The End of Innocence

by Moni Mohsin

‘What’s wrong with Rani? I’ve never seen her so listless.’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s the first time I’ve seen her in days.’

  ‘Are you sure Mashooq is not bothering them?’

  ‘Better not be. I’ll make enquiries,’ said Sardar Begum. ‘And this factory job for Rani? Don’t speak of it again.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Tariq.

  ‘It’s fine for the daughters of your Christian babus to become tailors or nurses or whatever, but it’s not suitable for Rani.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Kaneez’s right. She’s vulnerable,’ explained Sardar Begum. ‘There’ll be talk and no one will marry her.’

  ‘A better man will marry her,’ Tariq insisted.

  ‘Kaneez came to work for me before you were born. She’s passed through fire in her life. She deserves some peace now.’ Sardar Begum lowered her feet to the ground.

  ‘I don’t want to see Rani suffer either. I want her to have a job so she’s not dependent on a hopeless lout like her mother is,’ said Tariq.

  Sardar Begum snorted. ‘A woman is always dependent.’

  ‘You weren’t.’

  ‘My circumstances were different. In any case, this whole factory thing is rubbish. You are like a child playing make-believe games. You think you can change people’s lives, their thinking, with a mere factory? You’re wrong. And you’ll see for yourself soon enough.’ Sardar Begum rose to her feet. ‘Where are all these lazy, useless servants? Nazeer? Kaneez? Switch on the lights. Can’t you see how dark it’s got? And carry my bed in. What do I pay you for? Sitting around all day, breaking my chairs under your fat backsides?’

  Rani and Laila stood in a corner of the veranda where Sardar Begum’s cane-backed folding chairs were stacked in rickety towers. All around them was the smell of mouldy wood and bird droppings. Laila had guessed from the older girl’s tight grip on her wrist, her quick strides and her set expression, that she was being led off on some urgent errand.

  ‘What is it?’ Laila asked. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Shh! Keep your voice down,’ scolded Rani. She peered back at the group in the courtyard. Deep in conversation, they appeared not to have heard Laila. Rani turned back to Laila.

  ‘What is it?’ Laila repeated more softly. ‘Are you angry with me?’

  ‘Angry? What for?’

  ‘For the bad things I said about you and your, er, friend at the picnic,’ Laila said in a small voice.

  ‘Oh, that!’ Rani regarded Laila with pursed lips. ‘No, I’m not angry about that. But I was sad then.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it.’ Laila reached for Rani’s hand. ‘I’m sorry if I made you sad. Please be my friend again.’

  Rani paused with her head on one side, as if considering Laila’s request. ‘All right then. But you haven’t told anyone about my friend, have you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Laila replied with some asperity. ‘I promised you, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes, you did. Now can I trust you with another secret?’

  Laila nodded vigorously.

  Rani placed both hands on Laila’s shoulders and crouched down until she was at her eye level. ‘It’s going to be a very special secret between you and me. Just you and me.’

  ‘You’re not even going to tell Sara?’ asked Laila breathlessly.

  ‘No, not even Sara. It’s just between us. Do you understand?’

  Laila nodded again.

  ‘But before I tell you the secret, I have to ask you something. Have you told anyone that you saw me at the church?’

  ‘I told Ammi.’

  ‘What did you tell her?’ Rani’s fingers dug into her shoulders.

  ‘I … I think I said you looked … upset,’ faltered Laila. ‘But I didn’t say you were at the church,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I just said I saw you in Sabzbagh.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘She asked why you were upset, and I said I didn’t know. That’s all,’ said Laila.

  ‘You promise?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘And Bua? Did she say anything?’ asked Rani.

  ‘To Ammi? No. She even got annoyed with me for telling Ammi that we saw you, because she wasn’t meant to take me to the church. I’m not allowed, you see.’

  ‘Now, listen to me carefully.’ Rani’s eyes bore into Laila’s. ‘You know my visit to the church? That’s to remain a secret between us. You are not to tell anyone, not your parents, not Sara, not anyone. Promise me.’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ declared Laila, slashing her chest with her hands. She had heard Sara and her friends use the expression at school. Though she did not quite understand what it meant to cross one’s heart, it seemed apt for the solemnity of the occasion.

  Rani shook her head. ‘Promise on the holy Koran,’ she insisted. ‘No, promise on your parents’ lives and on Sara’s also, that you will never ever tell anyone. Promise? Good. Now you and I are partners. Here, place your right hand on my left and lace your fingers through mine like this. There, that seals our partnership.’

  ‘What should we call ourselves?’ asked Laila.

  ‘Call ourselves? What do you mean?’

  ‘We must give our partnership a name. Everyone does. We can be the Two Detectives.’ Her mind raced, telescoping all the Enid Blyton mysteries she had read. Dressed in mackintoshes and wellies, she was striding across rain-lashed moors with Julian and George; she was crouched over a tin drum helping Larry and Pip write secret letters in invisible ink in the shed at the bottom of Fatty’s garden; and then she was rowing with all her might with Peggy and Jack across a choppy lake to their hideout on the secret island. Somehow, she could not picture Rani in her flapping shawl and flip-flops alongside them.

  ‘We can’t be exactly like them,’ she murmured. ‘But our name must start with the same letter, like the Secret Seven or the Famous Five. We must also think of a password. I know! We can be the Troublesome Two. Or how about the Terrific Two? Do you like that?’ She beamed at Rani.

  ‘No,’ said Rani. ‘I don’t. You’re Laila and I’m Rani, and that’s all. Now, listen to me. You have to do something for me. I’m going to set you a task, but only if you stop all this rubbish about names and words and stupid, babyish things. Or else I’m going to find another partner.’ She turned on her heel as if about to flounce off, but waited in that pose, peering expectantly over her shoulder at Laila.

  ‘Oh, no, please,’ pleaded Laila. They weren’t going to be like the Famous Five after all. But all was not lost. If she couldn’t be George or Peggy, at least she could still be Laila, Rani’s special friend. She grabbed Rani’s arm. ‘I won’t mention names again. I promise. Let me be your partner.’

  ‘All right then.’ Rani relented. ‘I’m going to set you a task you have to carry out very carefully. Without telling a single person. Come closer so I can whisper in your ear. Your task is to spy on Bua. You have to find out what she says about me to your mother. That’s the most important. Second, you have to report to me if you hear anything about me in your home. Even if it is your parents who say it, or the servants, or anyone. Anyone at all. You are to come and tell me at once. Understand?’

  Deeply flattered to be entrusted with such a serious responsibility, Laila did not think to ask Rani why she should spy on Bua till she was in bed that night. As she drifted off to sleep, it occurred to her vaguely that Rani had not really confided in her at all. She hadn’t even explained why she’d been at the church. Or why she had looked so distraught. So Laila had no way of verifying whether what Bua had told her had been the truth or not. Rani had concluded their secret meeting abruptly when Sardar Begum had called for the lights to be switched on. Giving Laila a perfunctory pat on the head, she had mouthed the words, ‘Remember your promise,’ and run off to switch on the lights. Rani hadn’t mentioned her new friend either. Did she still see him secretly? But Laila was not perturbed by these omissions. Rani must have forgotten in t
he excitement of the moment. Soon, she would reveal all. Laila smiled contentedly into her pillow. After all, they were partners now. The Terrific Two.

  8

  The forty-five minutes after breakfast were Fareeda’s favourite time of day. By then, Tariq had left, either for the factory or the farm. She had watched Laila wolf down her breakfast and sent her out to the garden to play. She had examined Rehmat’s accounts and given him the menu for the day. She had overseen the handing over of the dirty laundry to the washerman who called every morning at eight. She had also sorted through the myriad chores which Fazal, the bearer, presented to her each day. The leaking pipe in the guest bathroom; the smoking electric iron; the need for new dusters, silver polish and electric bulbs, had all been dealt with.

  Now, for the next three-quarters of an hour, before the usual flood of villagers washed up at her door with petitions and requests, she could do as she liked. She spent that time in the dining room sipping coffee, reading the papers and sorting through her mail. It was understood in the household that this was her time to herself and she was not to be bothered unnecessarily. Fareeda had just poured herself a fresh cup of coffee when she was disturbed by Fazal, the bearer.

  ‘Bibi?’

  ‘Yes, Fazal.’ Fareeda answered from behind the papers.

  ‘Bibi, Babu Jacob is here to see you. Says it’s urgent.’

  ‘Tell him Sahib is away in Colewallah for the day.’ Her hand emerged from behind the newspaper screen to reach for her cup. ‘He’ll be back by this evening. If this urgent business can’t wait till tomorrow morning, he can drop in after eight this evening.’

  ‘He knows Sahib is away. He wants to speak to you.’

  Fareeda lowered a corner of the paper and frowned at Fazal.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘He’s brought a fat file and says he needs some signings from you.’

  ‘My signature? Whatever for? All right,’ she sighed, folding the paper. ‘Show him in.’

  A minute later, Mr Jacob bustled in. He was dressed in a half-sleeved fawn safari suit. Three fountain pens were hooked by their caps into his breast pocket. A pair of bifocals hung on a thin silver chain from his neck. He carried a thick manila folder under his arm.

  ‘Good morning, Bibi. I’m very sorry to be a botheration and that too so unobligingly early in the morning, but an unexpected development has developed which I thought to bring to your kind notice without any further loss of valuable time. And seeing that Mian Sahib is temporarily unavailable on a mission of, no doubt, utmost importance in Colewallah, I thought it the very best to act speedily so as not to imperil …’

  ‘What is it, Jacob?’ Fareeda put the paper down and pushed her coffee to one side. ‘What can’t wait till this evening? Will you have a cup of tea?’

  ‘Thank you kindly, no. I have already partaken of the one cup I permit myself in the morning. I think we should hasten with all due speed to attend to the business at hand, which really is of a most urgent nature.’

  ‘Yes, but what is it?’

  ‘I shall divulge it to you now.’ He placed the folder on the dining table and looked pointedly at a chair.

  ‘Please have a seat.’ Fareeda respected Mr Jacob for his diligence. She also knew that he was devoted to Tariq and as fiercely committed to the project as he. Yet, all too often, she wished Mr Jacob could bring himself to be brief.

  ‘Thank you kindly.’ Mr Jacob sat down. Placing his hands on the file, he paused for effect.

  ‘Mr Jacob, please.’

  ‘Yes, Bibi.’ He took a deep breath and began. ‘As you will no doubt recall, earlier this year, on the twentieth of February 1971 to be precise, Tariq Sahib had approached the British Development Association for some financial assistance in the running of his worthy garment project, from which, along with so many other young girls of this and neighbouring villages, my daughters, Farhana and Rehana, have benefited immeasurably.’

  ‘Please get to the point.’

  ‘Of course. Well, since I have ascertained that you are well and truly in the picture, I shall now proceed. In order to entertain our Sahib’s request, Mr Davies of the Association had requested us to furnish him with certain documentations. One was a short proposal outlining what we hoped to achieve at the centre and so on and so forth.’

  ‘Yes, I know the proposal. Tariq and I drafted it together.’

  ‘Next was the full audited accounts of the same since its inception.’

  ‘But all that’s been taken care of.’

  ‘Indeed it has. Tariq Sahib has been meticulous in the proper maintenance of accounts. No, it is not that.’

  ‘Then, Mr Jacob, what is it?’ Fareeda reached out to remove the single wilted bloom from the crystal rose-bowl placed in the centre of the table. ‘And, really, I don’t mean to be rude, but could you please say what you need to say?’

  ‘Of course, no offence meant and none taken,’ he beamed. ‘This morning I received not one but two letters from Mr Davies in Lahore to say that he was in full possession of all the documents that we had sent them. However, since the original application was made in February and some time has elapsed between now and then, this being November, of course, could they please have a progress report bringing them up to the date? That is it. The urgent business.’

  ‘Why can’t Tariq deal with it tomorrow?’ Fareeda dropped the flower on to her side plate.

  ‘Oh, because it’s got to be done today.’ Mr Jacob looked surprised. ‘Didn’t I tell you? They have to have it in Lahore tomorrow.’

  ‘No, you didn’t tell me, Mr Jacob. Why the urgency?’

  ‘Our proposal is in the final stage of consideration. Decision will be taken in the coming week.’

  ‘Why didn’t they tell us so earlier?’

  ‘Apparently they had sent a letter, with three subsequent copies over the last two months, but they failed to be delivered due to their having an error in the address. They said Sabzwal instead of Sabzbagh, and hence the letters went to the village on the other side of the Ravi. It is only now they have been forwarded on to us.’

  ‘That’s not very clever of them.’

  Mr Jacob turned his palms up. ‘What is one to say, except that these are not the British who ruled over us? My ancestors never made such careless blunders, such, to borrow if I may an expression from sport, unforced errors. Perhaps that is why their nation is in decline now.’

  ‘I don’t even know whether I can reach Tariq.’ Fareeda ran a hand across her forehead. ‘He was to see the Deputy Commissioner and then look at some milk cows for the farm, and he also had to attend the funeral of an old friend of his father’s. But, right now, he must still be on the road. What are we to do, Mr Jacob? I suppose we could ask for an extension. After all, the fault was theirs, not ours.’

  ‘We could ask for an extension but, begging your pardon in advance for any transgression, I don’t think we should. It will not create a good enough impression. We should submit the report on the dot of time. Regardless of discomfort endured.’

  ‘But how?’

  ‘Excuse my impertinence, but my humbled suggestion is that you should do it, Bibi. You made the original proposal with Sahib. And first class it was. This is easy as compared to that. I would do it myself, but my English is not so good, owing to the fact that I did not have a chance to complete my BA due to my father’s sudden and unexpected demise thirty-five years previously, while I was in year one of BA. Hence, I am self-taught. But, although my English may be weak, my organization is strong. I don’t mean to blow my own horn, but what I mean to say is that what God takes with one hand, He gives with the other.’

  Fareeda blanked out Mr Jacob’s oration. Her mind was on the report. She was familiar with its content. It shouldn’t be too complicated to update it. Tariq would be pleased and surprised.

  ‘So, I have all the facts and configurations here.’ Babu Jacob patted his papers. ‘I shall furnish you with whatsoever you should require. It should take no more than three, top m
ost, four hours. If we have a neat copy typed and ready by three o’clock this afternoon, I myself could take the bus into Lahore and straight away go to BDA’s office, delivering it personally and individually so that it is on Mr Davies’ desk when he arrives tomorrow morning. When he realizes what a superhuman effort we have made to remain in the time allotted, no doubt he will be more than kindly disposed towards our work.’

  Fareeda looked at his file. ‘Show me the letter. But first, let me call Fazal and tell him not to disturb us for the next couple of hours.’

  Two and half hours later, Fareeda tossed a biro on the dining table and flexed her fingers.

  ‘Well, Mr Jacob, it’s beginning to take shape.’

  ‘Yes, Bibi, it’s becoming shipshape.’ Mr Jacob smiled at her over his bifocals. ‘Now all we have to do is to add on the last quarter’s accounts as an appendix, and then go through the summary once more, before committing ourselves to the final copy, which I will then type out for your final-most perusal.’

  ‘Let’s take a fifteen-minute break first.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Fareeda called out for Fazal.

  ‘Fazal, will you bring Mr Jacob some squash? Coffee for me, please. Where’s Laila?’

  ‘With Bua and Sister Clementine on the front lawn.’

  ‘Why’s Sister Clementine here?’ Fareeda wrinkled her nose.

  ‘She’s been waiting to see you for the last hour, Bibi. Said it was very, very important. I told her you’d asked not to be disturbed. She said she’d wait, but she had to see you today.’

  ‘Oh, God, why has everyone got urgent work today? Tell her to come back another day. No, wait. I’m taking fifteen minutes off anyway. Send her in.’

  This was the first time that Sister Clementine had been invited into the Azeems’ home. On her one previous visit to the house, before the unfortunate affair of the seamstress, she had accompanied Mother Superior to wish Mrs Azeem a happy new year. Then, they had sat in the garden with Fareeda. The servants had brought out big trays bearing samosas, fruit cake and egg sandwiches. The teacups had had gold edges, and the forks they’d been offered with the fruitcake had been the smallest that Sister Clementine had ever seen. Not knowing whether she could use such a dainty object correctly, Sister Clementine had regretfully refused the cake. She had consoled herself with two samosas and two sandwiches. The garden had also looked pretty, with neat beds of gladioli and phlox and sweet peas. But what Sister Clementine had really wanted to see was the inside of the house, the fine furnishings, the rugs, the silver.