‘The joy in a house is all thanks to the master,’ said Amma happily.
‘But the master of this house is Uncle,’ said Aliya, needlessly jumping into the middle of the conversation.
Amma did not respond. Ever since Aliya had started earning money, Amma had put up with everything she said.
Aliya began to pine for Uncle. Who knows where he’d been off wandering since morning? He didn’t eat at the right time or rest properly. How weak he’d become, and now Jameel was back, and there would be conflict all the time. It was impossible to say how father and son would behave when they met after being separated for so long.
Jameel had bathed and re-emerged. Amma was trying to gather him to her side like he was her territory. Aliya felt irritated. She was not responsible for this affection of her mother’s. It was impossible for her to give her mother a wonderful son-in-law like Jameel.
After sitting by Amma a few minutes, Jameel began to pace about and when he passed near Aliya, she announced, ‘Chammi came to visit.’
‘Oh really?’ Jameel kept going, his head down, and when he passed by her on his second loop, she could no longer remain silent. ‘She didn’t mention your name at all, and she had an adorable baby girl.’
‘Great. But since when did I ask you to tell me the entire story, and since when did I want her to mention me?’ he grumbled, and went over to sit by Amma.
She was feeling quite pleased at having annoyed Jameel; she had entirely ruined the fun of his pacing back and forth and touching her as he went by.
‘Kareeman Bua, get my food ready quickly; I’ll be going out after I eat. I need to get out and about.’ Jameel was now in a terrible mood.
‘What? You want to go out so soon?’ Aunty gazed at him with loving reproach.
‘He has business to attend to, Aunty,’ said Aliya sarcastically. But everyone was in such a good mood, they didn’t really understand, and all began to laugh. Jameel stared at her darkly. After dinner, Jameel went out and Aliya went upstairs to her room.
The season had changed. It was no longer exceptionally hot during the day. All the same, she felt as though it was intensely hot today. Her whole body was burning, and she wasn’t able to rest. She spent the afternoon tossing and turning on her bed. She’d grown exhausted thinking about herself.
In the evening, when Aliya came downstairs for tea, Jameel was sitting on his metal chair, perhaps waiting for his tea. ‘Aliya Bibi!’ he called out softly.
‘Yes!’ She stopped walking.
‘Since I’ve come back, I’ve been having a strange experience. Distance is a good thing, really. Distances can erase a great many things,’ he said with a long sigh.
‘That’s right, Jameel,’ she responded with downcast eyes and quickly went on to the veranda.
Amma had not yet come out of her room and Aunty was busy with something or other. Right at the moment when Kareeman Bua warmed the tea and placed it on the teapoy, Uncle entered the house unbuttoning his sherwani. Aliya was fixing the tea in cups when she left off suddenly, panicked and stood up.
‘Assalam aleikum’ said Jameel, standing up.
Uncle seemed startled when he saw Jameel. ‘Waleikum assalam,’ he replied, sitting down on the stool to wash his face and hands. ‘Everything is well?’
‘Everything is well.’ Jameel picked up his cup of tea and went back to his chair.
Aliya went back to preparing the tea. Ya Allah, what kind of father and son are these! They can actually meet this way after so long? The ideological gulf between the two of them was an impediment, as neither was prepared to budge at all; all the same, thankfully Jameel did not turn his face away like Chammi.
Uncle washed his face and hands and went into the sitting room, and Kareeman Bua sent his tea in there.
‘Life is tough, but simple too. It’s all in man’s hands, how he wishes to lead his own life. What do you think?’ Jameel held out his empty teacup to her. ‘Make me one more cup, Aliya Bibi.’ He seemed very serious at that moment.
‘That’s what I think too, you can make your life simple if you wish.’ Aliya held out his cup to him. ‘Here, drink.’ She handed him the cup, then stood up and rushed off to her room to escape the delicate conversation. Amma and Aunty were coming out to drink tea.
The oncoming night was etched with despair as the sun sank behind the dense pipal trees. Slowly she began to pace about the roof. Haze filled the air as smoke rose from nearby homes, and the breeze were redolent with the fragrance of frying spices.
When she had tired of pacing, she sat down in the doorway to her room. As soon as the sun set, the breeze became cool. She was feeling a chill running through her hands. Since the moment he’d arrived, Jameel had started to bother her and disturb her peace. She began to wonder why he had such faith in love even though he believed in no worldly ties. These exalted humans are really something, she thought, when they don’t believe in God they even consider the very word ‘God’ to be false, but when they do come around to believing, they begin to see divinity even in the threshold beneath the feet of saints. Jameel, what confusion have you got me tangled up in? She began to mutter to herself.
There was a clatter on the stairs and Najma Aunty came in and stretched out on the easy chair. She’d come home after enjoying her friend’s company all day long, so she looked exceptionally tired. Aliya was just about to get up from her doorstep when Najma cleared her throat and called out to her.
‘Come here, Aliya.’
She started and looked over at Najma Aunty. She was so surprised, she couldn’t stand. This was the first time Najma was calling her to her side.
‘What is it?’ Aliya came and leant against the bed near her.
‘There’s no one worth talking to in this house. Although you were only educated at home, at least you’ve studied a little, so maybe you can give me some advice.’ Najma Aunty looked at her carefully.
‘I don’t have the capacity to give advice, but all the same, perhaps I can think a little,’ she replied, keeping her anger in check.
‘What are your views on marriage? All the lecturers I work with are getting married.’
‘You should too, I imagine marriage must be a good thing, especially for you,’ she replied seriously.
‘You mean just for me? What a silly thing to say; won’t you get married?’ she retorted, a trifle annoyed. ‘Well, you can just marry someone in the household, Jameel or somebody; what more could you get than that anyway? But it would be hard for me to find a man my equal.’
Aliya felt like spitting in Najma Aunty’s face, but she managed to restrain herself. If she spat, the conversation would be over, and she didn’t want it to be over; she wanted it to be completely frank.
‘Look, Najma Aunty, as far as the question of Jameel’s worthiness goes, no one in this home can be his equal. But I don’t like him as a man. He is my cousin and that’s it, so don’t you worry about other people’s engagements. Speak for yourself instead. In my opinion, there must be someone else in a country this large who has done an MA in English, and he can become your husband. For this task you should have a public announcement made.’
‘What is this nonsense you are spouting? Everyone in this house is an utter fool! Oh, God, who can give me advice?’
‘Even after getting such a grand degree you find it necessary to get someone else’s advice?’ Aliya shot back. She got up and went on to the roof. Whatever Najma Aunty said next she didn’t hear.
‘Time for dinner!’ Kareeman Bua called out from below in the courtyard.
28
Time passed with difficulty in that household. Life is just another word for our passage over the Pul-e-Sirat, the narrow bridge that separates this existence from Paradise. How wonderful it would be if she could flee from there. She could leave Jameel behind. But all of this was unfeasible. If she were to leave, what would Uncle say? He’d say, wouldn’t he, that she had no interest in them now that she could stand on her own two feet? And now the household fortunes had re
verted to the state they’d been in before. Jameel had been let go from his job and was yet again unemployed. Aunty had saved up a bit of money, but that had been finished off in this new era of Jameel’s unemployment. Aliya would have so liked to give money regularly to Aunty, as a secret from Amma, but Aunty had affectionately refused. Perhaps she feared Amma. Ever since Aliya had been employed, Amma’s taunts had become so horrible; Amma had come to loathe the household.
Each day dragged by like a night of agonizing sickness. The bitter cold of December was at its height. It stayed dark until nine or ten in the morning due to the fog: the veranda curtains had lost all their integrity due to the dust storms, rains and sunlight. Now, in winter, the wind whipped through the curtains as though it were galloping across the plains. Kareeman Bua’s weak bones rattled in the cold, and she would slip into the womb of the hearth and murmur about bygone days: ‘Mercy, what a time that was when the veranda curtains were changed every other year! If just a couple of holes appeared, they’d be divided up and given to the servants. But will that time ever return?’
Aliya had given Kareeman Bua one of her old sweaters, but instead of wearing it in this bitter cold she’d set it aside for later. ‘If this sweater wears out too, what will I wear next winter?’ observed Kareeman Bua feeling rather wise.
Uncle had gone to Delhi for a while and Asrar Miyan had been suffering from fever for two or three days. No one knew what sort of state he was in, lying in the sitting room. Who had time for his medical treatment—Jameel had no time off from his rallies and processions. Whenever he did come home, he’d roast in the agonizing fires of love. Now was he going to quench those fires, or would he sit about sprinkling medicines on the feverish body of Asrar Miyan?
Aliya was extremely worried about Asrar Miyan. She worried about his health all the time—How ill he must be if we don’t hear his voice asking for tea, nor see his outstretched hand waiting for food! Kareeman Bua would mutter and get up of her own accord to go into the sitting room and set out food and water. When Aliya asked about his health, she’d snap: ‘Everything is fine. He’s got a fever, not some grand illness.’
God, please don’t let him suffer from some grand illness, Aliya would pray, her heart in agony. How she wished she could go sit by the head of his bed, massage his head and feed him medicine with her own hands; but how could she break such ancient customs before Amma’s harsh gaze? None of the women in this family had ever come before these bastard offspring. Najma Aunty did not even observe purdah, but despite this she had never come before Asrar Miyan. When the tonga came for college, he got out of the way on his own; if he saw her on the way, he’d turn his face. Once, Aliya had gone into the sitting room when Asrar Miyan was there. She didn’t even have time to get a look at his face before he’d got up and fled. ‘There’s purdah between us, little one,’ he had said, as she stood there gaping. Under such circumstances how could she even think of caring for Asrar Miyan when he was ill? Who knows, perhaps even now, he’d say, ‘There’s purdah between us, little one,’ and run out. And then, what would it do to Amma’s heart to see her do such a thing? What would she say? By now her mother had renounced both the house and Jameel for her sake. She had hung her head helplessly before Aliya. Now that she’d lost everything, she considered Aliya her only support. What was the point, then, of hurting her mother’s feelings? What was the point of overturning the ancient customs? She must defer to her mother as well, after all.
That night, when Jameel returned home to eat dinner, the clouds were gathering, and the thunder was so loud it shook the soul.
‘Hail may fall,’ Kareeman Bua kept saying.
‘What makes you so certain it will hail, Kareeman Bua—does someone have a freshly shaven head?’ Jameel laughed.
Today for the first time in many days he looked like he was in a cheerful mood, while in the interim he had been so silent you’d have thought he had no tongue in his mouth.
‘Oh, Master, who needs their head shaved, it’s my topknot that’s being shaved, with all this, “Please go check on Asrar Miyan, he’s coming down with a fever.” I have to deliver all the food and water to him,’ complained Kareeman Bua, looking extremely out of sorts.
‘What’s happened to Asrar Miyan?’ asked Jameel, startled.
‘I already told you, he has a fever. Master has gone to Delhi, otherwise he’d get the medicine and take care of him. How did I end up in the middle of it? Now if something happens to Asrar Miyan, he’ll get angry with me when he comes back.’
‘I’ll take a look at him, Kareeman Bua, even though I utterly despise the man.’
‘Is it because the poor thing is not one of us?’ Aliya asked sharply.
‘It’s not that, Aliya Bibi, I just hate him because he’s become like Abba from living with him for so long. And I also know that he sits with Abba and criticizes me. Things have got so bad with them, that all they have left is to start putting tilaks on their foreheads.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Anyway, you listen to me, Aliya Bibi, I have absolutely no thought about his illegitimacy.’
‘Well, he may be the equivalent to an uncle for you, but what’s the point of this useless debate now?’ Amma said with disgust.
‘May God not make it so! May that be the fate of our enemies—that Asrar Miyan could be the equivalent to an uncle.’ Kareeman Bua blew up, not comprehending Amma’s sarcasm. ‘It’s a sign of the times, that today queens in palaces could make him an uncle,’ snarled Kareeman Bua, behaving rudely for the first time in her life.
When Amma, Aunty and Jameel all laughed at her misunderstanding, Kareeman Bua was flustered and began rolling out the rotis, and Jameel got up and went into the sitting room. There was a loud clap of thunder, and lightning flashed in such a way that everyone shrank back and put their fingers in their ears. ‘God, you are great, please save us from this calamity,’ Kareeman Bua began reciting at the top of her lungs.
‘Lightning has struck somewhere,’ said Aunty anxiously.
A fierce wind lifted the curtain. Jameel had emerged from the sitting room and was in the middle of the courtyard when lighting flashed once more, fiercely, and Aliya fairly shrieked, ‘Run inside quickly, Jameel!’
Jameel came inside laughing. ‘Hail is falling, but why were you afraid, Aliya Bibi?’
‘I wasn’t afraid, I was just telling you there was lightning,’ hedged Aliya foolishly. She felt embarrassed. Really, why had she screamed? Was Jameel actually about to be struck by lightning?
‘It’s really difficult to understand humans; when they think they are enlightened, they are in the dark, and when they are in the dark they announce they are enlightened,’ said Jameel, gazing at Aliya affectionately. At that moment, how happy and contented he looked.
‘Fine, Jameel, just as it is hard to understand humans, it’s also hard to understand why man’s actions are sometimes unconnected to his thoughts. Who knows why he sometimes does things with no goal in mind,’ she replied, looking him in the eyes. She knew that after hearing her shriek, Jameel wanted to capture the fugitive secret in her heart and bring it into the light.
‘That’s fine too, Aliya Bibi,’ he said, deflated all at once, and then for a little while silence fell again.
Where must Uncle be right now, and what must he be doing? Aliya began to wonder in order to distract herself.
When dinner was over, everyone rushed to their own beds for fear of the cold, but Aliya did not get up from her seat. She had to go upstairs to her room, and despite the rain abating, lightning still flashed. How could she cross the courtyard in this state? She’d always feared thunder and lightning.
She pulled the curtain aside and looked out. She saw nothing but darkness and black clouds. She gathered her courage and went out into the courtyard.
‘Come, I’ll take you upstairs,’ said Jameel, walking out of the veranda behind her. ‘You’re afraid of lightning?’ he asked as they climbed the stairs.
She continued to walk upstairs silently. Bringing up the topic of lightnin
g was a seriously dangerous business. Najma Aunty was asleep with her face wrapped in her quilt. Aliya tiptoed into her room. Jameel stayed standing in the doorway.
‘Okay, good evening. You go and sleep too,’ she said softly.
‘Shall I sit by you for a little while? Who knows, maybe lightning will flash again. You’ll definitely be frightened all alone.’ He came forward.
‘I am not at all frightened, you go to sleep,’ she said brusquely, and sank into her quilt.
Jameel gave no reply. What he was thinking as he stood there and she trembled inside her quilt? What would he say now? Fifteen or twenty minutes passed like fifteen or twenty centuries, then he suddenly went away. He had said nothing. After those centuries had passed, she took a sigh of relief, wondering what harm there would have been if Jameel had sat here just a little while longer and spoken a bit.
In order to save herself from this maddening thought, Aliya thought of Asrar Miyan—What must his condition be right now? Mustn’t he feel the needs of an ailing person? His head must be bursting with fever, and how he must wish someone would sit by him, someone would ask after him, someone would look at him with love at this moment. But he had no one; he had dropped from the sky totally alone. What must he be thinking about today when he was so ill and so lonely? Sighing for Asrar Miyan, she fell into a deep sleep.
In the morning the sky was completely clear. The sun looked shiny, and when she was preparing to go to school, she heard Asrar Miyan’s trembling voice for the first time in three days: ‘Kareeman Bua, if everyone else has drunk tea, then give me some as well, I’m feeling weak.’
29
Day followed day and suddenly spring rushed in and made the flowers bloom. A month and a half before, Kareeman Bua had cleaned out the planting beds and dug them up on her knees, then planted seeds and breathed a sigh of relief. Now Aliya felt happy gazing at the blooming flowers, but Aunty could not even bring herself to pick two blossoms, clean off the dusty vase and arrange them in it. She did not feel the coming of spring in her heart. She felt no joy from flowers. Shakeel had planted a seed of eternal autumn in her soul, Jameel was watering it, and Uncle—but no, she shouldn’t think ill of Uncle, she reproached herself.
The Women's Courtyard Page 23