortable. It reminds me of the time we all used to sleep together on the rooftop as young girls.’ Traces of childish excitement threaded her voice.

Rani was on her way down the marble stairs. ‘Yes,’ she muttered.

‘Rani, can I sleep near you? Like old times.’ She looked embarrassed. Completely taken aback by the request, Rani didn’t know what to say.

‘Yes, whatever,’ she answered flatly.

Mehreen was still baffled. Did she imagine it or did she actually see Rani’s eyes fill?

Stoically, she turned her gaze to the fields circling the village, knowing life would never be the same again. This visit to her sister’s went beyond sleeping in her sister’s home; it was a matter of wooing loved ones and building bridges, especially after burning an important one with her eldest sister, the ‘bridger’ of all things in her life.

Mehreen began to fan her neckline with the raffia hand fan.

In Master Haider’s
hevali
, Begum informed Saher that her Aunt Gulbahar was upstairs in her bedroom. Afraid of coming across Arslan, Saher hovered beside the pillar under the birdcage. Mithu, allowed out for exercise, was busy hopping on Begum’s washing line. Disgusted, Saher tried to shoo him off, knowing
Begum would not cherish having her tea towels soiled with parrakeet droppings.

Firm masculine steps sprinting down the marble stairs prompted her to step behind the tall ivy plant circling the colonnade. Arslan caught sight of her, smiled and then strode into his room. Saher hurried up to her aunt’s room.

Gulbahar was sitting on an armchair, wiping her cheeks, attempting to smile at her niece. Saher stood against the door, dismayed by her aunt’s distress.

‘He’s leaving, Saher!’ her aunt wailed.

‘Who?’

‘Arslan!’

Unhappily, Mehreen stared down at the peach and turquoise silk carpet her sister had ordered for her daughter’s wedding reception party. All the rooms in the villa had been lavishly refurbished, no cost spared. Only the new carpet for the TV room remained to be purchased. ‘I want the house to be in a splendid state before the arrival of our wedding guests,’ Rani had commented with pride to her daughter.

‘Go on,’ she now prompted. ‘Why have you stopped?’

Mehreen shook her head, more tears trickling down her cheeks and onto the cushion she was resting her head on.

Rani was dazed. This was no play-acting.

‘Why does your husband hate you, Mehreen?’ Rani had never used such a gentle tone. Between loud sobs, Mehreen wailed, ashamed, ‘My Liaquat-ji despises me! He prefers Gulbahar – the epitome of an ideal wife. He treats me like a child … shows no respect for me whatsoever. And since I said something horrible to him, he really has no time for me. I’ve ruined everything – even had an argument with Gulbahar. I’m sure she hates me, though she says she has forgiven me.’

Stunned into silence and sensing her sister’s wretchedness, Rani pulled her into her arms.

‘Don’t be silly. How can our Gulbahar ever hate you – her adorable babe?’ No trace of sarcasm this time.

‘But she does, after I said something stupid.’

‘Hush, you’re not stupid, Mehreen!’ Rani gently coaxed, hugging her little sister even tighter; the one she had envied for nearly two thirds of her life, now a pitiable bundle of misery and insecurity.

Rani surprised both of them with the words leaving her lips.

‘You’re beautiful! Not stupid. Of course Liaquat Sahib doesn’t hate you! You must have annoyed him as you always do. Don’t look so aggrieved – you know what you are like and, of course, our Gulbahar doesn’t hate you. She’s like a mother to us. How can a mother hate her children for long? And for that matter, I don’t hate you, either. So what if that selfish son of yours has married someone else – it was fated to happen. My Saher will find another husband. Do you hear me, Mehreen?’

Mehreen dumbly nodded, her head still pressed against her sister’s shoulder. Smoothing away wet strands from Mehreen’s face, Rani kissed her sister’s forehead.

Mehreen’s body heaved with fresh weeping.

‘You’re so kind, Rani!’ she muttered through broken sobs. ‘And I’m so selfish.’

Rani’s own eyes were full of water.

‘Hush, don’t say that. You were young, Mehreen, and the most affected by our mother’s death – no more crying now!’

Saher returned home and upon entering the drawing room she couldn’t quite believe the scene facing her – her mother massaging her younger aunt’s feet, a woman she had despised virtually all her life.

‘Is Auntie all right?’

‘Just tired. She’ll stay with us for some time, Saher … our care and support,’ Rani quietly informed her daughter, gaze lowered, reluctant to explain further.

Later, whilst coaxing her sister to eat some fruit, Rani discovered the truth as to why her elder sister was so protective of her younger one. Rani forgave her older sister. Was she now not doing exactly the same as Gulbahar had been doing for
over three decades? Rani protectively pressed her sister’s body against her own and lovingly whispered, ‘You’re sleeping in my room tonight, so that I can keep an eye on you, Mehreen.’

‘You are so kind today, Rani, but I’m always afraid of you,’ Mehreen sniffed loudly followed by nervous laughter.

‘Why, Mehreen?’ Rani answered after a long pause. ‘Am I some sort of a monster? I am your sister, aren’t I, for God’s sake?’

‘Yes,’ Mehreen quickly responded, with an accelerating heartbeat, neither wanting to rake up their past nor to take a step back.

Later, her last words before her eyes closed were, ‘You’re so kind, Rani – I love you.’

Rani lifted her head, staring into the darkness across the beds as her eyes filled up again. ‘My poor sister was crying out for love and respect, and I’ve withheld both. Why have I allowed myself to be alienated for so long from my two sisters?’ the words ran around in her head.

Mehreen, unburdened, blissfully slept on. Rani could not; like many a night her thoughts were with Rashid again. Angrily she brushed her wet cheeks. It was her own doing.

She knew that the first thing she would do the following day would be to visit her brother-in-law. And the words she would hurl at him! A cynical smile crossed her face in the darkness. Liaquat Ali was always the go-between for the two sisters. The next day Rani would take on that role.

‘You’ve given my poor sister a nervous breakdown!’ Rani declared to her brother-in-law, Liaquat, going straight to the point; no frills or dressing it up or wasting words on greetings! ‘How could you do it?’

Liaquat had baulked, believing neither his eyes nor his ears. It was this sister and her wrath he had carefully protected his wife from for over 25 years. Now, overnight, she had become his wife’s gallant champion!

Colour drained from his cheeks. Loathing his wife, he looked away from Rani’s all-knowing eyes. ‘She has blabbed everything to this sister, too!’ he silently groaned.

Rani watched with interest the angry tide of colour sweeping up his throat, reading its shade and the meaning behind it before carefully looking away. There was definitely something here, but she was reluctant to tread on the marital minefield.

With dignity and added warmth, she made her point.

‘Whatever your disagreement, Brother Liaquat, only you and Mehreen know the details, for she has not said much, but simply weeps all the time and says you hate her and don’t respect her. So I’ve decided that until she has regained her normal bearing, I’ll look after her for a few days.’

He was going to mention the
goorie
then stopped.

‘All right, thank you, Sister Rani. Believe me, it is only a trivial matter, of course, but you know what our Mehreen is like.’

‘Yes, I know what she’s like but at the moment she’s down in the dumps,’ she coolly pointed out to him. ‘And desperately needs your love.’ Liaquat reddened.

Rani had said her piece and declined the offer of tea from Rasoola, standing with a tray in her hand.

‘But you do appreciate our house situation, don’t you, Sister Rani?’ Liaquat drily reminded her.

‘If you’re talking about the
goorie
, I’m sure your Ismail can well look after his wife,’ she coldly replied, wanting to get out of the building, not quite ready to forgive her nephew yet for jilting her daughter. All those journeys to the bazaars in the heat for wedding gifts! Suddenly feeling bitterly tearful she blindly pushed past Rasoola with the tray.

In the courtyard, she had the misfortune to glimpse the ‘golden-haired foreign woman’ standing at the basin.

‘OK, Sister Rani, I’m glad that you two sisters will spend time together, but do tell her that I’m coming to bring her home the day after tomorrow.’

Rani’s eyes lingered on her daughter’s
sokan
. Was it those gold strands, glinting in the sun, that had captured her nephew? Without saying goodbye, Rani strode out through the gates, silently mourning, ‘This was meant to be my daughter’s home!’

Liaquat stood in the middle of the guest room, his fingers raking through his thick grey hair. ‘Now I’ve made enemies of both her sisters – how did this come about?’

Walking out into the courtyard, he felt as if he was crossing unfamiliar territory. There was no wife at home. Instead, a strange woman was there. Daniela had nervously glanced at him and quickly returned to her room, her heartbeat quickening, the baby stirring inside her. The hostility was still there, but she had glimpsed something else in her father-in-law – the look of a lost man.

And where was Ismail’s mother? She had not seen her since yesterday afternoon. A middle-aged woman servant appeared to be hovering everywhere she went. If she went to the basin to wash her face the woman was giving her a toothy grin, eagerly offering clean towels. Last night, she had come in with a glass of milk and some
kashoo
nuts.