by Dar, Azma;
It was all over town, in the paper, on the internet. Farzana, now nicknamed the ‘Burkha Butcher’, was everywhere, sometimes smiling but more often snarling, to suit the newly-constructed vicious persona. This was thanks to her cousin in Lahore, who, keen to seize a bit of notoriety, had dug up all the worst pictures of her at a family wedding. Shots of Farzana with a fistful of rupees, asking the groom for money as a forfeit for fulfilling various old traditions. in which she was wearing expressions of pretend anger and outrage at the small amount he was giving her, were cropped and edited to make her look like a seasoned jailbird, possibly in the middle of a bank robbery. The cousin had also found an old home video of Farzana in the kitchen, chopping onions, and it had gone viral, under the title of ‘Bloodthirsty Housewife Hones Slashing Skills’.
Almost as visible was the man who had been instrumental in her capture, the local hero Rafeeq Rasool, whose timely and observant evidence had been crucial in nailing her down, looking embarrassed and modest, photographed especially for this story.
Rafeeq was feeling queasy. He had been trying since last night to persuade himself that he’d had no idea what his little lie would lead to, but it was no use. Of course he’d known that Rabia had meant for exactly this to happen. His fear of Dolly finding out about his half-hearted shenanigans had put an innocent woman in prison. He dreaded to think what else might be in store for her.
Dolly got out of the rickshaw angrily. Her hair was freshly styled, cut into a bob only that morning, but the insolent driver hadn’t even paid any heed to that, jerking and swaying around the corners and braking much too hard. She’d banged her head seven times in twelve minutes. Not that she’d told him about the hair explicitly, but she thought he would have noticed the efforts of a well-groomed lady.
A white snakeskin handbag was hanging off her arm, and a pair of round white sunglasses were pushed on to her forehead. In the other hand she carried Rafeeq’s tiffin box.
She was proud of him. At last other people could see he had special qualities. Life was just getting better and better. Every aspect of it seemed to swell her with confidence and zest. Of course there were the supplements; she didn’t like to think of them as medicines. Well, that was a private matter, between them, but what Rafeeq had done for the good of the public was highly commendable. He’d singlehandedly made the streets of Murree safer for the common people by having that monster locked up. In the midst of all the excitement, he’d forgotten his lunch. It was in such demanding times as these that he needed it most.
It would also be good to see if the press had contacted him again today. She wished he would designate the task of dealing with publicity to her, but he didn’t think anyone was really that interested in him.
She noticed a car she hadn’t seen before parked next to Rafeeq’s. She peeped in and recognised the Inspector. She tapped on the window, and he got out of the car.
‘Are you looking for Rafeeq?’ she said. ‘You don’t know me but I’ve seen your pictures. I’m his wife. Follow me.’
Dolly breezed into the reception area.
‘Anyone in there?’ she asked the man at the desk. ‘Come, Inspector saab.’
Rafeeq was praying when they went in, kneeling on the mat. They sat down and waited. She spun around on the swivel chair then held up the photos on the desk, whispering explanations to Sharif.
‘Our oldest. She’s in Canada. Two children. Boy doing very well in college, mashaAllah, going into medicine. This one’s my granddaughter number seven. She’s mad about me. Calls me Mum.’
Rafeeq finished his namaaz by looking over his shoulders. He stood up and nodded a greeting to Sharif.
‘We need to talk to you again, Rafeeq saab,’ said the Inspector.
‘Do you think there might have been a mistake?’ asked Rafeeq. ‘To be honest I would rather you found some more evidence instead of just relying on me.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear,’ said Dolly. ‘Personally I think you should be publicly recognised. Maybe with a medal, or at the very least a certificate.’
‘I don’t think there’s any likelihood of that happening,’ said Sharif. ‘So, should I begin, or would you rather we talked alone? Bhabi might not want to hear what I have to say.’
‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not squeamish,’ said Dolly.
Rafeeq thought about sending her off on an errand, but knew that if the Inspector had found him out, it wouldn’t be long before she did too. He nodded.
‘Are you absolutely sure it was Farzana you saw coming out of Room 007 on the evening of the murder?’
Rafeeq paused before replying.
‘I thought it was.’
‘The manager says you weren’t even in the hotel that evening.’
‘He didn’t see me. My name was in the book wasn’t it?’
‘Yes it was. In fact, when we spoke to the manager yesterday, he said he did see you that evening. But we spoke to him again today, and asked him if he’d been bribed. He admitted he had. Rabia paid him ten thousand rupees to say that you were having a meeting with the Saudi businessman. You made it up, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Rafeeq, in a small voice. Dolly shot up out of her chair.
‘What? Why? Don’t tell me you did it for ten thousand rupees!’
‘Would you be happier if I did for more?’ said Rafeeq.
‘No, of course not. Just tell me what’s going on.’
‘I did it for you,’ said Rafeeq. He looked at Sharif for support, not wanting to explain himself. Despite all he’d done, the Inspector felt a twinge of sympathy for him.
‘Unfortunately for your husband, Rabia discovered something about him that he didn’t want anyone to know,’ said Sharif.
‘The supplements?’ asked Dolly, amazed. The Inspector turned to Rafeeq enquiringly.
‘Not those, not those!’ said Rafeeq.
‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about, but regardless, it’s not relevant to what I have to tell you,’ said Sharif. ‘There’s no easy way to say it. She threatened to tell you that your husband has been visiting ladies of the night. In the afternoon.’
‘What?’
‘Working girls,’ he said in English. ‘Pretty women.’
‘I know what they are! Is it true?’
Rafeeq turned his whole body away to face the wall. Dolly’s lips began to tremble, then she ran out of the room. They sat in silence. Almost a minute later she re-entered, shut the door, and went through the pockets of the coat that was hanging on the back of it.
‘Shall I call the taxi?’ asked Rafeeq.
She found the car keys, and went out again. From the window they saw her get into the car and attempt to start it, which she managed after a bit of spluttering. She drove off sluggishly, in a wobbly line. Rafeeq started putting on his socks.
‘We should go after her,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know how to drive.’
‘I’m sorry, we can’t,’ said Sharif. ‘I haven’t finished speaking to you. And what do you want to do, overtake her and then block the road?’ He looked out. The red Datsun had stopped on the side of the road. ‘I don’t think there’s anything to worry about there.’
Rafeeq slumped back into the swivel chair.
‘Now, obviously we’ll have to charge you with trying to obstruct our investigation, and lots more things linked to it. But there’s something else. When we spoke to the manager today he told us you were in the Happy Suraj Guest House on the 25th. But not in the evening. In the morning. He said you were in Pervez’s office and he heard you arguing.’
Rafeeq closed his eyes.
‘It looks like I’m going to have to arrest you.’
‘All right, yes, I did go to see him,’ said Rafeeq. ‘I was very angry. He told his mother about my meetings, when he’d promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.’
‘And what did you do?’
‘Not much. I shook a fist at him and came back, like the weakling that I am.’
‘Did you go back in the e
vening, dressed in a ladies’ burkha?’
‘No.’
‘Then where exactly were you at six o’clock that night?’
‘I was with my wife.’
Sharif thought it was only right that he take Farzana home himself, as a way of apology as well as making sure she wasn’t mobbed, and that she was even allowed to enter the house by her mother in law. He dropped Rafeeq off at the station, promising to come back and deal with him soon. They’d passed by Dolly on the road, but she’d refused to talk to them so they’d left her there.
Rabia was sitting on a low stool in the courtyard, dressed in yellow satin, the glowing, almost reflective fabric tightly stretched over her big curves, her shalwar pulled up to mid-calf. She had a large tray of uncooked rice in her lap, from which she was extracting grit and insects, and she was guffawing loudly with the two women from next door who were sitting beside her.
When she saw them her laughter froze but she did nothing. Munir, who was exercising on the roof, rushed down, having seen them from his vantage point. He was wearing a vest and a dhoti, his skin wrinkled and sun-browned on his bony arms. The neighbours waited, overjoyed at their luck at being in the house to witness such a momentous, intimate, and undeniably juicy scene. Rabia shot them a scowl and they left, disappointed but unbruised.
‘Why have you come downstairs?’ Rabia asked her husband. ‘Go back and carry on with your press ups.’
For the first time, Munir paid no attention and ran over to Farzana and stood on tiptoes to stroke her head.
‘Come, beta, come. Sit down.’ Munir led her through the dark wooden doors into the lounge. ‘Not you,’ he told Sharif. ‘You go. You’re not welcome here. Come to your senses now, have you?’
‘I’m truly sorry about the mistake,’ said Sharif.
‘I told you before she was here with me, didn’t I? I’m going to find how to sue you!’
‘It’s not uncommon for family members to try and protect their loved ones by hiding the truth. When a witness from outside came forward, we thought you were lying.’
‘And now? He’s admitted his deceit?’
‘He says he was forced into it.’ Sharif’s gaze shifted out to the courtyard, where Rabia was grinding up rice in her palm as she listened. Munir sprinted outside and kicked the tray off her legs, spraying the floor with thousands of grains.
‘I knew it! You silly old bitch!’
Rabia pushed him away roughly and he landed on a pile of wet clothes, but got back onto his feet. The Inspector stood in front of Rabia, and Farzana came back out and put her hand on Munir’s arm.
‘Please leave her, Abbaji.’
‘She’s gone too far this time,’ said Munir. He looked at the Inspector. ‘Aren’t you going to take her away?’
‘She will have to come and answer some questions at the station, yes,’ said Sharif. ‘Now.’
‘It’s not important,’ said Farzana. ‘What else will she tell you? I don’t want any more trouble in this house.’
‘We have had the full story from… the witness, which is, basically, that he wasn’t even in the guest house last Wednesday evening. Of course Madam here will get the penalty for fiddling with the law and the distress it caused you.’
Rabia stood up, a blaze of gold.
‘Chal, take me away. Let’s see if your bars can keep me inside.’
‘No, Inspector. I don’t want her to be charged with anything. Nor Mr Rafeeq,’ said Farzana. ‘Let’s finish this.’
Saika got dressed as soon as Anwar left for work, and told Nathoo to walk down to the main road and hail a taxi.
‘I’ll take you Memsahib. Saabji won’t like it if we let you go alone,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry, Nathoo, I’ll phone him and let him know. I’m only going to my mother’s.’
Normally she went out with just a shawl covering her head loosely, but today she put on a burkha, keeping the face covering up for the moment. Ten minutes later, she was on her way to find Raani.
She told the taxi driver to drop her off in the Mall Road. She drew the nikaab down over her face and lost herself in the crowds. She had a good idea where Raani lived – she had managed to get a fairly accurate description out of Anwar, without, she hoped, making it too transparent.
He’d said it was a pink house with a poster of the Pakistani actor Rambo plastered on to the side in one of the back streets. She felt uncomfortable walking down this road, renowned for its seediness, but knew that any curious onlookers would think she was either one of the women who lived there, returning home, having concealed her identity from the outside world, or an unfortunate new recruit, who was leaving that same world to lose herself in these few alleyways forever.
She rapped on the door.
‘No customers before midday!’ shouted a voice from indoors. ‘Try two doors down, they have lower standards!’
She waited then knocked again.
A thin man opened the door, wearing a fur cap and flowers around his wrists.
‘Ah, I didn’t realise it was a lady,’ he said. ‘How can I help?’
‘I’m looking for Raani. Does she live here?’
‘Forgive me, but I have to ask who is speaking,’ said the man, taking off his hat and smoothing down his hair before replacing it. ‘Especially in the light of recent events. You may have heard. It’s not advisable to allow entry to unidentified cloaked figures.’
‘I just need to speak to her. If you call her, I can explain.’
‘She’s asleep.’
‘So this is the right place?’
Saika thought he looked quite fragile. It wouldn’t be too difficult to push past him. She tried to put her foot over the threshold, and it was easier than she’d expected. The man just retreated. She wondered how he dealt with unwanted customers, the majority of which must be big, rough, and male. Perhaps he was just gentler with women.
‘Excuse me. This is not nice,’ he said. ‘What is this about?’
‘Look I’m not going to stab you, okay?’ she tried to reassure him.
‘Raani!’ shouted the man. ‘Come downstairs!’
‘Sit down,’ he said to Saika, apparently hoping to feel safer if she was seated. ‘Raani, hurry up!’
‘What is it?’ came a voice from upstairs. ‘I told you I was getting ready.’
She came in, drying her hair with a towel.
‘Who’s this?’ she said.
‘I don’t know. She wants to see you. She won’t tell me anything.’
‘It’s about Pervez,’ said Saika.
‘Have you come from… is it regarding the things I spoke to the Inspector about?’ said Raani. Saika was grateful she wasn’t any more specific while the man was still there.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Alright, you go,’ she told him. ‘Come back in an hour. Get those CDs I wanted. I want to practice later. Do you remember which ones?’
‘Anything latest from Rahat Fateh Ali Khan or Yo Yo Honey Singh,’ he said. ‘Are you sure you’ll be alright? You know that woman, the sister-in-law’s been released?’
‘Just go.’
He left.
‘Thank you,’ said Saika.
‘I don’t know your name,’ said Raani. ‘Are you the Colonel’s wife?’
Saika took off the veil.
‘Saika,’ she said.
‘You can take the burkha off too. It must be hot. Don’t worry, he won’t come back. I’ll lock him out if you feel better.’
She turned the key in the front door and went into the other room, coming back with glasses of lime juice in iced water. Saika unbuttoned the coat.
‘I need to know if Pervez ever said anything about my husband.’
‘What makes you think he might have?’
Saika didn’t want to share it all with her, but thought she had to say more if she wanted to win her confidence.
‘I saw them talking at the party, but Anwar won’t tell me what they said to each other.’
Raani had fini
shed the juice, and now was sliding the ice cube around in her mouth.
‘Pervez never mentioned him before that,’ she said. ‘But it must have got to him, being thrown out like that. He pretended he didn’t care but he was an arrogant bastard. He was furious, really.’
‘What happened?’
‘Anwar wasn’t happy that he’d turned up invited and asked him to leave.’
‘Yes, but why?’
‘Pervez admitted that Anwar’s suspicions about him and Zareena were justified.’
‘What?’
‘You don’t know any of it, do you?’ asked Raani. ‘Pervez only told me because of what happened at the party. It was such a long time ago. He met Zareena at a hotel where she was having lunch with friends. They flirted with each other but she wasn’t interested in anything else. Pervez persisted. He followed her around a couple of times when she was out shopping. Eventually she said he could have just a cuddle if he helped her make Anwar jealous. She thought he might cheat on her so she wanted to give him a fright. Pervez was annoyed, thought she was a tease. He realised he wouldn’t get anything more out of her, but he went along with it anyway.
‘Two days before she died, she went out to Monkey Point. Anwar was at work. She phoned him and told him to meet her there. When he turned up, he saw her and Pervez together. She was clever. They weren’t really doing anything, just laughing and touching a little, but she managed to convey a sense of intimacy.’
‘What did Anwar do?’ asked Saika.
‘He drove off. When Pervez heard Zareena was dead, he was suspicious, but he didn’t want to get himself involved, so he kept quiet.’