Revolt (15 page)

‘She wanted to see the
goorie
. I could not say no to her!’ Massi Fiza hissed back, determined not to be bullied by the
hevali
gatekeeper this time.

‘You’re mad!’ Begum screeched into her face.

‘Shush, Begum-ji, she’s listening!’ Shirin was indeed listening, intrigued by the hushed, heated exchange between the two elderly women, wondering what was going on. The woman in the kitchen often brought food for them. So why were they angrily shushing each other? Her inquisitive eyes hopped over the large, immaculately clean kitchen with its marble floor and worktops, and wooden units with glossy white veneers. Her eyes opened in wonder at the marble pillar in the middle of the kitchen, from where a birdcage dangled with a chirping parakeet. Begum had brought Mithu into the kitchen this morning, relishing his
runak
, his merry noisy company. He actually mimicked her name; the way Mistress Gulbahar called her.

‘Take her out of here!’

‘Oh, Begum. Don’t be mean! Now that she’s here, let her have a look around and meet your
velati
guest.’

‘What? You’re going to get us both beheaded today!’

But she had not bargained on Massi Fiza’s rebellious wicked mood. That ‘lowly’ laundrywoman merely smiled, and pulling Shirin by the hand, cheekily sauntered out of the kitchen.

‘Come on, Shirin, you can play with that bird another time … We’re here to see a special lady … a
goorie
. Go and look around the
hevali
– it’s a lovely place. Look at that fountain!’ Massi Fiza pointed to the central architectural monument in the courtyard, with its healthy spray of water making a soothing, gurgling noise.

‘Thank you, Auntie.’

‘The
goorie
will be in one of those rooms upstairs, I’m sure. The stairs are over there.’

Shirin was off, excitedly sprinting across the marble courtyard to the stairways. Smiling and brazen-faced, Massi Fiza turned to face the panting figure of Begum. They watched Shirin disappear up the stairs to her grandparents’ quarters.

‘What have you done, Massi Fiza? They are sleeping upstairs!’ Begum could hardly speak, nearly fainting with worry.

‘Who?’ Massi Fiza paled.

‘Who do you think, you stupid woman?’

‘But …’ Massi Fiza stammered, her heart had now fled from her body. ‘The Jeep’s gone.’

‘Master Arslan has taken it to Mistress Rani’s house,’ Begum angrily spat at the foolish laundrywoman.

‘Oh, God, I must get out!’ Massi Fiza was petrified. She had not bargained on Master Haider being in the villa. The bravado of her cunning mission deserted her.

‘Yes, you should, you fool! Have you any idea what you’ve done? Mistress Gulbahar has not set eyes on her granddaughter in the flesh to this day. Don’t you understand?’

‘Oh!’ It was now Massi Fiza’s turn to sway, but Begum was already pushing her out of the courtyard.

Ashen-faced, Massi Fiza scurried out, leaving Begum to deal with whatever catastrophe befell that household. As she stepped out of the back door, Massi Fiza closed her eyes, feeling nauseous. Her wicked sense of humour was now replaced by primitive animal fear and a need for self-protection.

‘Why, oh, why did I do it? What will Master Haider do to me if he finds out that I took Shirin to the
hevali
?’

Mouth parted in wonder, Shirin stared at the veranda gallery on the second floor. She had never seen so many beautiful marble columns. Colourful profusions of flowers were everywhere, some strategically draping the pillars from hanging baskets, others generously trailing over the wrought-iron railings.

A row of four, wide, lacquered wooden doors lined the top corridor. Shirin’s small fingers pressed tightly on the large shining brass knob of the first door. It creaked as she gently pushed it open. Heart beating fast, Shirin peeped inside and glimpsed a large, beautifully furnished bedroom with a
king-sized
bed, a matching dressing table and a tall wardrobe. On the table was a pile of novels and magazines. It was a woman’s room, Shirin could tell, little guessing that it was her mother’s.

She tried the next two rooms. Both locked. She excitedly
reached for the final door, sure that the
goorie
would be in that room, putting her head round before entering, eyes narrowing; she could hear breathing. The curtains were fully drawn across the large window. Shirin squinted in the darkness.

Two people were sleeping in two separate king-sized beds. One of them had to be the
goorie
. Shirin tiptoed across the room, hoping that the soft clicking sound of her new sandals on the marble floor would not wake the man, but they did awake the other person.

Gulbahar lifted her head from the pillow and froze, staring straight into a beautiful young face framed with a curly crop of hair.

‘I’m dreaming!’ Gulbahar whimpered, feasting on the vision before her. ‘This is my Laila!’

With no sign of recognition the girl calmly stared back, disappointed that the woman was not the
goorie
. She had expected a woman with white skin and golden hair. Not one with grey hair. Shirin turned to leave, dismissing the woman. The man on the other bed shifted, turning on his side. Adrenalin rushing through her, Shirin’s eyes were on the man who had shouted and made her fall on the road. Gulbahar was fascinated by the fierce look chasing across the girl’s face and, bemused, watched the girl slide out of the room, softly closing the door behind her. Her sandal heels echoed down the gallery outside.

Chest tightening, Gulbahar gasped for breath. Her muffled groan of pain startled her husband to sit up in the other bed.

‘Gulbahar?’ Haider anxiously asked. His wife was striding out of the room. Out on the gallery veranda, Gulbahar leaned over the wrought-iron railings, eyes on the girl below, her sandals clip-clopping across the courtyard before disappearing out of sight. Gulbahar drew back from the railings, her arms resting heavily by her side; her husband stood behind her.

‘Gulbahar, what’s wrong? Why did you run out?’ His voice was anxious.

‘It’s nothing!’ Gulbahar cried, hiding her flushed face from him.

Begum also appeared on the gallery terrace, having passed Shirin on the stairs, her face tight. As soon as she caught a
glimpse of her dear sahiba’s face, Begum knew that Gulbahar had met her granddaughter. She timidly stood beside her master, bent over his wife’s stooped figure.

‘Don’t just stand there, Begum, call the doctor!’ he shouted, voice threaded with fear.

Gulbahar shook her head.

‘I’m fine – don’t worry,’ she stammered, breathing heavily, but trying her best to reassure her husband.

‘Begum, find Arslan!’

‘I don’t need a doctor,’ Gulbahar snapped, turning an ashen face to her husband and seeing her employee’s gaze fall – they understood each other.

‘Please don’t make any fuss!’ Gulbahar reprimanded, rising to her full height. ‘I’ll go back and rest in bed.’

‘Good, come on!’ Haider urged, taking her by the arm, really worried that his wife was having another angina attack. He followed her into the cool, dimly lit room, totally unaware that only a few minutes earlier, his granddaughter had come, glimpsed his face and fled.

Gulbahar gently eased her body onto her bed, whilst Haider gave her the angina tablets and poured a glass of water. Taking one of them, she smiled her thanks, promising herself that Haider would never find out who had caused her attack. Laying her head on her pillow, she recalled the beautiful young face. ‘Why did the child flee when she saw Haider-ji?’ Gulbahar asked herself, perplexed. ‘Begum has a lot of explaining to do!’ Her mouth tightened.

Gulbahar suddenly remembered the other ‘unwanted’ visitor in her home – the
goorie
, also taking an afternoon nap in the guest room downstairs. Arslan had phoned Begum to enquire if Daniela was being well looked after.

The housekeeper had huffily informed him: ‘The
goorie
has had a shower and is now draped in a long
pathani
dress, thank goodness, discreetly covering her legs, and she’s eaten a plateful of peas pilau, and after all that she is fast asleep under the AC.’

‘Thank you, Begum!’ Arslan had laughed aloud

‘Did you see the
goorie
?’ Massi Fiza eagerly asked, materialising from behind a tree. Ignoring Massi Fiza’s proffered hand and question, Shirin sprinted away from the house. ‘No, I didn’t!’ was the surly answer.

‘Oh, was she not there?’ Massi Fiza slyly prompted.

‘I don’t know.’ The monotonous tone and Shirin’s reluctance to speak intrigued her adult companion.

A few minutes later, at home, Shirin omitted to tell her mother about her visit to the
hevali
. It was only when she was rubbing her eyes with sleep in bed that Shirin had her outburst.

‘I saw that beastly man! He lives in that big
hevali
, Mummy!’ Her mother’s indrawn breath was lost on her.

‘What man?’ Laila whispered, pretending to wave a mosquito away with her raffia hand fan.

‘The man who shouted at me from his horse!’ Shirin’s shrill voice stung her mother into silence, mystifying her daughter. ‘Mother, did you hear me?’

‘Yes, I hear you, Shirin! And he’s not beastly. Go to sleep now.’ Laila coaxed her daughter to lie down, knowing that she herself would lie awake for a long while.

Wanting to escape to the fresh, cool breeze, Gulbahar left her room for the rooftop gallery. There, she gazed up in awe at the merry dance of the evening stars. ‘How far away the stars are! And how mighty big is the space for them to roam about?’ Gulbahar marvelled, craving to pluck one from the sky and hold it against her heart, letting its magical light into the empty place deep within her.

Her stiff neck tilted in the direction of the potter’s house for the first time in over a decade.

The soft sound of Begum’s footsteps had Gulbahar guiltily turning.

‘You’ve not eaten anything, Mistress. The
goorie
has eaten a much bigger meal than you!’ Begum commented, gently smiling at her mistress.

‘I’m glad that our foreign guest is well fed, but I’m not hungry, Begum,’ Gulbahar replied coolly. Begum paused before asking, ‘Was that an angina attack, during the afternoon, Mistress?’

‘I don’t know,’ Gulbahar lied, her vacant eyes fixed on her housekeeper’s face. An awkward silence loomed between them, destroying the easy rapport they always shared. ‘Begum …’

‘Yes, Mistress.’

‘Nothing.’ Misery swamped Gulbahar. Begum waited, hoping for the thawing – but nothing. She turned.

‘In my dream, I saw …’ Gulbahar ventured, halting her housekeeper in her tracks.

‘Yes, Mistress?’ Begum croaked, and waited.

‘Nothing.’ Gulbahar eventually uttered, tone flat. Begum had had enough and escaped.

Gulbahar turned her head in the other direction towards her Rani’s village. ‘Laila gave me angina. What will Ismail give my two sisters and my beloved niece?’

‘Saher!’ Arslan called from under the veranda of Ismail’s home. Saher turned, not in a mood for her cousin’s teasing, dull eyes clearly spelling that for him. This was her second visit to Ismail’s home and he still treated her with studied politeness.

‘Please meet me at our grandfather’s old farmstead!’ Arslan whispered, as she was about to pass him by. His serious face added a sense of urgency to the word ‘please’. She assented with her eyebrows, a habit she had adopted with her career in the courts, where subtle head movements and eyebrows played a significant role.

‘Why the
deira
, Arslan?’ Saher asked a few minutes later, laughing, enjoying the cool evening breeze from the car window playing with her hair. Was Arslan up to one of his old pranks? As a child he had often got them into trouble. She couldn’t afford to be foolhardy – after all, she was getting married soon.

‘I have my reasons.’ His quiet, noncommittal answer had her intrigued.

‘I see.’

The flippancy and the laughter was missing, she noted, fondly sketching his neat profile with her eyes. His strong, straight nose was like that of his father but he had the thick, wiry hair and colouring of his sister.

He pulled the Jeep to a standstill outside their grandfather’s old farmhouse, scattering a neat line of glossy-coated, black crows that were perched on the wall greeting them with a chorus
of cawing. The farmhouse was now a desolate place as the family had given up farming. Where the buffaloes had once sheltered at night, the huge barns and open verandas had now become storage places for old furniture.

‘How have you found Ismail’s behaviour?’ Arslan’s question stung Saher into stepping down from the Jeep, not ready to explore her own reaction to Ismail’s aloofness, let alone share with Arslan how peeved she was.

Saher walked up to the tree, its branches heavily laden with small dark purple
jamounoo
fruit, the ground around its trunk littered with crow-pecked seeds. Clenched fists dug through the fabric of his white linen trouser pockets as Arslan walked up to her, his eyes tenderly tracing the contours of her face.

Feeling the heat under the intensity of his gaze, she poked him in the chest. ‘Well, tell me! Why bring me here?’

His answer was a solemn look, as he debated what to say and how to soften the blow.

‘Tell me about Ismail, please,’ he requested, buying time.

‘You’ve brought me all this way, just to ask me that?’

‘I’ve my reasons, Saher!’

‘Reasons?’ she lashed out. ‘Stop talking in riddles and get on with it!’

He paused, his gaze on her soft mouth. ‘It’s Ismail.’ How he wished with all his heart that she could read his mind.

They stood there – gazes locked. In Saher’s head thoughts somersaulted, a strange dullness gripping her and reaching down to her painted toes.

‘Shall I say more?’ Arslan softly prompted.

‘Stop it!’ Saher shouted. ‘Stop the riddles!’ Then she saw his eyes redden with pain.

‘I wanted you to hear it from me, rather than anybody else.’

Saher dumbly nodded, now painfully aware that this was no teasing matter.

‘There’s a woman.’ He let the quiet words sink into Saher’s brain. ‘She’s a
goorie
,’ he continued ‘… and she’s staying at our house,’ he ended, desperate for her to work out the rest for herself.

Saher froze, a soft moan fluttering through her lips. Then thrust her tight fists into Arslan’s shoulder blade, making him stiffen at the aggressive contact.

‘Are you telling me that this
goorie
is Ismail’s woman friend?’ She was pounding his back.

Slowly he turned, shocked by the wild look in her eyes. Her arms fell to her side.

Time stood still. The crows and the two parakeets in the branches above carried on pecking at the dark purple fruit, raining down some more seeds.

‘No, she’s not only Ismail’s
lover
… but much more,’ he whispered, lowering his head, wanting to run away, but remaining there; duty-bound to break it to the woman he had loved his whole life. ‘She’s Ismail’s lawful wife,’ he quietly finished.

Colour deserted her face; she wound her arms tightly around her chest. It was a sight that Arslan had wanted to spare himself. Helplessly, he watched her tall frame slump against the tree; he was afraid to touch her.

It was a long time before she lifted her head. ‘Arslan, please say you are joking!’ Her poignant appeal shearing him, Arslan squatted down to her level and cupped her chin gently in his hand.

‘This is no joke, Saher! I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, his eyes shining with tears.

Saher wrenched her chin from his hand.

‘Then leave me alone!’ she cried, pulling her arm from his grasp as she struggled to stand upright. Arslan caught her.

‘Don’t touch me!’ She ran off, pushing her way through the gates of the old
deira
. Arslan returned to the Jeep and was staring pensively through the dust-smeared windscreen when he was startled by a muffled scream renting the air.

He ran into the
deira
courtyard and saw her standing with her head pressed against the wall.

‘Saher, don’t!’ he cried, and then stepped back, giving her the privacy she needed.

It was some thirty minutes later when Saher reappeared. Arslan
stood waiting for her outside the gates, and in silence, they drove back to her home.

‘Will you be all right?’

‘I hate you!’ she lashed out, jumping out of the vehicle. Stunned, Arslan switched the engine off and followed Saher inside. She had already crossed the courtyard and entered her room on the other side of the veranda. Rani came out of the drawing room to greet them, scowling at Arslan.

‘Saher is very tired, Auntie!’ Arslan hastened to explain, unperturbed by her hostile manner. ‘Please don’t disturb her!’

‘Oh?’ Rani’s frown became more pronounced. ‘She was fine earlier!’

Arslan faltered. ‘I’ll go and see if she’s OK!’

Rani was about to stop him, but he had already sprinted across the courtyard. Tempted to follow, in a bid to chaperone her daughter, she then returned to the drawing room – seething.

Not bothering to knock, Arslan had entered Saher’s room, firmly closing the door behind him. She was standing at the far side, looking out at the rear courtyard. She heard him enter the room, and imagining it to be her mother, braved a smile. On seeing Arslan, her poise deserted her. Lips quivering, anguish choked her. Unable to bear her distress, Arslan gently pulled her into his arms and held her in a tight embrace. Forgetting who held her, Saher wept like a child.

‘Please don’t tell my mother! Not yet!’ she sobbed, her face buried against his neck.

‘I won’t,’ was his husky promise, mouth touching her hair. It was only when she moved her head that her mouth brushed against his lower lip. Shuddering, she pulled herself away, prompting his arms to fall to his side. The wary look was back on her face; she tried to mask it with banter.

‘You don’t like being touched by me!’ she teased, trying hard to smile.

‘Oh, I think I can survive you touching me just this once!’ he shrugged, sheepishly looking away. ‘You’re upset and needed a shoulder to cry on. What are you going to do?’ he asked solemnly.

‘What does a jilted woman normally do? Is there a guidebook written on this subject that I can consult?’ she quipped drily.

‘You’re not a jilted woman.’ His voice hardened. ‘The beast didn’t tell anyone what he was up to in England.’

‘Will you, too, fall for a woman from another country?’

‘No, I will not!’ came his sharp retort.

‘He’s done it!’ she bitterly reminded him. ‘What’s there to stop you? For all we know, you, too, might have an American woman tucked away somewhere.’

‘No, I haven’t! But there’s a woman locked away here!’ With a veiled look he pointed to his chest. ‘And she’s from here – I can assure you.’

Absorbed in her own misery, she neither noticed the words nor the special glint in his eyes.

‘Saher, I’ll try to protect you from any embarrassment, but I can’t guarantee against people finding out.’

He turned to leave. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added dejectedly.

She nodded, her face folding in distress at the thought of people knowing that she had been jilted for an Englishwoman. The gossip would reach every corner of the village. She, the woman who had supposedly everything going for her, was to be ridiculed at the expense of a foreign bride. Her eyes swelling with tears, she abruptly looked out of the window.

‘You’ve seen her. Is the
goorie
very attractive?’ she asked, just as his hand turned the door handle.

‘Yes, but not as beautiful as you!’ came the quick curt answer.

‘I want to see the woman who has robbed me of my fiancé,’ she shouted after him, plagued by the image of the
goorie
, but he was gone.

Later, her mother tiptoed across the cool, marble floor and sat on the edge of the bed, resting her loving gaze on her daughter.

‘What’s the matter, Saher?’ She knew something was amiss; her daughter was evading eye contact. And she, herself, was too afraid to voice her fears.

‘Nothing,’ was the dull reply.

‘Look at me, Saher, and tell me the truth! Is it Ismail?’

Saher’s head shook vigorously on the pillow.

‘Then what is it?’

‘Nothing – just tired.’

‘Why did Arslan come to your room?’ Frowning, her mother accused, ‘Is there something going on between you two?’ Her naive daughter might have missed the signs, but she hadn’t – the possessive look in Arslan’s eyes. As a mother she felt obliged to warn her daughter about social proprieties. Soon to be married, Saher could not afford to compromise herself with anyone, Arslan or otherwise.

‘You couldn’t be more wrong, Mother!’ Saher sat up in outrage, hysterical laughter making her press her hand against her aching ribs.

‘Don’t be too friendly with Arslan! Remember, it’s Ismail you are marrying.’

An animal wail ripped through Saher’s mouth, making her mother leap off the bed in alarm. Rani pulled her only child into her arms, horrified at her daughter’s mental state.

‘What is it, my beautiful daughter?’ she cried, hugging Saher tightly. ‘You’re frightening me – please, tell me what’s wrong?’

Saher merely wept in her mother’s lap. Eventually she pulled herself out of her mother’s arms, bemused at her own behaviour, vowing never to show a weak side to the world, no matter how life treated her.

‘I’m sorry.’ She made an effort to smile and reassure her mother. ‘I suppose I’m getting wedding nerves …’

Her mother couldn’t believe it. ‘Afraid of leaving me or of getting married?’

‘Both … Mother,’ Saher lied, eyes filling up again at the irony behind her mother’s words. Unconvinced, Rani nodded and decided to leave her daughter in peace for the time being.

Daniela was taking a walk in the open fields of Gulistan with Arslan. She hadn’t slept well. Vivid images of her husband’s strange behaviour on the plane and at the airport had her
waking up in a sweat many times. In the morning, she remained in her room, not knowing what to do with herself and too timid to step outside – for she couldn’t speak Urdu and the women probably couldn’t speak English. How she would have loved to have mastered some Urdu words and phrases from some of her young pupils before she had embarked on this mad journey.

A silent Begum had brought breakfast to her room. Sipping the syrupy-sweet milky coffee – Begum had got carried away with the sugar to reduce the bitterness – Daniela marvelled at how Arslan had come to her rescue, otherwise she didn’t know what would have happened to her. When he suggested that he take her out for a walk around the village, Daniela had eagerly accepted.

‘You understand, Daniela … that in order for you to blend into this society and way of life, you will need to cover your body discreetly. Your legs, for example …’ he tried to explain, too embarrassed to elaborate further.

Daniela nodded. ‘Of course, I know!’

‘OK, I’ll borrow one of my mother’s
chadors
for you to wrap around your shoulders, as it gets cold in the valley.’

He met his father on the upstairs gallery.

‘I think your mother has had one of her angina attacks,’ his father informed him coldly. ‘It’s not to do with you, is it, Arslan?’ Haider accused his son.

‘No, it isn’t! Probably to do with the woman you all slammed the doors on!’

‘We’ve suffered for a long time because of your sister’s
wrongdoing
. Don’t upset your mother with your cruel jibes, Arslan.’

‘I’ve no intention of hurting anyone, Father!’ Arslan shot over his shoulder. ‘I’m going to take our English guest for a walk in the fields.’

‘Tell her to cover herself well,’ his father reminded him. Arslan’s mouth tightened.

‘It’s not necessary for you to cover your head,’ he advised Daniela, helping her to straighten the garment around her shoulders before he led her out of the
hevali
. As they passed through the kitchen door, he thought it prudent to tell Begum, in case Ismail came.

‘I’m taking our guest for a walk around the village.’

‘Does Saher know?’ Begum enquired. ‘About
the goorie
, I mean.’

‘Er … yes … Begum.’ He looked down.

‘Is she all right?’

‘What do you expect, Begum?’ Arslan bitterly rounded on their housekeeper.

Begum looked accusingly at Daniela as she closed the kitchen door.

‘Arslan, that woman hates me!’ Daniela couldn’t help commenting at the
hevali
gates. ‘What were you talking about?’

A ghost of a smile touched his face.

‘Saher. Remember that she’s supposed to be Ismail’s fiancée, and then you turned up.’

‘Oh, God, yes!’ Daniela felt her mouth dry up again.

‘Everyone loves Saher! A favourite amongst all our relatives. So you can just imagine what their reaction will be. They’ll feel for her!’

‘Does she know about me?’

The tentative question wrenched Arslan.

‘She knows! I told her.’ His voice had hardened, recalling his cousin’s distress. He had never seen Saher break down and weep like that before.