‘Your guess is as good as mine, Rukhsar-ji. I tell you, there is a drama in the making here. And what’s more it’s going to explode all around us soon. And I can’t wait!’
‘What, for the explosion?’ Rukhsar chuckled, daintily sipping her coffee from her best china, holding it by her little finger. Massi Fiza was not interested in copying her actions. Instead, she cupped the china cup in her two hands, her favourite mode of drinking.
‘You know what I mean, Rukhsar-ji!’ Massi Fiza stammered, shamefaced.
‘Well, if that goorie has anything to do with Ismail, there’ll definitely be an explosion, destroying two families. My husband has just sold eight necklaces for Saher’s lovely neck. The question is – will they now go on the even lovelier neck of the goorie? I would love to see her with my own eyes. I’ve never been inside Haider Sahib’s hevali. We lost some good business with them! Before Laila’s elopement, Haider Sahib garlanded that beloved daughter’s dainty neck with at least two necklaces a year.’
‘Well, I visit the hevali every two days for their laundry. Thinking about it, I might get the washing tonight. I am sure the ungrateful madam across the lane, Mistress Laila, will appreciate some news of her family. I’m her errand woman at the moment! Smuggling both food and messages from Begum. Mistress Laila is her pet.’ She stopped abruptly and her thin greyish-black eyebrows shot up.
‘What’s the matter, Massi Fiza?’ Rukhsar noted the strange look in her friend’s eyes.
‘I’m in a really wicked mood, Rukhsar-ji. I feel like doing something very daring!’
‘What?’ Rukhsar’s round, khol-lined eyes were fixed on Massi Fiza’s wide, thin-lipped grin displaying a set of uneven teeth jigsawed tightly together. ‘Do tell me!’ Rukhsar urged, excitement surging through her body.
‘Only after I’ve done it, Rukhsar-ji,’ she teased with a wink.
‘Oh, you are simply wicked!’ Rukhsar chuckled. Even her daughters with their condescending gazes were staring agog at their neighbour.
‘No, don’t say that, but it will be daring! I’d better get going!’
Her fingers eagerly reaching for the second portion of her third ladoo and neatly popping it into her mouth, she stood up. She had provided a lot of news and free entertainment – three ladoos were therefore a poor compensation! The girls were glad the laundrywoman had finished the ladoos, otherwise they would end up adding to their father’s girth. As caring daughters they were determined to keep sugary and fatty things out of his way. Massi Fiza tiptoed around them on the Persian silk rug.
‘Thank you, my daughters, for the milky coffee.’
‘By the way, Auntie,’ the middle sister corrected, ‘it was cappuccino!’ She grinned at the look of puzzlement on Massi Fiza’s tanned, weather-beaten face. ‘Feel honoured. Now, in which household in this village would they be offering you cappuccino – most of the villagers haven’t even heard of such velati drinks.’
Smiling, Massi Fiza expressed her gratitude. ‘You are such nice, hospitable girls. Why do you think your suits are the stiffest in the village? They have the most starch in them.’
‘Thank you, Auntie,’ Farah dutifully mumbled, looking away, remembering one of her stiff dresses that had stood out like a bag around her body.
*
As Massi Fiza stepped out of Rukhsar’s two-storey house, Laila was entering the potter’s house.
Mistress Laila!’ Massi Fiza loudly called.
‘Yes, Massi Fiza?’ Laila stiffened, tightly holding onto her daughter’s arm. Massi Fiza was one of the women who had witnessed her humiliation outside her parents’ hevali the other day and Laila hated her for that.
‘I’ll do your daughter’s entire washing for you!’ Massi Fiza generously offered, assessing the hostile look on Laila’s face.
‘I came earlier but you weren’t at home!’ Laila rebuked, eager to disappear inside her home.
‘Sorry, I was next door. I’m going for a walk in the fields. Would you like me to take your lovely Shirin … so that you can rest for an hour or two? It’ll be good for her to see something of the village,’ she sweetly offered, gaze now lowered.
After a pause, Laila arrogantly deigned to accept, remembering her daughter’s petulant mood. ‘Yes, Massi Fiza!’ She would today allow the laundrywoman the honour of taking her daughter with her. The villagers might ignore Shirin, but they all knew that Master Haider’s blood ran through her veins – and he was their landlord. ‘Shirin, please go for a walk with Massi Fiza.’
‘Also, I’ll be collecting some washing on the way, so will that be all right?’ Massi Fiza quietly added, dropping her gaze again. Laila did not see that look of pure triumph and malice; she had already stepped into the dim brick-lined entrance of the potter’s house, glad to have Shirin off her hands for a while and supervised.
Massi Fiza could not contain her excitement about where she was going. And it wasn’t to the fields.
‘Where are we going, Auntie-ji?’ Shirin innocently asked, skipping alongside the tall, wiry woman, with a rolled laundry sack bundled under her arm.
‘I’m going to collect some washing from the big, white house – the beautiful hevali. Do you know there’s a goorie living there?’ her voice dipped low, a smile on her face.
‘A goorie!’ Shirin exclaimed, standing still in the village lane, looking up at the laundrywoman. ‘Oh, I’ve only seen a gora in Islamabad – not a goree!’
‘Perhaps we’ll see her. I wouldn’t want you, our little darling, to miss out on such an exciting event as this! You would like to see her wouldn’t you, my pet?’
‘Oh, yes, thank you, Auntie-ji! You are so nice.’ Shirin’s excited face was raised up to Massi Fiza. The older woman smiled back, treating Shirin to her two rows of overcrowded teeth. Shirin was more fascinated with the bulbous black mole, with three grey hairs sprouting out of it, on Massi Fiza’s chin.
With a thudding heart, Massi Fiza fervently prayed that the master’s Jeep would not be there.
*
‘Phew!’ Massi Fiza sighed in relief. Only two cars were parked outside the hevali and the Jeep was definitely gone. Nevertheless the servants’ side door it had to be – with Shirin by her side.
As they were about to enter the hevali, Shirin let go of Massi Fiza’s hand, her mouth a petulant slit.
‘What’s the matter, my pet?’ Massi Fiza’s heartbeat quickened.
‘Don’t want to go in there!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because …’ Shirin stopped. Her intuition forbade her from telling the washerwoman about the old man from the hevali who had made her cry.
‘You’ll love it … the goorie’s in there!’ Massi Fiza eagerly coaxed, seeing her careful plan going to pieces.
As expected the word ‘goorie’ had a magical effect; Shirin forgot the ‘horrible old man’ and drifted happily into the big house, innocently setting her foot for the first time in her mother’s family home.
Massi Fiza went straight into the kitchen to seek the housekeeper’s permission. As soon as Begum saw Shirin hovering behind the laundrywoman, her mouth dropped open, goose pimples standing on her warm arms. The wooden spoon in her hand remained poised over the simmering haleem curry on the stove.
‘Just doing my rounds, Begum,’ Massi Fiza breezily explained, her gaze cheekily averted before Begum’s outraged face.
‘And you just decided to bring her here?’ Begum hissed, not meeting the little girl’s eyes.
‘She wanted to see the goorie. I could not say no to her!’ Massi Fiza hissed back, determined not to be bullied by the hevali gatekeeper this time.
‘You’re mad!’ Begum screeched into her face.
‘Shush, Begum-ji, she’s listening!’ Shirin was indeed listening, intrigued by the hushed, heated exchange between the two elderly women, wondering what was going on. The woman in the kitchen often brought food for them. So why were they angrily shushing each other? Her inquisitive eyes hopped over the large, immaculately clean kitchen with
its marble floor and worktops, and wooden units with glossy white veneers. Her eyes opened in wonder at the marble pillar in the middle of the kitchen, from where a birdcage dangled with a chirping parakeet. Begum had brought Mithu into the kitchen this morning, relishing his runak, his merry noisy company. He actually mimicked her name; the way Mistress Gulbahar called her.
‘Take her out of here!’
‘Oh, Begum. Don’t be mean! Now that she’s here, let her have a look around and meet your velati guest.’
‘What? You’re going to get us both beheaded today!’
But she had not bargained on Massi Fiza’s rebellious wicked mood. That ‘lowly’ laundrywoman merely smiled, and pulling Shirin by the hand, cheekily sauntered out of the kitchen.
‘Come on, Shirin, you can play with that bird another time … We’re here to see a special lady … a goorie. Go and look around the hevali – it’s a lovely place. Look at that fountain!’ Massi Fiza pointed to the central architectural monument in the courtyard, with its healthy spray of water making a soothing, gurgling noise.
‘Thank you, Auntie.’
‘The goorie will be in one of those rooms upstairs, I’m sure. The stairs are over there.’
Shirin was off, excitedly sprinting across the marble courtyard to the stairways. Smiling and brazen-faced, Massi Fiza turned to face the panting figure of Begum. They watched Shirin disappear up the stairs to her grandparents’ quarters.
‘What have you done, Massi Fiza? They are sleeping upstairs!’ Begum could hardly speak, nearly fainting with worry.
‘Who?’ Massi Fiza paled.
‘Who do you think, you stupid woman?’
‘But …’ Massi Fiza stammered, her heart had now fled from her body. ‘The Jeep’s gone.’
‘Master Arslan has taken it to Mistress Rani’s house,’ Begum angrily spat at the foolish laundrywoman.
‘Oh, God, I must get out!’ Massi Fiza was petrified. She had not bargained on Master Haider being in the villa. The bravado of her cunning mission deserted her.
‘Yes, you should, you fool! Have you any idea what you’ve done? Mistress Gulbahar has not set eyes on her granddaughter in the flesh to this day. Don’t you understand?’
‘Oh!’ It was now Massi Fiza’s turn to sway, but Begum was already pushing her out of the courtyard.
Ashen-faced, Massi Fiza scurried out, leaving Begum to deal with whatever catastrophe befell that household. As she stepped out of the back door, Massi Fiza closed her eyes, feeling nauseous. Her wicked sense of humour was now replaced by primitive animal fear and a need for self-protection.
‘Why, oh, why did I do it? What will Master Haider do to me if he finds out that I took Shirin to the hevali?’
*
Mouth parted in wonder, Shirin stared at the veranda gallery on the second floor. She had never seen so many beautiful marble columns. Colourful profusions of flowers were everywhere, some strategically draping the pillars from hanging baskets, others generously trailing over the wrought-iron railings.
A row of four, wide, lacquered wooden doors lined the top corridor. Shirin’s small fingers pressed tightly on the large shining brass knob of the first door. It creaked as she gently pushed it open. Heart beating fast, Shirin peeped inside and glimpsed a large, beautifully furnished bedroom with a king-sized bed, a matching dressing table and a tall wardrobe. On the table was a pile of novels and magazines. It was a woman’s room, Shirin could tell, little guessing that it was her mother’s.
She tried the next two rooms. Both locked. She excitedly reached for the final door, sure that the goorie would be in that room, putting her head round before entering, eyes narrowing; she could hear breathing. The curtains were fully drawn across the large window. Shirin squinted in the darkness.
Two people were sleeping in two separate king-sized beds. One of them had to be the goorie. Shirin tiptoed across the room, hoping that the soft clicking sound of her new sandals on the marble floor would not wake the man, but they did awake the other person.
Gulbahar lifted her head from the pillow and froze, staring straight into a beautiful young face framed with a curly crop of hair.
‘I’m dreaming!’ Gulbahar whimpered, feasting on the vision before her. ‘This is my Laila!’
With no sign of recognition the girl calmly stared back, disappointed that the woman was not the goorie. She had expected a woman with white skin and golden hair. Not one with grey hair. Shirin turned to leave, dismissing the woman. The man on the other bed shifted, turning on his side. Adrenalin rushing through her, Shirin’s eyes were on the man who had shouted and made her fall on the road. Gulbahar was fascinated by the fierce look chasing across the girl’s face and, bemused, watched the girl slide out of the room, softly closing the door behind her. Her sandal heels echoed down the gallery outside.
Chest tightening, Gulbahar gasped for breath. Her muffled groan of pain startled her husband to sit up in the other bed.
‘Gulbahar?’ Haider anxiously asked. His wife was striding out of the room. Out on the gallery veranda, Gulbahar leaned over the wrought-iron railings, eyes on the girl below, her sandals clip-clopping across the courtyard before disappearing out of sight. Gulbahar drew back from the railings, her arms resting heavily by her side; her husband stood behind her.
‘Gulbahar, what’s wrong? Why did you run out?’ His voice was anxious.
‘It’s nothing!’ Gulbahar cried, hiding her flushed face from him.
Begum also appeared on the gallery terrace, having passed Shirin on the stairs, her face tight. As soon as she caught a glimpse of her dear sahiba’s face, Begum knew that Gulbahar had met her granddaughter. She timidly stood beside her master, bent over his wife’s stooped figure.
‘Don’t just stand there, Begum, call the doctor!’ he shouted, voice threaded with fear.
Gulbahar shook her head.
‘I’m fine – don’t worry,’ she stammered, breathing heavily, but trying her best to reassure her husband.
‘Begum, find Arslan!’
‘I don’t need a doctor,’ Gulbahar snapped, turning an ashen face to her husband and seeing her employee’s gaze fall – they understood each other.
‘Please don’t make any fuss!’ Gulbahar reprimanded, rising to her full height. ‘I’ll go back and rest in bed.’
‘Good, come on!’ Haider urged, taking her by the arm, really worried that his wife was having another angina attack. He followed her into the cool, dimly lit room, totally unaware that only a few minutes earlier, his granddaughter had come, glimpsed his face and fled.
Gulbahar gently eased her body onto her bed, whilst Haider gave her the angina tablets and poured a glass of water. Taking one of them, she smiled her thanks, promising herself that Haider would never find out who had caused her attack. Laying her head on her pillow, she recalled the beautiful young face. ‘Why did the child flee when she saw Haider-ji?’ Gulbahar asked herself, perplexed. ‘Begum has a lot of explaining to do!’ Her mouth tightened.
Gulbahar suddenly remembered the other ‘unwanted’ visitor in her home – the goorie, also taking an afternoon nap in the guest room downstairs. Arslan had phoned Begum to enquire if Daniela was being well looked after.
The housekeeper had huffily informed him: ‘The goorie has had a shower and is now draped in a long pathani dress, thank goodness, discreetly covering her legs, and she’s eaten a plateful of peas pilau, and after all that she is fast asleep under the AC.’
‘Thank you, Begum!’ Arslan had laughed aloud
*
‘Did you see the goorie?’ Massi Fiza eagerly asked, materialising from behind a tree. Ignoring Massi Fiza’s proffered hand and question, Shirin sprinted away from the house. ‘No, I didn’t!’ was the surly answer.
‘Oh, was she not there?’ Massi Fiza slyly prompted.
‘I don’t know.’ The monotonous tone and Shirin’s reluctance to speak intrigued her adult companion.
A few minutes later, at home, Shirin omitted to tell her mother
about her visit to the hevali. It was only when she was rubbing her eyes with sleep in bed that Shirin had her outburst.
‘I saw that beastly man! He lives in that big hevali, Mummy!’ Her mother’s indrawn breath was lost on her.
‘What man?’ Laila whispered, pretending to wave a mosquito away with her raffia hand fan.
‘The man who shouted at me from his horse!’ Shirin’s shrill voice stung her mother into silence, mystifying her daughter. ‘Mother, did you hear me?’
‘Yes, I hear you, Shirin! And he’s not beastly. Go to sleep now.’ Laila coaxed her daughter to lie down, knowing that she herself would lie awake for a long while.
*
Wanting to escape to the fresh, cool breeze, Gulbahar left her room for the rooftop gallery. There, she gazed up in awe at the merry dance of the evening stars. ‘How far away the stars are! And how mighty big is the space for them to roam about?’ Gulbahar marvelled, craving to pluck one from the sky and hold it against her heart, letting its magical light into the empty place deep within her.
Her stiff neck tilted in the direction of the potter’s house for the first time in over a decade.
The soft sound of Begum’s footsteps had Gulbahar guiltily turning.
‘You’ve not eaten anything, Mistress. The goorie has eaten a much bigger meal than you!’ Begum commented, gently smiling at her mistress.
‘I’m glad that our foreign guest is well fed, but I’m not hungry, Begum,’ Gulbahar replied coolly. Begum paused before asking, ‘Was that an angina attack, during the afternoon, Mistress?’
‘I don’t know,’ Gulbahar lied, her vacant eyes fixed on her housekeeper’s face. An awkward silence loomed between them, destroying the easy rapport they always shared. ‘Begum …’
‘Yes, Mistress.’
‘Nothing.’ Misery swamped Gulbahar. Begum waited, hoping for the thawing – but nothing. She turned.
‘In my dream, I saw …’ Gulbahar ventured, halting her housekeeper in her tracks.
Revolt Page 15
