Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows

by Balli Kaur Jaswal

  ‘We know what’s best for you.’

  ‘I don’t think you do.’

  ‘If you had told me what you were doing, I could have warned you about the dangers of it, and if you’d listened, that man wouldn’t have come after you. Tell me: was it worth it? This thing you’ve started in Southall – was it worth nearly dying for?’

  ‘But those women came to save me,’ she said. ‘Even Kulwinder came. I had to be doing something worthwhile if they risked their lives for me. Mum, I didn’t just start a little bit of mischief in Southall and I don’t intend on leaving it at that either. Those meetings gave those women a strong sense of acceptance and support. For the first time in their lives they could openly share their most private thoughts and know that they weren’t alone. I helped them to discover that, and I became willing to learn from them as well. Those women were used to turning the other cheek when injustices were committed because it’s inappropriate to get involved, or to go to the police and betray your own. But they didn’t hesitate to help me and put themselves at risk when I was in danger. They know that they’re capable of fighting.’

  Nikki was breathless. She had spoken rapidly, expecting an interruption from Mum but there was none. Mum’s steady gaze had softened. ‘This is why your father thought you’d be a good lawyer,’ she finally said. ‘“That girl can find the logic in anything,” he always said.’

  ‘I couldn’t convince him to accept that I didn’t want to be lawyer though.’

  ‘He would have been convinced eventually,’ Mum said. ‘He wouldn’t have cut you off forever.’

  ‘It feels that way,’ Nikki confessed. ‘All the time, it feels like I created this eternal wall of silence between us. He died angry at me.’

  ‘He didn’t die angry,’ Mum said.

  ‘You don’t know that,’ Nikki said.

  ‘He was very happy when he died. I promise.’ At first Nikki mistook the shine in Mum’s eyes for tears but then she noticed the tiniest twitch in Mum’s lips as well.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Mum’s lips contorted further into a smile. A flush spread across her cheeks. ‘When I told you that your father died in bed, I didn’t mean that he died in his sleep. I let you believe that because …’ She cleared her throat. ‘Because he died from strenuous activity. In bed.’

  Nikki suddenly understood. ‘His heart attack was brought on by … by you two?’ Nikki flapped her hands helplessly in a vague pantomime of her parents having sex.

  ‘Strenuous activity,’ Mum said.

  ‘I didn’t have to know that.’

  ‘Beti, I can’t let you keep blaming yourself. Dad was having heart problems before you dropped out of university. He didn’t die from misery or disappointment. It appeared that way because he was so sullen when you last saw him, but in India he started to put things in perspective. We went to visit relatives one afternoon and your uncle was going on about how advanced the Indian education system was compared to ours. You know what they’re like – any chance they get they turn a family reunion into a competition. Your uncle was talking about all of the complex school projects his daughter Raveen was expected to complete and she was only in primary school. He said, “Raveen’s school is ensuring that all of its students are successful. What more can I want?” Dad replied, “My daughters were taught to make their own choices about success.”’

  ‘Dad said that?’ Nikki asked.

  Mum nodded. ‘I think he surprised himself. Your dad had never been the type to return to the motherland to brag about his successes abroad. But something changed that day. Out of all the opportunities Britain offered us, choice was the most important thing. He just didn’t fully realize it until he had to say it aloud to your uncle.’

  Nikki blinked back tears as her mum reached for her. The touch of her hand on Nikki’s face released the sort of giant hiccupping sob she had not experienced since she was a little girl. She pressed her cheek to Mum’s palm, which caught her warm tears.

  In the evening, Olive came around. Slung across her shoulder, a large canvas bag overflowed with essays to mark and she carried a box of Nikki’s possessions. Nikki’s face was still puffy from crying. ‘It’s been an emotional day,’ she explained.

  ‘I’d say it’s been a hell of a week,’ Olive said. ‘How are you coping?’

  ‘I’ve still got headaches but other than that, I try to avoid being reminded of it all.’ But she could not escape the vivid dreams that descended on her every night. The inescapable grip on her throat, flames licking her feet. She shuddered. In the dreams, she was not always rescued. In one version, desperate to escape the heat, she resorted to jumping from the flat’s open window. She plunged to her death and jolted awake, shaking with fear and fury.

  ‘I dropped by the pub last night to see if Sam needed anything. There wasn’t much damage to the pub itself, just the ceiling, but for health and safety reasons, he had to shut down for a while.’

  ‘Is Sam all right?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s managing. The insurance will cover the damages, and his profit losses.’

  ‘It looked like the only way he was going to fix all of the pub’s problems was by burning it to the ground and starting over. Or just cutting his losses and leaving.’

  ‘Well, there you go. It’s not exactly burnt to the ground but the pub is the last thing on anyone’s mind. He’s most concerned about you. Keeps asking. I told him I was dropping in to see you today. He sends his love.’ Olive surveyed the house. ‘This place brings back memories.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Nikki said with a sigh.

  ‘Growing up here can’t have been that bad.’

  From where they stood, Nikki could see Dad’s old armchair. ‘Nah, it wasn’t,’ she said.

  Olive reached into her bag and drew an envelope. ‘Now, I’ve got something for you, and I’m under strict instructions to make sure you receive it.’ She handed Nikki the envelope.

  Nikki thought it was a final paycheque from Sam but when she opened it, she found a letter instead. Dear Nikki, it started and it was signed, Love, Jason.

  ‘I can’t,’ she said, thrusting the letter back to Olive.

  ‘Nikki, just read it.’

  ‘Do you even know what happened?’

  ‘I do. He’s been coming round to the pub every day like a lost puppy, hoping to see you. Both Sam and I refused to give him your home address but I said I’d deliver the letter.’

  ‘He’s married.’

  ‘He’s divorced,’ Olive said. ‘He filed for divorce before he met you. The poor bugger was so desperate to prove himself that he brought the paperwork to the pub to show us. I can vouch for the fact that it’s genuine.’

  ‘Why did he hide it then?’

  Olive shrugged.

  ‘It still doesn’t make sense. If he wasn’t involved in his other relationship, who was calling him all the time? Why did he disappear all of a sudden?’

  ‘I’m sure he explains it all there,’ Olive said, pointing to the letter. ‘At least read it.’

  ‘Whose side are you on, anyway?’

  ‘I’m always on the side of truth,’ Olive said. ‘Just like you. And the truth is he was scared and he acted like a fool. He’s definitely got some explaining to do but you should give him a chance, Nik. The two of you looked genuinely happy together. He seems like a decent guy who did a really stupid thing.’

  Nikki held the letter. ‘I might need to read this on my own,’ she said.

  ‘No problem. I have these horrid essays to mark.’ Olive picked up her bag then leaned forward and planted a firm kiss on Nikki’s forehead. ‘You’re the bravest person I know,’ she said.

  Nikki returned to bed right after dinner. In the box that Olive had brought over, she found her Beatrix Potter biography. She opened it and began reading, wishing again that she could locate that tea-stained copy of The Journal and Sketches of Beatrix Potter. Outside, the skies had darkened and streetlights glowed dully like embers. Nikki’s satchel was packed flat at the bo
ttom of the box beneath her worn-out trainers and a few more books. Nikki put the box aside and pulled the blanket up to her chin. She didn’t have the emotional strength to unpack the rest of the box just yet. It was depressing thinking that one box contained everything she owned.

  Then there was Jason’s letter, which remained on her dresser. She could see the corner of the envelope but each time she thought of opening it, she felt a churning in her gut and sank further into bed. The letter could contain all the apologies in the world but she wasn’t ready to hear them.

  Chapter Nineteen

  On Kulwinder’s walk home from a morning service at the temple, the sky was so dense with clouds that it appeared to be made of stone. How she had hated this weather when she first arrived in England. Where’s the sun? she and Sarab had asked each other. Then Maya was born. ‘Here’s the sun,’ Sarab had been fond of saying. Cradling her tiny body in the crook of his elbow, the smile on his face had seemed eternal.

  Sarab was in the front garden chatting with another man when Kulwinder got home. Kulwinder recognized the man: Dinesh Sharma from Dinesh Repairs. ‘Hello,’ she said.

  Despite not being Sikh, he held his palms together and greeted her with ‘Sat sri akal.’ She liked that. She offered him a cup of tea.

  ‘No, no, don’t trouble yourself,’ he said. ‘I’m just here to give a quick quote.’

  ‘I’ve asked him to fix the letterbox and help out with a few more things around the house,’ Sarab said. ‘The patio door is coming off its hinges and my eyesight isn’t so good, so I don’t want to use the drill.’

  ‘All right. Carry on,’ Kulwinder said. From the corner of her eye, she noticed a shape moving in the window of the house opposite. Her heart caught in her throat. Tarampal. Was she there? No, she couldn’t be. It was a trick of the light. She had fled back to this house after that night, taking refuge in the only place in London that she knew. The next morning, she was gone. A neighbour had seen her piling suitcases into a taxi and rumour had it she was in India now, far from all the whispers and speculation. It was said that she wanted to avoid testifying against Jaggi, but the courts could make her return if they thought it necessary. There was constant talk of Tarampal now – people claimed she had had multiple affairs, that her daughters were not even Kemal Singh’s offspring. These were most likely untrue, the tendency of temple gossips to exaggerate compounded by everybody’s relief that she was gone. When offers of such information came Kulwinder’s way, she declined politely but firmly. After all, she never wanted Tarampal’s unravelling to be fodder for community gossip. What Tarampal refused to believe about Maya’s death was worth a lifetime of shame.

  With the folder tucked under her arm, Kulwinder stepped out of her home once again and walked up Ansell Road. She passed rows of houses and wondered about their inhabitants. Who had read the stories? Whose lives had changed? A misty rain hung almost motionless in the air and speckled her hair like jewels. She tightened her grip on the folder.

  There were two boys working in the photocopying shop. Kulwinder went straight for Munna Kaur’s son. If it was possible, he seemed to have grown since she last visited this shop a few months ago to get those flyers copied. His shoulders appeared broader and his movements were more assured than before. A man was ahead of her in the queue. He offered to let her go first, but she politely declined, taking time to observe the boy.

  ‘Hello,’ she said brightly when it was her turn.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ he muttered back, his eyes downcast as he tore an order form off a pad. ‘Photocopy?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Kulwinder said. ‘It’s a rather large order so I can come back.’ She pushed the folder to him. ‘A hundred copies, spiral-bound.’

  The boy looked up and his eyes met hers. Kulwinder gave him a warm smile but she felt the pace of her heart quickening. ‘I can’t do that,’ he said.

  ‘I can come back,’ Kulwinder said.

  The boy pushed the folder back to Kulwinder. ‘I’m not making copies of these stories,’ he said.

  ‘Let me speak to your manager then,’ she said.

  ‘I’m the manager here. And I’m saying, take your business elsewhere.’

  Rising to the tips of her toes, Kulwinder tried to see past the boy. The other worker was a Somali teenager who looked too young to have any authority over this boy. ‘Son, what’s your name?’

  He stared at her. ‘Akash,’ he said finally.

  ‘Akash, I know your mother,’ she said. ‘What would she say if she knew you were being so rude to me?’

  Kulwinder knew her words were futile the moment she said them. Some other moral obligation was overriding all customs of politeness here. Akash drew back and for a moment, Kulwinder thought he might spit at her.

  ‘Are you aware of what these stories are doing to our community? Destroying it,’ Akash hissed. ‘If I make copies, you’re going to spread them to even more homes.’

  ‘I’m not destroying anything,’ Kulwinder said, as the truth dawned. ‘It’s you and your narrow-minded gang of thugs who want to destroy things.’ This was how the Brothers recruited such passionate members, she realized. A few months ago, this boy had been so timid. Kulwinder recalled Munna Kaur saying that she pushed her boy to get a part-time job so he could practise interacting with people more. ‘No girl will want to marry a boy who doesn’t have confidence,’ she had said. Now his confidence was a hot liquid spilling over.

  Another customer entered the shop. Kulwinder briefly considered creating a fuss so dramatic that the boy would comply just to placate her. But there was no point. Turning to leave, Kulwinder caught his reflection in the glass doors. His stare was hateful. She uttered a quick prayer for him. Let him find balance and moderation in all things; let him listen to himself and not the noise of others. Noise. That was all the Brothers had created. They hollered and stomped around Southall, but after what she and widows went through rescuing Nikki, the Brothers didn’t frighten her. Kulwinder noticed there were fewer of them patrolling the Broadway now, and earlier at the temple, she had seen one of them actually serving langar like a proper Sikh instead of keeping watch on the women in the kitchen. ‘They’re a little afraid of us now,’ Manjeet had said. But hadn’t the Brothers always been afraid? Now they knew the full force of the women’s strength. ‘They have more respect for us now,’ Kulwinder corrected Manjeet, who nodded and squeezed her hand across the table.

  Outside, Kulwinder pulled out her mobile phone and scrolled through the list of names, landing on Nikki’s.

  ‘Hello,’ Nikki said.

  ‘This is Kulwinder speaking.’

  There was a pause. ‘Sat sri akal, Kulwinder,’ Nikki said.

  ‘Sat sri akal,’ Kulwinder replied. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m … well, I’m all right.’ There was a nervous laugh. ‘And you?’

  ‘I’m well. Are you back at home?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve been back for a few days now.’

  ‘You’ll be staying there for a while?’

  ‘I think so. I can’t go back to my old flat.’

  ‘Did you lose many things in the fire?’

  ‘Nothing of much value,’ Nikki said. ‘Most importantly, I got out alive because of you. I owe you my life, Kulwinder. I actually wanted to call you sooner but I didn’t quite know whether to say thank you or sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need to say sorry,’ Kulwinder said.

  ‘There is. I deceived you into thinking I was teaching those women to read and write. I’m very sorry.’

  Kulwinder hesitated. Although she hadn’t called Nikki looking for an apology, it was nice to hear. ‘Hanh, yes, yes, but it’s all water under the tables now,’ she said, pleased to have remembered an English idiom.

  ‘That’s very generous of you,’ Nikki said.

  ‘It’s true. If you had stuck to teaching the women to write, they wouldn’t have made up those stories.’ What a loss it would be, Kulwinder thought, wishing she had some way of conveying this to
the photocopier boy. ‘I’ve read a few,’ she added.

  ‘And what did you think?’ Kulwinder could hear the anxiety in Nikki’s voice.

  ‘I rescued you from a burning building,’ Kulwinder said. ‘I liked them that much.’

  Nikki had Maya’s unfettered laugh. Don’t show your teeth, Kulwinder would snap at her teenaged daughter. Men will think you’re inviting them to have fun. She had inherited the warning from her own mother. Now she laughed along with Nikki and hearing their notes of joy ringing out in unison brought on a wonderful relief.

  ‘I want the stories to be shared with the community,’ Kulwinder said. ‘Not just the widows who know about the classes.’

  ‘I do too.’

  ‘I tried getting copies made here in Southall but the boy at the counter refused to fill the order for me. Is there a photocopying place near you? I will pay for it. We can get them bound as well. Perhaps we could find someone to design a cover.’

  ‘You’re sure you want to do this? It could lead to more trouble,’ Nikki said. Kulwinder was both surprised and touched by the caution in her voice.

  ‘I’m sure,’ she said.

  Kulwinder returned home, still hugging the folder to her chest. Dinesh was no longer in the garden and the mailbox had been uprooted and gently laid on its side on the lawn. ‘Where will the postman put our letters?’ she asked Sarab.

  ‘It’s only for a day. Dinesh is coming back tomorrow.’ Sarab eyed the folder. ‘And what were you doing with those?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Kulwinder said. From the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker from Tarampal’s house again.

  ‘Is somebody there?’ she asked Sarab, nodding toward the house. ‘I keep seeing something.’

  ‘There were detectives investigating earlier. That’s probably who you saw.’

  But the person in the window had moved about surreptitiously, as if knowing it was a fleeting vision. Kulwinder did not believe in ghosts but she briefly wondered if there was a spirit floating about in that home, wanting to be freed.

  ‘Things are changing,’ she had said last night at dinner. Sarab nodded. He thought she was referring to the seasons. Kulwinder didn’t clarify. It was becoming warmer. Daylight would soon stretch to nine o’clock and in the early evenings children could already be heard running down the street. When their mothers called them in, she heard herself pleading with them for more time. Outside, the whole world beckoned with intoxicating thrills. In five more minutes, they could reach the end of the street and see the buses heading towards Hammersmith, the trains departing for Paddington station. They could return to their homes but in their minds, plot the routes that might one day take them through this vast, magnificent city. She put the folder on the coffee table and headed out the door.