‘I will definitely go; please write to Mamoo and ask him to start sending more money.’
Amma looked at her hard and then became lost in thought. Birds seeking shelter flew about in lines. Aliya watched them with indifference, and then began to stare at Amma. Despite being deep in thought, she seemed very peaceful at that moment.
‘Aliya, what will become of us now, child? The truth is that we have already been destroyed. If you were a boy, I wouldn’t be so depressed, but now you’re all I’ve got, and you will have to do everything.’ Amma’s eyes shone.
‘It only takes one year, Amma, then I’ll be able to stand on my own two feet.’
‘What I’m saying is now you need to let go of the idea of going to Aligarh. May God bring Jameel back safely—I will get all our money from Mamoo and give it to Jameel. Then these shops of your uncle’s will take off in just a few days. Jameel is a very good boy and he has always respected me, may God keep him happy. What I think is that if I say so, after he returns from the war, your Mamoo will surely give him a fine position somewhere. That leaves your Uncle and Asrar: I will quickly get rid of them. It’s a good house—almost a haveli. I’ll have all the property written out in your name. We might as well consider Shakeel dead, or he’d have written some sort of letter to his mother.’ After she’d finished, Amma looked hard at Aliya.
Aliya had understood everything. She stared at Amma in shock. She felt as though the witch she’d heard of in childhood stories was hiding in Amma’s face and wriggling and prancing before her.
‘I will go to Aligarh,’ Aliya said sternly. ‘May this house remain auspicious for Uncle. It would be better if you did not think about such things.’ With that, she turned her face away to show that she didn’t wish to hear anything further.
‘You are exactly the same as your father. I know you can’t bear to see me happy. You want me to be homeless forever. Now I will never get back my lost kingdom.’ Amma covered her face in the end of her dupatta and began to sob.
Aliya sat and watched her cry as though she were a stranger—she did feel sympathy for her mother’s ruined life. She wanted to give her happiness, but Amma didn’t understand anything; what a dangerous scheme she’d planned to completely ruin Aliya’s life. She was her own mother, and she was pushing her. Jameel had never once tried to live a happy life alone for a moment and even now when he’d gone to earn money, his goal was to end fascism. She would never live a wretched life like Aunty and Amma . . . What sort of life had Amma lived herself? Abba had not been able to belong to the household for even a moment. Could Amma not think of all this? Was this truly her mother? She looked at her mother through dim eyes. Amma had wiped away her tears, turned away from her and stood up.
‘You go to Aligarh. I’ll write to my brother. I have no hopes from you. Do as you wish.’
Aliya watched her mother leave. Amma was so proud of her brother. Aliya wished she could laugh loudly, but as soon as Amma left, she burst into tears. At this helpless moment, she felt very much alone. After she finished crying, she felt lighter and lay down on the bare string bed and watched the birds fly over her in formation.
‘Kareeman Bua, has everyone finished drinking tea?’ Hearing Asrar Miyan’s weak voice made her feel even sadder. Asrar Miyan, you’re still waiting for tea. Today, Kareeman Bua gave no reply at all. You won’t get tea until the Day of Judgement. Aliya sighed deeply. How many days left until college opened? She began to count them down in her mind.
24
She had returned from Aligarh after a full ten months away. She had not even come home for Christmas vacation. And Amma had not asked her to either. Several letters had come from Aunty urging her to come, and Aunty had been the only one to write to her of everyone’s news as well. Amma had stayed angry that long, and over that entire period, she had not written a single letter. How could Amma know that the one she was so angry with spent her lonely nights fretting at thoughts of Amma’s suffering? She had not been able to remove Amma from her thoughts for even one minute. Besides Amma, if there was anyone she strongly missed, it was Uncle. She always connected fresh news and unusual happenings with thoughts of him. She had also written Uncle several setters but never got a reply. The very first person she saw after getting down from the tonga was Aunty, and full of joy, she melted into Amma’s embrace and made her chest all damp with her weeping.
The contours of the house had been worn down terribly—dust storms and rains had peeled the colour from the walls, and the whitewash in the rooms looked yellow and sickly. The curtains in the veranda had torn in several places and hung limp. Kareeman Bua was now completely bent over with the burden of her memories. And many white hairs now peeped out along Amma’s hairline. Aunty’s mournful mood had made her a living tazia, and the legs of the metal chair in the courtyard had grown rusty.
‘Chammi has had a daughter; a letter came from Sajidah,’ Aunty announced.
‘Oh! So, darling Chammi is a mother now,’ Aliya cried, leaping with happiness. But who among them could bring the baby a new kurta and cap? By now all the customs had died out in their household, she thought sadly.
‘Have you heard anything from Shakeel, Aunty?’ Aliya asked.
‘Your cousin Jameel had written that he’s doing very well; he’s earning loads of money and spending it all. He thinks of no one and everyone is dead to him. Your cousin Jameel had gone to Bombay, you know.’ At Shakeel’s name, Aunty went into a state, as though she was walking with bare feet in scorching sunlight. ‘Look, he’s forgotten the one who gave birth to him; he’s just having fun all by himself,’ she sighed deeply.
‘There once was a time when all the little ones would get up in the morning and greet their elders; at least, their parents controlled everything,’ muttered Kareeman Bua.
My, how innocent Aunty is, Aliya thought. Really, why would Jameel run around looking for Shakeel in Bombay? Who knew where Shakeel was; but thankfully, Jameel was looking after his mother’s heart. Goodness, why was Shakeel so hard-hearted?
The upstairs window opened and Najma Aunty’s head popped out. Even Najma Aunty looked depleted. Aliya wished she could greet her as well, but she completely ignored her. She didn’t even look at her. She’d still have to do an MA in English to be able to greet her.
Kareeman Bua had made her tea with great care. Eating her brittle handmade parathas after all this time gave her such pleasure.
‘Where is Uncle?’ she asked after drinking her tea.
‘He’s out—somewhere—must be planting the flag of independence,’ said Amma grimacing, and Aunty looked around anxiously.
‘He hasn’t gone away, has he?’ she asked again. She was extremely eager to see him.
‘No, Aliya, he is home these days,’ Aunty replied.
‘Now all you need to do is start applying for jobs quickly; I’ve had enough of all these disasters. Who knows how we make it through the day in this benighted home. I’ve never even eaten a full meal here!’ Amma said boldly, a haughty look on her face.
‘What! Mazhar’s Bride, I look after you more than my own life, and . . .’ Aunty was speechless.
‘That’s enough, dear, thank you for your care, but now you people can give me back my life, and don’t talk about the favours you’ve bestowed on me. I knew that one day I would have to hear this.’
‘Amma!’ cried Aliya, stunned, as she looked over at Aunty. She bowed her head. The results of the exam had not even come out yet. Had she longed to be able to stand on her own two feet just to hear all of this? Now she wished she could pray for a fail.
Aunty had turned her face away and wiped her tears with the edge of her dupatta.
‘Aliya has come home after such a long time, talk to her . . .’ she laboured to get up. ‘Oh dear, all the work has been piled up since morning; I haven’t done anything at all.’
When God was giving out hearts, he gave the largest one to Aunty. Aliya watched quietly as Aunty walked away.
‘Aliya dear, may God give you a pas
s, may you spend your days happily. When I think of the old days, my heart is overcome,’ added Kareeman Bua. Perhaps she hadn’t heard what Amma had said. A thick stream of water splashed on to the hard ground of the courtyard and spilled into the flower beds. The red, yellow and purple spring blossoms were now withered.
‘Well, well, at last I have peace. Now our luck will surely change,’ said Amma, looking at Aliya happily.
Would Aunty keep to her room all day today? Aliya was still focused on Aunty; she wasn’t listening to anything Amma said.
Uncle finally came home. Amma turned her face away from him in loathing, but Aliya rushed towards him, ignoring her mother’s behaviour.
‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, Uncle!’ she cried as she hugged him.
‘How was the exam?’ he asked, patting her on the head.
‘It was very good, I have every hope of success.’
‘Then you should read a lot during this waiting period; do keep my library key with you.’ He began feeling around in the pocket of his sherwani. ‘I’ve just ordered Gandhiji’s memoir—you should definitely read it.’
‘Now you’ll ruin her too! It wasn’t enough for you to make me a widow. Go ahead and leave me with nothing at all,’ complained Amma, who was bent on confronting everyone today. She was behaving like a pauper who has suddenly got his hands on a bit of money.
‘Humph—where is Jameel’s mother, anyway? We need dinner for two—go ahead and arrange for it,’ said Uncle, perplexed, as he went into the sitting room.
‘I’ll definitely read it, Uncle, my goodness, what a good book it must be,’ said Aliya, ignoring Amma, and she walked up the stairs with tired feet.
‘Kareeman Bua, give my blessings to dear Aliya, and tell her I pray that Allah may bring her success. Elder Brother said her exam results must have been very good,’ called out Asrar Miyan, at which Kareeman Bua’s tongs clacked loudly.
‘Asrar Miyan, can you never keep quiet! Whenever there’s some auspicious occasion, you make sure to butt in.’
For a moment Aliya stood frozen on the stairs, and then she rushed up to her room. Kareeman Bua, you got hit so hard in the stomach that you even forgot the enjoyment of tasty things, and all you remember is the bitterness of the fruit of your late Master’s infidelity. All the failure and slavery of your entire life has turned you into Asrar Miyan’s enemy, and now you pursue him relentlessly. How can he go on living this way! Some dog or cat must have been allowed to die in his place. She lay down and wept for so long her pillow became damp.
25
After many days, a letter finally came from Jameel. Aunty was hopping all about like a tiny bird and Amma was gazing at Aliya with longing, but somehow Aliya was suddenly reminded of all the important chores she had to do at that very moment. She was well acquainted with Amma’s terrifying plan that was the cause of her longing. Amma had been thwarted from her ambition to be made the mistress of the ancestral haveli; she would never be called the feudal mistress, but now she was trying to make the most of whatever she could lay her hands on; and of course, she also really did like Jameel. Hadn’t he proudly and openly defied his father and then run off to save the British from defeat?
‘Aliya dear, could you just read the letter to me one more time? My eyes are not working very well; they water so much—everything looks blurry,’ asked Aunty, taking the letter from the paandaan and holding it out to Aliya.
‘My darling Amma,’ Aliya read out, ‘I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been able to write you a letter, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten you. I think of you all the time, Amma. Aliya Bibi must have returned home by now. God willing, she will be successful. I have nothing to send her as a gift, and . . .’
Aliya felt she couldn’t read the rest of the letter, as though there were thorns sticking in her throat. She read out the remainder with much difficulty.
‘After we leave this house, we will be forever homeless, Aliya darling,’ Amma said softly as soon as Aunty got up.
‘Then, Amma, I will go somewhere else. Why do you want to throw me into hell?’ asked Aliya defiantly, in the manner of an independent girl, and then looked down. Ah, even the walls of this house were corroding. How much longer could this remain Amma’s feudal estate?
Amma stared at her silently without getting angry. She had a look of defeat in her eyes. She had lost the chance to own a haveli and an estate, and now she couldn’t even make this wretched home her own.
‘Is this flour edible? It has worms in it. Allah, that we even had to live to see this day! There was a time when our lands produced gold,’ murmured Kareeman Bua, as she sifted through the flour, picking out thread-like worms and throwing them away. The long war had made finding a single clean grain of wheat a dream. Kareeman Bua was constantly afflicted with dysentery.
‘If our government wins, then Kareeman Bua, we will get whatever we want to eat. Everyone else has lost, just one country is left: Japan. Allah only knows what rock they’re made of,’ said Amma encouragingly to Kareeman Bua.
‘Bygone days never return, Mazhar’s Bride,’ observed Kareeman Bua. She looked around at everyone after this profound utterance, then heaved a deep sigh and covered the tray of dough. ‘Who knows how dear Chammi must be, and that Shakeel . . .’
‘Do be quiet, Kareeman Bua, don’t mention Shakeel. If Aunty hears, she’ll start to cry again,’ interrupted Aliya.
When the washerwoman came inside to take their bundle, Aunty began to gather up everyone’s dirty clothing, and the washerwoman came huffing and puffing and sat down on the ground by the takht.
‘Ah, Mazhar’s Bride, it’s certainly the Kali Yug these days. Give me a bit of tobacco, my throat is drying out.’ The washerwoman held out her hand.
‘What do you mean it’s the Kali Yug?’ Amma put a piece of paan in her hand.
‘You know how Haji Sahib’s son was killed in the war? Now the son’s wife has run off with someone. It’s been three years since Haji Sahib’s son was killed. She used to lie at home weeping so innocently everyone was amazed. She was always bursting into tears—how could anyone have known she was up to no good?’
‘Outrageous! If ever I meet her, I’d dig a hole and bury her, that bitch,’ said Amma, making a face.
‘It’s the fourteenth century—time was if a twelve- or thirteen-year-old girl became a widow she’d just sit by, never see the face of anyone else to the grave—but now everything is coming to an end. It’s true what the elders have said, that in the fourteenth century cows will eat dung and virgins will choose their own grooms.’ Kareeman Bua could hardly keep quiet.
‘Kareeman Bua don’t say such things about cows; if the Hindus heard, they’d come after you. There’s no longer that sense of brotherhood; everyone you see is against Pakistan; even women don’t miss a chance to taunt. I just quietly pick up the bundle of clothes and come away. May Allah save us from these people—such riots keep happening in Kanpur!’ The washerwoman clutched her head. ‘Several of our dear ones were killed in the Kanpur riot.’
‘Everything is fine, the times have changed,’ remarked Kareeman Bua, and she began gathering up the dirty dishes as though bored with the conversation.
26
It had rained continuously all night long. The rain fell in torrents, and when morning came, the sky was still not clear. Fragments of black clouds wafted through the sky. Aliya swung open her shutters. The tree in the schoolyard had been washed sparkling clean by the rain and a hidden cuckoo perched somewhere warbled on and on. The air was filled with the scent of the mango seeds and peels that littered the streets, and the newspaper man passing quickly through the gali shouted: ‘A horrifying bomb! Japan’s back is broken! Hiroshima has been destroyed! Allied victory is imminent! Today’s paper is here, it’s here! Hiroshima . . .’
So an entire city had been destroyed by a bomb. Now what? Jameel would return. The British rulers would no longer need to generate propaganda, and all their scribes would now return home empty-handed. But t
hose poor people who had died in the fires of war—what would now happen to those awaiting them? Aliya could think of no answer to that question, so she got out of bed. Today, she was truly anxious to read the newspaper.
Uncle had already gone into the sitting room and the pages of the paper lay about on his bed. She eagerly gathered them up: Hiroshima appeared to be nothing more than flames now. She put down the paper and sat there silently. Allah, why do these governments target cities? What have they done wrong, why are they sentenced to death? But this is what always happens. Will history ever turn out happy? Each and every word in the newspaper seems to be written in blood. Could there be anything left that hadn’t burnt down in Hiroshima? Who knows what state the people must be in? They must be worrying about accomplishing so many different life tasks coming to an end right now. They must have left their homes to do something, and, who knows, maybe there were children standing at shops to buy Japanese dolls, and right at that moment, that horrifying bomb had exploded—and . . .
‘Quick, quick! Drink your tea, Aliya dear, the school tonga must almost be here. What are you thinking, just sitting there?’ Kareeman Bua interrupted her thoughts. Aliya quickly sat down to drink her tea. She had yet to get ready.
‘Japan is also about to lose. An entire city of theirs has been destroyed,’ announced Amma contentedly as she emerged from the bathroom.
‘Yes, it has!’ Aliya drank her tea and went out into the yard. Aunty was seated by the tap, washing her face and hands. All the plants in the beds had been weighed down by the rain and bowed to the ground.
Aliya had changed her clothes and was fixing her hair when a voice came from outside.
‘Teacher Madam, tonga’s here!’
As Aliya was walking downstairs, burqa in hand, Najma Aunty was also teetering down the stairs in her high-heeled sandals.
‘Teacher Madam, tonga’s here,’ Najma Aunty turned and said with a mocking smile.
The Women's Courtyard Page 21