Revolt

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  Haider strode to his daughter’s side, placing his arm protectively around her shoulders. Laila’s head shot up. Bemused, Jubail’s fingers lovingly threaded through his own daughter’s curls.

  Laila’s mouth fell open as Jubail, pulling his daughter behind him, headed for the door. He had his answer; his wife had chosen her family.

  ‘Welcome home, my son. Will you not stay?’ Haider’s cool, authoritative voice sliced across the courtyard, shocking everyone into a strange stillness, freezing Jubail’s hand on the door handle. Tears of gratitude pricked Laila’s eyelids and a sob caught in her throat.

  Gulbahar remained sitting, etched against the marble pillar. Surely it had to be a dream.

  For Begum it was no dream; she came alive, rushing to take up the cue from her master. ‘Please, Jubail-ji, come inside, you are welcome!’

  Lost for words, Jubail stared at them blankly, unable to make sense of the scenario facing him.

  Haider, firmly in control of the new tableau he had created, gently came to his aid. ‘Laila, my dear, please take your husband upstairs. He will need to rest after his journey.’

  Laila struggled to her feet. Gaze lowered, mouth dry, she found herself uttering the words she had fantasised over for so long, but had lost all hope of ever using.

  ‘Jubail-ji, let me show you to our room,’ she coaxed in her husky, trembling voice, feeling him stiffen as she crossed the courtyard and gripped his arm hard, making him realise that if he snubbed her father’s welcome and walked out, it would all be over for them, the ten-year-old battle between them concluded. She never forgot her parents and he never forgave. Laila wouldn’t let her family down twice and Jubail knew that, but he also knew that he was walking a tightrope. Grateful for the cue, he followed, gently pulling his daughter with him. He would do it for his daughter’s sake; she was the glue holding them together.

  ‘Daddy, let me show you my room – I’ve this really big room,’ Shirin excitedly hopped ahead, bringing a smile to everyone’s lips, relaxing all in the central courtyard. Mouth softening and gaze lowered, Jubail exchanged a shy smile with the three adults. They watched him cross the courtyard. For the first time ever, he was going to the first floor. When he worked with the horses, he had respectfully remained outside the private quarters of the hevali, in the horse’s paddock.

  *

  Gulbahar beamed at her husband, treating him to a warm smile of gratitude. ‘Thank you.’ Again Haider’s gentle words chastised her.

  ‘She’s my daughter, too, Gulbahar!’

  Begum, tears of joy streaming down her face, dashed to her master’s side, startling him by grasping his hand and printing feverish kisses all over it.

  ‘Oh, thank you, Sahib-ji,’ she echoed. Chuckling and touched by their housekeeper’s reaction, Haider teased, ‘You’re going to be even busier, Begum – not that you’re not already! See that our daughter, her husband and especially our granddaughter are well looked after.’

  ‘Erm, yes, of course. I’ve dreamed of this, Master-ji, for so long that I don’t care if my limbs fall off my body from exhaustion. I’ll never tire of lavishing my love on this family.’

  Haider gently withdrew his hand from her grasp, feeling the texture of her chapped fingers. ‘You’re a good woman, Begum.’

  ‘Forgive me, Master, for my past mistakes,’ Begum pleaded, sobbing. The need to repent and beg forgiveness was swamping her.

  ‘Hush, Begum, there’s nothing to forgive,’ Haider gently consoled their treasure of a housekeeper, who was simply indispensable. ‘You’re a good soul, Begum. Let’s forget the past, shall we? It’s the future that matters.’ Then he walked off towards his office quarters.

  Flushed with joy Begum reached out to her mistress, hugging her tightly, revelling in the moment, their eyes automatically looking up to the top gallery.

  CHAPTER 45

  The Farewell

  Mehreen stood watching her son and daughter-in-law packing a suitcase, feeling bereft. Many bags of gifts, collected from different bazaars and city shopping malls, littered the floor. Only two more days left of their stay. Ismail was now trying to make space amongst a pile of clothes for two pairs of traditional khussa shoes and a box of six dozen multi-coloured glass bangles for Daniela.

  ‘Please wait. Rasoola!’ Mehreen called her housekeeper standing outside the door. ‘I’ve something for Daniela.’

  Ismail looked up, exasperated. ‘Mother, we’ve already far exceeded the weight limit.’

  Mehreen looked away in embarrassment from the shape of Daniela’s breasts pressed against the fabric of her tight dress. Could her son not advise his wife to wear a padded bra or a shawl around her shoulders? Thank goodness her husband was not with her.

  Rasoola entered with an armful of clothes.

  ‘What’s this, Mother?’

  ‘Your wedding presents, especially suits for Daniela.’

  Daniela quickly asked, ‘What’s your mother saying?’

  ‘These are all for you, my darling. But how are we going to take them?’

  Overwhelmed, Daniela watched Rasoola, grinning from ear to ear, place a pile of velvet, silk and chiffon outfits on the embroidered bedspread.

  Tearful and feeling very lonely, Mehreen left them to finish the packing. Despite her show of generosity that night, Gulbahar had not phoned once. What had hurt the most was that she had learned about Laila’s arrival from Rasoola.

  ‘Gulbahar hates me so much that she could not even be bothered to share such wonderful news with me,’ Mehreen mourned, wanting so much to visit her niece.

  Instead, she had phoned Rani, whose strident tone tore through the phone line, quickening Mehreen’s heartbeat.

  ‘No, I was not told about Laila and I don’t care!’

  Mehreen had no inkling that for her middle sister, the pining had begun again; the desperate longing for Rashid and the heartache that went with it.

  The last thing Mehreen wanted was to jeopardise the fragile bond they had recently cemented as sisters. Gulbahar was now the blessed one, with both her children at home. Mehreen crushed the envy rushing through her, reminding herself how much she owed her elder sister.

  ‘Shall we visit Gulbahar? Did you know that Laila is back?’ she asked her husband later in the evening, standing in front of him.

  ‘Mehreen, if we’ve not been informed, then is it right for us to foist our company where it’s not wanted?’ he stiffly reminded her, turning away, his eyes cool.

  Thanks to her paranoia and idiotic runaway tongue, she had had him banished from her sister’s side. How he missed Gulbahar’s company!

  Unhappily, Mehreen slipped into her own bed with no expectations of her husband joining her.

  CHAPTER 46

  The Cry

  On the rooftop terrace, Rani gazed up at the stars, letting the warm, late-evening breeze brush her wet cheeks. She was at the lowest point of her life, with thoughts of Rashid totally swamping her. Hearing steps, she stiffened. Saher stood awkwardly behind her mother, willing her to greet her.

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘Leave me alone.’ Rani slumped down into the chair.

  ‘I can’t,’ came the low, stubborn reply.

  ‘What do you care?’ Rani bitterly accused.

  ‘Of course I care.’

  Rani shook her head and then, to her daughter’s horror, burst into gentle sobs, head bent over her lap.

  ‘Mother!’ Saher pleaded, distressed. ‘Do you hate Arslan so much that you don’t want me to marry him?’

  Rani shook her head. ‘No! It’s not that.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  Saher put her arm protectively around her mother’s body.

  ‘I’m so lonely, Saher,’ she uttered, stunning her daughter into silence.

  ‘Mother, please explain. Lonely? I’ll have to leave this home sometime, but if I marry Arslan then I will be able to see you every day! Arslan is staying and is planning to enter politics. If I had married Ismail, I would have gone to
another country, and if I had married in the city you would not see me for months. Don’t you agree?’

  Rani nodded.

  ‘Then why this sad mood?’

  ‘You’ve no idea what it’s like to live a wretched life of widowhood,’ Rani whispered, caving in and stunning her daughter.

  ‘Mother, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know!’

  ‘Of course, nobody knows! I’m supposed to be coping well with everything,’ she returned bitterly. ‘I’ve everything, according to the world: wealth, acres of land, a wonderful home and a loving daughter to keep me company.’

  ‘Yes,’ Saher offered tentatively.

  Rani burst into tears again, recoiling in self-loathing. What was happening to her today? All she knew was that Mehreen’s phone call about Laila’s arrival had triggered a personal crisis; pain and envy rushing through her.

  ‘Mother, I know it must have been a hard life without a husband, but please talk to me. It will help.’

  Rani was crying and nodding at the same time, stuttering out the words in a rush, baring her soul to her beloved daughter.

  ‘To become a widow at 24, with a two-year-old daughter, is not a fate I would wish upon anyone else. Then in the following years to see your own two sisters blossoming, their youthful lives and bodies pampered in every way, their loving husbands at their sides. How I hated them and their lives. To always remain on the periphery has been so cruel and painful, Saher.

  ‘Gulbahar loved Mehreen and lavished so much attention on her, but she never quite appreciated that I needed more attention than my spoilt, young sister.’

  ‘But, Mother, you’ve rebuffed everyone with your cold attitude!’

  Rani’s bitter laugh echoed around them. ‘That cold attitude was my armour, to protect myself. I needed no one.’

  ‘But you did though, didn’t you? Is that what you are really trying to say?’

  ‘I needed everyone to …’ Rani hiccupped, her cheeks shiny with tears, ‘… to get past my cold front, but nobody bothered!’ she bitterly mourned.

  ‘Why didn’t you marry again? I gather there must have been a rishta or two?’

  ‘At first for your sake, my darling, I was afraid that perhaps the other husband might reject you …’

  ‘Oh, Mother! Was there any man?’

  ‘Yes. One man took pity on me and wanted to marry me.’

  ‘Why didn’t you?’

  ‘He was already married. I could not enter another woman’s household or bring a strange man into my household. I let him go … and now he is out there with the army leading the soldiers against the Taliban …’

  ‘Oh!’ Saher was startled by her mother’s revelation. ‘What’s his name? Why didn’t you tell me?’

  Rani looked down, lost in her thoughts of Rashid once again.

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘No one knows about Rashid. And after one or two attempts nobody bothered to ask or advise me to marry again. But if only somebody had arranged it for me … if only my sisters had realised how much I was missing a life companion.’

  ‘Oh! Mother. I wish you had married.’

  ‘My sisters enjoyed male companionship, while I had no one, apart from the servants.’ Rani continued, determined to speak her heart out to her daughter today. ‘They had total freedom in life. I had none. Not that anyone stopped me from doing anything. I gave up wearing makeup. Lipstick, in particular, something I so dearly loved since my teens … I loved collecting expensive lipsticks, top Western brands. I was supposed to be the most attractive of the three sisters. Then at the age of just 24, I became inhibited, afraid to let any colour touch my lips or cheeks, afraid of the prying eyes. If I did dare to smear a dash of it on, I would guiltily smudge it off, afraid of wagging tongues, sputtering, “Why is she made up? Which man is she trying to attract?”

  ‘From a confident, fashionable, young woman who held herself in high esteem, I became a dowdy, middle-aged woman before my time. Reluctantly, I parted with my shapely, short-sleeved dresses, and swapped them for drab, long-sleeved baggy kurthas. The elegant, flimsy ropes of crushed chiffon and silk dupattas that I casually threw around my shoulders were dispensed with. Yards of fabric smothered me from the male gaze, even from family members, for I had no husband to attract to my youthful, female shape. Check all the photographs, Saher. I stand out like a dowdy tent.

  ‘I did it willingly, though grudgingly at first. My veiling soon became second nature. If the shawl accidentally slipped off my head or from my shoulders, I felt naked and hastened to sort out my clothing. My sisters, on the other hand, were careless about veiling themselves and often remained totally bareheaded. Gulbahar only took to covering her head in her forties, after Laila’s elopement.

  ‘Gulbahar freely enjoyed Brother Liaquat’s company and he frequently visited her any time of the day – forever in and out of her home. Why? Because Gulbahar was chaperoned by her husband, even if he wasn’t there physically! At times, I’ve seen him looking at my sister with a wistful look of admiration, though I doubt that saintly sister of ours would ever notice that male look anyway! It was strange that her husband has never noticed it. Poor Liaquat, however, could never visit me alone, especially in the early years, for fear of compromising me and my honour.

  ‘When you grew older, my life became more bearable. For you became my sister, daughter, friend, my companion and chaperone, all rolled into one. The need to talk to another adult, however, has always remained. I could not, of course, communicate with the servants. Social parameters have prevented me from doing that.

  ‘Now, Saher, I’ve lost you to Arslan. I know you’ve chosen him and he may well be a good husband but my unhappiness will remain my daily companion. Also …’

  Rani stopped, gaze lowered.

  ‘Also …’ Saher prompted, unable to take in everything that her mother had painfully poured out.

  ‘Also, I am mourning the man who could have been my companion and I turned him down.’

  ‘I know there’s a real need in you for male companionship. I alone cannot fulfil that but I wish you had spoken to me earlier. If only you had remarried.’

  ‘It was not to be.’

  ‘Please give me your blessing to marry Arslan. He adores me!’

  ‘Yes, he’s crazy about you all right,’ Rani laughed bitterly. ‘All his life! His eyes were forever on you, whenever you weren’t looking, with that possessive look which I so hated. It’s so strange, my daughter, how naive you’ve been, not to spot the passion in his eyes. I’ve watched two men in love, Liaquat with our Gulbahar and Arslan with you, yet stupidly neither of you two women saw it.’

  Saher blushed, not wishing to discuss her feelings for Arslan, remembering the feel of his mouth again.

  ‘You’ve got it wrong about Auntie Gulbahar and Uncle Liaquat – what a thing to say, Mother!’ Rani shrugged her shoulders and let the matter rest for the sake of her sister’s izzat.

  ‘Why were you so against Arslan?’ Saher challenged.

  ‘I don’t know. I hated him for feeling this way about you, as if he was defiling you. So I felt the need to protect you from him.’

  ‘Is that why you were happier to get me married to Ismail instead?’

  ‘At least he was older. You treated Arslan as a child – you always bossed him, remember? How can you marry a man you feel that way about?’

  ‘He’s not a child any more, Mother. And what we feel for each other now is very much grown-up stuff.’ She lowered her gaze, cheeks a fiery shade of red.

  ‘Then I’ll have to give you my blessing.’

  ‘Oh, Mother!’ Saher buried her face in her mother’s lap. ‘Thank you, I’m so glad,’ she cried, raising her tear-smeared face up to her mother.

  ‘He has to promise me to let you stay one night every week with me.’

  ‘He will, Mother, he will!’

  After a while, basking in the warmth of her daughter’s kisses, Rani drew away.

  ‘Come, we are both tired and there’s a lot to be don
e tomorrow. I want to do it before Ismail goes back to the UK. Also Laila is back, and I want all my sister’s family to join me in my celebration. Enough time has been wasted and spent in isolation. I need to bond with both my sisters, especially with poor Gulbahar. I’m so ashamed of my behaviour over the years, always imagining that she was slighting me because I was jealous of Mehreen. And now she’ll become your mother-in-law and I’m really pleased. For in my heart of hearts, I respect that sister very much!’

  ‘I’m so happy, Mother!’ Saher hugged her. Then, ‘Mother, about Rashid …’ Her mother stiffened.

  ‘Let’s go down. I’ll tell you more about him, one day,’ Rani stood up tall, face shuttered, pain chasing across her features.

  Rashid.

  She did not want to think of him now, of all times. Life was back in her body – head full of tasks for a full-blown wedding instead of an engagement party, so that Ismail and his English wife could attend it, too.

  CHAPTER 47

  The Wedding

  ‘Rukhsar-ji, I’m not going to miss out on this wedding! Enough of this lying around in bed – with your pampering, you are going to give me bedsores,’ Massi Fiza teased her friend.

  Every minute was precious – the quicker she got to the hevali the better her chance of joining Master Arslan’s wedding entourage. Surely Mistress Gulbahar would be kindly disposed towards her, for had she not done many errands for that family over the years?

  Ignoring her friend’s mocking gale of laughter, Massi Fiza had scuttled down her friend’s staircase to her home. From her rusty, steel trunk, she dragged out a neat bundle of fabric – her best party outfit, wrapped in a muslin shawl. Squatting on the floor, she hurriedly ironed her peacock green taffeta and satin garments on the jute dari mat.

  With a nervous heartbeat, coupled with a cheeky grin, Massi Fiza duly presented herself to Begum, the domestic goddess of ‘power’ in the hevali. She would see who won today – Massi Fiza or Begum.