‘Yes, why don’t you start another fire now? You have no respect at all for your father,’ snapped Aunty. ‘Certainly, he serves the Congress but he hardly does it out of greed.’
‘Amma, what do you know? Oh God, I’m so hungry. If there’s anything left from Abba’s guests, please feed me too.’ Jameel was bent on making a joke of the matter.
‘You’re constantly talking nonsense and nothing else! I suppose you’ve got so large eating somewhere else, since you just die of hunger here,’ shrieked Aunty.
‘Amma! No need to get so angry.’ Jameel burst out laughing. ‘Okay, you tell me, Aliya Madam, are we not all members of the world my father is so worked up about creating? Then why does he need to ruin us too? And your father, Uncle Mazhar, who’s gone to jail for bashing in the head of an Englishman, how has he helped things, exactly? Hasn’t he ruined everything for you? How you’ll suffer in this house, after leading such a splendid life. Right now, I’m not good for anything, otherwise . . .’ He stopped for a moment and stared at Aliya.
‘Don’t say such things, Jameel; what if Granny hears while she’s sleeping?’ Aliya spoke softly to Jameel, as she quickly drew near him.
‘Who knows how your mother puts up with all this. I wore myself out fighting with him. After all, what did he get out of his enmity with the English?’ Amma sighed deeply and put a paan gilori in her mouth.
‘Will you not eat with me, Aliya Madam?’ asked Jameel, taking the tray from Kareeman Bua’s hands.
‘No, thanks, I’m not hungry right now.’ She got up and went into Chammi’s room. Chammi was still lying face down on her bed, sobbing.
‘Come on, let’s go outside, Chammi, it’s so hot in here.’ Aliya pulled her up. ‘Let’s go up to the roof and stroll about.’
Chammi came out of her room, but immediately sat down when she saw Jameel. ‘You go ahead and stroll, Bajiya.’
Aliya felt great peace on reaching the open air on the roof after the fetid atmosphere downstairs. Even in the dusty summer heat, there was a sweet coolness in the dim moonlight up here. Children were happily playing train in the gali down below. Whenever they were especially pleased, they’d shout ‘Long live the Muslim League!’ and ‘Long live Congress!’ a couple of times. Then they whistled like a train, cried ‘Chug chug!’ and ran off. After that, all was silent.
Standing by the rooftop wall, she saw that the high-school building was obscured by darkness because of the dense shade of the trees. She stared at the building vacantly for a while—one day Shakeel would study there. Surely he would achieve his dream. But her own dreams had all evaporated. Now she wouldn’t be able to study at a college. All the same, she must study. She had to stand on her own two feet. No one knew when Abba would return, and Uncle seemed so hopeless. When she’d speak of her father’s case, he only replied in a roundabout manner. Aliya gazed at the sky as she thought; the moon looked so muted and drab.
‘Aliya.’
She started and turned around. Jameel stood behind her.
‘What are you doing up here alone?’ he asked.
‘Nothing.’
She felt nervous being there alone in her cousin’s presence. Jameel looked around.
‘You must feel anxious here, Aliya. If Tehmina were alive, perhaps you’d be happy and perhaps we’d have already married. Believe me, the wedding was taking place despite my extreme opposition. Nonetheless, when she died, I felt as though I had become a widower.’ Jameel closed his eyes as though in pain.
‘But why are you bringing this up now?’
‘Just because I felt sympathy for her. I knew everything, and I also don’t believe she died of natural causes.’ Jameel looked into her eyes.
‘This is your home; you may say whatever you wish.’
She turned her face away from him, but Jameel came and stood before her again.
‘But listen, Aliya, I’m not all that bad,’ he continued. ‘The thing is that I got a letter from Safdar, and he said, “Don’t marry Tehmina. I’m in love with her.” But all the same, I couldn’t stop the marriage. I still feel like a criminal because of that. If I could have, I would have done anything in my power to arrange their marriage but . . .’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘You don’t consider me a criminal for it?’
What, he knows so much? She looked at Jameel with astonishment and then looked down again. Now that Tehmina’s secret was revealed she began to loathe the very sight of Jameel. His words had pierced her heart like an arrow.
‘If I want, I can leave and go to Mamoo’s home right now.’ Aliya knew the truth about her maternal uncle, but where else could she threaten to go?
‘But you can’t go! I’m in love with you—what would I do then?’ Jameel blurted out.
He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. It was damp and cold and she felt as though she was rooted to the floor. She felt too weak to extricate herself, and stared helplessly at his clammy hand, which immediately brought to mind a frog that had once leapt on to her hand during monsoon. She shut her eyes for fear and shrieked. And then, who knows what happened to her, she kept on screaming, and she must have passed out as she screamed. When she opened her eyes again, everyone had gathered around her. Amma was weeping and Uncle was holding out a medicinal paste, but Jameel was nowhere to be seen.
‘Those horrid wicked Hindus live nearby—you must have seen a ghost!’ Chammi suggested as soon as Aliya opened her eyes, and Amma kept kissing her hand, overwhelmed with emotion.
‘Again with your ignorant ideas!’ Uncle lashed out at Chammi. ‘No, no, she must have had some frightening thought; it’s clearly a mental illness. Just make sure to eat this electuary every day, and your mind will grow stronger, dear,’ he advised Aliya. He was so intent, he didn’t even notice how desperate Chammi was to take revenge for his remark about her ignorance. But then for some reason she didn’t say anything.
‘But what happened, Aliya?’ Aunty asked.
Aliya felt alarmed at this and closed her eyes as though she wished to go to sleep. After all, what could she tell them?
5
Abba’s legal case had come to an end. He was sentenced to seven years’ imprisonment for attempted murder. Afternoon had already faded when the news came. After a light drizzle, the sky had gone absolutely clear. When Uncle entered the house he looked ill, as though the strength to speak was somehow beyond him. Amma clutched at him.
‘Please tell me some good news, my brother,’ she pleaded, as she stared up at him, eyes full of hope and fear. Uncle slowly sat down on the stool in the courtyard, and Aliya filled the pot with water and set it by him. His face was pale and he began to sprinkle drops of water on it mechanically, while avoiding everyone’s glances. Amma’s patience finally gave out. The bad news was clear from his eyes. She burst out weeping as she stared at his face, and Aunty and Kareeman Bua rushed over to support her.
‘Close your grandmother’s door so that she won’t hear the sounds of weeping,’ Uncle said, looking over at Aliya. Then he turned to Amma and said, ‘Bride of Mazhar, please be patient; these seven years will pass by too, and it could also be that he won’t be in jail a year before we get independence.’
‘Useless words! He destroyed an entire household! How are we to bear seven years? Seven years won’t just pass quickly by,’ sobbed Amma.
‘My God, these British rulers didn’t recognize how old our family is; they don’t realize whose son he is. Our departed Master used to save people from the gallows. Important men used to live off his gifts; but now those times are gone,’ wept Kareeman Bua as she recalled the bygone era, her face red with tears. She embraced Amma and tried to take her inside the room.
‘We’ve been uprooted, we’re ruined, why did he hate me so much that he would do this to me?’ Amma screamed, out of control and breaking free of Kareeman Bua’s embrace.
When Amma had been taken forcibly into her room, Aliya was left standing alone in the courtyard. Because of Amma’s wailing no one had looked at Aliya, no one had even seen what wa
s happening to her heart. She felt as though a well had been dug beneath her feet, and that she was slowly falling. Somehow, she managed to walk forward and grab on to the metal chair. A heavy silence had descended over the courtyard. A few moments later, she climbed the stairs, went to her room and fell upon her bed, where she began to sob in earnest.
After a good cry, her heart had calmed, but she felt totally devoid of thought. She picked up her course books mechanically, then put them down again. Her tutor would come to teach her at five o’clock. She set her pillow on top of the books as though today she hated even the sight of them. But what was the date today? She searched her memory—tonight would count as the first day of his sentence; evening was coming. She pushed one day forward, full of hope.
Then she heard footsteps on the stairs and saw that Uncle was coming towards her; so she sat down on her bed. She gazed patiently at his morose face, but when he began stroking her head and peered into her eyes, she trembled. Everything looked blurry on the other side of her curtain of tears.
‘You must look after your mother, dear. Be brave, I have hope that the jail walls won’t hold him for long, all right?’ Uncle sighed deeply. The confidence in Uncle’s eyes made her lower her eyes in acceptance. After he left, she wiped away her tears and lay down peacefully.
Evening was falling and each hawker of jasmine garlands shouted out as he passed by. The shadows had deepened in the room, but Aliya still lay on her bed with her face hidden. Aunty, Chammi, Kareeman Bua—each had come to her in turn, insisting on bringing her downstairs, but how could she go? How could she even look at her mother? Amma, who had been sitting in that house for one year, waiting like a traveller. And now their journey had been brought to a halt by this sad news; their luggage must now be unpacked.
The electric street lamp in the gali came on. She walked out of her room and on to the roof. Tonight she liked the darkness very much. The stars looked so bright in the dark night, like sorrows sparkling in the dark of sadness. There was a great din coming from nearby rooftops. Children quarrelled. Gramophone records played. Someone sang the bhajan ‘Meera’s lord, the lifter of mountains’.
‘Aliya, can I talk to you? You won’t scream, will you?’
When had Jameel crept up on her on cat’s feet? He looked quite anxious at that moment. This was the first time that he’d spoken to her since that bitter moment when he’d revealed his love several months earlier. He had even been coming home less frequently, and generally keeping to himself. Aunty had been worried by her son’s state—she thought it was because he couldn’t find a good job and was earning his living by tutoring a few worthless girls.
Aliya remained seated, lost in her thoughts.
‘Do you hate me so much that you won’t even answer me?’ He reached out to her spontaneously and then withdrew his hand, embarrassed. Perhaps he remembered what had happened before. ‘Won’t you go to see your father in jail?’
‘I can’t see Abba in jail. Could I bear to see him as a criminal?’ she spoke softly.
‘Come now, since when is he a criminal? How is striking a British man a crime?’
‘Humph!’ She looked up at Jameel, startled. Even in that darkness, he looked so headstrong and earnest. She said nothing. A light mist filled the air and a few shreds of clouds swam about in the sky.
‘Come on downstairs, please; if you sit with everyone else, you’ll feel better,’ Jameel said as though the feeling better part was a complete lie.
‘You go ahead, I’ll come in a little while.’
Jameel stood there for a few moments in silence, and then went away. She went into her room, pulled the table towards the bed and sat down to write Abba a letter. She wrote with a great deal of thought—the glimmering hope of a meeting would always eclipse the seven years of separation. ‘I will wait for you every minute,’ she wrote.
After finishing her letter, she rested her head on the table. How long seven years seemed at that moment. Allah, how could Ramji have borne those fourteen years of exile in the forest?
‘Kareeman Bua, tell the household that I am deeply saddened by the news of my brother Mazhar’s jail sentence. If someone could send me to jail in his place, I’d be prepared to go immediately. My own useless life is only . . .’ She heard Asrar Miyan’s tearful voice clearly from the doorway of the sitting room, as it pierced through the silence of the house. She lifted her head from the table and tucked the letter into an envelope.
There was no reply to Asrar Miyan’s message, only the clanking of Kareeman Bua’s tongs. God willing, Asrar Miyan would become deaf before he reached old age, like Granny. Then he would always think that the answer had been given but he just hadn’t heard it.
She glanced out of the window of the large room and looked below. The beds were set up and everyone was seated quietly in the courtyard. Only Uncle was lying down, stroking his chest. Aunty’s betel-nut cracker slowly clipped away, and Kareeman Bua was briskly toasting rotis. Jameel was seated on the metal chair, twisting his fingers about. Who knows where Chammi was. After that incident, one didn’t even hear her voice. She’d forgotten all her quarrelling.
Aliya tiptoed downstairs. Amma looked so helpless in the yellow lamplight. She quickly went to sit by Uncle, but she didn’t even stroke his head.
‘Your tutor comes every day, right?’ asked Uncle. He’d finally come up with a topic to discuss and the pall of silence lifted.
‘Yes, he does.’ She slid over and began stroking his head.
‘If you don’t work hard on your studies now, what will become of us? It’s not like I have a son to help make these years pass by.’ Amma was again overcome with weeping. Aliya got up quickly and went into Granny’s room. Ever since the nights had grown dewy, Granny’s bed had been moved back into her room. She spent all her time in that room, except during May and June.
Aliya perched on the edge of Granny’s bed. Chammi lay on her own bed with her face covered. She had seen Aliya, then covered her face.
‘Has any letter come from my son Mazhar?’ asked Granny, attempting to bring her irregular breathing under control. She’d been having asthma attacks all the time recently.
‘A letter did come, Granny; he has a lot of work and can’t take a vacation.’ Aliya’s voice choked. When Chammi raised her head for a moment, Aliya saw two tears roll from her eyes, then disappear into her pillow.
‘It feels as though life is ending now, who knows when your youngest uncle will return, he loved me very much. He was already eighteen years old, but he still slept with his head resting in my lap. Who knows when he’ll . . .’
Granny’s breathing grew rapid and she held her knees to her stomach.
‘Aliya, Chammi, come and eat!’ called Aunty from the yard. Aliya stood up as Kareeman Bua entered with Granny’s food.
6
Amma had accepted her fate. Yes, she had tumbled down from her highest perch, but not so very far that she would consider Aunty her equal. Her face still reflected the pride she felt at receiving thirty rupees a month and the comfort she felt at the knowledge that she had money kept in trust by her brother. She also felt the shadow of protection conferred upon her by her only brother’s high social standing and that of his English wife.
After the court ruling, Amma had written Mamoo several letters in which she had spoken ill of Uncle’s home and its atmosphere. She expressed her wish to come live with him, but Mamoo responded helplessly that if they moved in, he too would be under government scrutiny and his status would be imperilled. Aliya did not mention to Amma the letter he had written to Aliya, in which he clearly acknowledged that his wife had been brought up in a liberal atmosphere. In her country, he wrote, it was not the custom to make life difficult by getting involved in pointless family squabbles. That was why it was important she try her best to convince her mother to stay there.
She’d read the letter and ripped it up. She didn’t want to break Amma’s heart. What have we left when we’ve lost faith? Even if faith in another finally proves
deceptive, it can come in handy for a while. She had come to hate Mamoo deeply. This crow with the gait of a swan has forgotten how he used to walk, she thought disdainfully after reading his letter. One day, when she had made something of herself, she would rip up that faith he was sending to Amma and throw it far away. She resolved that from now on, she would work even harder at her studies.
In those days, it was extremely cold. All the same, she’d study until midnight, and when Shakeel came home late after loafing about all day and tapped softly on the front door, she’d go on tiptoe and unlock it. By now, Shakeel had enrolled in high school. She’d hidden the money for his fees from Amma and given it to him, but where would she get the money to buy all those books he needed? This was Shakeel’s excuse for meeting up with friends to study. His eyes were full of impudence these days. Sometimes Aliya would admonish him as she opened the door, but he would burst out laughing carelessly.
There had been a knock at the door while she was studying this evening as well. She set down her books and walked quickly down the stairs. As she was opening the door, Jameel emerged from his room with a muffler wrapped about his ears. When he saw Aliya, he hesitated a moment, then grabbed Shakeel’s arm and slapped him across the face a few times.
‘There you go, make sure you remember this well.’
Shakeel glared at Jameel defiantly, but went quickly into Aunty’s room.
‘What’s the use of hitting him? Buy him books; then he won’t need to go study with his friends,’ she said softly.
‘Books? Nobody gave me books either, but I wasn’t like this. This big lout of a camel doesn’t think about anything. He could still come home at a reasonable time after studying a couple of hours. And don’t you wonder who’s had a silk shirt made for him? I’ve never had a friend like that.’
Jameel was angrily rubbing his hands together and she just gaped at him like an idiot. ‘So what if his friend had a shirt made for him?’ she retorted.
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