5
Abba’s sitting room began to fill with visitors within just a few days of their moving in. The Hindu family from the two-storey house across the way began to visit, including Kusum and her father, Ray Sahib; Amma was endlessly enraged.
‘These people are useless. They have absolutely nothing at all to do in the world. The daughter sings day and night and the father goes about talking politics.’
Amma did not like Kusum one bit. The greatest cause for Amma’s hatred was that her father was against the British Raj, and on top of that, they were Hindus, and also, his widowed daughter, Kusum, sang and played an instrument all the time.
Amma had absolutely no sympathy for Kusum, even though Kusum had told her the whole tale of her misfortunes on the very second meeting: ‘I was fourteen or fifteen years old at that time. I’d been married only three months. In those days he had been transferred to Amritsar. The day he went to take part in the rally at Jallianwala Bagh, my mother- and father-in-law tried their best to stop him, but he just laughed at them. I went mad listening to what they said to him, but I was too shy to say anything. I just watched from beneath my veil as his feet walked away. He used to say, “I love you very much.” But he never asked me before he left what I wanted him to do. He was laughing as he walked away, and he never turned back. I wore myself out waiting for him to return. When people learnt I was a widow they all avoided me. But for some reason, I still don’t consider myself a widow. Am I a widow, Aunty?’ Kusum asked, looking at Amma, and then, for some reason, she began staring at the ceiling. Amma pulled the paandaan over, and then Aliya hugged Kusum, though she didn’t know why.
‘If he had loved me, he would never have gone, but he only loved his country. Now what should I do with my love? He never thought about how I would feel—that I have a heart too,’ Kusum lamented, and she hid her face in the edge of her sari. Amma looked away, perhaps shocked at Kusum’s shamelessness.
The first time Kusum had come to their house, Aliya felt as though a fairy had suddenly appeared before her—straight out of the stories. She’d been sitting on the front terrace, fed up with the household. Safdar had taken her that day to get enrolled in school, after a fierce battle. It was perhaps the first time Safdar had done anything against Abba’s wishes, but Abba had not reprimanded him at all, instead he had just ignored Amma. Whenever she spoke to him, Abba looked away.
Kusum had walked down the steps of her two-storey house and come to stand before them. Her tiny pale feet looked like two bits of moon, and her wide, haunted eyes revealed an obsessive nature. She smiled sweetly as she held Aliya’s hand affectionately.
‘I am Ray Sahib’s daughter, I’ve come to meet your mother,’ she said softly, and Aliya recalled the fairy-tale princess whose mouth blossoms with flowers whenever she speaks.
Tehmina and Kusum became such close friends that the two of them would talk in the room for hours about all sorts of things. Amma would wander about enraged the entire time, and after Kusum returned home, Amma was always sure to have something negative to say.
‘What a terrible tradition those wretched Kaffirs have of not remarrying. Keeping young women locked up—it’s like torture! Oh yes, we know how these young widows sweeten their pots with sugar.’
Tehmina would listen to everything Amma said with her head down, but Aliya didn’t like it one bit, and anyway, Kusum had also secretly started to teach her the harmonium.
‘Kusum hardly eats sugar that she would use it to sweeten a pot, she hates sugar!’ she shrieked angrily and Amma burst out laughing. That day Aliya didn’t even talk to Tehmina. ‘What’s the use of your silence? You don’t even speak up for your friend. After all, you’re the big sister,’ she muttered secretly to herself.
6
That evening, a fierce dust storm blew in and clouds gathered in the sky. It must have been the end of June. The night was shrouded in dense clouds and occasionally a light rain fell. Amma and Abba were asleep in their room. Aliya slept with Tehmina on the veranda. At times the wind was so fierce the rain blew in as far as the foot of the bed, and Aliya would open her eyes for a moment. At one point, she opened her eyes and found that Tehmina was not in her bed. There was a faint rumble of thunder. She felt afraid, but Tehmina returned in just a few moments. She was not alone, however—Safdar was with her. Aliya was astonished: was Tehmina talking to Safdar in the middle of the night? Was she that afraid to speak with him in front of Amma?
Tehmina crept along softly, and when she was about to get into bed, Safdar hugged her. Then he stayed bent down over her face. Aliya held her breath in astonishment, as she recollected the story of Salma Aunty. It all felt so strange to her.
In the morning, when Tehmina was getting her ready to go to school, Aliya asked softly, ‘Tehmina, where did you go last night?’
‘What?’ Tehmina’s lips went blue with fear.
‘I won’t tell Amma anything, of course not,’ she reassured her—just like a grown-up lady—and Tehmina hugged her, her whole body trembling.
‘If you told Amma, who knows what she would do, even worse than what happened with Salma Aunty. Aliya, it’s just that I like Safdar, that’s all it is.’
‘I like him too, and of course I won’t tell Amma—she might get the chaprasi to beat him with shoes . . .’
Tehmina quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Her face had turned turmeric-yellow. ‘I will chase him away,’ she said.
‘That’s a good idea.’
Safdar was waiting for her on the veranda. She went to school with him, but she didn’t enjoy herself there either. Safdar had said that if she went to school she’d feel better, but she was getting older now. Everything was bothering her—she kept thinking about what had occurred the night before, and was so fearful of what might happen she couldn’t read a single word.
7
The school headmistress had said she would visit Aliya’s home that day. Amma and Tehmina spent the whole day sprucing up the house. They even swept away the spiderwebs hanging from the walls. Safdar brought marigolds and gul-e-abbasis and arranged them in blue vases. The maid filled the buckets, washed the yard and set up the easy chairs and table near the henna plant. Tehmina’s most beautiful embroidered tablecloth covered the table. The new Japanese tea set was taken out. That set was only brought out at times when very special guests were expected. Fried snacks were prepared to go with the tea. Amma seemed exceptionally happy and busy that day. That afternoon she neither rested nor let the maid rest her back.
‘Well, well, I must say; she’s English and she said she was coming over to our house,’ Amma kept repeating joyfully to Tehmina. Aliya had the impression that every time Amma said that, Safdar had to screw up his mouth to keep himself from smiling.
‘What I think is that not many people should take part in tea. She’s English, so she might not like it,’ said Amma at four o’clock, when it was nearly time. She raised her eyebrows as she expressed what she felt was common sense. Safdar immediately went into his room.
At exactly four o’clock, Mrs Howard arrived. Amma and Tehmina welcomed her. Mrs Howard’s round blue eyes looked like marbles as they rolled about evaluating the house. The moment she sat down on her chair, she began to speak rapidly in her broken Urdu.
‘I’m verry plaised to meet you all, you have a lovely home. Verry clean. Other peoples here keep their home quiet filthy. Even prominent ladies don’t keep his home clean. I’ll chertainly come to visit you again,’ she said.
‘Yes! The people of this country are quite filthy. My sister-in-law—my brother’s wife—is English,’ Amma remarked with pride.
‘Really!’ The two glass marbles looked as though they might crack from astonishment.
Mrs Howard’s deep blue eyes looked so lovely to Aliya. In school, when she went into her office, she would secretly stare at them.
‘Women here raise chickens, and they’re just so filthy.’
Who knows what else Amma would have said, but Tehmina interrupted.
Tehmina had grown listless ever since Safdar had gone into his room after Amma’s hints. Suddenly signs of fatigue had appeared on her face.
‘Yes, yes, Tehmina dear, do tell the maid.’ Amma was startled at the mention of tea. Her face went white. As Abba had been leaving for his office, Amma had reminded him several times to come home by teatime so he could please Mrs Howard by speaking with her in English.
‘Aliya, does you want to sit by me?’ Mrs Howard looked at Aliya kindly, and Aliya slipped away from Tehmina and went to sit by her, but just then the teacups were filled and she quickly stood and picked up a cup. Amma stared at her but she rushed off to Safdar’s room.
Safdar was lying in his room, face down, lost in thought. How quickly evening fell inside their rooms! His room was already cloaked in darkness.
‘Safdar, tea,’ she said. She placed the cup on the table.
‘Oh my,’ he said, sitting up. ‘Aliya, you drink with me as well.’
‘No! I have to drink my tea with Mrs Howard.’
She came back outside. Mrs Howard was gobbling down the shami kebabs, her eyes watering from the chillies.
“Your girl is very clever, she study lots,’ said Mrs Howard praising Aliya. Aliya felt embarrassed.
‘Yes, our daughter is very clever, and anyway the girls around here are quite idiotic; they flee at the mere mention of studying. Indian people are happy to keep their daughters ignorant.’ Amma was on a roll again.
‘Idio tick?’ asked Mrs Howard, confused by the Urdu word.
‘Exactly.’
‘And how much has your elder daughter studied?’ asked Mrs Howard smiling.
‘Till class ten, then she fell ill,’ said Amma.
Tehmina had been silent this whole time. She had not said one word to Mrs Howard. Dusk had fallen. Lines of birds flew off to their nests. Mrs Howard started and stood up.
‘Your husband hasn’t come. I was so hoping to met him. He must have gone somewhere for work?’
‘Yes, yes, a friend of his died today, so he must have gone to his home.’
What better excuse could Amma have made than this? There could only be a serious reason for not being able to take tea with an Englishwoman.
As soon as Mrs Howard left, Amma blew up. ‘Did you see? He didn’t come home for tea. Thank God I came up with a good excuse, isn’t it? Otherwise what would Mrs Howard have thought? Just watch! He’ll end up acting on his hatred one of these days. I’d like to know who could be a better ruler than the English! Our people are the sort to slit one another’s throats—but who will ever make that man listen to reason?’
‘He must have had some work to do,’ Tehmina suggested on Abba’s behalf.
‘Work?’ Amma boiled over. ‘I doubt he had any work to do. Really, that man . . .’
Who knows what else Amma would have said—Aliya rushed off to see Safdar. The cup of tea still sat on the table and had grown cold. Safdar looked odd in the yellowish light of the lantern.
‘Safdar, you didn’t drink your tea?’
‘Oh my, didn’t I drink it?’ He picked up the cup and drank it down like water.
‘I’m not talking to you, what’s the point of drinking it now?’ As she left the room, Safdar called out to her but she didn’t reply.
When it had grown quite dark, the maid pushed aside the table and chairs and set up the beds. She was exhausted and her eyes were half-closed from opium intoxication. Her only cure for every illness was opium; as soon as she swallowed those tiny black pills she forgot all her troubles. Her exhaustion would disappear and she would fall asleep with the grandeur of a queen.
After the maid had set up the beds and gone into the kitchen, Abba came home. Amma flew into a rage the moment she saw him. ‘Oh, so now you’ve come, Exalted Master! Of course she’ll figure out you didn’t like her coming here. There’s a limit, I must say! She’s English and came to our home, and the gentleman of the house doesn’t even care. If she reports that Your Excellency behaved rudely to her, maybe you’ll come to your senses.’ Amma slammed the lid of the paandaan shut so loudly she frightened the maid, who came running out of the kitchen.
‘Those days are gone when people trembled at the mere mention of the English; even if I can’t do anything about them, I can at least hate them!’ retorted Abba harshly. ‘Forget these godawful businessmen, these rulers! I hate them all. If I were like my elder brother, I’d do something, but my hands are tied. I’m forced to do my job.’
‘Humph! One thing I do know is that you are hell-bent on making us all die of hunger.’
‘That’s the exact reason why I’m still working, otherwise I’d run a shop like my elder brother. Oh, but you sent all the money to your brother. “He’s a man of great integrity, his wife is English!”’
‘I’ve told you again and again not to speak ill of my brother and sister-in-law!’ Amma broke down sobbing.
Tehmina sat on the bed totally silent, her legs hanging down. There were tears in her eyes. Her tears looked so painful in the dingy moonlight.
Go on, cry about everything, fight over everything, I’ll just run away from home, Aliya thought to herself with the wisdom of an elder. The fighting and tears caused her very soul to tremble.
She lay face down on her bed and began to sob loudly.
‘Now see what you’ve done, what are you doing to these children? They’ll all be ruined and . . .’ Abba went into his room to change his clothes. Amma wiped away her tears.
‘Maid, bring the food before Aliya falls asleep,’ Amma called out.
‘I won’t eat,’ screamed Aliya and she began to cry again.
When dinner came, she felt the soft palms of Abba’s hands on her forehead but she pretended to be asleep. Today, she was announcing her annoyance with everyone.
The days continued to pass by. The atmosphere of the home changed like the flickering of sunlight and shade. Abba spent his evenings in the sitting room, where he had loud discussions with his friends. The maid kept on making tea and bringing it out as she muttered softly, and Amma wandered about restlessly, or set about redoing some task that had already been completed. Tehmina was silent all the time and sat reading the same page of a book over and over.
God only knows why Tehmina spoke so infrequently, Aliya wondered. Does love render people mute? Does love put all speech to death? And if so, why then do people chase after such a wretched thing? Tehmina, you were so innocent.
Upset by this painful atmosphere at home, Aliya would go and stand in the doorway of the sitting room. Besides the names of Nehru, Jinnah and Gandhi, all she understood was that everyone was speaking ill of the British. She heard nothing interesting, or fun, at all. When he saw her, Abba would order her to go back inside. Safdar would refuse to pick up on her hints. Even he wouldn’t hear of leaving the sitting room in the evening.
She’d grow disconsolate and go outside to sit on the terrace and begin to think of their old house. How far off it seemed now. She had sat near the window of the train as they were leaving, and counted so many trees she lost count.
It was the summer month of Jeth now. The scorching loo wind blew. The birds hidden in the mango and pipal trees kicked up a ruckus all day long. The small henna plant in the yard had dried up. The maid poured loads of water on to it but the leaves sagged. On moonlit nights when they could hear Kusum singing and playing her harmonium at Ray Sahib’s house, Tehmina would get up and start to pace. In those days Kusum sang the same song over and over.
Amma would grow weary of waiting for Abba and start talking to Tehmina, recounting those same old tales of enmity with Safdar’s family, stories of Najma Aunty’s self-interestedness, or loving hymns in praise of her brother and sister-in-law. Tehmina would listen to it all, blinking but saying nothing herself. When Abba’s sitting room was empty, he’d go off to some friend’s home and not return home before ten or eleven at night.
Before going to sleep, Aliya would visit Safdar. His bed was mad
e up outside on the terrace, where he’d be lying quietly, thinking.
‘Safdar, please tell me a story,’ she’d immediately request when she went to him and leant against him. And Safdar would begin to remember the stories he’d heard as a child, and when he’d recollect a good one, he’d laugh out loud. He’d start every story with a princess and a poor man, and when the poor man was not able to win the hand of the princess, he’d always die of grief.
‘Safdar, will you die if you don’t marry a princess?’ she asked once with great concern.
‘Heaven forbid, why would I die, Aliya?’ And he laughed so much it annoyed her. The summer vacation was passing by. She was happy that school days were drawing closer. When time passed at school, she felt happy; she could forget the entire world.
That afternoon, when she was sleeping, the sound of Amma talking loudly woke her. Abba’s voice was soft but angry. She panicked and went out to the hallway where Tehmina was standing. She couldn’t understand what was going on.
A short while later, Ray Sahib’s voice came from outside and Abba left. Tehmina had already returned to her room.
‘Safdar will marry into our family when my dead body is carried out of this house!’ cried Amma as Abba was leaving. He listened for just a moment, then continued on his way.
As soon as Abba went into the sitting room, Amma came and hugged Tehmina.
‘Look, he’s thinking of marrying you to that low-life Safdar, but I will swallow poison first. Honestly, he must have gone mad! To marry you to a person whose father and grandfather destroyed the honour of our family and stole my glory.’ Amma sat down on the bed weeping. ‘Now he’s sending that good-for-nothing to Aligarh to study for a BA. I’ll write to my brother today, then we’ll just see if all this comes to pass.’
Aliya was worried what her uncle might do, but then she was encouraged by the thought that Amma was always writing letters to her brother but he only ever answered two or three months later.
The Women's Courtyard Page 3
