by Zeenat Mahal
She was light on her feet, a natural, moving effortlessly. A smile played on her lips and…had her hair been this long? His eyes roved over her body. He didn’t remember her looking this delectable. People started to notice him, and stopped him to greet him. He chatted with easy familiarity to people he hadn’t seen in ages. It seemed that the years vanished as they talked, bridging time. This was family, and he realized with a pang that he’d missed out on a lot with his self-imposed exile.
All the while, he was moving forward, his eyes kept homing in on Shahira. He still couldn’t believe it was her. There she was, laughing, holding hands with a young man who was grinning from ear to ear and couldn’t take his eyes off her. He understood then why he hadn’t recognized her at first. It was because she was happy and relaxed and flirting. All he’d seen of her was her stiff upper lip, self-righteous mode.
He stopped to talk again with another relative, firmly averting his gaze from the dance floor.
“Hussain!” he heard his mother exclaim excitedly as she spotted him.
He ambled over to her and hugged her. It just so happened that she was right in front of the dance floor, probably so that she could watch her beloved Shahira dance. His mother’s yell had been loud and now he was standing right in front of the dance floor. But did that stop Shahira from spinning around? Not at all. The schoolteacher paid absolutely no attention to him and was busy keeping in step with…was that Ali Shahid’s son? How time flies, he thought bemused. Ali had been extremely good-looking and so was his son. The grinning idiot was probably flirting with Shahira to his heart’s content. For some strange reason, he felt irritated.
Salma had been observing her son long before she’d called out to him. Noting with delight that his gaze returned repeatedly to Shahira. He was definitely interested she could tell, but being a man, he was also upset that instead of pining away for him she was actually having a good time. And now he was staring at the poor girl like a stern father.
She diverted his attention. “Hussain, what a surprise! Why didn’t you tell us? So happy you could make it.”
The evening passed quickly—too quickly for Hussain. He hardly got time to meet everyone properly and Amidst all the food and chatter, he forgot how tired he was and just enjoyed himself. The last guest finally departed at three in the morning. His mother and the kids had gone to bed much earlier. Only Shahira, playing the gracious hostess, smiling, still tempting, was there with him.
As the last car drove away, he turned to her and said lightly, “You’re more popular with my family than I am.”
She laughed. It was a pretty sound, soft and light. He smiled.
“You seem to have taken on much more than you’d bargained for,” he said quietly, referring to their arrangement. Like a flower closing its petals, all the softness and light-heartedness vanished, replaced by the mask he’d seen on his last visit.
She replied coolly, “I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t trying to make inroads into your family or anything. It’s just that Aunty can’t arrange these things.”
He held up his hand, “I didn’t mean anything of the sort. I was paying you a compliment. Or at least that was the intention.”
Why was she so prickly?
She looked surprised, then suspicious.
“Oh.” With that profound observation, she quickened her pace and walked away from him as fast as she could.
Well, one thing was for sure, he thought wryly, his wife of convenience couldn’t get away from him fast enough. Her aversion was reserved only for him apparently. She’d been friendly enough with other men of all ages and doubtful hygiene.
Hussain decided that this time he would stay home for as long as he wanted it was his house after all, and she was his employee.
≈
SIX
Shahira’s pleasure in her beautiful clothes and the wedding revelry was much diminished because of Hussain’s presence. She had to be careful to behave like an employee around him and not appear to be having too much fun. She’d learned that lesson from Usman, who’d disliked her smiling too much, or wearing nice clothes, even if he hadn’t paid for them.
She recalled his long lectures on how she wasted money. Once she’d made the mistake of saying that her parents had paid for the clothes. For three days, Usman, his mother and his entire family had berated her, saying her parents couldn’t afford anything and if they could why was she a burden on them? Why couldn’t she bring some of that money her parents seem to have so much of to support her husband and his family? Then had come the other permanent taunt—she was ungrateful; they fed her and clothed her, even though Usman had never once bought anything for her, and yet she couldn’t be a good wife and daughter-in-law. That incident had taught her never to explain or complain. She would always be wrong. She’d never be good enough. Period.
“Hi.”
Nudrat did a quick once-over and her eyes flickered uncertainly. If Shahira or any of their other friends looked exceptionally good, this strange expression flickered across Nudrat’s face and Shahira recognized it.
“Hi, Nudrat. I’m so glad you could come,” she said smiling. It must be such a burden being in competition with other women all the time. She didn’t understand it at all.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Nudrat said, sounding sincere. “So, what’s the occasion?”
“Aunty’s cousin’s daughter is getting married and she wanted to have another dholak for her. You missed the first one, remember?”
Nudrat smiled and nodded, “I heard your husband’s back? But he wasn’t downstairs when I looked.”
Shahira was putting on a tika; Aunty Salma had insisted on buying her huge pieces of jewelry when she’d married, and she wouldn’t be dissuaded. Shahira had never once worn them or considered them her property but she had to wear them for the wedding, Aunty Salma was insistent. She would return them to the locker after the ceremonies. She hadn’t earned them. She didn’t want to accept anything that she hadn’t worked for.
Eyeing her jewelry, Nudrat said, “That looks expensive.”
She sounded disapproving. Shahira laughed. “I think it costs almost as much as your Prada bag.”
“Touché.”
Shahira looked at herself critically. She’d grown her hair long, and it fell in waves almost to her waist now, layered so that some curled around her face, giving structure to the cut. The shirt, slim fitting and straight, was a beautiful nude-gold, complimenting her navratan jewelry.
In keeping with the latest fashion, she hadn’t bothered with a dupatta although every time she left the house without one, Aunty Salma displayed her silent disapproval. Shahira would playfully reassure her that she wasn’t as well-endowed as most, so she could pull it off. That always made Aunty Salma laugh and talk about ‘girls these days’. It was a favorite topic with her since it showed off her generation in a better light, or so Shahira let her believe.
Again, she found Nudrat’s gaze on her through the mirror but Nudrat didn’t see her and Shahira felt unease at something in Nudrat’s expression.
“Let’s go downstairs, people might have started arriving.”
As she descended the staircase she could see quite a few people had come already. Thankfully she’d given instructions to the help to serve drinks and appetizers so everyone was comfortable.
She looked for Natasha. She’d insisted that all their clothes be coordinated. For that evening, Shahira had done hers in a brighter gold, with lots of colored embellishments. She had bought a small tika for her as well and colorful bangles. She looked very pretty now that she’d lost so much weight.
Shahira spotted her with Shahaan, who was dressed, to his utter disgust, in an achkan. He glanced at her, gave her an angry look, and marched off. She was not very popular today with her son on account of the achkan.
Her eyes followed him and she was perturbed to see that he went straight to Hussain, who’d been monitoring her descent, apparently. In that brief moment when their eyes met, H
ussain’s were full of appreciation.
That just got her back up even more. She had no intentions of letting him come anywhere near her or her son. The man didn’t even have time for his own child, what was he doing playing with her son’s affections? She bristled, imagining the havoc he could play with Shahaan’s emotions. As for the other thing, they had a contract and he was going to honor it.
Resolutely she walked towards them, a polite smile fixed on her face.
“Assalam aleikum, Javed Uncle,” she said in a sunny voice, while putting her hands on Shahaan’s shoulders surreptitiously. He squirmed away, and went on the far side, right next to Hussain, trying to hold his hand.
“…such a lovely party!”
Shahira smiled and looked suitably bashful. She had no idea what Javed Uncle had said.
She said a little sternly, “Shahaan, come with me.”
“Why?” he asked in a petulant tone.
“Because.”
“Why can’t I stay here with…Abba?”
Shahira felt her heart break with pain for her son. Hussain looked shell-shocked. He stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened and needed directions on what to do. Her eyes filled up with tears of anguish. Blinking them away she said softly, “Shahaan, Natasha wants to show you something.”
She was devastated for her son, and angry at Hussain for giving him false hope. She glared at him, not realizing her misery was reflected in her eyes. How dare he bring her son to this point? It was all his fault, the selfish, insensitive man.
“Shahaan, go with your mother. We’ll chat later, okay?” Hussain said looking at him lovingly, like a father would, and Shahira’s fury increased. What right did he have to play with the emotions of a child, her child! She may be his employee but her son was not. Giving Hussain another censorious glance, she marched off with Shahaan.
If looks could kill, Hussain thought, sardonically. He was pretty sure he hadn’t deserved it, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to take it. She wasn’t his real wife to be throwing tantrums at him. His thoughts went to Shahaan who’d bestowed such an honor on him. He felt a strange tug at his heart that was both regret at having to break the little boy’s heart and a feeling of joy and gratitude. He shouldn’t get involved. Wasn’t that exactly why he’d employed the teacher? To keep away from all this responsibility?
Putting it out of his mind, he wandered off to mingle.
The mandatory dances had started and as usual, Shahira was on the dance floor. Today, she didn’t look as happy or carefree, just more beautiful. They’d done two numbers already, one of which had featured Natasha paired with Shahira. She took care of her, he realized with a sudden surge of deep gratitude towards her. As far as he could see, she made no distinction between the two children. He’d made a good decision.
“Hello, stranger.”
He turned, saw Nudrat walking towards him and smiled.
“Hello, Nudrat.”
They lightly touched their cheeks, and Nudrat said in a seductively low tone, “Are you still mad at me?”
Hussain smiled tolerantly and replied politely, “Not at all, Nudrat. You’re one of my oldest friends. You know how busy I’ve been.”
At that moment, one of his cousins, easily old enough to be her father, was the object of Shahira’s frank admiration and basking in it.
“So, how long are you staying this time?” Nudrat asked a bit loudly.
He looked at her and shrugged, “I’m not sure yet.”
His gaze wandered back to Shahira. She was now dancing with the old cousin, looking the happiest he’d seen her all evening. She was an enigma. She looked after the neglected, old, very young, and the sick but she wasn’t a pushover like most nice people tended to be. He smiled and wondered what she’d say if he told her what he’d started to dream about, of late.
Seething inwardly, Nudrat went to the powder room, refreshed her lipstick and tried to calm down. The unknown brown sparrow from nowhere was younger, sure, but she lacked experience and sophistication. What did Hussain see in that girl? She’d never seen him pay so much attention to any woman before, not even Rutaba, who had been beautiful. The brown sparrow wasn’t even from the same class. No way was she going to let her be a problem. Besides, Shahira didn’t have the guts to fight dirty—as she could—and most of all, she lacked her cunning. Smiling, she blew a kiss to herself in the mirror.
***
The languorous looks that Hussain kept throwing at Shahira were making her very nervous. They had a pact, and she was not going to ever let that happen to her again.
She noticed Nudrat stayed beside Hussain nearly all evening. There was something about her body language that made Shahira uncomfortable. Then she caught Nudrat brush something off of Hussain’s jacket front, and the way her hand stayed on his chest for a bit too long, Shahira understood at once what was between them. All those times that Nudrat had asked and coaxed information about him, she had been using her under the guise of friendship.
The realization made Shahira angry. Nudrat had wheedled out the little information she could about Hussain, and she’d never suspected anything, fool that she was. Long ago she’d decided that she would never be used again by anyone and from that moment, Nudrat ceased to be her friend. She had forgiven enough transgressions for a lifetime.
She couldn’t help looking at Hussain contemptuously, making certain that they both knew that she knew. He seemed to find her silent reprimand amusing because he smiled at her mockingly, laughing at her, no doubt. She served dinner soon after, making sure everyone was having a good time, when Hussain cornered her on her way to the kitchen.
“I can’t understand people with double standards. One should disapprove only if one is above reproach. If I were dancing and flirting to my heart’s content I wouldn’t dream of looking down my perky little nose at others.”
Shahira replied calmly, “You’re mistaken. I wasn’t being censorious. However it’s indecent and cruel to subject people to behavior which is hurtful. Secondly, people who have dirty minds see filth everywhere.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart. Just don’t set an example for my daughter that I wouldn’t want for her. Maybe you could be more discreet in your flirtations?”
Shahira wanted to retort something nasty but she noticed that Shahaan had gone to sleep in Aunty Salma’s lap. She made do with a heated venomous look at him and made her way towards her mother-in-law, apologizing, “Sorry Aunty, I didn’t realize he’d gone to sleep. I’ll take him.”
“He’s my grandson, Shahira, this is what grandmothers do. What are you apologizing for?”
Shahira had never forgotten for an instant that she was not actually. This was a job. She did not have expectations beyond the terms of the contract. She didn’t expect anyone to look after her, or her son. They’d been, and still were, on their own, and even though she’d grown very fond of Aunty Salma and had grown to love Natasha, she still didn’t expect anything in return. She didn’t have the right.
She was about to pick Shahaan up, when Hussain came out of nowhere, casually lifted him, and said, “Don’t you think he’s a little too heavy for you to carry? He’s a big boy as he would tell you if he were awake.”
“Please don’t bother.”
“It’s not a bother.”
Without a backward glance he climbed the stairs to Shahaan’s room. Shahira followed slowly.
“I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I was out of line and you’ve been wonderful to Natasha. I’ve no complaints on that account and you were just having fun. So, please forget I said anything.”
He sounded sincere. She didn’t reply and followed him up the stairs. He was laying Shahaan down on the bed by the time she caught up with him.
“Thank you. That was very kind of you. I could have asked one of the servants to help. You don’t have to do…any of this.”
She paused awkwardly as she made Shahaan comfortable. She didn’t want his apologies or his help
—just distance.
Hussain stood where he was and then asked in a very low voice, that sounded almost ominous, “And what exactly is ‘any of this’, Shahira?”
She felt ungracious saying it, but she’d decided to broach the subject before it was too late. She had every right to protect her son. Who else did he have?
“I mean that you’re a very busy man. Shahaan is a child and children tend to make very quick attachments and I don’t want to see him get hurt. You don’t even have time for Natasha, your own flesh and blood. What place can Shahaan possibly have in your life? But children don’t understand these things, do they? They just know how to love. And we forget their feelings are stronger and purer and their understanding intuitive. So they know more, much more than we give them credit for. I don’t want to see my son hurt any more than he already has been.”
Shahira caressed her son’s cheek lovingly and looked at Hussain, her face sad but determined. He stared back at her endlessly, it seemed to her, and then without a word left the room.
***
Thankfully, the hot looks from Hussain ceased. He was cold and distant, but Aunty Salma became a force to be reckoned with. Shahira and Hussain were thrown together at odd times, in strange situations and it was impossible to thwart Aunty Salma. Shahira felt awkward and it was extremely unpleasant for Hussain, judging from his rigid expression and cold silence, which was fine, except if Aunty Salma was to be stopped they had to work together.
The first time, Shahira was abandoned by Aunty Salma at a clothes shop. She was just left standing on the road and was trying to ascertain what had happened when a familiar black Mercedes cruised to a halt beside her. Hussain sat stiff and clearly impatient in the driver’s seat. The drive home was heavy with silence.
Next, Aunty Salma insisted that she’d promised to go to a distant relative’s house but now she just couldn’t make it, so could Shahira go instead? Shahira, still an unsuspecting pawn, agreed. At five, when she came down all dressed and ready to visit this relative she’d never heard of before, Hussain was standing in the foyer, wearing his designer suit and looking at everything but her. When she finally descended, he opened the door and stood waiting for her, his face a mask of complete and utter boredom.