Revolt

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  ‘Come, Daniela,’ Arslan beckoned, with an encouraging smile, whispering in English, ‘You’ve every right to be in this home.’

  ‘You traitor! What are you doing?’ Liaquat expressed his outrage at his wife’s nephew.

  Unperturbed, smiling firmly, Arslan repeated in English, ‘Daniela, come! I’ll take you to Ismail’s room – it’s here on the ground floor.’

  He was now dragging the suitcase behind him over the marble floor, gaze still locked in a challenge with that of the older man.

  Daniela timidly followed, peeping at the elderly man, knowing straight away he was her father-in-law. Liaquat watched helplessly, unable to speak her language.

  Inside the large bedroom, Daniela gazed at the finely designed wooden wardrobe. The matching dressing table took up one third of one wall.

  ‘Gosh, Ismail wasn’t boasting when he talked about the splendour of his home – it’s unbelievable!’ She marvelled at the amount of marble everywhere in this house, and the bed – it was larger than the king-sized equivalent in England. The stunning wooden headboard encrusted with onyx reached halfway up the wall.

  ‘Yes!’ Arslan laughed, amused at her delight. ‘Daniela, all three sisters, including my mother, are very wealthy women, and married equally wealthy men, constituting the wealthiest of families in the two neighbouring villages. They are mistresses of many acres of land. Of course not everyone in the village lives like this, or has the money to send their children to prestigious universities abroad.’

  ‘Are you an only child, too, like Ismail?’ Daniela, intrigued, wanted to know more about her husband’s wealthy family.

  ‘No …’ Arslan replied tersely, in no mood to discuss his sister or her predicament, fearing that Daniela would not understand the complexities of the situation regarding his sister’s elopement. She would simply end up by saying what he had said as a child, ‘So what, she has only got married.’ Now, as an adult, he had revised certain ideas, and learned that some things had far deeper significance. The thirst for his sister and the ache to have her out of the potter’s hovel and back in the hevali wouldn’t leave him. Above all, he wanted to take his niece out horse riding. And Saher? He bitterly shook his head. It was time to call it a day on his childhood crush and adult passion for her.

  ‘Right, Daniela, please make yourself comfortable. I’ll stay here with you until Ismail returns.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She nervously smiled her gratitude, glad that she was not left alone in the building until her husband returned.

  ‘I’ve got a battle on my hands, Arslan, haven’t I? You saw the look on his father’s face. He doesn’t have to say a word!’

  ‘Yes … There are challenging times ahead for you, but I’m sure that you are game for it,’ Arslan teased.

  ‘As long as I get to keep my Ismail, I’m ready for any battles.’ Brave words uttered with little confidence.

  ‘There’ll be no battles, Daniela!’ Arslan gently reassured her. ‘Nothing will happen to you. Just try to understand how my uncle and aunt’s world has been swept away – their plans, wishes, happiness – have all gone up in smoke with your appearance. They are reeling in shock. Forty-eight hours ago, you didn’t exist in their lives. Think what it must be like for them?’

  ‘Yes, Arslan, I can understand!’ Daniela sharply retaliated, on the defensive. ‘But what about me – to be abandoned by my husband, and then find out he has a fiancée waiting for him.’

  ‘Everyone is suffering. Do you know how much anguish there is in all three households as a result of Ismail’s cowardice? If only he had told his parents about you before coming here.’

  ‘Tell me, Arslan, do you love Ismail’s fiancée?’ she enquired, her eyes fixed on his face.

  Shocked by her question, he paused before replying, ‘Whether or not I love her is irrelevant at the moment, Daniela, for she’ll have nothing to do with me. She loathes me and has insulted me in no uncertain terms. I don’t think I could ever marry her now. I’ll probably go back to the States.’

  ‘Don’t do anything silly – see what my rash actions have resulted in!’

  ‘No, Daniela. Eventually, his family would have discovered your existence. Here, let me get you a drink.’ Her pregnancy had him worried about the effect of the heat on her.

  He left to get water for her. Soon afterwards, the door was thrust open and Ismail entered – husband and wife stared at one another.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Ismail was the first to recover, his head spinning with crazy images, experiencing the weird sensation of having his wife in his Pakistani home, while shying away from the condemnation in her eyes.

  ‘Are you going to own up to everyone that I’m your wife? Or will you go on running from here, too?’ Daniela accused.

  ‘Yes and no!’ he snapped back. ‘You’ve caused enough damage. Two sisters are now at each other’s throats! Satisfied?’ In a foul mood, he wanted her to understand the critical situation in the sisters’ households.

  ‘And whose fault is that, tell me?’ Daniela shouted, stung by his words.

  ‘Shut up, don’t yell!’

  ‘I’ll yell as loud and as much as I want!’ And striding to his side, she slapped him hard across his cheek and looked down at her throbbing hand.

  ‘Feel better now?’ he jeered. ‘I suppose I deserved it.’ His arm reached for her waist from behind – she pushed it away.

  ‘No, I don’t feel any better!’ Daniela taunted back. ‘This trip is a nightmare. I’m in a country where nobody wants me, and where there is already another woman in your life! Waiting to wed you! How do you think that I should behave, my loving husband? Any guesses? My beastly husband then abandons me and a kindly stranger ends up taking care of me. Is this the holiday of a lifetime that I had impulsively imagined?’

  ‘I never invited you …’ he coldly reminded her. ‘It was your stupid plan that has brought all of this on! I was going to tell them in my own time.’

  ‘When? In 25 years’ time?’

  ‘No, during this visit! I’m going to be a father, remember? My parents needed to know that!’

  Anger sapped out of her, Daniela sat down heavily on the bed.

  ‘I have lost control over my life. Everyone hates me. My cousin nearly beat me up – it’s been quite a picnic for me, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Come here, you big oaf!’ She held out her arms to him.

  He fell into them, revelling in the feel of her warm body around him. They held onto each other for a long time.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Daniela, for everything!’ he apologised, nuzzling his face against her throat.

  ‘It’s OK. As long as you don’t desert me and marry your cousin. I’m fine now.’

  ‘No chance of that – I love you too much. Even if I wanted to, Arslan has barred me for life from having anything to do with Saher.’

  ‘Good. She’s very pretty, isn’t she?’ Daniela could not help adding.

  ‘Yes, but not as sexy as you! Especially with this pregnancy.’

  Daniela glowed upon hearing those words. Snuggling down on the soft, feathery pillow, she pulled his head against her breasts.

  ‘Can you hear my heartbeat?’ she giggled.

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  ‘Well, imagine what it must have been doing to our baby? It hasn’t been a picnic for me, either, you know, being surrounded by hostile people and with whom I could not communicate. It’s been terrible!’ Tears came flooding back.

  Ismail raised his face. ‘I know, my darling. Cheer up now and smile.’ He felt very contrite. ‘You must be hungry – can I get you something to eat or drink?’

  ‘Arslan has gone to get me something.’

  A few moments later there was a knock on the bedroom door. Ismail stood up. Daniela quickly raised herself up.

  Arslan entered carrying a bottle of Coke and a glass on a tray. Ismail avoided eye contact with his cousin, a reddish hue smearing his cheeks.

  ‘I’m glad to see you, Ismail. Now, look after
your wife and protect her!’ Arslan sarcastically instructed in Urdu. Daniela looked from one to the other. ‘You will be all right, Daniela, now that your husband is here,’ he explained in English.

  ‘Thanks, Arslan, for everything you have done for me.’

  ‘My pleasure. But please don’t be too hard on my uncle and aunt. They are still in a state of shock. They will not bite, nor are they vindictive people. Try and keep a low profile for a little while. You never know, they may well begin to like you.’

  A nervous laugh shuddered through her body, recalling the hostile look in Ismail’s father’s eyes as she had passed him in the courtyard.

  ‘I hope so, Arslan.’ She wistfully looked down. ‘Especially as I am competing with your cousin, whom your whole family adores. I have, apparently, become the villain of this drama.’

  ‘You are not a villain, but a beautiful, sweet and gentle woman,’ Arslan generously added.

  They all laughed.

  Arslan quietly let himself out of the hevali. He was glad that his uncle and aunt were nowhere to be seen.

  *

  Upstairs Mehreen sat stunned, heart thudding, fingers stuffed in her ears. ‘Can you hear them laughing, Liaquat?’ Hysteria coursed through her body.

  Liaquat Ali was lying in bed. ‘You’ll hear more than their laughter, Mehreen!’ was his bitter reply.

  ‘This is my home!’ she mourned. ‘I feel as if I am living in a stranger’s house? What are we going to do?’

  ‘Ignore them, Mehreen!’ Her husband tossed onto the other side, facing the wall.

  ‘Ignore them? Has our son no shame? He has not even bothered to come up and see us!’

  ‘Well, there is only one course of action!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s our house! Why are we hiding in our room?’ Liaquat Ali sat bolt upright. ‘Come, let’s go down. I’m hungry!’

  ‘You’re hungry!’ Mehreen threw an incredulous look at him.

  ‘Yes. I know we are upset, but my stomach isn’t, Mehreen! It needs feeding.’

  ‘But Rasoola has gone, remember. Who will do the cooking?’

  ‘You!’

  ‘What?’ She blinked.

  ‘Yes, Mehreen, until we find another housekeeper. We are not going to starve, are we? You don’t have to meet the goorie. You can turn your face the other way if you pass. Remember, she’s the intruder – not us! This is our house!’

  ‘Liaquat-ji, do you think that they are really married?

  ‘What?’

  ‘What if … What if they aren’t?’

  ‘Don’t be silly.’

  ‘Think, Liaquat Sahib …’ A nervous look smeared her face.

  ‘Spell it out, woman!’ He was now quite agitated.

  ‘I don’t want any haram being committed in our house. What if they have not done the nikkah ceremony? Allah Pak, protect us from haram.’

  Liaquat’s face creased with shock and disgust. His son had claimed that he had married the woman. They had to accept his word for it.

  Liaquat’s firm tread had disappeared, his posture bent. Mehreen’s hands felt clammy on the handrail, timidly following her husband down the stairs. What if? Mehreen was gripped by a panic attack.

  ‘I don’t want to go near the kitchen!’ she whimpered. His angry glare forced her to explain. ‘I can’t pass their room, Liaquat-ji – please believe me! I can’t do it!’

  Her husband was staring at the window in the far corner of the courtyard. What were they doing inside? Liaquat Ali suddenly experienced the urge to take flight himself and he steered his wife round in the other direction. Hunger forgotten. Mehreen was right – they could not face them yet.

  ‘Let’s go to Rani’s!’ he instructed.

  ‘Rani’s?’ Mehreen croaked, wondering if her husband had gone mad. That was the last place she wanted to visit. ‘Out of the frying pan into the fire!’ she bitterly commented.

  ‘Mehreen, we have to talk to your poor sister! Imagine our poor dear Saher! They need us,’ he explained sadly. From her childhood, Saher had become Liaquat Ali’s darling little daughter. The thought of having lost her devastated him.

  Hatred surged through him again, imagining his son lying in the arms of the Englishwoman. He shuddered, nausea spilling through him – that woman had soiled their zemin, their home.

  ‘Come, Mehreen,’ he commanded, pulling his wife behind him.

  ‘No, my husband, don’t do anything stupid!’ Mehreen panicked, catching a rebellious glint in her husband’s eyes. ‘Ismail is our only child! I can’t lose him!’ she pleaded, looking back at her son’s room.

  ‘Look, the door’s opening! Go!’ Panicking, she pulled her husband out of the door – fleeing.

  ‘Yes, better go before I do something that I might later regret!’ Liaquat Ali muttered, banging the door of the hevali shut behind him.

  Disconcerted by his parents’ departure, Ismail returned to his room. Daniela had to be fed and there was no cook in the house.

  ‘Daniela, there’s no one at home at the moment,’ he sheepishly informed her. ‘I’m sure we can rustle up something to eat between us.’

  Warily, Daniela crossed the courtyard, looking from right to left, expecting his parents to appear.

  ‘Relax, Daniela!’ Ismail reassured her, putting his arm around her shoulder. ‘At the moment, we only have an old retainer and he’s out shopping.’

  ‘Your villa is so big, Ismail.’ She was gazing up at the top gallery circling the courtyard. ‘Our three-bedroom semi back in England is no match for this place. Now, I can see why you have been so keen for us to build a conservatory. This courtyard is larger than our entire house and rear garden put together. Look at all this marble! The place is slabbed with it! Back at home all the marble we can boast of is our ashtray!’

  ‘Marble is cheaper and more popular here than in the UK. The wealthy families use it in abundance in their homes, for everything, from pillars and staircases to bathrooms and balustrades on the rooftop floors. You’ve only seen the courtyard – there is an entire floor upstairs and a conservatory-like garden at the top. And at least three acres of land belonging to my mother which is annexed to our home – it was offered to her as part of her dowry by her father.’

  ‘Does everyone live like this?’ Daniela was truly awed. ‘I’ve stayed in two houses and both are palatial.’

  ‘Most wealthy people live like this, but of course there are many humble dwellings like the small two-bedroom terrace houses back home in England.’

  ‘Ha! I love the way that you say “back home”!’

  ‘Well, of course! It’s our home, isn’t it?’

  ‘I know but what about this place? Do you feel more at home here?’

  ‘Actually, I don’t. Home is where you live your daily life, and mine is with you in our cosy semi in the UK, with our nice warm rugs on the floor!’

  ‘So you would not exchange this marble floor for our humble kitchen tiles?’

  ‘Not even our worn-out Chinese rug in the lounge,’ he giggled, hugging her in a tight embrace. ‘I’m beginning to miss our home already.’

  ‘But this is your home, too.’ Daniela was keen to pursue this topic, trying to gauge his loyalties. The issue of identity suddenly seemed very important to her. Where did her husband truly belong? Here or back in England – the place he called ‘home’.

  ‘Yes, but I don’t feel very much at home here at the moment. And you know the reasons, too!’ he reminded her, disgruntled, changing the topic. ‘Would you like to see the rest of the house?’

  ‘Can I?’

  Caressing her cheek, he murmured, ‘Remember it’s our home, too. And I am the only heir – unless of course they now decide to disinherit me,’ he teased.

  Dismayed, she asked, ‘Would they really do that, Ismail?’

  He shrugged, his eyes dull. The storm he had unleashed had to be dealt with and he wasn’t sure which way it was heading.

  ‘Come, Daniela. And remember, you are not an intru
der!’ Smiling, she ran after him – afraid and yet eager to take a tour of her husband’s home.

  CHAPTER 23

  The Sisters

  Mehreen and Liaquat stood awkwardly in the courtyard of Rani’s house, waiting to be welcomed, their salaams to be heard.

  In both their heads the fearful thought hammered – how would Saher react to them? Their eyes automatically filled when she materialised from the drawing room. A brave but poignant smile played on her face.

  Mehreen rushed to Saher’s side and, grasping her arm tightly, she openly wept on her shoulders. Standing woodenly in Mehreen’s arms, Saher was happy to indulge her aunt. Tears and tantrums were her Aunt Mehreen’s domain. Liaquat patted Saher on her head, eyes sad and gentle in their pleading, tears also openly flowing.

  ‘We are so sorry! How will you ever forgive us, Saher? On our honour and as Allah Pak is our witness, we didn’t know anything about what our scoundrel of a son has done.’

  ‘No, we didn’t!’ Mehreen chimed between sobs over her niece’s shoulder.

  Across the courtyard, Rani watched with cynical eyes from the window of her dining room.

  ‘We’ve been made strangers in our own home, Saher. It’s a nightmare,’ Mehreen explained, wailing in a piteous tone.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Auntie and Uncle, but please don’t worry on my behalf. Believe me, I am all right,’ Saher hastened to reassure them. ‘These things happen, you know; perhaps I was never destined to cross your threshold as your son’s bride,’ she ended, looking down at the floor.

  ‘Another woman has forced herself into our lives! We are helpless, my dear,’ Liaquat added bitterly. ‘Where’s your mother?’

  ‘Mother didn’t know about the goorie. I told her!’

  ‘You mean that when she visited us, she had no idea?’ Liaquat felt faint.

  ‘No, I didn’t!’ Rani’s strident voice hit them from behind. Hearts thumping, they turned to face her.

  Mehreen shifted from her niece’s shoulder, unable to utter a word. It was left to her husband to enter into a dialogue with a sister who had always been difficult, but today had every reason to be.