Jameel stood with his head bowed. She began to feel compassion for him. He hadn’t even been able to get any job training due to a lack of funds. He didn’t have a proper job at all. Even the money he earned from tutoring he handed over to Aunty, and on top of this, that lout Shakeel annoyed him and didn’t listen to anything he said.
When she turned to go upstairs, Jameel came with her. ‘Shall I come up with you as well, so we can talk for a little while?’
‘What sort of time is this for talking? Go to sleep,’ she said quickly and placed her foot on the stairs.
‘Oh my, what are you up to at this hour, Bajiya?’ asked Chammi, popping out of her room.
‘I came down to open the door for Shakeel.’
‘Oh, great! You both came to open the door—well, well, what a tough lock that must be.’ She laughed sarcastically. ‘Do you feel embarrassed to be talking to Bajiya in front of everyone else?’ she asked Jameel.
‘Chammi, don’t talk nonsense,’ Jameel pleaded.
‘Don’t be fooled by him, Bajiya, he used to be in love with me, and now he is with you . . .’ Chammi stopped in the middle of the sentence.
Aliya rushed up the stairs. She was out of breath. Good God, what a disaster. Was this why Chammi always followed Jameel around? And now Jameel had left her and come after Aliya. She began to tremble from the cold and hatred. She slipped under the quilt and picked up her book again, but she couldn’t read a word. Jameel’s silence and seriousness and the respect it had earned him over the past few months had all been destroyed. The dogs in the gali barked and howled so loudly she began to feel a dread of the night.
In the morning, Chammi did not come to wake her lovingly as she did each day. Aliya lay there for quite some time waiting for her. The newspaper salesman was wandering about the gali, shouting: ‘Iron will clash with iron in Europe! War is imminent! It’s here, it’s here! Today’s paper—no one can stop the war—a fourteen-year-old girl has been abducted!’
She got out of bed in annoyance. What did it have to do with her if there was a war in Europe? Which of Amma’s sister-in-law’s loved ones would be killed, and are women good for nothing but falling in love and eloping or getting abducted? Everyone can go to hell, she thought sadly as she walked down the stairs. But why did Chammi distrust her? God, she was such a crazy idiot.
Chammi was seated on the takht nibbling a paratha. Her eyes were swollen. When she saw Aliya, she turned away and drank down all her tea in one gulp. Aliya was amused at Chammi’s foolishness, but when she slipped over and sat next to her, Chammi looked upset and moved to the other side. Then she got up and went into her room.
‘What time did Shakeel come home last night, Aliya?’ asked Aunty.
‘Around twelve o’clock. Jameel also woke up, and he slapped Shakeel.’
‘That boy is not showing much promise,’ said Amma with disgust.
‘What can I do, Mazhar’s Bride? I’ll go mad,’ lamented Aunty, sighing deeply.
‘His father should take his own child in hand,’ goaded Amma. But Aunty was not easily goaded. She herself quarrelled with Uncle only when she wished.
‘It’s a generational thing. Time was when none of Master’s children would set foot outside the house after seven o’clock,’ murmured Kareeman Bua, haunted by the past.
Aliya went into Chammi’s room after she finished her tea. Granny was asleep. Her laboured breathing gave her no rest at night. Aliya tiptoed over to Chammi and sat down. Chammi lay covered in a quilt from head to toe. The quilt had holes in places, making it look like the rags of a fakir.
‘Come and sit upstairs in the sun, Chammi,’ suggested Aliya, sliding the quilt off her face.
‘I’m not speaking to you.’
‘Come upstairs, silly, and we’ll talk there.’
Chammi got up and came with her. Her eyes had a look of distress in them.
‘Why haven’t you spoken to me all morning?’ asked Aliya, as she sat Chammi down in her quilt.
‘What do you mean? Why would I stop speaking to you? It’s not like I’m in love with that ass that I would be jealous of you!’ she exclaimed, making a face.
‘You decided all by yourself that Jameel was in love with me. I told you even before that I despise such things, and he has never even said anything to me,’ she lied.
‘Jameel used to love me. I didn’t even know what love was, but now if he’s changed, let him change, since when do I love that idiot?’
‘Whether you’re in love with him or not, I do know how much you used to love me,’ Aliya said with a reproachful look at Chammi. Then Chammi fell into her arms.
‘Of course I don’t suspect my bajiya, I was just sad about something.’
She was touched by Chammi’s innocence and wanted to hold her close to her heart; all the same, she continued to act sulky with her.
‘Listen, I’ll tell you everything,’ said Chammi, turning Aliya’s face towards her.
‘The year Jameel was studying for his FA exam, he asked me for money. When I refused, he looked at me with such eyes that I gave him all my savings, and then he hugged me tightly . . . and I really liked it.’ She turned pink with embarrassment.
‘Then what happened?’
‘Then, Bajiya, I started to fall for Jameel. I gave my five rupees for food to Aunty, and all the rest to Jameel. I didn’t have a single piece of clothing made in those three years; haven’t you seen, all my clothes are falling apart!’ She thought for a moment. ‘Before you came, Jameel slept in this room. I used to come visit him at night, but, Bajiya, I swear to God, he never did anything improper. One time I lay down next to him, but he sat up. He only showed me affection.’ Chammi’s face was turning red.
‘Then what happened, Chammi?’
‘Then, Bajiya, Aunty arranged his marriage. She thought that if Jameel became Mazhar Uncle’s son-in-law, he’d pay for his MA and also get him training. But just between us, I’ll tell you that Aunty is very fearful of your mother, that’s why she asked, without even an engagement, to please help continue with his studies, because her own husband was useless. Aunty requested the engagement with Tehmina very fearfully, and the day your mother sent the acceptance letter, she wept with joy, and even I cried, but out of shock. After all, how could I say that I had paid for his BA, and that I’d also pay for his MA? Who knew what I’d suffered?’ She put her head down and began thinking about something.
‘Then, Chammi?’
‘The world is a terrible place, Bajiya. After he finished his BA, Jameel began to change. If I sat by him for too long, he’d make some excuse to make me go away. He’d forgotten everything, hadn’t he? And now he remembers nothing at all! He makes fun of me in front of everyone and says mean things. Well, let him. I’m not some bitch that I’ll just go following him around.’ Chammi suppressed a sigh and looked at Aliya in such a way that she felt miserable. She thought of Tehmina. What if Chammi were to do something stupid too? Then what would happen?
‘Who knows, Chammi, maybe Jameel does love you, or maybe he doesn’t. Can’t humans be happy without love?’
‘Does that mean I should go around throwing myself at him? You know what? We should return the love of those who love us, that’s a fair exchange; give with one hand, take with the other.’ She got up, laughing. ‘Granny’s health was very bad last night, Bajiya, I couldn’t sleep at all.’
After Chammi left the room, Aliya sat for a long time, swaying from side to side, wrapped in the quilt. Then she got out her books and went and sat in the sun. Oh dear, what does Jameel get out of that poor girl with his games! But then, why are all these women so hungry for love, Allah?
7
The clock was striking midnight. Aliya had grown exhausted from studying and put her books on the table. She wanted to go to sleep, but she couldn’t. And when sleep wouldn’t come, so many other things began to twist about in her mind. Why had no letter come from Abba? Tehmina had thrown her life away for love, and now Aliya was all alone; there would be no compani
onship in her fate. Amma was embroiled in her own sorrows—she’d never even peered into the heart of this child of hers, never thought about her—and Jameel was becoming an obstacle in her path for no good reason. Had he nothing else to do in life, for God’s sake? But why was she even thinking about him? The light from the street lamp coming in through the window was preventing her from falling asleep, so she closed the shutters.
But suddenly she heard everyone talking downstairs. She lay still and tried to hear what they were saying. It was midnight—perhaps Shakeel had come home and everyone had been waiting up for him. Then there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and she panicked and sat up. Jameel was coming towards her.
‘Aliya, Granny’s health is much worse,’ he said, ‘please come downstairs for a little while.’ He was quite serious. ‘I hope you don’t feel anxious; one day this will happen to all of us.’
Her heart beat fast. She understood everything now. She felt her legs trembling, but she gathered up her courage and went down with Jameel. He was holding on to her hand, but she couldn’t even tell if this hand was her own or someone else’s. Granny’s bed had been brought into the middle of the room and her face had been turned towards the Kaaba. Amma, Aunty and Uncle stood silently around the bed. Granny’s laboured breathing was so peaceful now. There seemed to be no spark of life at all. Her eyes were glued to the door, still full of expectation. Chammi had wrapped herself around Granny’s feet and lay there sobbing. Aliya thought of that wretch, her youngest uncle, whom she had never seen. She wished she could scream—‘Granny, stop waiting for that useless child now!’
Kareeman Bua paced around the bed muttering prayers. ‘Oh Lord, give Mistress her health, and take me instead. Oh Lord, oh Lord.’ Emperor Babur had requested the very same exchange for his son Humayun’s life. Oh, Kareeman Bua, what was this love that still raged in your heart? Aliya wanted to step forward and make Kareeman Bua sit down; she tried to embrace her, but Kareeman Bua freed herself and began praying again, ‘Oh Lord, oh Lord.’
Just then, Granny’s breath caught in her throat, and with that she found eternal peace. Kareeman Bua clasped her hands together and stood up. There wasn’t a single tear in her eyes. Uncle took his hand away from his mother’s pulse, wrapped her hands across her chest and covered her face with the quilt. Kareeman Bua left the room, her head down.
‘Get up now, Chammi,’ said Aunty, lifting Chammi up. But Chammi lost control when she saw Granny’s covered face.
Uncle’s face was turning pink as he tried to control his emotions. Poignant memories of his mother passed before his eyes as he shook with the shock of eternal separation. He went into the sitting room, his head bowed, perhaps in order to inform Asrar Miyan. Amma and Aunty tried to hush Chammi, though she kept getting away from them. But when Jameel came forward and placed his hand on her shoulder, Chammi laid her head against his chest and fell silent as though she’d never been weeping at all.
Aliya left the room. Kareeman Bua had made a hearth of bricks in the courtyard and was heating water in a large pot, and Aliya, who had not yet been able to shed one tear for her grandmother’s death, heaved a sob when she saw the flames leaping in the dark. Kareeman Bua looked up at her and then looked down again.
The night was spent sitting by Granny’s bed. Amma and Aunty had forgotten all of Granny’s crimes and tortures and wailed at her memory, as though the world had become empty without her. As long as Granny had lived, she had tormented everyone, and when she had reached old age, everyone had taken their revenge. They had picked her up like some useless object and thrown her aside, and then got wrapped up in their own lives, and Granny could do nothing but stare on.
Aliya wished she could stuff her ears with cotton. She couldn’t bear to hear tales of Amma’s and Aunty’s great love for her. Why was it that no one could remember Granny’s cruelty at this moment? She preferred Chammi, who wasn’t saying anything and, after crying for a little while, lay in one corner of the dhurrie sleeping very peacefully as though her head still rested on Jameel’s shoulder. And Kareeman Bua, who sat across from her in the cold breeze, blowing on the damp wood and swaying as she read the holy Quran in her lap—how calmly and quietly she had endured Granny’s death. Kareeman Bua, who had served her body and soul for six years, hadn’t shed a single tear.
Aliya wished she could curl up in a corner somewhere and sleep. She had neither extreme love for Granny nor any special complaints. She was just her grandmother, that was all. Nonetheless, she couldn’t lie down now. When Chammi had fallen asleep, Amma had criticized her spitefully.
At last, morning came. Kareeman Bua spread the dhurrie out in the courtyard and the women of the mohalla came and gathered there. Each remembered their own sorrows and wept, and Chammi, on seeing them, felt overwhelmed with grief herself. When Granny had been bathed and prepared for her final journey, all the women on the veranda fell silent behind the canvas curtain. Only Kareeman Bua stood by the corpse with her hands clasped, muttering to herself. When the men came in to take out the bier for the funeral procession, Asrar Miyan stood in the very front.
‘You watch yourself! Mistress never once looked upon you in your life, and now you’ve come to befoul her corpse!’ Kareeman Bua shrieked at Asrar Miyan, who hid behind Jameel like a thief. Everyone stared questioningly at him.
‘Oh dear, where is Shakeel? He should have come to take his Granny to her grave,’ worried Aunty, as she looked for Shakeel through a hole in the curtain. Where was he?
‘Go inside, Kareeman Bua!’ said Uncle, placing his hand on Kareeman Bua’s shoulder.
‘Mistress, we have entrusted you to God, we have entrusted you,’ murmured Kareeman Bua, as she walked out of the yard and into the veranda.
As Granny’s corpse passed out of the house through the front door, everyone shrieked and burst into tears, but Kareeman Bua, head down, was gathering up all the debris scattered about the yard.
A little while later, after the guests had left, the house seemed to grow totally deserted. Aliya had no idea what to do now.
That night, Uncle left for Kanpur at nine o’clock on business. The Non-cooperation Movement was at its height, and he would be busy for many days. Aliya was extremely offended that he had left that very same day. Could he not stay at home to mourn his own mother for a couple of days? Couldn’t he take even a small rest from his political activities? But when Amma objected to his leaving, Aliya just listened silently. Who knows why she couldn’t say one word against Uncle.
Jameel had sent telegrams to Najma Aunty, Abba and Chammi’s father, and now everyone awaited their replies.
Starting the next day, life went back to normal as though nothing had occurred at all. Perhaps the only time there was a sense of Granny’s death was when Kareeman Bua would finish up her chores and sit down to read the holy Quran; but no one else read even a verse. Aliya began to envy Kareeman Bua’s love. She’d wanted to read some fragments of the Quran so many times and pray for Granny’s soul, but she didn’t have time. Thoughts of exam preparation weighed upon her and she desperately wished she could study attentively again. She wasn’t prepared to lose an entire year to Granny’s memory. She considered her own love inferior to Kareeman Bua’s and consoled herself with this thought.
For a few days Chammi was fearful of going into her own room. Perhaps it seemed desolate after losing her old companion. She just wandered about idly or sat on the stool in the courtyard and mended her clothes. Then she’d water the flowerpots and beds, and when she got bored of even that, she’d put on a burqa and wander from house to house in the neighbourhood.
Then one day, she picked up the broom and began cleaning out her room again. She swept out all the cobwebs, dusted off the portrait of Muhammad Ali Jauhar, patched the old embroidered white sheets and spread them over the two beds. Then she lay down on her neat and tidy bed and began to sing like always:
Māl-e-soz-e-gham hai! Nihāni dekhte jāo
Behold, o beloved, the consequence of searing
hidden sorrows
Chammi knew all the songs on the gramophone records and all the ghazals sung by the fakirs by heart. She had a talent for singing the right ghazal or song for every occasion.
That day, as Chammi lay singing in great style, Aliya wished she could go and hug her, but Chammi still wasn’t speaking to her directly. Despite telling her everything, a splinter remained in her heart that wasn’t in Aliya’s power to remove.
Letters had arrived from Najma Aunty and from Chammi’s father. They had both written that since Amma had already departed, there was no point in coming home. If only someone had told them beforehand! Chammi was beside herself after reading her father’s letter. ‘Yes, now what’s the point in coming? However could he find peace being separated from his wife’s side for even a moment? If I could, I would strangle my dear respected father’s throat with my own two hands!’
‘Chammi, do try to hold your tongue,’ Amma chided her. Then Chammi broke down weeping. For some reason, she was wary of talking back to Amma even after she had known her so long.
Abba had also received the announcement of Granny’s death and sent a letter.
‘No jail can imprison a man’s imagination,’ he had written. ‘It cannot be locked up. I carried my mother’s bier, and I lowered her into her grave. But don’t despair, my daughter. You should not feel heartbroken. Death is also a fact of life. Study hard and send me the good news of your passing your exam.’
Aliya sat with her head bowed down for a long time after reading his letter. It was afternoon, but she didn’t feel like studying. For one thing, Abba’s letter had made her depressed. For another, in the silence of afternoon, the sound of Kareeman Bua softly reading the holy Quran sounded to her like a lamentation.
She came out of her room and went downstairs to sit next to Kareeman Bua on the takht. Amma and Aunty must have been sleeping because she couldn’t hear either of them speaking. She sat by Kareeman Bua with her head down for as long as she read, and when she wrapped up the holy Quran and began praying, tears came to Aliya’s eyes—what a great example of love Kareeman Bua gave her! She could just as well take a nap during the day when she grew tired from work.
The Women's Courtyard Page 10
