‘We do the same work, but you are called a lecturer and I am called a teacher. Even if the difference didn’t disappear, would that be the end of the world, Najma Aunty?’ Aliya responded tartly.
‘Hah! How could that difference ever disappear? Have you done an MA in English? Surely there’s a difference between a donkey and a horse,’ retorted Najma Aunty, as she sat down to drink tea.
‘Teacher Madam, tonga’s here from the college,’ called another voice from outside.
‘You and I are exactly the same to the tonga driver.’ Aliya laughed loudly. ‘Why don’t you explain it to them?’ As she went out and sat in the tonga, she didn’t even hear what Najma Aunty had to say in reply.
When she returned home from school, Aliya saw someone standing in the courtyard. She couldn’t recognize her from the back but when she stepped forward, Chammi turned around and embraced her.
‘Oh, my! Chammi! You’re here!’ Aliya squeezed her tightly. ‘And who’s that lying in the cradle in the veranda?’
‘I don’t know, Bajiya,’ Chammi replied bashfully.
‘It’s Chammi’s little girl, who else?’ said Aunty happily.
‘Oh!’ Aliya ran towards the baby, forgetting to take off her burqa. ‘Oh, how sweet she is, exactly like Chammi!’ Aliya wished she could pick the sleeping baby up and cover it with kisses. She realized that if Tehmina were still alive, she too would probably have a couple of children by now.
The dupatta had slipped from the baby’s face and a fly came to rest on her cheek. Aliya shooed it away and covered her face.
‘Tomorrow on my way home from school, I’ll buy her a tiny mosquito net, then she’ll be protected from flies,’ she said.
‘But who can really avoid flies! They’re seasonal butterflies at our place, Bajiya.’ Chammi laughed. ‘If anyone says things like that in our village, everyone starts making fun of them, because how could anyone avoid flies!’ She started laughing again—there was such sorrow in her laughter. She’d grown quite thin and looked very beautiful. Jameel has certainly made a mistake letting her go, Aliya thought, as she began to remove her burqa.
‘Did you see Uncle?’ she asked as she folded it up.
‘Where? He hasn’t even come home,’ said Chammi, and she turned towards Aunty. ‘Is Uncle well?’ she asked the way grown-ups do.
‘Oh yes, he’s fine, but he’s become a bit weak,’ Aunty replied.
‘Did you eat yet, Chammi?’ Aliya asked.
‘No, I was waiting for you, Bajiya.’
When Chammi’s baby awoke and began to cry, Aunty picked her up and held her to her shoulder and began to pat her lovingly. Amma was seated on the takht, chopping betel. She did not even look once at Chammi or the baby. Ever since Aliya had been employed at the school, she looked down on everything in the house. And she’d always been enemies with Chammi.
‘Your mister didn’t come, Chammi?’
‘No, Bajiya, how could he? His buffalo was ill. He seated me in the lady’s compartment and told an old woman to look after me . . .’ She laughed.
‘I missed you so much, Chammi.’ Aliya looked at her affectionately. Chammi was not satisfied with her environment and that thought made Aliya sad.
‘I also came just to see you.’
‘Humph! Things have got more peaceful in the house since you left. That’s why she missed you.’ Amma glared at Chammi with cutting eyes.
‘Oh, really!’ Chammi laughed at her sarcasm.
Goodness, had Chammi really cooled down this much? Aliya could not believe it. How serious and dignified she seemed.
‘Chammi, do give her to me. Bringing her up will help me pass the days,’ Aunty said as she kissed the baby.
‘Please take her, Aunty,’ said Chammi, for the sake of it, but her face went white. Perhaps she was recalling her own upbringing. She too had been left here to be brought up.
Chammi’s baby had been whimpering with hunger but now she began to bawl, so Chammi stopped eating, washed her hands and took the baby into her lap. Aunty went to her room. Amma had already gone into Chammi’s room with the paandaan. Perhaps she feared Chammi would try to set up camp in her old room.
It was very hot. Since there was no breeze, everything felt suffocating. Afternoons were so difficult to get through.
‘Kareeman Bua, take these toys for the little princess, and give dear Chammi my blessings, and if everyone has finished eating, then . . .’ Asrar Miyan called out from behind the door panels to the sitting room, and Kareeman Bua gathered the leftover gravy into a cup as if to give him cholera.
When Aliya held out her hand to take the toys, Kareeman Bua whimpered, ‘Glory be to God! It’s a sign of the times—to think that Asrar Miyan has brought toys for our Chammi’s daughter.’ And she slammed the dish of gravy and the rotis into his outstretched hand.
‘These toys are gifts from Asrar Miyan, and he sends his blessings,’ said Aliya, shaking the rattle like a child.
‘This is not going to make him high and mighty, that Asrar Miyan! He goes around all puffed up. Doesn’t even recognize his own status,’ Kareeman Bua was still muttering in the veranda.
Kareeman Bua, may Allah make you dumb or please just let Asrar Miyan die, Aliya prayed in her heart as she went to sit by Aunty. Aunty was opening a bundle of fabrics and her needle case and picking out silken scraps to stitch Chammi’s daughter a kurta and cap, talking all the while.
‘Chammi, how is your mother-in-law? She doesn’t quarrel too much, does she? Your husband must love you very much.’
Chammi was laughing and agreeing with everything she said, but Aliya could see that she was avoiding everyone’s eyes.
‘Why do I adore her so much, Bajiya?’ Chammi asked, to avoid the topic.
‘Because she is your daughter.’
‘Ever since she came along, the rest of the world has seemed insignificant.’ Chammi sighed deeply as she lay down, holding her baby to her breast. ‘Her father and grandmother have no love for her at all, they wanted a son.’
In just a little while, Chammi had fallen asleep and as she slept, she sighed deeply, but Aliya spent the entire afternoon stitching the kurta and cap with Aunty.
It was in the evening when everyone was seated and drinking tea that Uncle finally came home. Chammi looked at him and then looked away.
‘Uncle is standing right here, Chammi,’ said Aliya, glancing at her reproachfully.
‘Oh, it’s Uncle, I didn’t recognize him.’ She laughed sarcastically. ‘Greetings, Uncle, tell me, how is your Congress party? Praise be to God, that Mr Gandhi is living too long.’
So this was the same old Chammi, the only difference being that she had a baby in her arms now. Aliya stared at her in astonishment.
‘Everything well in your home, then?’ snapped Uncle as he turned towards the sitting room. ‘Kareeman Bua, send my tea in there.’
‘If he’s not getting old, what else is he doing—the poor thing dreams of ruling Hindustan, ha! As if he can rule in a loincloth.’ Amma was quite pleased and started speaking to Chammi. In such matters, she was one hundred per cent on Chammi’s side. And anyway, of late she was prepared to sacrifice her life for British rule, because ever since Aliya had become employed, her English sister-in-law had begun writing her affectionate letters. She wrote many exciting things in those letters, for example, that if every woman in Hindustan learnt to stand on her own two feet, this country too could become an equal to England.
‘Chammi, now that you’re so grown up and you’ve become a mother, try to have some respect for Uncle,’ Aliya scolded Chammi though she tried to restrain herself.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened; I’ll beg forgiveness of him, Bajiya,’ said Chammi looking down thoughtfully. ‘I’ll be leaving in the morning,’ she added, and turning towards Kareeman Bua, she asked, ‘Kareeman Bua, please tell Asrar Miyan to bring a tonga over in the morning and take me to the train.’
‘What, you’re leaving so quickly, Chammi? Are you angry?’ Aliya scooted over to h
er side.
‘What! Now you stop! How could I be angry with you? You have no idea how hard it was to get permission to come here for one day. You don’t know, Aliya Bajiya, you don’t know.’ Tears came to her eyes. ‘My heart wants to stay here, but now this daughter of mine, oh! Tell me a good name for her, Bajiya! Her grandmother has given her the name Tameezan.’ Chammi burst out laughing at the name.
‘Why can’t you stay for a while? Stay for nine or ten days. The house seems so nice now, it’s like spring has come,’ said Aliya, becoming emotional. ‘How empty it’s been since you left, Chammi, I feel so bored in this silence.’
‘I’ll come again, Bajiya,’ said Chammi, patting her baby intently.
A tonga stopped in the gali and Najma Aunty appeared in the house smoothing out the end of her sari.
‘Well, well, Chammi’s here! How’s it going, and is this your daughter? She’s very sweet. She doesn’t look a bit like her father.’ She patted the baby’s cheek affectionately. ‘Make sure to educate her well, Chammi, otherwise she too will turn out a fool like everyone else.’
‘I’ll send her to you. You will teach her, won’t you?’ Chammi shot back.
Najma Aunty frowned. ‘All right, well, we’ll talk again, won’t we?’ she said. ‘Right now, I’m exhausted.’ And she went clacking up the stairs in her high heels.
‘Have you heard anything about Shakeel?’ Chammi whispered.
‘No, Chammi,’ Aliya replied quietly.
‘And has my father written any letters?’
Aliya did not reply. She continued to stroke the baby’s cheek. Receiving no response, Chammi began to look around. She’d asked about everyone but forgotten Jameel. There was no truth in that love. Aliya felt strange.
That night the sky was so clear the moonlight made everything look like it was bathed in milk. A tiny cradle had been added alongside the row of beds in the courtyard and the gurgles from the tiny baby in that cradle made the night all the lovelier. Torrents of rain the night before had given this night a slight chill. Tonight, Aliya had her bed set up next to Chammi’s in the courtyard instead of sleeping on the roof. There was an odd sense of excitement in the household. Everyone was gathered in one place talking, while Chammi’s baby cooed. Only Najma Aunty lay alone on the roof, away from the company of fools. Yes, Uncle had also not set foot inside the courtyard since seeing Chammi. He’d eaten in the sitting room and then had his bed set up outside on the terrace where he was talking to someone.
Now that she was free of all her tasks, Kareeman Bua sat down near Amma on the ground and began to sing lullabies to Chammi’s baby.
Come, O sleep, why don’t you come?
‘Kareeman Bua, tell me a good story,’ begged Chammi. She was feeling like a little girl at that moment.
‘I don’t even remember any more, Chammi dear.’ Kareeman Bua began to think.
‘Tell any story, Kareeman Bua! How fun all those stories were,’ insisted Chammi and Aliya as well. She’d grown tired of the world of books. At this moment all she wanted to hear was an innocent story.
‘Oh, tell that story, Kareeman Bua, the one where there once was a king. He had seven daughters. Then one day he called for all seven and asked them, “Whose fate do you depend on?” Then they all said, “Your fate, father.” But the very smallest one said, “I live my own fate!” And so, the king had her thrown into the jungle and declared, “Now you can live your own fate.” And then, as the daughter sat alone in the forest weeping, a jinn came and he made a palace for the girl and—just tell that same story, Kareeman Bua, I reminded you of so much of it,’ said Chammi, sitting up.
‘Okay, well, then listen: There once was a king, a king of my god and your god, yes. So this king had seven daughters. One day, that king called all seven of his daughters before him and asked . . .’
Kareeman Bua was telling the story but Aliya did not hear a single word. Instead she began to wonder what it was that made Chammi think of this story. Did she hold out any hope for her own fate? She’d been wandering in the jungle of her own ill fortune for so long, but no jinn had yet appeared. Chammi, people while away their time listening to innocent stories filled with longing, but there is no truth in them.
The story had not even come to an end before the sleep fairy had carried Chammi off. Who knew which palace it took her to, and to which prince’s side?
In the morning, Chammi left, and as Aliya went off to school, she felt quite sad. Today she would not be able to teach from the heart. What harm could there have been in Chammi staying a few more days?
27
As soon as the bomb fell on Nagasaki the war had ended. Japan laid down its arms. A letter had come from Delhi, from Jameel, saying that he would soon return. His work had ended now, and when Aliya awoke from a nap at four o’clock one evening, she saw that Jameel truly had come. She wasn’t sure what to do. Should she immediately run downstairs, or stay sitting where she was? But that might upset Aunty, and after all, why should she keep sitting there?
She went downstairs. Amma and Aunty were sitting with Jameel. Kareeman Bua was preparing the tea things. Aunty’s face was wreathed in smiles for the first time in so long.
‘But why were you all afraid? I was just sitting in Delhi, fighting the war with my pen. What use was I on the front?’ Jameel laughed.
‘I was just afraid you might be sent off to fight too. Whenever something happened I would get nervous. You didn’t write back right away, and when there was a delay I would think you’d been sent off to fight as well.’ Aunty was embarrassed at her foolishness. ‘And then you never came home either. After all, it’s not like Delhi is so very far.’
‘And my father never explained what my work was? Where would I have gone? There was no reason to worry.’ Jameel hugged Aunty. ‘So what if I didn’t come for a long time—I’m here now.’ He turned and looked around. ‘Oh, Aliya Bibi.’ He stood up. ‘Are you well? You’ve become an important person now—and I’ve just stayed the same old fool. Will you teach me too, or no?’
‘Why are you making these distinctions? Tell me, how have you been?’
Aliya attempted to look him in the eye as she spoke, but quickly looked down. Jameel was looking exceptionally handsome in his army uniform.
‘This uniform suits me, doesn’t it? I look silly, don’t I, or else, handsome?’ Jameel seemed to be teasing her.
‘Can any symbol of war be handsome?’ she asked gravely.
‘Oh, good lord, Amma, hurry up, let me get this uniform off so that I can try to look a bit handsome. Where is my trunk? Please get out my clothes.’ Jameel laughed loudly.
‘I’m so happy to be home; I’m seeing everyone after so long.’ He looked meaningfully in Aliya’s direction. ‘How patient man gets when he lives far away,’ he said seriously. ‘Listen, did you ever even miss me?’ he asked Aliya.
‘Yes, when Aunty would weep from missing you, I too would think of you,’ she replied indifferently.
‘You haven’t changed a bit; you’re exactly the same.’
‘Tell me something about yourself,’ she said, changing the subject.
‘What’s to tell? I’ve come home after being released from my job; now the same old unemployment awaits me,’ he said in a subdued tone.
‘Then why did you leave your job, Jameel? It’s clear you will have to stare unemployment in the face now. And how could you have accepted this employment in the first place? You did it to defy Uncle, didn’t you?’
‘Oh! Why would I defy him?’ There was intense disgust in his tone. ‘After I achieved my goal, my employment ended. What need was there for me to establish myself in what I was doing? Now I will only be employed after independence.’
‘Look, Jameel Miyan, don’t speak that way, now you’ve seen how even big important countries have paid the price for fighting the English—so let go of that dream,’ Amma told Jameel.
‘You’re right, now I’ve let go of everything.’ He bowed his head dutifully and sat down.
‘Did you see Shakeel?’ Aunty asked as she handed Jameel his clothing.
‘I saw him, Amma, but he ignored me. He’s become an important man; he wants nothing to do with us. He’s not worth asking about.’
‘Go ahead and wash up,’ said Aunty, sighing deeply.
‘Amma, where is my father?’
‘He’s been out somewhere, since morning, he’ll probably be back soon,’ Aunty told him.
‘Did you ever miss Uncle?’ asked Aliya, laughing.
‘Did he ever miss me?’ Jameel laughed as well and then turned towards her. ‘And you, I’m sure you never missed me.’ He looked at her hopefully.
‘I have no interest in missing people and such,’ she said, avoiding his gaze.
He fell silent. He thought for a few minutes, then hugged Kareeman Bua and stood up. ‘But you missed me, my Kareeman Bua, didn’t you? What are you cooking for me today?’
‘I’ve passed the days in agony, and I am your humble servant, Jameel Miyan.’ Kareeman Bua touched her curled hands to his temples and then touched her own to remove all evil influences from him. ‘I am making pulao for my Jameel Miyan.’
When Jameel glanced over at Aliya from the corner of his eye, she looked away. If only she didn’t have the day off today, she could bother her head with the girls in school.
‘Oh, and yes, where is my Najma Aunty, Amma?’ asked Jameel.
‘She is utterly bored in this house now, so she goes and whiles away her time over at her girlfriend’s house—she teaches at the same college as her,’ Aunty replied.
‘So she must surely be an English MA as well, otherwise how could they be friends?’ Jameel chuckled and, picking up his clothes, went into the bathroom.
Aunty was extremely busy tidying up Jameel’s trunk, Amma was spreading out the cloth on the takht, and Aliya was racking her brains wondering how she would be able to live in the house now. How could she tolerate this mental torture every moment? The war was over and Jameel had come home, but what atom bomb could finish off the war that would take place in her mind?
‘How nice the house seems now that Jameel has come,’ said Aunty looking towards Amma.
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