Revolt

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  ‘Yes, Mistress?’ Begum croaked, and waited.

  ‘Nothing.’ Gulbahar eventually uttered, tone flat. Begum had had enough and escaped.

  Gulbahar turned her head in the other direction towards her Rani’s village. ‘Laila gave me angina. What will Ismail give my two sisters and my beloved niece?’

  CHAPTER 13

  The Jilted

  ‘Saher!’ Arslan called from under the veranda of Ismail’s home. Saher turned, not in a mood for her cousin’s teasing, dull eyes clearly spelling that for him. This was her second visit to Ismail’s home and he still treated her with studied politeness.

  ‘Please meet me at our grandfather’s old farmstead!’ Arslan whispered, as she was about to pass him by. His serious face added a sense of urgency to the word ‘please’. She assented with her eyebrows, a habit she had adopted with her career in the courts, where subtle head movements and eyebrows played a significant role.

  *

  ‘Why the deira, Arslan?’ Saher asked a few minutes later, laughing, enjoying the cool evening breeze from the car window playing with her hair. Was Arslan up to one of his old pranks? As a child he had often got them into trouble. She couldn’t afford to be foolhardy – after all, she was getting married soon.

  ‘I have my reasons.’ His quiet, noncommittal answer had her intrigued.

  ‘I see.’

  The flippancy and the laughter was missing, she noted, fondly sketching his neat profile with her eyes. His strong, straight nose was like that of his father but he had the thick, wiry hair and colouring of his sister.

  He pulled the Jeep to a standstill outside their grandfather’s old farmhouse, scattering a neat line of glossy-coated, black crows that were perched on the wall greeting them with a chorus of cawing. The farmhouse was now a desolate place as the family had given up farming. Where the buffaloes had once sheltered at night, the huge barns and open verandas had now become storage places for old furniture.

  ‘How have you found Ismail’s behaviour?’ Arslan’s question stung Saher into stepping down from the Jeep, not ready to explore her own reaction to Ismail’s aloofness, let alone share with Arslan how peeved she was.

  Saher walked up to the tree, its branches heavily laden with small dark purple jamounoo fruit, the ground around its trunk littered with crow-pecked seeds. Clenched fists dug through the fabric of his white linen trouser pockets as Arslan walked up to her, his eyes tenderly tracing the contours of her face.

  Feeling the heat under the intensity of his gaze, she poked him in the chest. ‘Well, tell me! Why bring me here?’

  His answer was a solemn look, as he debated what to say and how to soften the blow.

  ‘Tell me about Ismail, please,’ he requested, buying time.

  ‘You’ve brought me all this way, just to ask me that?’

  ‘I’ve my reasons, Saher!’

  ‘Reasons?’ she lashed out. ‘Stop talking in riddles and get on with it!’

  He paused, his gaze on her soft mouth. ‘It’s Ismail.’ How he wished with all his heart that she could read his mind.

  They stood there – gazes locked. In Saher’s head thoughts somersaulted, a strange dullness gripping her and reaching down to her painted toes.

  ‘Shall I say more?’ Arslan softly prompted.

  ‘Stop it!’ Saher shouted. ‘Stop the riddles!’ Then she saw his eyes redden with pain.

  ‘I wanted you to hear it from me, rather than anybody else.’

  Saher dumbly nodded, now painfully aware that this was no teasing matter.

  ‘There’s a woman.’ He let the quiet words sink into Saher’s brain. ‘She’s a goorie,’ he continued ‘… and she’s staying at our house,’ he ended, desperate for her to work out the rest for herself.

  Saher froze, a soft moan fluttering through her lips. Then thrust her tight fists into Arslan’s shoulder blade, making him stiffen at the aggressive contact.

  ‘Are you telling me that this goorie is Ismail’s woman friend?’ She was pounding his back.

  Slowly he turned, shocked by the wild look in her eyes. Her arms fell to her side.

  Time stood still. The crows and the two parakeets in the branches above carried on pecking at the dark purple fruit, raining down some more seeds.

  ‘No, she’s not only Ismail’s lover … but much more,’ he whispered, lowering his head, wanting to run away, but remaining there; duty-bound to break it to the woman he had loved his whole life. ‘She’s Ismail’s lawful wife,’ he quietly finished.

  Colour deserted her face; she wound her arms tightly around her chest. It was a sight that Arslan had wanted to spare himself. Helplessly, he watched her tall frame slump against the tree; he was afraid to touch her.

  It was a long time before she lifted her head. ‘Arslan, please say you are joking!’ Her poignant appeal shearing him, Arslan squatted down to her level and cupped her chin gently in his hand.

  ‘This is no joke, Saher! I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, his eyes shining with tears.

  Saher wrenched her chin from his hand.

  ‘Then leave me alone!’ she cried, pulling her arm from his grasp as she struggled to stand upright. Arslan caught her.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ She ran off, pushing her way through the gates of the old deira. Arslan returned to the Jeep and was staring pensively through the dust-smeared windscreen when he was startled by a muffled scream renting the air.

  He ran into the deira courtyard and saw her standing with her head pressed against the wall.

  ‘Saher, don’t!’ he cried, and then stepped back, giving her the privacy she needed.

  *

  It was some thirty minutes later when Saher reappeared. Arslan stood waiting for her outside the gates, and in silence, they drove back to her home.

  ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘I hate you!’ she lashed out, jumping out of the vehicle. Stunned, Arslan switched the engine off and followed Saher inside. She had already crossed the courtyard and entered her room on the other side of the veranda. Rani came out of the drawing room to greet them, scowling at Arslan.

  ‘Saher is very tired, Auntie!’ Arslan hastened to explain, unperturbed by her hostile manner. ‘Please don’t disturb her!’

  ‘Oh?’ Rani’s frown became more pronounced. ‘She was fine earlier!’

  Arslan faltered. ‘I’ll go and see if she’s OK!’

  Rani was about to stop him, but he had already sprinted across the courtyard. Tempted to follow, in a bid to chaperone her daughter, she then returned to the drawing room – seething.

  Not bothering to knock, Arslan had entered Saher’s room, firmly closing the door behind him. She was standing at the far side, looking out at the rear courtyard. She heard him enter the room, and imagining it to be her mother, braved a smile. On seeing Arslan, her poise deserted her. Lips quivering, anguish choked her. Unable to bear her distress, Arslan gently pulled her into his arms and held her in a tight embrace. Forgetting who held her, Saher wept like a child.

  ‘Please don’t tell my mother! Not yet!’ she sobbed, her face buried against his neck.

  ‘I won’t,’ was his husky promise, mouth touching her hair. It was only when she moved her head that her mouth brushed against his lower lip. Shuddering, she pulled herself away, prompting his arms to fall to his side. The wary look was back on her face; she tried to mask it with banter.

  ‘You don’t like being touched by me!’ she teased, trying hard to smile.

  ‘Oh, I think I can survive you touching me just this once!’ he shrugged, sheepishly looking away. ‘You’re upset and needed a shoulder to cry on. What are you going to do?’ he asked solemnly.

  ‘What does a jilted woman normally do? Is there a guidebook written on this subject that I can consult?’ she quipped drily.

  ‘You’re not a jilted woman.’ His voice hardened. ‘The beast didn’t tell anyone what he was up to in England.’

  ‘Will you, too, fall for a woman from another country?’

 
‘No, I will not!’ came his sharp retort.

  ‘He’s done it!’ she bitterly reminded him. ‘What’s there to stop you? For all we know, you, too, might have an American woman tucked away somewhere.’

  ‘No, I haven’t! But there’s a woman locked away here!’ With a veiled look he pointed to his chest. ‘And she’s from here – I can assure you.’

  Absorbed in her own misery, she neither noticed the words nor the special glint in his eyes.

  ‘Saher, I’ll try to protect you from any embarrassment, but I can’t guarantee against people finding out.’

  He turned to leave. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added dejectedly.

  She nodded, her face folding in distress at the thought of people knowing that she had been jilted for an Englishwoman. The gossip would reach every corner of the village. She, the woman who had supposedly everything going for her, was to be ridiculed at the expense of a foreign bride. Her eyes swelling with tears, she abruptly looked out of the window.

  ‘You’ve seen her. Is the goorie very attractive?’ she asked, just as his hand turned the door handle.

  ‘Yes, but not as beautiful as you!’ came the quick curt answer.

  ‘I want to see the woman who has robbed me of my fiancé,’ she shouted after him, plagued by the image of the goorie, but he was gone.

  *

  Later, her mother tiptoed across the cool, marble floor and sat on the edge of the bed, resting her loving gaze on her daughter.

  ‘What’s the matter, Saher?’ She knew something was amiss; her daughter was evading eye contact. And she, herself, was too afraid to voice her fears.

  ‘Nothing,’ was the dull reply.

  ‘Look at me, Saher, and tell me the truth! Is it Ismail?’

  Saher’s head shook vigorously on the pillow.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘Nothing – just tired.’

  ‘Why did Arslan come to your room?’ Frowning, her mother accused, ‘Is there something going on between you two?’ Her naive daughter might have missed the signs, but she hadn’t – the possessive look in Arslan’s eyes. As a mother she felt obliged to warn her daughter about social proprieties. Soon to be married, Saher could not afford to compromise herself with anyone, Arslan or otherwise.

  ‘You couldn’t be more wrong, Mother!’ Saher sat up in outrage, hysterical laughter making her press her hand against her aching ribs.

  ‘Don’t be too friendly with Arslan! Remember, it’s Ismail you are marrying.’

  An animal wail ripped through Saher’s mouth, making her mother leap off the bed in alarm. Rani pulled her only child into her arms, horrified at her daughter’s mental state.

  ‘What is it, my beautiful daughter?’ she cried, hugging Saher tightly. ‘You’re frightening me – please, tell me what’s wrong?’

  Saher merely wept in her mother’s lap. Eventually she pulled herself out of her mother’s arms, bemused at her own behaviour, vowing never to show a weak side to the world, no matter how life treated her.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She made an effort to smile and reassure her mother. ‘I suppose I’m getting wedding nerves …’

  Her mother couldn’t believe it. ‘Afraid of leaving me or of getting married?’

  ‘Both … Mother,’ Saher lied, eyes filling up again at the irony behind her mother’s words. Unconvinced, Rani nodded and decided to leave her daughter in peace for the time being.

  *

  Daniela was taking a walk in the open fields of Gulistan with Arslan. She hadn’t slept well. Vivid images of her husband’s strange behaviour on the plane and at the airport had her waking up in a sweat many times. In the morning, she remained in her room, not knowing what to do with herself and too timid to step outside – for she couldn’t speak Urdu and the women probably couldn’t speak English. How she would have loved to have mastered some Urdu words and phrases from some of her young pupils before she had embarked on this mad journey.

  A silent Begum had brought breakfast to her room. Sipping the syrupy-sweet milky coffee – Begum had got carried away with the sugar to reduce the bitterness – Daniela marvelled at how Arslan had come to her rescue, otherwise she didn’t know what would have happened to her. When he suggested that he take her out for a walk around the village, Daniela had eagerly accepted.

  ‘You understand, Daniela … that in order for you to blend into this society and way of life, you will need to cover your body discreetly. Your legs, for example …’ he tried to explain, too embarrassed to elaborate further.

  Daniela nodded. ‘Of course, I know!’

  ‘OK, I’ll borrow one of my mother’s chadors for you to wrap around your shoulders, as it gets cold in the valley.’

  He met his father on the upstairs gallery.

  ‘I think your mother has had one of her angina attacks,’ his father informed him coldly. ‘It’s not to do with you, is it, Arslan?’ Haider accused his son.

  ‘No, it isn’t! Probably to do with the woman you all slammed the doors on!’

  ‘We’ve suffered for a long time because of your sister’s wrongdoing. Don’t upset your mother with your cruel jibes, Arslan.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of hurting anyone, Father!’ Arslan shot over his shoulder. ‘I’m going to take our English guest for a walk in the fields.’

  ‘Tell her to cover herself well,’ his father reminded him. Arslan’s mouth tightened.

  ‘It’s not necessary for you to cover your head,’ he advised Daniela, helping her to straighten the garment around her shoulders before he led her out of the hevali. As they passed through the kitchen door, he thought it prudent to tell Begum, in case Ismail came.

  ‘I’m taking our guest for a walk around the village.’

  ‘Does Saher know?’ Begum enquired. ‘About the goorie, I mean.’

  ‘Er … yes … Begum.’ He looked down.

  ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘What do you expect, Begum?’ Arslan bitterly rounded on their housekeeper.

  Begum looked accusingly at Daniela as she closed the kitchen door.

  ‘Arslan, that woman hates me!’ Daniela couldn’t help commenting at the hevali gates. ‘What were you talking about?’

  A ghost of a smile touched his face.

  ‘Saher. Remember that she’s supposed to be Ismail’s fiancée, and then you turned up.’

  ‘Oh, God, yes!’ Daniela felt her mouth dry up again.

  ‘Everyone loves Saher! A favourite amongst all our relatives. So you can just imagine what their reaction will be. They’ll feel for her!’

  ‘Does she know about me?’

  The tentative question wrenched Arslan.

  ‘She knows! I told her.’ His voice had hardened, recalling his cousin’s distress. He had never seen Saher break down and weep like that before.

  Daniela stood still, imagining the predicament of the other woman. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered.

  ‘Those words will not help my cousin.’ He turned to face his European companion. ‘For you’ve robbed her of everything she had – her fiancé, her dignity, her self-esteem as a woman! I left a distraught bundle of humiliation last night, and do you know what she asked me before I left?’

  ‘What?’ Daniela’s moist eyes stared at the hard lines of her young male companion’s face.

  ‘She asked me if you were beautiful? It’s strange that the first thing a woman wants to know about her rival is her looks.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  Arslan was in no mood to be gallant. ‘You’re a stunning-looking woman, Daniela … But in my biased eyes, I find Saher very beautiful and I told her so.’

  ‘I’m glad you did that, Arslan … A jealous woman needs her pride.’

  ‘I didn’t say it for her pride’s sake – I meant it … our Saher is very beautiful,’ he taunted.

  Daniela’s gaze faltered, jealousy gnawing; now very keen to have a glimpse of this ‘very beautiful’ fiancée of Ismail’s. A woman her husband had simply forgotten to mention.
/>   ‘Let’s not talk about them!’ Arslan added, catching a vulnerable look in his guest’s eyes. ‘Let’s go on pretending that you are a guest of mine. And I am taking you down to the valley. Have you got some sensible shoes on? Those chappals are perfect!’ he applauded, glancing down at the sandals that Begum had lent to their English guest. Laughing, he offered his hand to support her, watching her step on the small boulders and rocks before dipping her feet into the clear blue running stream in the valley below.

  ‘You are not planning to drown me here, are you?’ Daniela teased. As he showed no sign of understanding, she elaborated, ‘Well, it would solve everything if I did not exist.’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking?’ Daniela was intrigued. ‘What does Saher mean to you?’

  ‘She’s my cousin.’ Taken aback by her question, he stopped dead in his tracks, his foot half poised over another slippery boulder.

  ‘Is she special?’ Daniela probed, her woman’s instinct guiding her along.

  ‘I … I …’ Arslan stopped, unwilling to discuss his feelings for Saher with his woman guest.

  ‘I need to know! I’m Ismail’s wife,’ she appealed. Arslan understood and let down his barriers.

  ‘Let’s say she’s very special to me. And now, I wouldn’t allow Ismail to go anywhere near her. Does that satisfy you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she sighed, somewhat relieved. The hand in his grasp relaxed and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. She looked up and smiled back.

  ‘I needed to know where I stood with you, and what support I could expect from you.’

  ‘You are my sister-in-law. Saher will never be that, if I can help it!’

  Daniela’s rippling laughter rang through the valley. The young goat herd up on the grassy slopes watched, with a speculative gleam in his eyes, the foreign woman with short golden hair holding hands with the Pakistani man.

  ‘Why do I get the feeling, Arslan, that you have some designs on her yourself?’

  Arslan’s laughter had her in giggles. ‘I didn’t say that!’ He sobered, wanting to change the subject.