by Aysha Baqir
“When?” asked Omer.
“Friday night,” I answered. Gloria had set the day. Bushra was still on leave, Nanny would be with Babur Saab, and Gloria would make sure the other maids were busy. But the success of the plan depended on meticulous timing. I had to slip past the first guard and reach the main gate. The second guard, a friend of Gloria’s, would let me out. Once I was out, I had to reach the main market by 10pm sharp, where Gloria’s other friend would be waiting. If I arrived late, her friend would leave without me.
“And where will you go from there?” asked Omer. “You can’t bring Tara back to the house, and I can’t take her back to the hostel.”
“No, not the house.” I untied a knot in my chador. “I’ve been holding onto this card for weeks. It’s from Mrs Niaz, a history professor on the bus. She gave me her card, and told me to contact her if I ever needed any help. It has her address.”
“Why didn’t you show this to me before?” He glanced at the card. “I’m not sure,” he muttered. “But what option do we have? Can you trust her?”
I nodded. I remembered the professor’s words. She had sounded strong, supportive and willing to help other women.
Omer pulled out a pen and a piece of paper from his pocket. “Give me that.” He tugged the card from my hand, jotted down the details, and looked up. “Hey, why do you have that expression on your face? What’s going on? You know you don’t have to do this. I’ll get inside that place. I just need time.” He gripped my wrist.
My throat tightened. “No. We can’t wait any longer. I can do this.” My voice sounded strange, like it was coming from far away. What was I doing? I had never lied to my brother before.
Omer watched me for a few moments and sighed. “Okay, but tell me again how you’ll get in.”
Hearing voices, I glanced towards the garden. We didn’t have much time. Hoping Omer wouldn’t question me too closely, I leaned forward and outlined the plan again. “So what do you think?” I asked.
“It can work, but I’m coming with you.” Omer stood up.
“No,” I burst out. “I’ll be in and out with Tara in minutes.” Omer could ruin the plan.
“If you go, I go. That’s the deal,” insisted Omer. I opened my mouth to protest, but the guard was walking up to us.
“They’re calling you inside. Your brother’s been here a long time,” snapped the guard, shooting Omer a warning look.
I nodded. Friday was only two nights away.
33
Heavy clouds. Pale moon. Did the night eyes watch me? I drew the chador over my head and shoulders, loose enough to conceal my black bag. I had less than an hour to reach the main market.
The front door shut with a thud. Voices and laughter floated out. Boots and heels clicked and clacked on the cobbled stone path. I crouched behind a rose bush and peered out. Primped and preened in their suits, Jameel Saab and his friends strolled towards the line of gleaming cars. He was leaving Sehr Madam home again. Was she any better off than Amma? She was tricked and manipulated by everyone around her. And today I had joined everyone.
Fifteen minutes earlier I had been trying to calm a frenzied Sehr Madam. “Bibi, I don’t know, I don’t know.” I had looked away from Sehr Madam’s tear stained cheeks. “Someone must have moved the pills without telling you. But don’t worry. I’ll tell the guard to get some more,” I had said, trying to ignore the stinging guilt. A few hours before that, following Gloria’s instructions, I had emptied out a supply of silver strips kept in the drawer. Ptuck. The sound of the sleeping pills popping out of the foil still echoed in my ears. Leaving a few empty strips on Sehr Madam’s medicine tray, I had slipped the stack of empty strips in my black bag. Without fail, Sehr Madam took a pill at 9pm each night. Sometimes two.
Doors opened and slammed shut. I jerked back. Tires screeched, horns tooted and cars zipped through the driveway. It was time to move. I knew that Jameel Saab employed two guards for each shift. One sat in the guardhouse by the gate and the other in the guardhouse next to the garage. Their turns alternated each week. Hoisting my bag on my shoulder, I hurried to the driveway.
The guard sat sprawled on a chair. His uniform stretched over his belly, and some of the gold buttons had popped open. I thumped my fist on the door.
The guard shot up, but seeing me, he slumped back and began to scratch his crotch. “Oye, what is it? What do you want?”
“Sehr Madam wants you to go to the market to get this medicine.” I held out the empty strip.
Grabbing the silver strip, the guard held it up under the light and dropped in on the desk. “Where did you get this from?”
“Sehr Madam. She’s waiting inside.”
“Why didn’t she send her maid out, or what about the driver?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. Gloria had told me to play dumb and to pretend I didn’t know anything except what Sehr Madam had told me. Eyes down, I watched the guard. Was he testing me? Gloria said he kept a roster on everyone’s comings and goings and knew exactly where everybody was. Jameel Saab had left with his friends for his weekly game of cards. One driver was with him, and the other had the night off.
The guard flipped the pages of the register, looked up, and scowled. “I’m not an errand boy.” His slammed his fist on the desk. “They’d better understand that.” He stared at the medicine strip and then yanked it. “Where’s the money?” He grabbed the hundred-rupee note I held out and growled, “Go and tell Sehr Madam I’ve gone. Then come and stand by the kitchen door. I’ll call you when I’m back.” He stood up and tucked his shirt into his pants.
“Please,” I cupped my hands. “Don’t send me in without the medicine. Sehr Madam will be furious. Let me wait here.”
“That’s not …” began the guard, shaking his head.
“Please,” I pleaded. “Sehr Madam said she doesn’t want to see my face until I get the medicine.”
“Oh, all right. Stay here then, but don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back soon.” Shoving the money and medicine strip into his front pocket, the guard strode towards the gate.
I heard voices, but after a moment it was quiet. I counted slowly and ran towards the guardhouse by the gate. The second guard sat in a corner watching black and white images flicker on the TV. I tapped on the window.
He swung back. I winced. It was Latif, the guard I had caught with Gloria the other night. “I’ve been expecting you after that fool left.” He scowled. “Told Gloria you’re no good, but does she listen?” He pressed a button. The door to the right of the main gate sprang open. I stood still.
“Get out,” ordered Latif. “What are you playing at?”
“I told the other guard I would wait for him outside,” I began.
“I’ll cover for you,” growled Latif. “But I’m doing this for Gloria, not for you. You’re no better than a bitch on the street. Now go, before I change my mind.”
I gasped at the sneering look on his face. What had Gloria told him? I ran through the half-open door. I would miss no one except Bushra. The gate clicked shut. I was outside.
34
“Zara!” Omer stepped out from behind a tree.
“You’re here!” I hurried across the road.
“Saleem is waiting with the rickshaw,” said Omer once we had turned the corner.
“Saleem?” I stumbled and then lengthened my stride to keep pace.
“I couldn’t have come out alone. And we can trust him.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. What was I thinking? But I hadn’t heard from him in months. The rickshaw stood on the side of an empty plot. A rapid beat of low Punjabi music vibrated in the air. Spotting us, the driver shut the music.
Saleem jumped out from the front. “You made it,” he exclaimed, reaching out. I wavered, wanting to take his hand, but I couldn’t. I was gripped by a sudden wave of fury.
“We should go,” said Omer, moving towards the rickshaw. I climbed inside. The driver pulled the cord, and the engine burst into a loud rattle. The wind ba
llooned my clothes. The rickshaw careened through the maze of roads. Clutching on to my bag, I sat up straight. I had to think ahead.
After a few minutes, the rickshaw slowed, and the sputtering died. I leapt out while Omer and Saleem settled the fare. I hitched the strap over my shoulders and looked around. We were at a roundabout. Four narrow roads ran in different directions. An occasional car or a motorcycle slowed and then sped past the flashing orange signals. A neon blue sign flickered on top of a tall building, but the shutters were down. A few men sprawled on the grassy islands between the roads.
“Did Gloria say where we should wait?” asked Omer.
“No.” I looked around.
“I’ll try to find out what time it is. Stay here,” said Omer, and walked off.
Silence stretched like a tightrope.
“How have you been?” asked Saleem after a pause.
“Okay.” I looked down. I had missed him. Friends didn’t let go. He could have asked about me, or come to visit me earlier. My chest felt tight.
“I wanted to see you, but I’ve been busy,” he began. I looked up, but he stopped and was looking past my shoulder at Omer, who was coming back. “So?”
“Well, only one of them had a watch and even he wasn’t sure if it worked correctly,” said Omer. “It’s nearly ten. Let’s stand where we can be spotted easily.” He looked around. “There.” Omer pointed to a street light past the grassy strip that ended just short of the intersection. Keeping a watch for oncoming cars, we hurried across the road and grouped under the street lamp. Minutes passed, but none of the vehicles stopped.
Finally, Saleem shifted, and pointed across the road. “Look, there’s a rickshaw parked over there. I’ll go and get it. We might not have time later.” Omer nodded, and I turned back to the road. My breath snagged. What if the car didn’t show up? Where would I go?
I jumped back, hearing tires screech. A small car skidded to a stop. The headlights blinked.
“Is that them?” asked Omer. Before I could answer, the door swung open, and a lithe figure jumped out.
“Let’s go.” Gloria was striding towards me.
“Ma’am, you? How?” I stammered.
“Of course it’s me. I had to make sure there would be no screwups.” Gloria frowned at Omer. “Who’s he?”
“Family.”
Gloria shook her head. “We don’t have space.”
“He’ll get a rickshaw,” I argued.
“We already have one.” Saleem stepped forward.
Gloria turned to him, hesitated, and shrugged. “Fine. You can follow us if you keep a distance. Stop when you see the taillights flash, or the guard will spot you. Got that?”
“Yes,” said Omer.
Gloria stared at him. “I promised your sister a meeting, and that’s what she’ll get. Nothing more.”
“That’s not …” I interrupted, but Gloria’s stare shut me up.
“If you have other plans, I don’t want to know,” said Gloria, her eyes still fixed on Omer. “But I’m warning you, once she’s inside, she’s on her own, and if she gets caught, she’s on her own. It’s important you get that.”
“Caught?” Omer echoed and frowned. “What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? She’s going in pretending to be a new girl. She knows what she’s getting into and if they …”
“What?” Omer’s eyes flashed.
“There was no other way to get in,” I whispered.
“You told me you were going into that place to substitute for the cleaning maid who’d fallen sick.”
“I didn’t have a choice. And you’ll be right outside.”
“You’re not going in there. That’s it.”
“Is this happening or not?” interrupted Gloria.
Omer shook his head. “No.”
“Omer, I have to.” I gripped his hand. “Look, I promise I’ll be fine.”
“No,” said Omer.
“Dramas!” muttered Gloria. “I don’t have the time for them. Don’t expect your money back.” She started walking back.
“Let me go,” I cried.
“No, I can’t risk losing you.” Omer stepped back.
I turned to Saleem. “Tell him we’ve come too far to back down. What if we never get another chance? We can’t leave Tara there. I will be out with her in minutes.”
Hesitating for a heartbeat, Saleem grasped Omer’s arm. “Let her go. She’s right; if we don’t do this tonight, we might not get another chance. And Tara’s your sister too. You can’t leave her in that place.”
Omer stared at Saleem, shut his eyes, and sighed. He turned to me. “Okay, but only if you promise you will yell or scream if something goes wrong. We’ll be right outside, waiting till you come out.” He clasped my shoulder as I swung back. “Promise?”
“Promise,” I whispered and shuddered. Did I know what I was doing? I rushed to the car, pulled the door open, and gagged at the overpowering stench of tobacco. I felt the brush of silk against my skin. The girl next to me smiled and moved closer to me to make space for Gloria. I shifted further towards the door.
“Hey pretty girl, want to jump up in front?” Pale bold eyes were watching me in the rear-view mirror. I stared back. He wore gold chains and had a ponytail. How did Gloria know these people? What did Saleem mean by saying he had wanted to see me?
“Leave her alone, Salu,” ordered Gloria, closing the door on the other side. “She’s not your type.”
“Oh yeah, Glory,” drawled Salu, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “Are you my type then?”
“Shut up, start the car, and try to remember there’s a rickshaw trailing us. You get that? Good, let’s go.” Gloria leaned back against the seat. “This feels like old times,” she murmured. Muttering under his breath, Salu started the car, and a soft purring sound filled the closed space. We sped off.
I gaped at the giant buildings, flashing billboards and fountains bubbling with foamy water. We zipped past sprawling parks and brightly lit markets. From inside the car, the city looked like a playground.
We turned into a narrow lane that wove through a marketplace. It was dark. No electricity poles. I looked back and caught sight of the rickshaw rolling into the lane.
“Remember to blink the tail lights,” said Gloria, and swore as Salu braked. “We get out here, but you stay in the car.”
“Whatever you say, Glory,” Salu leaned back and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“We’ll walk from here and can talk along the way,” said Gloria. “But remember that there are eyes and ears behind every shut door and window.” I looked around. Dark and rundown buildings rose up on either side. I looked back. Omer and Saleem stood by the rickshaw, looking over. For one crazy moment I wanted to run back to them. I turned away.
“We’re late,” whispered the girl, Gita, as we began walking. “It’s Friday, so Kamran shouldn’t be there. But what if she’s not out by the time my client arrives?”
“What time is he booked for?”
“The first one is at eleven,” said Gita.
Gloria clasped Gita’s shoulder. “You’ll have to distract him. You get that?” Gita nodded. Gloria swung to face me. “You’ll have about fifteen minutes. That should be enough time if you have any sense. Get your sister and get out.”
“But …” started Gita.
“If Kamran is around, don’t even take her inside,” warned Gloria. “She can pretend to be sick or change her mind. Her brother will be waiting outside. But if Kamran’s not there, get her to her sister’s room. She’s on her own from there. You get that?” When Gita nodded, Gloria turned to me. “The guard, Qadir, usually stays alert, but today Gita has a present for him.” Gloria winked.
“What present?” I asked.
“Something to make sure that he doesn’t give you any trouble.” We stood at the bend. Gloria stopped and gripped my shoulders “I don’t know what to think of you. Few would come so far.” She paused. “Do you know what you’re doing?
You can turn back even now.” I shook my head. “Go then.” She brushed her lips against my forehead and strode away.
I watched her disappear. Did I know what was I doing?
“Follow me,” commanded Gita. “We still have to walk a bit.”
I followed Gita, mapping the route in my mind. “How many girls are there?” I asked finally. The more I knew about the place, the better.
“Not too many now. Sometimes four, sometimes eight. Kamran allows most of us to come and go but keeps some girls there all the time. Fridays are slow now. Kamran says he’s getting more clients, but we all know that business is going down. We used to have a steady clientele of businessmen, generals, judges, bankers, police, politicians, and even bureaucrats. Friday was a busy night. They paid well and treated us well. Then it changed. Other brothels sprang up, closer to the city. You understand?”
“Yes,” I answered. But I didn’t. How big was this business?
“Then Kamran got arrested, and our clients got scared. The new ones don’t pay much, and some have nasty tempers and even beat us. And Kamran is cutting costs. We don’t even get meals. Now before I forget, the guard by the gate, he’s old, very loyal, but you need to know two things about him. One, he can’t resist whiskey and two, he hides the gate key under the floor mat, and thinks no one knows.” Gita lowered her voice. “We’re close now. Just listen, don’t say a word. And for God’s sake, take this off.” Gita whipped the chador off my head.
At the fork ahead, two broken brick walls joined in a V. A massive container overflowed with garbage. We turned left, walked a few metres, then Gita stopped. A three-storeyed house rose up on the right. A metal gate with spikes barred the entrance, and a small door was cut into the left side.
Gita banged her palm against the door. There was a sound of shuffling feet, and then a curt voice called out, “Who is it?”
35
“It’s Gita. Open the gate.” Looking at me, Gita pressed her index finger to her mouth warningly.
“Gita? Back already?” A square, pockmarked face popped out. Qadir’s hooded gaze skimmed over Gita and then settled on me.