Revolt

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  With six women to support, including three daughters-inl-aw, it was great to be patronised by the goldsmith’s household. He quickly instructed his supervisor to take special care with this washing, for he had plenty of jewellery to be designed for his youngest daughter’s wedding. That Massi Fiza woman had monopolised all the laundry from that street. And not only that, she delighted in openly taunting him every time they met. Good-natured, he ignored it all, feeling sorry for her, whilst marvelling at how she managed the gruelling work all by herself in the pokey area around her courtyard and still had time to go gadding about the village in search of gossip.

  As he personally mixed the starch solution for the goldsmith’s white cotton clothes, determined to please his new clients, he speculated as to why the washing had walked up to his door. Dollops of starch went a long way, he had learned early on in his washing career.

  ‘Massi Fiza, sneer as much as you want, but we are now in your neighbourhood! We may well take the orders from your other wealthy neighbours – the migrant’s home,’ he laughed, taking out three boxes of soap powder for the goldsmith’s daughters’ delicate fabrics.

  Massi Fiza waited in vain for two days for the washing to land in her courtyard from the house next door. It was only as she spotted Mahmood’s son gaily speeding down the street on his motorcycle, carrying a parcel of freshly-pressed clothes into the goldsmith’s house, whistling a merry tune and winking at her, that it dawned on poor Massi Fiza that her plan had backfired; her pride had cost her in business.

  She had overlooked the fact that people could not cope with mountains of dirty laundry littering the place. Rukhsar had apparently dealt with the problem with alacrity, to the benefit of Massi Fiza’s rival!

  ‘So be it, Rukhsar!’ Massi Fiza raged. ‘At least I’ll not be badgered by your spoilt daughters’ requests to stitch stupid buttons and zips, and tighten their seams in the middle of the night! All that nakhra, all that fuss I had to put up with.’

  In fact Massi Fiza felt as if a ton of bricks was lifted from her back. Those fashionable young madams had taken her for granted. Money-wise there was plenty of work elsewhere. The only thing she would miss was the coffee the girls plied her with and the conversations with their mother.

  ‘Never mind, all the villagers are my friends,’ Massi Fiza happily reassured herself. Begum, from Haider Sahib’s household, was like a sister to her, so kind. The baker’s wife was also a close friend. At least in the baker’s house she did not have to be on guard. Surely the baker’s wife wouldn’t expect her to steal naan breads or khathaie biscuits. In fact, come to think of it, the baker’s wife was a good option for a new friendship, with the added bonus that she would be getting free chappatis every day.

  Yes, that is what she would do; have a special agreement with the baker’s wife, that in exchange for two chappatis a day she would wash a suit each day for her, and if by any chance she decided to offer her some curry, too, that would mean she would no longer need to cook for herself. On second thoughts, she would wash her three suits. It couldn’t be fairer than that, could it? The baker’s wife would certainly love the idea. They had plenty of food, with pots of curries being cooked every day for their large family and three grandchildren. Money and meat was in abundance in that household, too!

  ‘Rukhsar, you and I have truly parted company today,’ Massi Fiza defiantly told herself that night after depositing the washed clothes back to the baker’s home and in exchange had enjoyed a hearty meal, sitting at the eight-seater dining table that their eldest daughter-in-law had brought with her to that house as part of her dowry. They had even offered her a full plate of tomato and onion salad!

  Massi Fiza felt so good about this venture that she decided to offer employment to Rasoola, as a gesture of goodwill for not having a permanent post since she left Mistress Mehreen’s home. That arrogant housekeeper, however, flatly turned the offer down, a look of utter disgust smeared on her face: ‘I’m made for better things than washing other people’s dirty linen.’

  Stung, Massi Fiza had quickly rounded on the woman: ‘You scour other people’s pots, which touch their lips. I just dip clothes in hot water, pound and rinse them.’

  ‘I’d rather go back to Mehreen’s household than work on other people’s laundry.’ Rasoola sneered. The cheek of the woman to offer dirty laundry as work for her!

  Bristling, Massi Fiza deposited a pile of washed and pressed clothes to Begum with Master Arslan’s starched shirt right at the bottom. She was still cursing herself as to how she managed to do it, but the cerise dupatta belonging to the bricklayer’s daughter had ran into Master Arslan’s immaculate white shirt which she had just washed. Even bleaching had not helped. She just prayed that she would get away with it and Master Arslan wouldn’t make a fuss.

  CHAPTER 35

  The Housekeepers

  ‘Then why don’t you?’ Begum had teased Rasoola later.

  ‘What, work for Massi Fiza? Are you kidding?’

  ‘No, I meant go back to Mistress Mehreen’s house as you suggested in the heat of the moment. Mistress Mehreen is desperate for someone and is even doing the cooking herself now!’

  ‘What? Go back to that monster! She’ll eat me alive after what I did!’

  ‘I don’t think she will, but anyway it’s a thought. I’ve been entrusted to supply a housekeeper for her, especially with the goorie there. I feel very sorry for the poor woman. In fact Mistress Gulbahar was worried about her sister’s welfare. She has had a rough time lately, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Well, whose fault was it?’ Rasoola cattily snapped. ‘Hers!’ She had no goodwill or patience to spare for Mistress Mehreen. It was better that their paths never crossed again. In fact she wanted to leave the village very soon. For she was getting fed up with Ali and his dark scowls when he looked at her. Furthermore, she was fed up with her nit comb and jar of Tibet cream going missing from the niche in the veranda wall. Twice her sticks of mouth sak had been discarded in the rubbish, and she had to listen to him complaining about the orangey stain around the sink bowl after she had brushed her teeth with them. At times, Ali, as her host, was barely civil to her. ‘Some would call it pure rudeness!’ she told herself, quite hurt.

  Good old Begum, however, was a great chum, and had not changed one bit. They still enjoyed their nightly bouts of giggles as they exchanged tidbits of gossip, at times choking on their usual treat of monkey nuts.

  In Ali’s view, however, Rasoola had overstayed her welcome – and by a long shot. Ali stopped buying meat and he and Begum began taking their evening meals at Mistress Gulbahar’s. As for the monkey nuts that she loved to munch on at night, the fifth bag had not been replaced. Ali said it was because of their chesty coughs. To his credit, the only thing he had not done was to tell her to her face to leave, otherwise, he had made his feelings very clear.

  In his eyes, she was either dense, or just foolishly stubborn; Ali secretly believed it was the latter. For she had ignored all his signals with a wide speculative grin, meaning that she would only leave when it suited her or when he told her to.

  Tonight, after talking to Massi Fiza and Begum, Rasoola knew it was time to move on, to seek new pastures – time for action. After all, she was cut out for a better future than as Begum’s assistant, always at her beck and call. How she loathed that title, having enjoyed over ten years as a housekeeper.

  And it was action that she took.

  *

  Rasoola arrived at Mistress Rani’s hevali first thing in the morning, just after the lawyer woman had zoomed off in her shiny blue car to the city. Rani’s manservant loftily informed her that the mistress was around somewhere.

  Still sulking, Rasoola stayed in the air-conditioned kitchen with the cook, sipping the promised cool drink. Rani, who happened to pass through the veranda, spotted her and grimaced. Both women had a lot in common, in particular their morose manner. As a result, they disliked each other.

  ‘Rasoola, what are you doing here?’

&nbs
p; ‘Looking for work!’ Rasoola tartly returned, surprising the other woman.

  ‘Right, you can start here by helping us with some errands around the house, cooking and shopping.’ Rasoola was so taken aback by the immediate offer that her mouth fell open. Then she smiled, eagerly rising to her feet. ‘Yes, I’ll happily do that. Can I start today?’

  Rani was equally nonplussed.

  ‘Shouldn’t you explain to my sister, your previous employer, what you are doing?’ Rasoola’s face immediately fell, brown cheeks flagged red.

  ‘’Course I will.’

  ‘OK, when you’ve done that, then you can start.’ She was about to turn away, but added, ‘And one more thing, if you’re going to work in this household, I suggest that you mend your ways. I’ll not tolerate you gossiping. I’m not Mehreen. If I find out that you have leaked any tales from this home, you’ll have me to deal with. I don’t throw tantrums like my sister – I’ve a different manner of dealing with people like you. See that you don’t find out what it’s like.’ Rasoola nodded mutely. Then found her tongue.

  ‘Yes, of course, Mistress Rani. You should expect nothing but loyalty and hard work from me.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see you later.’ They parted company, both tight-faced.

  *

  Rasoola departed soon afterwards, having quickly decided there and then that, of the three, Rani was the worst sister to work for. Even bossy Mehreen, amazingly, appeared in a better light. There was something chilling about the very-quiet middle sister. Rasoola was in no hurry to lead a cowed life under the ever-watchful eye of her gloomy new employer, whose mouth hardly ever lifted in a smile. Also, she was no pet-lover. The sight of a pigeons’ cage and their droppings had her face twisted in disgust. ‘I’ll jump into a well rather than clear away pigeon droppings in Mistress Rani’s home. Ugh!’ As she was leaving, the fierce dog tied to the front gate nearly bit her calf.

  By the time Rasoola reached Mistress Gulbahar’s house, after a bumpy ride in the village rickshaw, the weirdest thought went through her head; that she actually missed Mehreen’s home and the role and status she enjoyed there. Mistress Gulbahar was wonderful, but in that famous household Rasoola was a mere temp, whilst Mistress Gulbahar’s own favourite housekeeper Begum was the ‘madam’.

  Apart from her shouting and occasional tantrums, especially if her beloved china got broken, on the whole, Mistress Mehreen left her well alone to get on with her work, and hardly supervised her. Mistress Gulbahar, on the other hand, was always in and out of the kitchen – keeping an eye on everything. And she could just imagine Mistress Rani, with her eagle eyes, standing over her shoulders dictating every task. Moreover, she loved inheriting Mistress Mehreen’s cast-offs, often new outfits.

  As she helped Begum to prepare the evening meal, Rasoola realised it was time for her to grovel at Mistress Mehreen’s feet. With a sigh, she wryly shared her plan with Begum: ‘Strange what changing circumstances do to you – bring you around full circle!’

  The latter was delighted, exclaiming, ‘That’s right, silly woman.’

  That very night, Begum visited Mistress Mehreen and begged her to take Rasoola back in her household. Stunned, Mehreen managed to keep her face straight, though inside her heart was singing, having learned the lesson well that ‘even a good-for-nothing servant’ was better than having to manage her home on her own. And she had owned up to the truth that Rasoola was indeed a very efficient housekeeper.

  Her body stiffened all the same; the image of the wretched woman nervously set her pulse racing. It was Rasoola, the witch, who had brought her the bad tidings regarding her son. Mehreen had her honour and shan to see to, and found it pertinent to remind Begum to ‘instruct’ Rasoola not only to beg for mafi, forgiveness, but also to keep out of her way when she returned – for she didn’t relish looking Rasoola in the face, not yet anyway.

  ‘Perhaps things will get better as time goes on, Begum, but for the moment I’ll let her work on a trial basis only,’ Mehreen added firmly.

  ‘Thank you, Mehreen-ji. I’ll bring her in straight away. In fact …’ Begum looked sheepish, ‘she’s waiting outside the gate now.’

  Mehreen panicked, her cheeks flaming; she hadn’t bargained for this sudden meeting with that charail, that wicked witch.

  When they met, Mehreen looked anywhere but at Rasoola, while the latter kept her eyes down.

  ‘Go!’ Mehreen’s curtly commanded. ‘You know where everything is. See to the needs of my son and his foreign bride, whose arrival you so graciously announced to us a few days ago.’ The tongue-in-cheek quip had Rasoola blushing hard.

  ‘Daniela, my daughter-in-law, by the way, likes curries but not very hot food. So you need to prepare a special menu for her on a daily basis, do you understand?’ From the corner of her eyes she observed Rasoola nodding her head and then disappearing into the kitchen. ‘Yes, Sahiba-ji,’ she had muttered – her body language unusually subservient.

  Inside, Mehreen felt relief at throwing the reins of her household back to Rasoola. She could now concentrate on working her ‘womanly magic’ on her stubborn husband, who still refused to hold a proper conversation with her.

  ‘How strange life is!’ Rasoola happily turned on her mattress in the servants’ quarters. The thought of Ali having his wife all to himself again made her giggle. She still had to go back for her stuff. ‘But Ali won’t be pressing me to stay, I’m sure of that!’ Rasoola snorted in the darkness. Then she sobered, caustically reminding herself that despite his manner, he was a good soul and a generous host; not only had he put up with her for many days but he had quietly indulged her, too, especially with bags of monkey nuts and village rewarian sweets.

  So she couldn’t possibly hold anything against him. On the contrary, she had gained two trusted friends and owed a lot to Begum. From now on, she would not resent her, but defer to her judgement and learn from her. ‘That’s as long as Begum doesn’t interfere too much in this home,’ Rasoola added.

  *

  ‘What are you telling me, Begum? That your friend has actually left?’ Ali raised his eyebrows in disbelief, creasing his high forehead with four distinct lines. ‘You’re teasing me!’

  Begum chuckled.

  ‘Believe it or not but she’s gone, and you won’t guess where?’

  ‘To the nearest town, as she boasted.’

  ‘No, she’s still in rural surroundings. Go on, have another guess, Ali.’

  ‘I haven’t got time for guessing games, Begum – too tired. I’ve been carting sacks of rice! My back is shattered.’

  He leaned affectionately towards her in bed. At last, they had the place to themselves.

  ‘I hope the new government sorts out the price of food. Do you know how expensive those bags of rice were? As for flour – what poor soul is going to be able to feed his family? These politicians, no matter who they are, they only care about their own hides and their personal squabbles and vendettas. That’s what they’re good at. Who cares about the food on our plates? They are millionaires! Their wealth is stashed away in overseas banks. Who cares for the poor? Let me sleep, Begum.’

  ‘Sleep then! I didn’t ask you for a lecture on politics,’ Begum retorted and then rushed to explain. ‘Just let me tell you where Rasoola has gone – back to Mistress Mehreen’s household!’

  ‘What?’ he cried, sitting poker straight in bed and giving her his undivided attention. ‘Well! Miracle of miracles! Kamal hai!’

  ‘It’s a miracle indeed, Ali! I’m so glad. Mistress Mehreen has got her housekeeper back.’

  ‘Good riddance!’ Ali exclaimed, lying down, a smug smile on his face. ‘We can now have our home back.’ He sat up again, ‘And don’t you dare pick up any other unwanted guests! I’m sure you’re fed up of sleeping on the veranda – just to keep that stupid woman company.’

  ‘Not that you missed me much!’ Begum tartly reminded him. He grinned, showing the gap in his front teeth where he had broken one biting a hard sugarcane.

 
‘Do I have to spell it out for you?’

  ‘Yes. Occasionally.’

  ‘All right, I’ll do it tomorrow, especially after you’ve made me a wonderful paratha?’ Smiling, he snuggled down under his sheet, pulling it over his head, too tired to engage in any intimate matters, physical or otherwise.

  The next minute his head had popped out. ‘And tell that wretched woman to take her damn stuff away – especially that nit comb of hers. If I find out you have got nits from her you are not coming anywhere near me!’

  ‘Don’t be mean, Ali, I’ve no nits – nor does poor Rasoola! The comb is only to keep her hair ultra clean. She’s obsessive about her personal hygiene. I’ve checked her hair myself, not a single egg did I spot. Not only does she wash it with lassi milk, but she buys the best brand of shampoo, and often massages her scalp with real egg yolks. I know you don’t like her. You wicked man! You threw away her new stick of sak, but she made no fuss about it, did she? So don’t be so mean, Ali.’

  ‘I’m not mean! That silly woman has cost us a packet in hair oils, shampoo, monkey nuts and of course meat!’

  ‘Ali, stop counting your paisas, please. You know both our families pride themselves on their hospitality.’

  ‘OK, but she’d better stay where she is … I’m not letting her crawl back into our house again! Do you understand, Begum?’

  ‘I understand, Ali. Go to sleep!’ Begum sweetly agreed, chuckling at the defiant look in her husband’s eye. Rasoola really did get on her husband’s nerves.

  *

  Rasoola had every reason to stay put in her old kingdom as she now fondly referred to it. Coupled with a new heart and focus, she was viewing her hitherto ‘burdensome’ working domain with a new pair of eyes. She shuddered at the thought of Mistress Gulbahar’s household where there were always guests coming and going, all needing to be fed and looked after – but Begum, a kindly devoted soul, took it all in her stride. Here in Mistress Mehreen’s home there was the goorie, but Rasoola loved looking at her and Ismail. The couple were out most of the time sightseeing anyway, including visiting the beautiful hill station of Murree.