Gul Gulshan Gulfam

by Pran Kishore

  There was a lull in the room. Then placing an arm on Malla Khaliq’s shoulders, Narayan Joo said to him, ‘It is my firm belief that Ghulam Qadir has realized his mistakes and is surely trying to rebuild his life.’

  ‘I also think so. What do you think, Uncle?’ Vijay Kumar asked Malla Khaliq.

  ‘It is hard to believe that he has mended his ways. However, there is the consolation that he is alive.’

  Narayan Joo took the envelope from Vijay Kumar’s hand. ‘He has dispatched this letter from Tiruchirapalli. You see this stamp?’ He passed the envelope back to Vijay Kumar. ‘I have already examined the stamps.’

  Malla Khaliq said to him, ‘Do you know where Tiruchirapalli is?’

  ‘It is far away from here, in Kerala,’ Vijay Kumar replied.

  Vijay Kumar compared the writing in the letter with that on the envelope. Neither the handwriting nor the ink matched. He arrived at the conclusion that Ghulam Qadir had not posted the letter himself because he took every precaution possible to ensure that they did not trace his address.

  In the evening, Ghulam Ahmed returned from Goa in a steamer. He told his father that he met many Kashmiri businessmen in Goa. He told him that these businessmen were so busy that they hardly had time to talk to anyone. ‘Abba, there is a big bazaar of Kashmiri vendors.’

  Malla Khaliq could not hide his irritation any longer and said jeeringly, ‘Then why didn’t you set up shop there? Why did you come back? We are here, waiting for word about your brother, but you are happy to have met every Kashmiri vendor there is in Goa!’

  Narayan Joo intervened, ‘You tell us if you found any clue about Ghulam Qadir in Goa.’

  Ghulam Ahmed fell silent. Malla Khaliq roared at him, ‘Why don’t you answer?’ Then he raised his head and looked towards Narayan Joo. ‘I inquired from every shopkeeper, I searched in every hotel there, but I found no trace of him.’

  Malla Khaliq cut him short. ‘How would you get any information from Goa? He has gone to some remote corner of Kerala to hang himself.’

  Vijay Kumar gave Qadir’s letter to Ghulam Ahmed.

  The business of Hotel Solace continued to expand. Reeny and Qadir kept busy from dawn to dusk. They became very close friends.

  One day, while Reeny was making coffee for her father, De Souza smiled at her and said, ‘What is your opinion of Qadir? I mean—’ Reeny held the cup of coffee in her hand and said, ‘Your coffee is getting cold.’ De Souza took the cup from her and answered his own question. ‘I know you like him. I know that Mother Mary has sent him for you.’

  ‘Not for me, but for you, so that he gets you fatter by plying you with tandoori chicken.’

  De Souza almost choked with laughter. ‘Oh, you naughty girl! That is now an old story. Now my own fairy is also a part of the story. Now, my pretty girl, tell me, do you like him?’

  ‘Yes, he works very hard.’

  ‘When is he going to propose to you?’

  ‘Do not live in dreams, Mr De Souza. Please have your coffee. I have a lot of work to finish.’ Then she went out of the room. De Souza looked at the icon of Christ in the hall, and thanked God for their good fortune, crossing himself.

  Time passed as if it were flying on wings. Ghulam Ahmed returned to Srinagar and for the first time in his life, showed some sense of responsibility and seriousness. He made everyone believe that Ghulam Qadir had been approached by a business tycoon and that he had started a new business in collaboration with the businessman in Saudi. His father-in-law tried his best to get the truth out of him, but Ghulam Ahmed did not yield. Naba Kantroo finally said to him, ‘Everything will come to light sooner or later. Nothing can be kept from me for long.’

  Ghulam Ahmed got annoyed, but preferred to control his anger and left with his wife for his home. His son, entrusted to his father-in-law, was waiting at the stairs. The child pleaded to go along with them. Naba Kantroo called him, ‘Mukhtar Ahmed, what are you doing there, my darling? Your tutor is about to arrive. Come in now and go to your room.’

  Mukhtar got frightened as though caught in a misdeed and scurried away to his room. Ghulam Ahmed caught hold of his wife’s arm and said to her, ‘We should leave now. Your father will not let our son put even a handful of earth on our graves.’

  When they were home, his mother asked him, ‘Ama Lala, why have you not brought Mukhtar back? My heart is about to burst from this separation.’

  Neither Ghulam Ahmed nor his wife had an answer. Aziz Dyad grew furious. ‘Tell me, have you given your son up for adoption to Naba Sahib? Let your Abba come back, I will take him along and get Mukhtar released.’

  Ghulam Ahmed tried to evade the issue. He took out the bundle of notes that Narayan Joo had given him. Handing over the bundle to his mother, he said, ‘Ten thousand rupees. You please give it to Zeb. Qadir gave it to Abba for Zeb before he left for Saudi.’

  ‘I’ll pray he prospers. May my Dastagir Sahib bless him with great success!’

  Having handed over the money to his mother, Ghulam Ahmed said to his wife Zoon, ‘You come with me; bring me my sweater, I am shivering.’

  Zoon followed him to their room. As soon as they were well inside the room, he burst out with rage at her. ‘You were at your father’s house for so long, why did you not talk to him about Mukhtar? I have repaid him every penny, then why doesn’t he let my son come here?’

  Zoon also grew angry. ‘Does he lay diamonds there at my father’s house? You talk as if my father has held him as mortgage. He has great concern for his welfare. Didn’t you see how much attention he pays to his studies? What will you be able to provide him with over here?’

  ‘Why do you jeer at me like that? How about Nisar Ahmed? Did he become a doctor on the expenses met by his mother’s parents?’

  Zoon was silenced. But to avoid fighting further with her husband, she said, ‘Now listen, and do not shout. I will have a word with my father to allow our Mukhtar to come here occasionally.’

  When Aziz Dyad gave Zeb the money, she did not even touch it. She did not believe a word of what Ghulam Ahmed had said. She said to her mother-in-law, ‘Amma, I have nothing to do with this money; I hardly need any. Noor Mohammad has never let me or Bilal feel any want.’

  ‘This is your husband’s earning, you should not refuse it.’

  ‘Where will I keep it? You please keep it. If I ever need it, I will ask you for it.’

  In the evening, Noor Mohammad and Ghulam Ahmed went to the deck of the houseboat on the pretext of examining its condition. They talked about what they would do if the truth of Qadir’s disappearance reached Kashmir before Malla Khaliq’s return. Then Noor Mohammad was lost in many apprehensions and stood mute. Ghulam Ahmed asked him why he was so glum.

  ‘He was destined to ruin himself, so he is ruined. But there is a more serious problem that we have to tackle now. Last week, Parveen phoned Nisar Ahmed from Delhi. Parvez looks gentle and decent, but he is extremely nasty behind closed doors. He does not return home before midnight and has been having an affair with some girl from Hyderabad from even before the marriage. It is said that he has married her and the girl is pregnant now.’

  Ghulam Ahmed felt as if the ground had slipped away from under his feet. ‘Does Ramzan Sahib know about this?’

  ‘Parveen says perhaps he doesn’t. Their house is so huge that nobody knows where the other is or what he is up to.’

  ‘Why doesn’t she tell Ramzan Sahib or her mother-in-law?’

  ‘Parvez has not confessed. She came to know from her maid who used to wash the Hyderabadi woman’s clothes when she came to stay at their Delhi house. Amma doesn’t know, but if she comes to know, she is sure to die. Only Nisar Ahmed and I know of this. He has already booked a flight ticket for Delhi. Let him come back, and then we can decide what to do.’

  Ghulam Ahmed was enraged. ‘What should we do? I think we may have to get Parveen divorced from Parvez. He is a wolf in sheep’s skin! I will accompany Nisar Ahmed. We will resolve the issue as soon as possible.’
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br />   Noor Mohammad begged him to stay calm until Nisar Ahmed returned from Delhi.

  In Delhi, there was a heated argument taking place between father and son. Haji Ramzan was a thorough gentleman and honest in his business. He almost suffered a stroke when he found out that Parvez had consummated his marriage with a Nawab-girl named Marriam Qazalbash. She was the only daughter of her parents and owned a big estate in Banjara Hills in Hyderabad. Parvez was taken in by her wealth. Besides, she was incredibly beautiful. This secret affair was uncovered by a shawl merchant from Kashmir, Abdul Rahman Naqash, who saw the two lovers in the swimming pool of a five-star hotel where he had gone to show his old kani-shawl to a European tourist.

  Haji Ramzan had a well-established showroom in Hyderabad, Bombay, Calcutta and Madras. Many old nawabs of Hyderabad and other rich people were among his customers. Ramzan Haji often sent Parvez to Hyderabad because he was a mature and educated salesman. He had met Marriam for the first time on a flight to Hyderabad. When Haji Ramzan found out, he summoned Parvez back to Delhi. Parvez had the gall to tell him that he had not done anything that was not allowed in his religion. ‘I can give you many instances of men with three or even four wives,’ he told his father.

  Ramzan was enraged. He would have killed him if his wife and Parveen had not intervened. Parveen led her husband to their room, latched the door and said to him, ‘It is not a sin to love anyone. But deceiving someone like this is a sin that cannot be forgiven by God. Whatever had to happen has happened. Henceforth you follow your path and I will follow mine. God has set me free. You need not worry about me. Nisar is coming here tomorrow, and I will go back to Kashmir with him.’ Parvez was about to say something, but Parveen stood up, unlatched the door and left the room.

  In the living room, Ramzan Haji and his wife sat horror-struck. Parveen sat beside her mother-in-law, who was wailing, wanting to end her life because of her son’s sins. Parveen held her close. ‘Do not weep, Amma. It is my misfortune that I’m having to leave behind the affection and care of parents like you. Don’t worry about me. I only need your blessings.’

  Ramzan Haji held her head close to his chest and said, ‘You need not worry. I will disown him legally. How can he take the liberty of being our only child and smear my honour with shame? I will deprive him of every penny. I will declare all my property in your name. Let him go wherever he wants to.’

  Parveen remained silent.

  The next day Nisar Ahmed reached Delhi. He took Parveen back to Srinagar.

  Noor Mohammad, Ghulam Ahmed and Nisar Ahmed decided that until Malla Khaliq returned to Kashmir, they would not let anybody know that Parveen had returned permanently from her in-laws’ house. Aziz Dyad was delighted to see her. Parveen took care that her mother did not find out the truth about her marriage. She was happy to have returned to her family and house on the lake.

  The month of March ended, and with the beginning of April, Malla Khaliq grew restive. Narayan Joo had also begun to get bored in Bombay. He went to Malla Khaliq’s room and found him sitting near the window staring at the sea. ‘What are you engrossed in, my lord?’

  ‘The winter is over. Do you remember you used to quote verses of Ghalib in your letters: from walls as well as doors, verdure springs up.’

  Narayan Joo sighed and completed the verse: ‘I languish in the wilderness, while spring has ushered in back home.’

  ‘The intensity of this verse has been driving me mad since this morning when I saw greens sprouting from the walls and crevices of those shanties of the fishermen. Does every withered straw of Bombay grow green with the advent of spring as we see in Kashmir?’

  Narayan Joo laughed. ‘Here in Bombay, one hardly feels or notices the end of winter and beginning of spring. The greenery that you see on those huts is moss. It appears because of water leakage from kitchens or toilets.’

  ‘The musk willows would have bloomed with the end of the long winter.’

  ‘Yes, almond buds must also be about to bloom. One can see the mustard bloom all along the road leading to Shalimar.’

  ‘And I am pining away here, waiting for that ill-fated rascal! I am simply wasting my time waiting for him here in this awful weather.’

  ‘This is what I wanted to tell you. We must go back to Kashmir. We can think of resolving Qadir’s problem there.’

  ‘You are right. Yesterday I received a call from Noor Mohammad. He told me that the weather has improved. The tourist season too is about to begin.’

  ‘Good. I’ll ask Vijay Kumar to book our tickets.’

  The tourist festival had started with much fervour in Daman. There was hardly any place for more guests, even in the residential quarters. Reeny and Ghulam Qadir had already worked out a solution to this rush. They erected two long tents in the large garden beside their bungalow. The rooms on the upper floor were already booked. They had made all the necessary arrangements in the tents for the comfort of visitors.

  The tourists spent their days on the beaches, and as soon as the sun set, they came back to performances by dancers and musicians. The indigenous drink of Goa and Daman, ‘feni’, was served in plenty. Qadir had never seen such a great festival before. After the day’s work, he would sit with De Souza in the evening who would ask Qadir to get him a mug of feni.

  ‘No, Dad, no alcohol. The doctor has forbidden you.’

  ‘My child, feni is not alcohol; it’s made of cashew nuts. It is good for health. You get a mug for yourself too.’

  ‘I told you many times that I don’t drink. And I am not going to allow you to have it.’

  ‘See how everyone relishes it. Look, people are offering it to Reeny as well.’

  Ghulam Qadir stood up and said, ‘No, she should not drink it either.’

  He ran to the lawns where a group of girls and boys were dancing around a bonfire. Reeny was surrounded by tourists who offered her feni. Qadir rushed in. ‘No. No. You should not compel anybody.’

  Reeny was taken aback. It was an old tradition of the place. But when she looked at Qadir’s red face, she followed him to the bungalow.

  ‘Let’s go in, Daddy is waiting for you.’

  Reeny liked this roguish, admonishing, possessive style of Qadir’s. Qadir went to De Souza and said, ‘Did you see, Reeny did not drink, and so, you will also not drink, okay?’

  Reeny affectionately held his hand, asking for forgiveness. ‘Sorry, Qadira. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Damn your doctor! It is a festival, my son,’ De Souza groaned and sank deeper in his armchair.

  By midnight, the din of the tourists abated. When Qadir, Reeny and the waiters were busy cleaning up, De Souza somehow managed to get up from his chair. The hall was empty and everyone was busy tidying the garden, and seeing the guests off. He slowly walked, taking the support of the wall, towards the storeroom where the feni and other drinks were kept. He picked up a couple of bottles and took them to his room and hid them under his mattress. Then he returned and forced his body back into the chair.

  Qadir and Reeny came back to the hall accompanied by the caterer. Qadir sat at De Souza’s feet, held his hands and said, ‘Sorry, Uncle, I am doing all this only for the sake of your health.’

  ‘I know, I know, my boy. I agree. It made me feel a little dispirited but it’s all right. Don’t worry. Now I want to sleep. I am very tired.’

  Reeny came running and asked him, ‘Are you not going to eat anything?’

  ‘I am not hungry.’

  ‘It is not possible. I’ll warm up your food.’

  ‘No, no. I am not feeling hungry. You have dinner. My son must be famished.’

  ‘All right. You go to your room. I will send some food there.’

  De Souza was on pinpricks. Holding the chain, he pulled himself up. Qadir assisted him to his room and said, ‘You change, I will go bring you dinner.’ Having said this, he went out and closed the door.

  De Souza hurriedly changed his clothes, took out the bottle of feni hidden under the mattress, dragged himself to the bathro
om and finished half the bottle in no time. He hid the bottle behind the towel stand. There was a knock on the door. He wiped his moustache with his sleeve and returned to his room. The waiter had placed the tray of food on the table.

  ‘Please enjoy the food; chicken tikka, sizzling hot!’

  ‘Thank you, you may take the tray back in the morning. Has everyone gone to bed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘All right, you also go to sleep. Close the door after you.’

  The waiter left. De Souza latched the door from inside, went back to the bathroom, and got the half-empty bottle. He poured the contents into a glass, sat on his bed, and said to himself, ‘Now let me enjoy.’

  He emptied the glass in no time and gobbled up all the chicken in the bowl. Then he stretched himself out on the bed. Within no time he was fast asleep.

  Everyone in the house had worked late into the night, and Reeny and Ghulam Qadir slept till noon the next day. De Souza alone woke up feeling rejuvenated. He showered and got dressed in the three-piece suit. He also wore a butterfly necktie as if he was going to a party. He hid the empty bottle under his bed and walked to the dining hall. The waiters were already busy with their daily chores.

  Seeing De Souza smartly dressed, the chief chef said to him, ‘Good morning, boss! Going somewhere?’

  ‘Get me a hot cup of coffee. Send Johnny to clean my room. Go, why do you stare at me?’

  He almost fell down as he said this, but the chef held him. De Souza shoved him and walked to his chair. Before he could sit in the chair, he stumbled again. The chef came running to him, but De Souza growled at him, ‘I can manage. Why don’t you get me my coffee? Go, make it hot.’

  The chef went away. De Souza sat in the chair and started to croon and play with his necktie. When the chef returned with his coffee, he found De Souza snoozing in the chair, his chin touching his protruding stomach. He gently nudged him and said, ‘Here is your hot coffee. I got you some cookies too.’ But De Souza did not move. The chef touched his arm. ‘Sir, here is your coffee. Sir?’ But De Souza did not respond. The chef tried to wake him up, but De Souza’s still body dropped to one side of the chair. The chef let out a scream. ‘Johnny, come here quickly. Boss is unconscious.’ He ran up the stairs and yelled, ‘Reeny memsahib, Qadir Sahib, come downstairs, quickly.’