Gul Gulshan Gulfam

by Pran Kishore

  ‘Let him do it himself. You should have seen how brutally he kicked Razaq, only because he was appointed by you.’

  ‘Now no one can dare touch him. You go and bring Qadir here.’

  Parveen quivered with fear. ‘No, Abba, please do not mention anything about the incident to him.’

  ‘But today or tomorrow he has to understand that his hooliganism will not be tolerated in my house.’

  Suddenly Parveen heard her name being called. ‘Parveen!’ She looked through the window and saw Qadir with Jane on the isle. On seeing Parveen, he told her, ‘Parveen, when Abba is home, tell him that we are going to meet Karmakar to see the new consignment of carpets.’ He held Jane’s hand and helped her into a shikaarah. Controlling his anger, Malla Khaliq said to Parveen, ‘I don’t know what he was so busy with that he did not even know that I am already home. If this she-monkey were not with him, I would have killed and buried him right there.’

  Malla Khaliq had been at Narayan Joo’s travel agency to convey the good news that Mr Bhonsley had confirmed his air ticket for day after tomorrow. Narayan Joo on his part had provided the Raja of Ranthambhor with all the details of his travel.

  But the nasty incident at his home marred all Malla Khaliq’s joy. He heaved a deep sigh, saying, ‘God is all-prevailing!’ Then he went over to Gul to see if all was neat and tidy there. He loved this houseboat more than any others not because of this one was bigger than the other two, but because it had been constructed by his father and had won him respect in the fraternity of houseboat owners. Whenever he received a rich guest from outside, he made them stay there.

  Seated on the front prow of the shikaarah, Qadir was enjoying himself by ogling at Jane. She, on the other hand, was busy counting the currency in the brown bag. The boatman was paddling the boat towards the Kabootar Khana pier east of the lake, where the erstwhile Maharaja had built a bungalow amidst blooming lilies.

  A boat full of policemen coming from the Bod Dal, the larger lake, was approaching their shikaarah. The head constable greeted Qadir aloud saying, ‘I see! Yesteryear’s Mem is back on the very advent of spring!’ Qadir started. He began to stammer and his heart began thumping fast, he felt as if he had been caught red-handed committing a crime. But he mustered some courage and said, ‘As-salaam-alaikum, Mir Sahib!’

  The boat was already quite close to their shikaarah. The head constable smiled, cast a penetrating glance at Jane, and said to her, ‘Good day, madam. All well?’ Jane replied with a charming smile, ‘Yes, good day.’ Then Mir Sahib asked Qadir, ‘How is Haji Sahib?’

  ‘By God’s blessing, he is fine,’ Qadir replied.

  ‘Has any other boat been hired?’

  ‘Not yet, sir,’ Qadir said trying to be brief.

  ‘No worries. It is still very early. They say it will be a good season.’

  ‘Yes, they say so.’ Qadir was as restless as if on pinpricks. He wanted this threat to go away as soon as possible.

  Mir Sahib was wise enough to keep it brief. ‘Carry on. Convey my greetings to Haji Sahib.’ He ordered his team to return to the water gate.

  Seeing the police boat drift away, Qadir said to his boatman angrily, ‘Why the hell did you have to take this route?’

  ‘But you did not tell me in which direction you intended to go,’ the boatman responded in an equally harsh tone.

  ‘Now listen, you turn the boat towards the place we had been to the day before yesterday.’

  ‘You mean near Kava’s houseboat?’

  ‘No, no! Row towards the place where the rush-mat maker’s statue is submerged. Where it is said that he was petrified for cheating his customers along with the fradulent milkman.’

  ‘You mean where that European was busy catching fish with his line the other day?’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. Now paddle faster, we are already late.’

  The boatman turned the boat towards the swamps. ‘God! That was a narrow escape.’ Qadir heaved a sigh of relief. Jane mocked him saying, ‘Your face was worth watching. What a coward!’ She told him that he was not mature enough to run this trade. Here one must have a heart of steel. Qadir, who considered himself no less than a don, felt like a frightened mouse. In order to change the topic, he started narrating the tale of the rush-mat maker and the milkman of yore. But Jane took out a book from her bag and busied herself with turning its leaves. Qadir left the tale unfinished and started staring at her again.

  The shikaarah was now moving very fast and the paddling caused the scum of algae to give way towards the willow trunks. When the boat came out of the thickets and turned to the right, the boatman shouted, ‘There he is.’ Hearing this, Qadir saw the hippie he had seen in Kava’s houseboat. He told Jane that he was not like George, who never trusted anyone in matters of money. But Jane told him that he was the main supplier, and it was he who would be receiving all payments. On hearing this, Qadir turned to the boatman, ‘Stop here, Gula. You keep the boat anchored just there near that chinar. This memsahib wants to meet the Sahib. Hurry up.’

  The boatman anchored the boat near the chinar tree. Qadir held Jane’s hand and helped her step into the boat. She asked Qadir to wait and then walked over alone to the hippie who pretended to be absorbed in watching the float of the fishing line. He did not turn to Jane until she was quite near him.

  This swamp belonged to Sula Kava’s father-in-law. This was the reason they faced no hurdle in sitting there or catching fish. Charles had examined all the swamps and watercourses in the rear of the Dal Lake and selected many such swamps and watercourses for running his drug racket. This was how he escaped the gaze of the police. The strongest loop in this long chain of smugglers was Jane, who stayed in Bombay and supervised the supply of hashish collected in Kashmir and other neighbouring areas to other parts of the world. She also managed the trade of supplying drugs from foreign countries to the local customers. Whenever she felt any pressure from the Bombay police, she took refuge in Kashmir or Delhi. This time she was here with George and was carrying a big consignment of drugs. Since the stuff was valued in millions, this old European, Charles, had come in the guise of a hippie to handle the finances himself. He pulled his line out of the water when he saw Jane near him. There was a brown bag lying to his left, exactly like the one Jane carried. The hippie was busy handling his fishing line with one hand and biting into a sandwich with the other. Without uttering a word, he gestured to Jane to sit down as he noticed a couple of boats coming fast from the adjacent Nigeen Lake. Jane pretended as if she had met this hippie by chance and, while sitting near him, greeted him loudly, so that the people coming in the boats could also hear her. ‘Hi Charles! What are you doing there?’ The hippie was sharp enough to understand her design and said in an equally loud note, ‘Don’t you see I’m fishing?’ Then he took out another sandwich from his bag and offered it to Jane. Meanwhile the boat was coming very close to them. There were some elderly foreign tourists in the boats, men as well as women – the women were wearing gaudy dresses and loud make-up. The hippie and Jane waved to them and they waved back merrily.

  Qadir, for his part, was keeping a constant vigil over the opposite side of the swamp. Mir Sahib might have become suspicious and could be watching their movements from somewhere. He knew that Mir Sahib was a very shrewd person. He knew every detail about the activities on the Dal Lake; who came and who went in the houseboats, and which spots were the trysts of gamblers; he knew everything. He calmly received his share at his place; that was a known fact. But even then one had to be careful. Qadir was lost in such musings when the boatman got a simmering samovar of tea and placed it before him. ‘Have a cup of tea to while away this arduous waiting. Who knows how long they will keep us here like this? I feel this hippie is after this algae scum. Take it from me, he cannot find even a little mud fry here.’ This irritated Qadir, who said, ‘Hey you! Gula Tancha, how many times have I warned you not to poke your nose in their matters.’ But this shikaarahwala was always sniffing around inquisitively. He sat besi
de Qadir but secretly continued darting looks at the hippie and Jane. Qadir discerned this and gave him a good spank on his head. ‘Why are you being so impish? Don’t disturb them. Don’t you see how I keep a distance from them? These European tourists do not like to be watched. Do you hear me?’ While he was scolding the boatman, Jane called him. Qadir left his cup of tea and ran. Jane exchanged her bag with the hippie’s and took leave of him. ‘Okay, Charles, keep on fishing.’ Charles flung the fishing line and the rushes-stick into the water. Jane came near Qadir and asked him to move the shikaarah.

  ‘All well?’ Qadir asked her.

  ‘Yes.’ She handed over the bag to Qadir, and holding his hand, stepped into the boat. Qadir then said to the boatman who was placing the cups in the basket, ‘Let us move on, dear friend. Start pedalling, hurry up.’ Gula Tancha took the oar in his hands and as he pushed it against the swamp, the boat started moving like a dart in the water. Qadir handed over the brown bag to Jane and sat as usual on the prow.

  The bag was stuffed with drugs. Qadir told Jane that they should not keep it in the houseboat. At her behest he had chosen a dilapidated hut that stood behind the water, shielded by thick willow trees in a small isle, as if it was lamenting over its destiny. Last year, too, they had hidden hashish in the same hut. Today the fear of the police was again causing him worry and therefore, he suggested they hide the stuff in the same hut and come back for it another day. Jane agreed. Gula Tancha, who was crooning a song of Rasool Mir’s, ‘Rinda pooshimaal gyindinyey draayiloploo’, in his raucous voice, started when Qadir called him, ‘Gula!’

  ‘Yes, tell me what to do.’

  ‘The memsahib needs to relieve herself. Take the shikaarah to the mire behind the willow thicket.’

  Gula Tancha, who was already irritated with the two said, ‘That will be a much more longer course. We will pass some other swamp on our way. Please ask her to have a little patience.’

  Qadir was furious to hear this. ‘You are very discourteous. Why can’t you do what you are asked to do?’

  Gula Tancha did not want to argue, and said, while turning the shikaarah, ‘I am least concerned. Tell me and I will keep rowing you in the lake from dawn to dusk.’

  On reaching, Jane was on the mire in a quick jump. Gula Tancha was about to follow her, but Qadir held him back. ‘Why should you go there?’

  ‘I thought it proper to keep a watch so that nobody passes by her. She is a woman after all,’ said Gula Tancha.

  With a sharp pull, Qadir made him sit back in the boat. ‘Oh, leave her alone. She has traversed seven oceans.’

  Gula Tancha sat in a huff. Jane knew the most secure spot in the ruined hut. She removed the sodden wood splinters which were piled up in a corner and emptied her bag. She covered the little packets with the wood splinters again. Then she zipped the empty bag and returned to the boat.

  Malla Khaliq had woken up at dawn and taken his rowboat to the dargah where he offered his prayers in gratitude. With full solace of mind he was now rowing back to Gagribal. He was quite fast in beating his oar in the water. The sound of water splashing was no less sweet to him than the melody of fairies. The sun was about to raise its head from the blanket of clouds behind the Zabarwan summits. The golden rays gave a fresh vitality to his face. He was sure that the day would augur well for his life. Zeb was getting discharged from the hospital, and the Raja of Ranthambhor was arriving along with his family. Malla Khaliq had seen this king, Raja Rathinder Singh, over thirty years ago when he had accompanied his father Raja Bhupinder Singh to stay in their houseboat. Remembering those old good days, Malla Khaliq heaved a deep sigh. Raja Rathinder may not even recognize me, he thought. But how does it matter. He is not to stay here for life. A tourist is after all a tourist – they come only to go back. The thought sent a tremor down his marrow. No, all tourists are not like that. If it were so, why would my father have kept the file of letters well preserved for all his ninety years? Then, this Raja Rathinder is not a stranger to us. Some of the letters of his father are also in that file. Every word of those letters is replete with love. Malla Khaliq consoled himself and his hands found more strength.

  Malla Khaliq always went to the shrine of Makhdoom Sahib early in the morning and on his way back he would invariably bump into Narayan Joo. He, too, visited the temple of Sharka Devi every morning. But this time Malla Khaliq had informed his friend on the phone that he had decided to go to the dargah at Hazratbal, and would not meet him at the Parbat hills. Engrossed in such thoughts, he hardly knew how he reached the houseboats at Gagribal. The moment he looked up, he found two rowboats near the ghat and all his family members gathered there on the isle. He applied all his strength on the oars and, within no time, reached them. On seeing him, Noor Mohammad cried, ‘Lo, Abba has also come.’

  ‘Is everything all right? Tell me …’ he said gasping. ‘What are you all doing here?’

  ‘First of all, you take out eleven rupees from your pocket. Your daughter-in-law is home.’

  Malla Khaliq came out of his rowboat and, in one jump, was on the isle. ‘But where is Zeb now?’

  ‘There is no need to make haste now, Abba,’ said Noor Mohammad. ‘Mukhta and Parveen just took her to her room.’

  ‘But where is Qadir? Was he not accompanying you?’ Malla Khaliq asked, looking in all directions.

  ‘He came along with Ghulam Ahmed and got the taxi,’ Noor Mohammad said, and then started picking up supplies from the rowboat.

  ‘Are we to spend all our time here counting the waves in the water?’ asked Aziz Dyad. ‘Let us go in, your daughter-in-law must be waiting there with her steaming samovar.’

  ‘No, let me first see Zeb. Where is Bilal?’ asked Malla Khaliq.

  ‘He is also inside, with his mother. But come soon.’ Saying this Aziz Dyad and Zoon left for the barge.

  Qadir sat beside Zeb with his head stooped. Bilal sat in his lap. As soon as Malla Khaliq stepped in, Bilal ran and hugged his legs. Malla Khaliq picked him up in his arms and kissed him. Then he sat down near Zeb. She greeted him with respect. Malla Khaliq reciprocated by keeping an affectionate hand on her head, and prayed for her well-being and long life. Then he turned to Qadir. ‘I wish that you will always care more about your family while running your business. Then there will never be any clashes in our house. Did you get all the prescriptions and reports from the hospital?’

  Qadir had visited the hospital only to make a show of his responsibility. He knew nothing about the reports and the prescriptions. Zeb, therefore, replied on his behalf, ‘Abba, all the documents are with Noor Toth. Qadir had gone to fetch the taxi.’

  ‘All right, I shall ask him if there is any medicine to be bought immediately.’ Malla Khaliq left the room. Zeb’s reply emboldened Qadir, and he stretched his hand to hold hers. But she freed her hand from his grip and said, ‘I said that only to convince Abba that you really cared about me. I said it to save your credibility.’

  ‘Do you mean I had not gone to get the taxi? Who else was there to do that?’

  Zeb said, ‘Go to the pantry, they are waiting to serve you tea. It will take all our life to settle such issues. Be kind and get me that tumbler of water. I am still very thirsty.’ Qadir hastened to get her the tumbler of water and he also helped her drink. Zeb said again, ‘Now please go, Amma is waiting for you.’

  Qadir asked her, ‘Should I send your tea here?’

  ‘Parveen is there to bring me tea,’ Zeb replied coldly. Qadir was about to say something more but held his tongue.

  He was still afraid of entering the kitchen where the family had assembled, and he had no guts to visit Jane at the moment. He had forgotten she had not been served morning tea. But he relaxed when he saw Razaq entering the houseboat with a tray in his hands.

  Razaq waited outside Jane’s bedroom after having pressed the bell. When there was no response, he pressed the button again.

  ‘Who is it?’ came Jane’s voice.

  ‘Memsahib, your tea.’

  Jane op
ened the door. She stood in her transparent nightdress. Razaq lowered his eyes and entered the room with the tray. Jane shut the door, sat on the sofa and continued staring at Razaq. Jane imagined his body in the nude just the way she had beheld him when he had been taking a bath in the light of the rising sun. Razaq was quick to pour out tea into the cup and offer it to Jane. He was about to go out of the room when Jane addressed him.

  ‘I am really very sorry for that unfortunate incident. Did he hurt you?’ Jane asked with mock concern.

  ‘No, memsahib, no.’

  ‘He hurt you, I know he did. Let me look where.’ She stood up. But before Jane could touch him, Razaq managed to open the door and rush out of the houseboat.

  While he was gasping for breath, Malla Khaliq saw him and called out. ‘Why are you not in your uniform? I have already told you that we are expecting a rich party from Delhi today. He is a raja, a real raja.’

  ‘I will, yes, I will wear it soon. I had gone to give tea to the memsahib,’ he said. He noticed Aziz Dyad going to Zeb’s room with qahva in the samovar. He ran to her and took the samovar from her hands, saying, ‘Give it to me, I shall serve her qahva.’ He followed her to Zeb’s room. Zeb was tidying the room by placing the folded clothes into the almirah. Aziz Dyad entered her room and said, ‘Why have you got out of bed? The doctor has strictly instructed you to rest.’ Turning to Razaq, she continued, ‘Now keep this samovar here and go attend to your work.’ When Razaq left, Aziz Dyad poured the qahva into the cup and said to Zeb, ‘Have this hot qahva. I will sort these clothes.’ Zeb’s eyes filled up with tears. She embraced Aziz Dyad and sobbed heavily. Aziz Dyad consoled her. ‘This crying does not become you. Now we are in our own house, you just relax.’

  ‘I don’t know why I’m so restless. I feel like some monster is gnawing at my heart. Even in my dreams I see myself wandering in the mountains; I have strange premonitions,’ Zeb said, her eyes brimming over with tears.