Typhoon

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  Sabra’s mouth tightened. She was frustrated by her sister’s words and reaction. ‘So you are going to sacrifice yourself and your happiness by staying single all your life – and remain alone with your son in this home? Do you know how long that life might be?’

  ‘Yes, I do know, but it will not be a sacrifice as you term it. No matter how long I live, I will be happy with just my own company. Marriage has never meant a lot to me, even when Sarwar was alive. You already know everything – about Fatima, the washerwoman, whose presence marred my marriage. He had wanted to marry her originally. I tried and tried, but I could never love my husband. Unlike you, my dearest, I was never destined to discover the physical comfort, solace and pleasure that women find in their marriage – so I miss nothing, Sabra, because I have never known it. Yet Sarwar was a very good husband. I have also got used to living on my own. I am a very independent woman, and at this stage in my life I definitely don’t want any man dictating down to me and interfering in my life. I love this home. You know why I married Sarwar. It was for his wealth and this home. I am not ashamed to say it. Well, I have all that now. I have this large hawaili and dozens of marabas of land. In fact, I have all the worldly goods I could ever want. I am a good businesswoman – and fast learning to manage my land – all by myself. Another man, who may or may not happen to like my son, would just be a complication in my life – a threat to both me, personally, and the happiness I enjoy at the moment. Anyway, I have you to turn to, Sabra.’

  ‘But I can’t be here for you all the time. A husband is a life’s partner in every way. You must rethink, my darling sister. You need a male companion – a mehram. My husband will be very disappointed that you are turning down such a good offer of marriage.’

  ‘If your husband resents you coming to visit me in the village regularly – and I can understand that – you don’t need to come so often. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. Nor will I be seen as one!’ Her hard tone wasn’t lost on her sister’s ears. ‘To marry this man, Sabra, will bring chaos into my life – and I am not mentally, or emotionally, prepared for that. He might even want me to move to his village, to his home. I could never do that. I could never leave this hawaili. If he were to marry me, he would have to come here and live with me. I doubt if any man’s male pride or family would let him do that. Secondly, he would expect to have children. I don’t want any more children Sabra, especially as they would become half-brothers and sisters to my beloved Khawar. I am over and done with childbearing. I just want to carry on living my normal life with Khawar, and Neesa my housekeeper. I want to be left alone, Sabra. I want no male – in fact, not even a male shadow to cross my life! Ever!’ Her face was now flushed.

  ‘Oh, my foolish, foolish elder sister – please think again! You are still young, very attractive and have so much to offer.’

  ‘But no love, no chaahat – no sexual desire – nothing! What sort of marriage is that?’

  ‘I don’t want you to wake up when you are over forty years old and then look back with regret. By that time, it will be too late. Rishtas for widows with children don’t always walk easily up to one’s door, my sister.’

  ‘I understand that, Sabra, but I think – and I am not being arrogant, you must understand – that men will still, even at forty, try to woo me, Sabra. Not just for myself – I am not that naïve – but for this home and my wealth. Do you know that Rascal Abdullah had the audacity to ask me to marry him, and he already has a wife and three children. He pretends that he is doing me a favour by offering marriage – a favour! But I know what that lecher is after, not just me, but also this hawaili. He’d move in here like a shot. Can you imagine all his brood here in my hawaili – ughh! If that is what marriage means to him – having to share him with another – I would have to be deranged to accept.’

  ‘This is most unfair, Kaniz. I wasn’t talking about Abdullah, but about Sheikh Younus Raees. He is very eligible, single and in every way your equal. A very wealthy zemindar.’

  ‘Please stop, Sabra. Never mention his name to me again. I don’t want to talk about this subject any more. How many hours have we exhausted on this topic? No more! I am going to send Neesa with a message to Baba Siraj Din, who has been the eager go-between, to tell him that this proposal is unacceptable. I will also ask him to broadcast to all the villages, and the men, that Chaudharani Kaniz is not interested in remarriage. They must learn to understand and accept that I am very happy with my life as a widow. So please, everyone must stop insulting me by asking for my hand in marriage or by imagining that I need a man in my life. I definitely do not! And that includes you telling all our relatives too, to keep away from me! I don’t want people pestering me about this rishta or that. Just ask them, please, to leave me well alone. I know they care about me and are thinking that this is best for me – but only I understand what is best for me. It is my life after all.’ Kaniz stopped as she saw Neesa come up and stand timidly near the sun-lounger. ‘What is it?’ she asked harshly. It was the wrong moment to be interrupted.

  ‘Chaudharani Sahiba, Kulsoom and her friend Naimat Bibi are here to see you.’

  ‘What do those meddling women want with me this early in the morning?’ Kaniz said irritably. She hardly ever used the services of either of these two women.

  Sabra laughed. ‘Kulsoom is the matchmaker, isn’t she? Perhaps she has brought a new rishta here for you,’ Sabra teased, a marked twinkle in her eyes.

  Kaniz flushed scarlet. ‘How dare you say that! Do you think I would use the services of that lowly woman! Tell them to come up, Neesa. I haven’t even had my breakfast yet, the nuisances. They have no sense of timing!’

  Downstairs, in the foyer of Kaniz’s hawaili, the two friends stood nervously eyeing one another. Kulsoom was wondering whether they would gain an audience with Chaudharani Kaniz or not this morning. A haughty woman, who on the whole looked down on the lower castes like Kulsoom, Kaniz very rarely came in contact with the village people at large. Normally she communicated by sending messages via her housekeeper, who in turn politely passed them on. A personal tête-à-tête with Chaudharani Kaniz was very rare.

  Kulsoom prayed that Kaniz would see them this morning because if she didn’t, it would be her loss, not theirs! This visit also gave them an opportunity to meet her younger sister, Sabra, who was much kinder generally and by all accounts less snobbish and very approachable.

  ‘She is coming,’ Naimat Bibi whispered to her friend as they heard light steps on the marble stairs. They smiled awkwardly as they saw Neesa return alone. They waited, resigning themselves to being told to go away.

  ‘Chaudharani Kaniz says you can come and see her upstairs. She has just had a bath and is drying her hair on the rooftop.’

  Upstairs. Kulsoom’s heart sank. On the other hand, gaining an audience with Chaudharani Kaniz was of paramount importance, no matter how many flights of stairs Kulsoom had to climb with her feeble heart. It would help to widen her influence with the other village women and bolster her matchmaking business. She knew all the local women would envy her the honour of talking personally with the haughty landlady of the village – the supreme malika, the Queen. The one who very rarely deigned to mix with ordinary people. Yet the waspish thought always crossed everyone’s mind that, unlike Chaudharani Shahzada, Kaniz came from very humble roots. So why she thought of herself as being above the rest was an irritating mystery to them all.

  Both friends eagerly cantered behind Neesa as she walked through the large, ornately designed courtyard with verandahs on all four sides, supported by marble pillars, and then up the marble stairs. Kulsoom groaned aloud. First wet floors in Jamila’s house, now rows of marble steps to clamber up. It was too much in one morning, for her bony legs and weak heart. To Kulsoom’s mind, the marble steps were a death trap – if you slipped, you were sure to break a bone or two. She panted behind Naimat Bibi – hating, oh so hating the stairs – carefully placing her feet on each one, whilst holding on with all her might to the handrail. Sh
e stopped halfway wondering ruefully how Neesa, with her thin, wiry body, managed to carry trays of food up and down the steps to her mistress all day. Perhaps she had not an ounce of fear in her body. If it had been Kulsoom in her place, she would have been stuck in the middle of the stairs all day with her eyes tightly closed. Going neither up nor down.

  At last Kulsoom reached the top. Neesa and Naimat Bibi were already there waiting for her, broad grins on their faces. Kulsoom weakly returned their smiles, taking their teasing glances in good grace.

  Playfully retaliating, nevertheless, ‘It is all right for you two – you can laugh, but you know I have a heart problem. A hole in my heart. And I do not intend to end my life prematurely by falling down Chaudharani Kaniz’s stairs. There are more dignified ways of dying than that! I want to die on my bed – not sprawled on someone’s stairs. What’s more, I have yet to arrange Master Khawar’s rishta, when he grows into manhood. Therefore, I must learn to rid myself of this fear of these stairs.’

  She stepped out onto the sunny rooftop with a short wall going all the way round it, topped with pretty white, wrought iron railings. Earthen pots of all shapes containing mature green plants and an assortment of flowers in full bloom lined the wall. Chaudharani Kaniz’s roof garden was the only marble one in the whole village. It was a lovely place to spend one’s time on a warm morning or a cool evening.

  Kulsoom immediately sobered as her eyes fell on the Chaudharani’s handsome but hostile face. No welcome. No greeting. Somehow, this woman always expected other people to greet her first. She would then deign to respond, either verbally, or by simply inclining her head at an angle of just a couple of inches. This she did to her subordinates.

  ‘Assalam Alaikum, Chaudharani Kaniz Sahiba and sister Sabra,’ Kulsoom’s lips dutifully mumbled, accepting that she came at the bottom of the social ladder as far as the Chaudharani was concerned.

  Naimat Bibi quickly followed suit by chanting her greeting too in a low voice. They stood a few yards away, wondering what to do next. Should they move forward and approach the two sisters, or stand there and talk from a distance? That was too demeaning, even for them, but there were no chairs in sight.

  Taking pity upon them, Sabra kindly came to their aid. She beckoned to them to come and sit on the charpoy on either side of her. Gratefully they accepted the invitation, rushing forward to sit down beside her, smiling their thanks as they did so.

  ‘Lovely to see you again, Sister Sabra. How is your family?’ Kulsoom began by asking the younger sister, whilst keeping a furtive eye on Chaudharani Kaniz and her actions. Kaniz’s body language was the best form of communication for them to interpret. That lady had now turned her back on them, her fingers deftly weaving in and out through her long hair, neatly separating each wet strand. Kulsoom’s envious eyes marvelled at the woman’s black, glossy waves reaching down to her waist. She had never been granted the privilege of seeing Chaudharani Kaniz’s hair in an open state. Always it had been stylishly plaited and wound around her head in an attractive coronet. It was a style that was supremely Kaniz’s, and no one had quite the audacity to ape it or know how to.

  Kaniz swept round and caught Kulsoom’s look of admiration. Proud of her crowning glory, she took immense delight in the awed wonder on Kulsoom’s face. Miraculously, Kaniz smiled, the curly tendrils of wet hair around her face making her look even more beautiful. Kulsoom’s own face lit up with an answering smile, spreading wide apart the two narrow grooves lining her mouth on either side.

  ‘What can we do for you, Kulsoom Jee?’ Kaniz asked pleasantly. For some reason, she found she wanted to humour this small, overweight woman today, with her bony arms strewn with dozens of garishly coloured glass bangles.

  ‘We … we …’ Blushing, Kulsoom stammered. Then, not quite knowing how to begin, she switched to look at Sabra. ‘We came to pay our respects to Sister Sabra and to see how she is,’ she said. She wasn’t quite ready to part with the scandalous news yet. Kulsoom hated her nervous stammer. Her cheeks, now a dark shade of red, sent the heat to automatically spiral down to her thin, pleated throat. Kulsoom never lost her cool anywhere or with anyone. That is, apart from when she was in Chaudharani Kaniz’s presence. This morning had turned out to be the worst occasion.

  ‘Thank you, Kulsoom Jee, but isn’t it a bit early in the morning for social calls?’ Kaniz cruelly quipped, now in a devilish mood. She didn’t want to spare Kulsoom for disturbing her conversation with her sister.

  Colour flooded high into Kulsoom’s brown, chaeei-pigmented cheeks, making the dark patches appear even darker. ‘Yes, it is quite early. I hope we haven’t disturbed you,’ she muttered miserably.

  ‘Never mind. Now that you are here, what can we do for you?’ Kaniz said in her dry, businesslike tone, losing interest in them and wanting to usher them both out of her home as soon as she possibly could.

  Dismayed, and interpreting Kaniz’s action and words accurately, Kulsoom decided to dispense immediately with any further chit-chat and social meandering.

  ‘Have you heard about Fatima’s niece and Haroon?’ The loaded question was dropped in a hushed tone.

  As both sisters stared back blankly, waves of pleasure surged through Kulsoom, cooling her cheeks. She congratulated herself on her luck and the ace she held in her hand.

  ‘I can gather from your expressions that you know nothing about what happened here in the village last night.’ No stammering now. The confident tone was back and with a vengeance. Her small dark eyes twinkled. It was Kulsoom’s moment of glory in Kaniz’s company.

  Kaniz good-humouredly shook her head, wondering what bombshell Kulsoom could possibly be hugging to her chest to bring that mischievous look to her face.

  Her eyes widening for effect, Kulsoom decided to drop her bombshell. Not wanting to jeopardise the success of her mission by superfluous innuendoes, she went straight to the point.

  ‘Last night, Fatima’s niece, Naghmana, the one who has come here in that grand car, was found in the arms of our Haroon – Gulshan’s husband. Can you believe it?’ she threw triumphantly at the landlady of the village.

  Hungrily she swallowed the stunned look on both the sisters’ faces. Her triumph knew no bounds. She had carved a deep notch on the village social ladder. Even the almighty Chaudharani Kaniz’s cool exterior was ruffled.

  ‘Every single, panting breath, on all those slippery marble stairs was worth it,’ Kulsoom thought happily, congratulating herself yet again.

  There was no disdain in the Chaudharani’s eyes now. Indeed, both sisters were eagerly waiting for more. Kulsoom quickly satisfied their curiosity. Wisdom dictated that it wasn’t worth pushing her luck by playing around with Chaudharani Kaniz and her patience. The woman was well-known for being very cruel when the fancy took her. She, Kulsoom, on the other hand, wished to remain very much in the landlady’s good books. Therefore, she had decided that it would be in her interests to impart the information in a free and natural manner. No spinning it out. No dilly-dallying.

  ‘That wasn’t all. We saw Hajra pull that bad woman from the city by her hair. Her Auntie Fatima slapped her face and Haroon was spat upon by his mother-in-law – and now Hajra has gone to see Baba Siraj Din to get them publicly shamed. We just thought that as you don’t leave your hawaili often, you might not have found out. And we didn’t want you to be left out, especially as there might be a kacheri.’ Kulsoom abruptly stopped, scanning Kaniz’s face. She could see that the woman had lost her haughty composure. ‘How beautiful she is!’ Kulsoom marvelled to herself. ‘Why did Allah pak bless some people with everything – looks, wealth and position. It wasn’t fair!’ She had been denied all three, while craving each one.

  ‘Thank you, Kulsoom Jee,’ Kaniz replied graciously, unaware of the envy rushing through the matchmaker’s body, ‘for thinking of us.’

  ‘If we hear anything more, of course we will let you know,’ Kulsoom added eagerly, and very much bent on ingratiating herself further into Kaniz’s favour. There wa
s no time for envy now. It didn’t get you very far in this life.

  ‘Thank you. Neesa, will you serve Kulsoom Jee and Naimat Jee some tea downstairs.’ Kaniz instructed her housekeeper sweetly, but her eyes had now regained their usual indifference. Bending her head she swung the curtain of her hair to the other side, as if to dry it in the sun. It was a cue for their dismissal.

  The friends reluctantly got up to leave, their faces crestfallen. Sabra felt very sorry for them. They had hoped to enjoy a few more minutes in the company of the two illustrious ladies, whilst they sipped their cool lemon drinks. But it was going to be tea and that downstairs. Probably in Neesa’s kitchen!

  ‘Never mind!’ Kulsoom gave herself a mental shrug as she rose, avoiding Neesa’s sympathetic gaze. They quietly bade goodbye to the sisters and then followed Neesa down the stairs.

  On the rooftop gallery Sabra cast a speculative glance at her sister. ‘Well, well, things do happen in your village, sister Kaniz. How shocking if what those women have told us is true. I’d love to find out more about them.’

  ‘Who? Those women, or that couple? ‘You can be sure we’ll find out everything hour by hour, if Kulsoom, our unique village wireless, has her way.’ Kaniz’s throat rumbled with laughter. ‘I am afraid that until this matter is dealt with, I’ll just have to tolerate the company of those two garrulous women.’

  ‘They are not all that bad, Kaniz. You are being unkind. Let me massage your head for you,’ Sabra offered.

  ‘Oh, please. I thought you would never ask. I love your hands. I suppose I was being unkind to them, but sometimes I just can’t help myself – being catty, I mean. Those two women bring out the worst in me. They are always looking for excuses to visit my home.’ Kaniz put her head forward in her dear sister’s hands. These head messages were one of the luxuries and rituals she always looked forward to, when Sabra came to stay.