Revolt

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  Liaquat had affectionately purchased two pairs of karas from Islamabad for Rani as a wedding gift; he was very protective of his widowed sister-in-law who had never remarried and stoically raised her daughter by herself. As a good brother-in-law, Liaquat had tenaciously supervised the financial side of Rani’s land and its management, making sure that she obtained the best deals.

  Saher was like a daughter to him and he had seen it as a foregone conclusion that she would become his daughter-in-law one day. That day was soon to become a reality and he could not help feeling sorry for Rani in losing an only child, and to a faraway land, too.

  About to go upstairs, the sound of weeping from Ismail’s room stalled Liaquat. Upon entering his son’s room, Liaquat’s heartbeat plummeted as he saw Mehreen sitting with her face buried in her night shawl and Ismail standing awkwardly beside her.

  ‘Mehreen, what’s wrong?’ he asked, striding to his wife’s side. She carried on sobbing. ‘Ismail, why is your mother crying?’

  Ismail stepped back, eyes lowered, contrite. He was supposed to break it gently to them. Now everything was out of his control.

  ‘Mehreen!’ Liaquat raised his voice.

  Face hidden behind her shawl, Mehreen ran out of her son’s room.

  ‘What’s going on, Ismail?’ Liaquat demanded. Ismail remained silent. Mystified, Liaquat followed his wife to their room, mind ablaze with ideas and images, afraid to probe, and convinced that something terrible had happened. His wife often threw tantrums but very rarely wept.

  ‘Mehreen?’

  Mehreen wept louder, sniffing into her shawl. Liaquat waited, instinctively knowing that she was about to break his heart. At last, steeling herself, Mehreen was ready to shatter her husband’s dreams.

  ‘Gulbahar and Haider were unable to accept the potter’s son as their son-in-law. Are you,’ she asked with quiet dignity, voice roughened with tears, ‘able to accept a goorie as your daughter-in-law? For that is what we’ve now got!’

  Liaquat blankly stared, unable to make sense of his wife’s words.

  ‘What’re you saying, Mehreen?’ He asked, tone dull, mouth dry. Everything now fell into place – the goorie that came on the same plane as Ismail, staying at Gulbahar’s house. This was no coincidence!

  Utterly betrayed, he raged, ‘How could our son do this to us?’ They had been preparing for his wedding for years. Therefore how could he foist a woman from another country, culture and faith on them? Unbelievable!

  Liaquat leaned his head against the armchair, eyes closed, weighed down by his son’s betrayal. The energy Mehreen normally expended on a tantrum was now spent on loud wails and chants.

  ‘Oh, God help us all!’ she chanted, remembering her sister. ‘What will Rani do to us? What will people say?’

  ‘People!’ Liaquat echoed bitterly. ‘It’s Saher I am thinking of. The poor girl – she doesn’t deserve this. Say it’s all a lie, Mehreen. Please tell me that there will be no white whore entering my home!’

  Her husband’s racist, explosive words alarmed Mehreen who was waiting for guidance from him. His gaze was steady. There was grief and there was anger, but rebellion, too. Their son couldn’t get away with this.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Betrayal

  Gulbahar was not only taken aback by her niece’s appearance at the hevali so early in the morning, but also by her request.

  ‘I want to see her, Auntie!’ Saher announced, alarming Gulbahar and studiously avoiding eye contact, afraid to see pity reflected in those velvety brown eyes. The goorie hadn’t even been served the special breakfast of chana halwa puri. Begum was still fishing out oily puris from the hot wok. Arslan was out horse riding, while Gulbahar herself had still been in bed dreaming of the beautiful young ‘fairy’.

  ‘Have you seen her?’

  ‘Who, the goorie?’

  ‘No! Laila’s …’ She stopped short, reluctant to utter her granddaughter’s name.

  Saher nodded – understanding dawning. She had once visited her cousin in Islamabad two years ago, upon Arslan’s request.

  ‘Begum will bring you breakfast.’ Gulbahar changed the subject, straightening her shawl around her shoulders. ‘Do you want to have it with Arslan when he gets back?’

  Saher shook her head. She hadn’t come to take breakfast with anyone nor had she slept much. She had risen early – to seek out her sokan, her marital rival.

  ‘Auntie, I have come to see her!’ The dull voice tugged at her aunt’s heart. Very uneasy about her niece meeting the ‘other woman’ Gulbahar asked:

  ‘Do you have to?’

  ‘Yes, I have to see her!’

  ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’

  ‘Why do men do this to us women, Auntie?’

  Gulbahar cynically choked on her tears. ‘It’s not just men who do this to us, but women, too! Remember my selfish daughter destroyed this home!’

  Saher looked away, afraid to glimpse the lingering devastation in her aunt’s eye.

  ‘What madness is it, Auntie, that makes people so selfish – hurting their loved ones?’

  ‘The madness of infatuation!’ came the bitter cry. ‘Lust has wrecked this home.’ Gulbahar blushed. Saher’s gaze fell.

  ‘Is the goorie beautiful, Auntie? I prided myself on my looks, but how could I compete with a goorie’s milky whiteness and her golden hair?’

  ‘How dare you compare yourself with her!’ Arslan accused the woman he adored.

  Entering the room he strode across to his mother’s bed; both looked up, startled. On his return from horse riding, Arslan had seen Saher’s car and immediately went looking for her. His anger scorched them; he was unable to bear Saher talking in this vein – belittling herself.

  ‘Auntie, I had better go!’ Saher stammered, finding his company oppressive.

  ‘You’ve come to see Daniela, haven’t you?’ Arslan prompted as he followed her down the marble stairs.

  ‘Yes, I have!’

  ‘I’ll introduce you!’

  ‘No!’ Stung, Saher turned on him. ‘I don’t need any introductions from you!’ Arslan grinned. This was the woman he enjoyed baiting.

  ‘She’s downstairs!’

  Hearing the amusement in his voice, Saher’s eyes filled up. ‘Allah Pak, help me, he finds all this funny!’ she cried, battling with humiliation.

  *

  Three deep breaths and then Saher was in her sokan’s room, gently pushing the door open, forgetting to knock.

  Standing on the threshold, she braced herself for the confrontation. Daniela was blow-drying her hair in front of the mirror and looked up with a smile, expecting Arslan or Begum with the breakfast tray. Gasping, Daniela instantly knew who the visitor was. The look in the woman’s eyes said it all.

  Spellbound, the women feasted on each other. Daniela felt the pangs of jealousy surging through her body. The fiancée was indeed beautiful, just as Arslan had said. Daniela noted the well-coiffed layers of hair falling gracefully over her shoulders and framing her face; the stylish cut of the elegant outfit accentuating the youthful body contours; a sculpted face with well-defined feminine features, kohl-lined, dark eyes and glossy plump lips. At the back of her mind she heard herself muttering, ‘Ismail, were you both mad and blind to have forgotten a fiancée like this?’

  Lost in wonder, Daniela forgot her own appeal as a woman. Saher had mentally fortified herself for a meeting with the sokan, but now standing in front of her, it hit her hard. This was the foreign woman that Ismail had taken to his bed and shared intimate moments with. Averting her gaze from the woman’s full, thrusting, braless breasts pressed against the thin fabric of her cotton nightdress, Saher’s inner demons echoed in disgust, ‘He has touched that body!’

  She battled the urge to flee. Strangely there was no envy, just resigned acceptance. The English woman’s short, newly brushed hair glowed like gold. The gem-like eyes staring back at her were greenish-blue, fixed in an attractive naked face with high cheekbones.

  ‘She�
�s gorgeous. What must she be like when she’s all made up?’ Saher marvelled at the glowing translucent pink skin after the hot shower. The freely scattered freckles across the cheeks and nose added to Daniela’s beauty, a woman in full bloom, glowing from her pregnancy.

  She spoke first. Saher was the wronged one. Daniela had to make the first move.

  ‘Hello!’ she greeted, putting the hairdryer down on the dressing table, unsure of the other woman’s reaction.

  Saher snatched her gaze from Daniela’s hair, trying to collect her wits about her. Ismail may have married this woman, but the goorie had known nothing about her and was as much a victim as she was.

  ‘Hello!’ A wry smile peeping through her features, Saher echoed back, taking a small step forward into the room and closing the door behind her. Smiling in return, Daniela gestured to the armchair.

  ‘Please sit down!’ she gently requested. ‘Can you speak English?’ Saher nodded. Their gazes momentarily locked and then shifted apart.

  ‘I’m Saher!’

  Daniela glanced down at her hand, afraid of it trembling, sure that Saher was able to hear her heartbeat. The silence was suffocating.

  ‘I came to introduce myself … you’re a visitor to this land. Welcome!’ Inside, there was another poignant utterance, ‘You’re the woman who has robbed me of my fiancé!’

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ Daniela’s anguished words fell between them. Saher paused, and then, head held high, gently withdrew from the room. Daniela sank onto the bed and wept.

  ‘I’ve taken her fiancé and she comes to welcome me! Oh, God!’ she agonised. ‘I didn’t know! The beast never told me!’ Now, having met Saher, Daniela felt depressed and even more vulnerable.

  *

  Arslan was standing under the veranda when Saher, in tears, careered straight into his shoulders. She stepped back, but he pulled her gently by the arm.

  ‘Saher! Please wait!’

  ‘Leave me alone!’ she cried, drawing away, voice roughened by a sob.

  ‘Shush!’ Wanting to give her privacy, he pulled her into one of the empty guest bedrooms, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Satisfied now that you’ve met her?’

  ‘Yes!’ was her defiant answer. Arslan had seen her in tears many times in her life – so when he held her close, she leaned her head on his shoulder and wept. Arslan let her. Unable to bear the warm mouth nestled against the base of his throat, he pulled himself away. She didn’t realise what she was doing and he couldn’t compromise her in any way; for the room had become an intimate cavern.

  ‘Saher, this is silly! Why are you crying?’

  ‘Silly? Yes, have a good laugh!’

  ‘Yes, I’m laughing, Saher. If you’d like to know I never did want Ismail to marry you. He doesn’t deserve you!’

  ‘You are a beast for saying such a thing!’ Bitterly, Saher stood back, staring at him. ‘Then tell me who deserves me?’ was her flippant question, little guessing at the response it would elicit.

  ‘I do!’

  ‘What?’ She had heard his words but was deaf to the agony.

  ‘Marry me, Saher!’ he urged, though knowing that it was the wrong time.

  ‘Are you mad, Arslan?’ she cried, hysterical laughter nearly choking her. ‘What childish games are you playing?’ She stormed out of the room. Arslan stood staring and then ran after her; pride had to be restored.

  ‘Sorry, Saher!’ he called, ‘for my childish joke! I never meant it!’

  ‘I don’t need jokes like that!’ she fumed. ‘Especially in pity, Arslan!’

  He nodded. There was nothing to laugh at – she had made herself perfectly clear.

  *

  The telephone rang while Gulbahar was looking at photos of Arslan’s American university friends. She stiffened, holding the receiver tightly to her ear.

  ‘Gulbahar …’ The mere wisp of a whisper.

  ‘She knows!’ Gulbahar’s heart wept. ‘Hello, Mehreen,’ she dully greeted her.

  ‘Hum loothey ghey,’ Mehreen cried. ‘We’ve been robbed!’

  Gulbahar’s tongue tried to lie but could not.

  ‘I know.’ She pressed her palm to her chest, alarming her son.

  ‘Is it true?’ Mehreen pleaded for a lie.

  Gulbahar paused. What should or could one sister say to another? Deny the reality when the Englishwoman literally sat in the next room?

  Voice rough with tears, Gulbahar confirmed, ‘Yes, Mehreen, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Tell me!’ Mehreen pleaded, still seeking a denial.

  ‘She’s staying with us, Mehreen …’

  The receiver clicked down at the other end. Panic-stricken, Gulbahar stared at her son.

  ‘Arslan, please take me to your poor aunt! God help us! How’s she going to survive this? You must first drop me off at Mehreen’s, then take me to Rani’s – she doesn’t even know yet. We need to gently break it to her.’

  Arslan left his mother outside his Aunt Mehreen’s villa, in no mood to face his cousin Ismail again or to witness his aunt’s wretchedness. From a wedding to a catastrophe – what a nightmare!

  At Saher’s home, he was informed that his Aunt Rani was out shopping in the bazaar.

  ‘And Saher?’

  ‘She’s in her room, Sahib-ji,’ Neeli, the young woman helper, shyly explained, throwing aside the broom in her hand and running to open the door of the guest room for him. His arrival always elicited a deep blush from the 18-year-old daughter of the village cook. Their worlds and backgrounds were so different, but that did not halt the rapid flutter of her heartbeat.

  Saher was in bed, gazing up at the ceiling and showed no visible sign of surprise when Arslan appeared. Smiling, he greeted her and asked, ‘Where’s Auntie?’

  ‘Shopping for my trousseau, looking for a mink blanket!’ The hysteria in her voice had Arslan squatting on the bed beside her, painfully watching the swollen teardrops spilling down her cheeks. Distressed by the look in his eyes, she buried her face in the pillow.

  ‘I know,’ he murmured, reaching to pull her up against his body. Saher surrendered and wept, burying her face against his chest, body shuddering. Arslan’s grip tightened. Heaving his legs up, he was now half reclining on the bed. Head thrust against the pillow, he moved his hand gently over her hair to support her, and stared down at her body lying in his arms.

  Her weeping had slowly stopped.

  ‘How will I tell my mother? I’m going crazy, Arslan,’ she whimpered, raising her face up to his, feeling the warmth of his breath.

  ‘We have to.’ His breath caught, his heart beating fast; he was sure she could hear it. Her lips were just inches away. But her eyes were not seeing him. When her hand reached to touch him on the face, he flinched.

  ‘You don’t like me touching you, do you?’ she gently taunted, her palm soft and warm against his skin.

  ‘I think I can survive,’ he drily returned, his voice ragged, ‘under the circumstances.’

  Her eyes dulled. ‘She’s very beautiful, isn’t she?’

  He brushed his hand against her tear-stained cheek. ‘Not as beautiful as you!’ he whispered, gently pressing one fingertip into the plumped softness of her lower lip.

  Taken aback by his words and the feel of his hand on her face, something speared through Saher. ‘You always say such nice things.’ A flirtatious smile lined her mouth, ‘Such a gallant boy.’

  ‘I’m not a boy!’ Stung, Arslan pushed her aside, sliding off the bed, an angry tide of colour flooding his cheeks. Disconcerted by his reaction, Saher stared at his back, her breathing shallow.

  ‘For God’s sake, woman! Wake up! Has Ismail blinded you to everyone else?’ he bitterly accused.

  ‘What!’

  ‘I’m not a boy!’ He was bent on having his outburst. ‘It’s you … still a little girl. When will the sleeping beauty finally wake up? Do you think it’s normal in our culture for a single man to enter a woman’s room and then hold her in his arms? Would you let any man do it? Wh
y let me? Because I am the little boy – the young cousin? I was just on the point of kissing you on the lips.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Saher shouted, horror-stricken. ‘You stupid man!’

  ‘Thank you, my darling, for this immediate graduation into manhood!’

  ‘How dare you say such terrible things to me?’ She was now sitting bolt upright. ‘Kissing me! Have you gone mad? I’m not some American tart.’

  ‘As if I don’t know!’ his voice now hollow, his back to her.

  ‘Why are you being so cruel – just when Ismail has betrayed me! Do you feel sorry for me?’

  ‘Sorry!’ He swept round, eyes pointed daggers. ‘Forget it! You are still blind!’

  ‘Blind?’ she hotly queried.

  ‘I’ve wanted to say and do those things to you for over a decade!’ he glared, cupping her face in his two hands, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks, before touching her lips. ‘I’ve wanted to kiss you and marry you since I was 13!’

  Saher drew back, pushing his hands away from her face.

  ‘Khabardar!’ she shuddered. ‘Stop right there! Listen to me hard, Arslan, and for the last time – for I’ll not repeat it. You are like a little brother to me!’ She stressed the word ‘little’, wanting to hurt him in the way he had just hurt her.

  ‘The little brother is only six months younger than you and is not so little any more,’ he scoffed, wanting to strangle her.

  ‘You’re right – I’ve been blind …’ she paused, her tone equally jeering. ‘I may not be marrying Ismail, but you’ll never take his place in my life, either. Thank you for your very considerate and well-timed offer to marry me, but Saher doesn’t take pitiful crumbs nor is she interested in teenage crushes. And yes, you are right – I don’t invite strange men into my room. I only let a ‘younger brother’ in, not a man who wants to kiss me! So get out!’ Her finger pointed to the door, face scarlet, throat arched to its full slim length, chest heaving.