by Aysha Baqir
“I wasn’t expecting you today,” muttered Gloria. “Look at me when I speak to you. Yes, that’s good. Now, where can I leave you? Not with the other maids. They’ll chew you up like betel leaf and spit you out in seconds. I guess the nursery is the safest for now.” Flicking her wrist, Gloria swept ahead. I followed her down a hallway. My heart beat like a war drum in my ears. Gloria signalled to me to wait outside. The door closed with a thud. Hearing voices rise inside, I put my ear against the door.
“Come in,” Gloria flung the door open. “But take your slippers off.”
Too late to check if my feet were clean. I stepped inside and stared, dazed. A sea-blue wall gleamed with coral and fish. I could walk into it. I took another step, and curled my toes into the soft threads.
My eyes ran over the blue and green shelves crammed with toys and books. I had never seen so many books all together.
“Are you listening? I said look at me when I speak,” Gloria’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Stay here until I come to get you. Understood? I’ve told Nanny to supervise you while I’m away.”
I followed Gloria’s gaze and caught steel glinting behind wire-rimmed spectacles on a bony face. White hair. Withered face. Grey uniform. Nanny. Sitting on the sofa across the room, she stared at me silently.
I nodded.
“Good,” chipped in Gloria, and threw Nanny a cool stare. “If there’s any problem, you let me know.” And she was gone.
“Who does she think she is, telling me what to do?” muttered Nanny, once the door had closed. “Put your shoes in the cupboard over there. Have you had anything to eat?”
I nodded and turned towards the cupboard.
“Woof!”
“Quiet, Scotty,” cautioned a boy’s voice.
A small ball of white fur with a pink tongue sprawled on the bed beside a young boy in blue dungarees, looking down at the half-open book in his hands. Books. And a dog. It was going to be okay. Feeling the boy’s eyes on me, I looked down quickly. Shafique had warned me to keep my eyes and head down in front of my employers.
“Nanny, I’m done,” chimed in the boy, yanking Nanny’s arm.
“Not yet, Babur Saab,” stated Nanny, pulling away. “Read for another ten minutes or I’ll cancel the play date.” She turned to me. “And you, go on and sit for a bit, but be ready to move. Don’t think you can fool me. I might be old, but my eyes are sharper than a hawk’s. You understand? You’ll have to earn your place with me, and it’s not going to happen if you suck up to that poker-faced foreigner. You hear me? Go on, sit.”
I edged towards the chair in the furthest corner.
“And don’t think you’ll get any sympathy from me,” continued Nanny. “I wasn’t even six when I was sent to look after Babur Saab’s mother. I spent my youth raising her and then was packed off along with her dowry. Now I’m raising her son. I should be in charge of this house instead of that foreign woman. Uh, what are you doing, girl? Stop! Have you lost your mind?” She towered over me.
“What?” I shot to my feet.
“I said, have you lost your mind?” hissed Nanny. “You think the sofas and chairs are for you? You sit where you belong. On the floor.”
What did she mean, where I belonged? Flames singed my throat. The dog was sitting on the bed.
Catching the steel in Nanny’s eyes, I dropped to my knees and crouched. She had won this round, but the fight wasn’t over. I bet Babur Saab’s bed had more bounce than the stack of hay on my mud roof back home.
3
Three boys in cream ruffled shirts, navy shorts, cream socks and navy buckled boots trooped inside, followed by three Filipina maids in bright shirts and denim jeans. Yells. Shouts. Barks. Minutes later Scotty was shooed out. Boys were devils, said Amma. But these were city boys with clean faces, neatly combed hair and pearly white teeth.
Under Nanny’s supervision, I began to bring out the toys. The boys pounced. One cried for the set of racing cars, the other yelled for the train set, and two screamed that they wanted the toy aeroplanes and Lego sets. They grabbed the toys, rattled them, and tossed them away in minutes, wanting more.
My fingers curled. Empty. A fist squeezed my breath. I missed the smooth white river stones Tara and I played with for hours. We had called them our magic stones. We had kept them under our blanket until last autumn. Until they had lost their magic. Like everything else.
A maid rolled in a trolley heaped with snacks and drinks. I inhaled the whiff of fried potatoes and swallowed. Still chatting, the Filipinas popped open bottles of fizzy drinks and set them to one side for the boys. Then, heaping food onto their plates, they began to munch, occasionally slipping a bite or two into the boys’ mouths. From Nanny’s stony expression, I understood I wouldn’t be eating with them.
The maids gossiped and swapped stories about their Madams’ and Saabs’ fights, their shopping sprees and the childrens’ play dates and birthday parties. I stole a quick look at the boys, who weren’t playing together anymore. Two fights had already broken out. They weren’t too different from the pack of boys that hunted in our village lanes. It had been years, but I still shuddered, thinking about that day.
I had run out to race. Omer and Tara had followed, shouting after me, but I hadn’t stopped, wanting to be first. Sprinting around a corner, I hadn’t seen them. Leaping out from a side alley, they had trapped me. Two boys with dirt and snot-caked faces. They had laughed wildly, called me filthy sounding names, and grabbed my chador. I had screamed, “Pigs!” back at them. Hearing Omer yell, they had disappeared. But then Tara started crying that I was going to die, and Omer had dragged me inside, telling me to wash up. Hot and sticky, I had rushed inside the room, flung my chador off and halted, feeling warm dampness between my thighs. I pulled up my shirt slowly. Streaks of crimson. Blood, mine. Ice-cold from inside, I had broken into a sweat.
Before I could stop her, Tara had screamed for Amma. Gripping me by the shoulders, Amma had shaken me and said that I had to stop running out to play. She pushed two bundles of thick cloth into my hands. I had to use one, wash it and use it again. Each month. Every month. The same cloth bundles. The blood would come out. I had stared at her, not understanding what she meant. Was I sick? Had I caught a disease?
“Come on, hurry,” Gloria’s voice snapped me back to the present. I glanced up from where I had been stacking toys on a shelf. The boys had just left. “Now,” commanded Gloria tapping her boots. “We don’t have all day. Sehr Madam wants to meet you now.”
“She can help me clear up first,” said Nanny, and nodded to me to continue.
“She can, if she wants to lose her job!” said Gloria as she strode out.
Without looking back at Nanny, I hurried out and followed Gloria through a maze of corridors and into a hall filled with lights. Draped in silver lace, Sehr Madam perched on a maroon divan heaped with silk pillows. Dark eyes. Pale skin. Long black hair that tumbled to her waist. Like a fairy from another land. Her eyes were on me. I lowered my head, remembering Shafique’s words. One narrow foot, strapped in a silver sandal, tapped a beat in the air. Spotting the ruby-red nail polish on ten perfect fingers and toes, I curled my fingers. The room smelt sweet, like fields of flowers after a rainfall. I knew I didn’t.
Sehr Madam picked up a patterned teacup, lifted it to her lips, and set it down. There was no sound. Was it that bad? At home, we drank tea with zest; the better the tea, the more noise we made, slurping it.
Sehr Madam told Gloria to leave. Had she heard? My gaze strayed towards the long black legs. In a slightly shriller voice, Sehr Madam again ordered Gloria to leave. But Gloria didn’t move. Staring straight, she stood still. Ready to sting.
Hairs crackled on my neck and arms. Did Gloria answer to anyone? Sehr Madam’s lips tightened. Shifting slightly, she nodded to me. Taking the cue, I narrated the story Shafique had instructed me to tell. I was getting better at telling stories. But before I had finished, Sehr Madam sighed and leaned back to rest her head on the cushion. “You�
�re a poor little thing, but too young.”
“We grow up fast in the villages,” I answered, and reddened, hearing Gloria snort.
“Too young, but what can one do?” murmured Sehr Madam and turned towards the turquoise sheen of the oval pool outside. I followed her gaze. What did she mean? She could do whatever what she wanted.
“Follow me,” commanded Gloria. With one last glance at Sehr Madam, I trailed after Gloria. We turned into a dim passageway that narrowed as we reached the back of the house and climbed a rickety staircase. Washing lines, drooping with damp clothes, were strung from one end of the balcony to the other. I followed Gloria into a small room with a musty smell.
“You’ll be sharing this quarter with Bushra, Sehr Madam’s maid,” said Gloria.
I looked over the tiny, windowless space with two charpais and a narrow chest of drawers. I could be back home.
“You have half an hour to rest up,” began Gloria, her black eyes fixed on my face. “But before I leave you alone, I need to know, are you clean? Or have you been with a man, done it?”
Heat flooded my face and my cheeks flamed. It? No one ever talked about it. My cousin, Saima Appi, had told us it happened on your wedding night. Took a few minutes. You had to shut your eyes. I shook my head. “I haven’t,” I whispered.
“Good. Stay clear of the male servants and always take the chador over your head if you know what’s good for you. Now clean up. I’ll be back for you.”
Resisting the urge to curl up and sleep, I sat up. What had Gloria meant? Why did she want to know? Abba had threatened to chop me up into mince if I shamed the family name.
An hour later I was trying to keep up with Gloria as she glided through the mansion, her clipped voice detailing my chores. She stopped to count the antiques, crystal and silver and I kept count with her, wondering how she knew where and when Sehr Madam had purchased them, and their value. But her message was clear. I was responsible if anything broke or went missing.
It was dusk when I returned to my quarters. A tall, hefty woman stood in front of a cracked mirror propped on the chest. I murmured a greeting and the woman turned, her eyes narrowing as she ran the comb down the length of her hair.
“So you’re here.” She set her comb down. “I heard about you from Nanny. You know who I am?”
“Yes.” She had to be Bushra, Sehr Madam’s maid.
“Good. Do as I tell you, then we won’t have a problem. Understood?” I nodded. Bushra frowned. “You look dead beat. Skip dinner and get some sleep, but keep to your side. That’s your charpai,” she pointed to the far one. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” Deftly knotting her hair into a braid, she slipped out of the room.
Hours later, I was still awake. Shadows stirred. Silence howled. I had schemed, pulled Omer into my search for Tara, and convinced him to help me. But was I risking his life? When would I see him again? And where was Tara? Was I too late? I hunted the truth, but did I have the courage to face it? And what was I going do with it? Thoughts jabbed and pecked my head like a chicken’s beak after scattered grain: I had to find Tara. I had to earn money for my dowry. My parents wanted me married. I wanted to study.
The night was darker and quieter than in my village. I missed the hum of the crickets and whispering leaves. Was I alone? Did the night eyes watch me? Should I have told Sehr Madam I had studied once, and that I still wanted to go to school? Would it have made any difference?
I woke up with a jolt. The room stank of sweat and waste. The door to the bathroom was open. Bushra snored from across the room. Pale light seeped in from under the door. I rolled over and grabbed my chador. Tiptoeing across the room, I opened the door and stepped out. A pink glow flamed the dim horizon. Drawn to the open windows, I stared at the stone-grey driveway winding towards the black gates. I stood alone, miles away from my home and light years away from the girl I had been, the girl who had longed to eat kairis, and dreamt of going to school.
4
Kairis made me forget. They spun my senses and hurled me to the skies. They pushed everything out of my mind except the jolt of the tangy fruit exploding in my mouth. And then for a few heartbeats, the universe pulsed. Pure. Perfect. Joy.
My cousin Nazia had whispered that boys did that too, made girls forget everything. I wasn’t sure about that.
I inhaled, and imagined thousands of tangy green orbs dotting the mango orchards. My mouth watered. I had wolfed down half a chapatti with a mug of chai at dawn. Nothing since then. Now, the sun was full, and my belly was as hollow as our empty water drum. But I had chores left – rice to sift, clothes to wash and a room to dust.
Another whiff. My belly growled. One more day and it might be too late. The landlord’s thugs would be all over the orchards. I had to get out today. Now. Omer had already run out and Amma still napped inside.
I straightened up. The chores weren’t going away anywhere. Amma had told me to strain the uncooked rice twice before soaking it. But who was going to tell her? Wavering for a second, I dumped the grains into a pan of water. Signalling to Tara, I slipped out, hoping she would follow. For the past few months, she’d been acting saintlier than our Pir. She did everything Amma wanted, even before Amma wanted it done. Waving to Omer to catch us, I swung towards the grove. Amma’s hearing was sharper and better than Abba’s. These days she hovered close, listening.
I raced through the fields. Shackles broke. A roaring sound filled my ears, and my skin flamed, hot and damp. In minutes, I had crawled under the barbed wire. Marking out my tree, I leapt, grabbed a twisting branch and locked my ankles around it. The world flipped; I hung upside down, weightless and free. Counting to five, I swung up and balanced on my belly, feeling the warm pulse of the tree. A breeze tickled the sweat on my face and neck. Nani would be proud. Dreams were like fireflies, she said. They lit the dark. We had to grasp them, catch them. Otherwise, they would fly away. And it would be dark again.
“Jump up,” I urged, spotting Tara. “Omer will be here any second.”
“Your idea, you get them!” retorted Tara. She shrugged off her chador and spread it under the tree.
“Coward,” I muttered, scanning the fields for the landlord’s thugs. The grounds were clear, except for a trail of farmers who combed the fields for pests. The grass rustled and insects whirred. Fixing my eyes on a cluster of plump kairis, I snaked forward.
“Where’s Zara?” Hearing Omer’s shout, I gripped a clump of leaves and began to heave it back and forth.
“Where do you think?” answered Tara.
“Grab the loot,” I called, as a burst of green fruit hit the ground. Hearing the distant rumble, I frowned.
“Let’s go,” called Omer. “We’ve got them.”
“Once more.” Pushing loose strands of hair behind my ears, I reached out again. “Phitteh muh,” I cursed as dust stung my eyes. Summer storms were fast and dark, like Amma’s temper.
“Hurry,” urged Omer.
The ground tilted, and leaves flashed past me. Landing on my hands and knees, I sprang up and cursed again. My sleeve was caught on a bush. I yanked at it, and winced at the ripping sound. Another tear to mend before Amma notices. I raced after Tara and Omer and crawled under the wire fence.
“You’re hurt.” Tara darted over.
“What happened?” Omer leaned over me.
I flicked my tongue over the crimson graze and shook my head. “Nothing. I’m good. Do we have time?” I tugged at the knot in Tara’s chador.
“If we hurry,” said Tara.
“I thought we were going fishing,” murmured Omer. “This was risky.” He pulled out a folded paper from his side pocket and unfolded it.
I inhaled the tang of the spicy blend for dipping the kairi in. “We only took what’s ours,” I muttered. ‘Daku’ blood filled our veins, but we weren’t the thieves.
“Shush, you two,” warned Tara.
“Why? Afraid of the jinns?” Omer rolled his eyes and began to pass out the kairis.
“It’s not the jinns we
need to be afraid of …” I began, and flinched at the memory of a dark morning, years ago.
A rumour that our landlord had won a bid to export kairis had hit our village like lightning. The orchards had always belonged to the village’s farmers. After a quick meeting, the farmers had hurried to the shrine with sacks of wheat as an offering. Accepting the grain, the Pir, our landlord’s younger brother, had assured the farmers that they had nothing to worry about and that he would talk to his brother.
Yet we had woken to an army of thugs swathed in black bandanas breaking open our door. They hauled Abba into the street and shackled him, along with other farmers. Standing on the hood of his jeep with his young son, our landlord had accused us of treachery. His father had ruled over our fathers, and he ruled over us. He had the right to take our land as and when he pleased. He was going to give us one last chance to set it right. We could hand over the orchards to him willingly or else. But Abba and the other farmers had stayed silent.
Hearing the crack of whips, I had grabbed Raja, my month-old mutt, in my arms. Shrieks and shouts rent the air. Flesh split open and streaks of blood darkened the earth. But no one moved to help Abba or any other farmer. We watched, still and silent. It was the law. In our village the land gave life and the land took life.
With the look of a wild bull in his eyes, the landlord had shouted at his guards to be ‘men’. Dropping the bamboo sticks, the thugs had come after us and caught my aunt. Hearing her scream, I had wet my pants. Amma had grabbed my shoulder to pull me back, and Raja had dropped out of my arms. In a heartbeat, the landlord’s son had nabbed him. I struggled to break free of Amma, but she had held me in an iron grip. I had yelled until I lost my voice, but Amma didn't let go of me until the farmers had surrendered and our landlord and his men had sped off. I never saw my pup again.
But it wasn’t over. My uncle had come after my aunt with a stick. Silently, we watched another beating. Finally, the men shuffled away, leaving the women to comfort my aunt and scurry back inside the walls.