Basti

by Intizar Husain

  When she got down from the bus, I got down too. It took me a little while to force my way through the crowd and get to the door. In this small amount of time, she vanished. Well, it didn’t matter. I thought she’d be coming to study that evening, but that evening she didn’t come. Well, tomorrow evening for sure, I consoled myself. But she didn’t come that evening either. Her not coming made me even more eager.

  The next day I phoned her and, as her teacher, asked why she hadn’t come. She gave some meaningless answer, and hesitantly said, “I’ll come today.”

  That day passed with the weight of a mountain, as I waited for the evening. But finally the evening came, and she too came. When she came, she sat down in silence. The concentration with which she used to ask questions and jot down notes was no longer in evidence. Today my heart wasn’t in the teaching, either. I wrapped up the lesson quickly. Then she was silent, and I was silent.

  “Tasnim!” I finally opened my mouth.

  In response, she lifted her eyes to me, but I didn’t know what I’d wanted to say to her. I was lost, dissolved, as though I didn’t exist at all.

  Finally she rose. I too rose, confused and flustered. I escorted her to the door. As I was leaving the room I said softly, “Tasnim!”

  She paused, but I was struck dumb. Then with the speed of lightning she left the room. I was left standing there.

  She didn’t come again.

  •

  Tasnim had gone. My evening’s occupation was over. Empty inside, indifferent outside, I wander in the city. For no reason my footsteps turn toward the Shiraz. Abdul is astonished. “Zakir Sahib! Where have you been?”

  “Right here. Where are the others?”

  “Nobody has been coming. Shall I bring tea?”

  “Yes, bring it.”

  I’m sitting alone in a corner, drinking tea. Around me all the faces are new and strange. Oh, so the white-haired man still keeps coming. He’s a man of fixed principles. But where are my friends? How strange it is. In the Shiraz we were once the main group. Now we’re gone as completely as though we’d never been here at all.

  Afzal suddenly enters. “Yar, where is everybody? I’ve worn myself out looking for you. I didn’t find a single mouse. I’d heard that you and Irfan had taken to sitting in the Imperial.”

  “We used to.”

  “Anyway, I went there with the idea that I’d find you there. Yar, that place is in terrible shape. The cabaret show was going on, the lights were out. Well, I sat down. I said to myself that when the lights came on I’d search out those mice. When I look at the floor, no Miss Dolly. A disgusting woman was dancing. The people who praised her sounded just as disgusting. When the lights came on and I looked around, it was all boorish rustic types. I cursed you both and came away.”

  Afzal was telling the truth. This was the Imperial’s new style. I too had gone there one evening. When I saw how things were, I left again.

  “Yar, where have the good people gone?” As he spoke, Afzal was looking all around. He muttered, “Who are these people? Where has everybody gone?”

  “Zavvar has joined the Civil Service and left the city.”

  “He can go jump in the lake. Tell me about the others.”

  “Salamat might go off to America, he’s running around trying to get a scholarship. You can usually find him in the U.S.I.S. Ajmal has been swallowed up by his Basic Democracy job.”

  “And Irfan?”

  “He’s got a job with a newspaper.”

  “Mouse!” Afzal grumbled, “What are you doing?”

  “Love.”

  “Love?” Afzal looked me over judiciously from head to foot. “Well, you’re a good man.”

  “Sitting in the Shiraz chewing over literature and art and politics isn’t everything.”

  Afzal listened gravely to my words. “You’re right. Love is a bigger task than that. But, fellow, to make love, a man ought to be virtuous.”

  “Yar, you’re certainly virtuous yourself.”

  “Yes, I’m virtuous, but I’m very much occupied here.”

  “Occupied?”

  “Fellow! Don’t you know how much of my time is spent in the company of birds and trees? I don’t have time for love. You make love, I’ll pray for you.”

  “Yar, what good will prayer do me now? She was here, but now she’s gone away.” I heaved a long sigh.

  Afzal regarded me very sympathetically, and advised me, “Fellow! Keep the door open, and stay awake.”

  The door that had been closed for so long, she opened as she left. Now I couldn’t close it. The door stayed open, and I kept waiting. She didn’t come, someone else came. I ran into Anisah at a music conference. I was surprised to see her: “What, you! When did you get back from London?”

  In fact, what surprised me wasn’t that she had suddenly come back from London. What surprised me was that she had come back with a new elegance. When I had seen her in the Imperial, I hadn’t been struck by her at all at the time. She had even shown a bit of interest in me, but I didn’t give her the smallest chance. How could I have? The door was closed inside me. And furthermore, at that time she wasn’t exactly eye-catching. Her figure seemed utterly flat. But now her body was full of curves, and her breasts were very apparent. Her plump, rounded arms were bare, her waist and hips swayed attractively, her full breasts seemed to quiver when she moved. With wonder and joy, I looked her over from head to foot. “Anisah! London has transformed you!”

  She accepted my words as a compliment. She laughed, then said, “It’s getting on into the night—when will this conference be over?”

  “Do we have to wait for it to be over?”

  “No, we don’t.”

  We immediately went out. When I opened the car door, she looked at me with surprise. “Why, you’ve gotten a car! That means I’m not the only one who’s changed, you’ve changed too.”

  “It’s second-hand.”

  “Second-hand ones run more smoothly.” She burst out laughing.

  “Shouldn’t we go somewhere and have tea?”

  “Of course. Why else did we leave the conference? How is the Imperial nowadays? In London I only missed one single thing here—the Imperial.”

  “The Imperial has changed too. But it’s changed differently. When you see it now, you’ll be dismayed.”

  “Then I certainly ought to go and see it.”

  I turned the car toward the Imperial.

  Now the Imperial had gone even further downhill. No cabaret, no band playing. The tables were mostly empty. Here and there a customer or two sat drinking tea, in silence. The tawny cat lay next to the manager’s chair, her eyes closed. Then she rose with a kind of lassitude. She yawned, and straightened out her body. Then, moving wearily, she passed under various empty tables until she paused by a customer eating shami kabobs and gave a meek “Meow.” But when she saw his indifference she went on. She reached the dirty, dusty dance floor, sat down in the middle of it, and closed her eyes.

  Anisah watched this whole scene with sadness. She said, “The Imperial has gone into a total decline. How did it happen? When I left, the Imperial was really at its peak. Who could have imagined then that such a fate would overtake it?”

  “That’s the trouble with peaks. Those who are on them never even imagine that they could be brought down from such a height! And when the decline starts, it can’t be stopped halfway. The decline doesn’t stop even for a moment, until it reaches its limit.”

  “You’ve started talking about the decline of nations. I was talking about the Imperial.”

  “Whenever and wherever decline begins, it works in exactly the same way.”

  Anisah gave me a meaningful look. “Meanwhile you seem to have become a real intellectual. Come on, let’s not stay here.”

  As we got in the ear, I made a suggestion: “The Lorraine will be open now. We can get good tea there.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  As we sat in the Lorraine she said mischievously, “So I’ve changed
since I’ve been in London?”

  I again looked her over from head to foot and was delighted. “You’ve absolutely changed.”

  “But I see that you’ve stayed right here and changed.”

  “How?”

  “Such that now you can talk to a girl, and drink tea with her in a hotel late at night.” She paused, then said, “Since I left, haven’t you made some experiments in love?”

  “I haven’t, but I want to.”

  “Don’t tell lies. Your behavior shows that you’ve made the attempt. If it didn’t succeed, that’s another matter. It’s not so important. The first attempt usually turns out that way. Have another try, success will crown your efforts.”

  “I’m not over-age for it?”

  “Nonsense. Over there, in matters of love the real period starts after forty. And the man who has white hair at his temples has the girls swarming around him like flies.”

  Involuntarily I ran a finger over the hair at my temples. “When will that fashion arrive here?”

  “It’s already arrived. Enter the field. Start an affair with some girl soon. Tell me, who will you start with?”

  “Why shouldn’t I start with you.”

  “With me!” She looked at me with some surprise and then laughed indifferently. “You really have got nerve!”

  “Still, what’s the harm?”

  “No harm,” she said composedly. “But I’m a difficult girl. You won’t be able to keep up with me.” She thought, then said, “Listen! If you were fixed up with Raziyah, how would that be?”

  “I don’t care for her.”

  “Then who do you care for?”

  “You.”

  “I see!” She smiled. “You really are filled with manly courage! That’s a fine thing.”

  En route from the Lorraine to her house, I made a further display of manly courage. While driving, I took one hand away from the wheel and put it on her bare arm. She neither praised me for this manly courage, nor did anything to dampen my enthusiasm. My hand slid along her arm and reached her shoulder. Traversing her shoulder, it began to move toward her breast; then she instructed me, “No further.”

  “Why?”

  “You can’t expect reasons for everything. I’ve told you, and that’s enough.”

  “But I want to.” As I spoke, I pulled the car a little off the road and braked to a stop. It was very late at night, and the road was empty from one end to the other. I slid over near Anisah, so near that I could feel with my body the warmth and softness of her hips. I slowly ran my hand over her hair, my fingers came along with her loose curls and slid down to her soft shoulders, from her shoulders to her smooth arms. Then I slowly and gently put my hand on her swelling breast. She lifted her eyes and looked at me seriously. “What did I tell you?”

  My hand stayed in place, amidst the warmth and softness. She went on looking at me. She had given an order, and was waiting for it to be carried out. I slowly removed my hand. But we went on staring at each other. I slid nearer to her. My lips moved toward her moist lips.

  In a tone of finality she said, “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m a difficult girl. You’re a simple type.”

  “I’m not simple any longer.”

  “Oh?” She looked at me archly.

  “No.”

  She suddenly laughed, the way people laugh at the innocent words of a child. “All right, let’s go, it’s very late. I have to get some sleep.”

  At her house, as she got out of the car she said, “Come on, I’ll make you some coffee.”

  “It’s surely not polite to disturb your family so late at night.”

  “No, my room is off by itself. I can make coffee right in my room.”

  “But why should you go to all that trouble so late at night? I don’t want to bore you.”

  She smiled and said, “All right, good night!”

  “Good night,” I said, and started the car.

  After I had gone some distance, I hesitated. Why had she detained me? I braked to a stop in the middle of the road, and fell into thought. Then I swiftly started the car, turned around, and headed back at full speed toward her house.

  I pulled my car into the driveway. I stopped, and examined the room which Anisah had said was hers, and which was indeed off by itself. And she had also told me that she stayed up till late at night, reading. But her room was submerged in darkness. Not the slightest ray of light showed through any window, any pane. I turned the car around, feeling very downcast, and went back.

  •

  “Oh!” As I was walking along, I came to a stop. The Imperial lay in utter ruin. The whole structure had collapsed. The dance floor was deeply buried in dirt.

  I stood there staring. I had to go on, but my feet wouldn’t move. I turned back instead. As I turned back, my eye fell on the tawny cat. It was dusk, and she was wandering around near the dirt-covered dance floor like a shadow. How dirty and scrawny she looked!

  “Mice! Are you back again?” Afzal saw the group together again, and was astonished.

  “We didn’t go anywhere,” Salamat and Ajmal said together.

  “Salamat!” Afzal addressed himself to Salamat: “That scholarship you were going to get for America, what happened to it? I thought you’d be there by now.”

  “America!” Salamat said scornfully. “You know I’m anti-American! They offered me the scholarship, but I rejected it.”

  Irfan, watching Salamat, smiled without saying a word.

  “Mouse! Why are you laughing?”

  “It’s nothing. I won’t say a word.” Irfan brought his smile under control, and assumed a grave expression. Salamat looked at him angrily, but remained silent.

  “And you, Ajmal?”

  “Me?” Ajmal announced with extreme seriousness, “I couldn’t reconcile myself with the Ayub dictatorship. I quit.”

  “Or were thrown out?” Afzal again looked meaningfully at Irfan.

  “My lips are sealed,” Irfan said, with a small smile.

  Irfan too had begun to be seen again in the Shiraz. After slaving away all day and all night on the newspaper, he had eventually found ways to wrap up his work and escape from the office.

  One by one all my friends came back, but the vanished days never came back.

  FIVE

  THE CITY was now under the spell of a new slogan. The grip of the old slogans had loosened, although the posters promoting them were still up; in the same way all insults, all accusations, were written on the walls. No amount of sun or rain had done them any harm. Still, their mood, their language had gone stale. Looking at the walls, he was surprised at how quickly slogans went stale. A new slogan came like a whirlwind, and spread rapidly over walls, cars, blackboards. “Crush India,” “Crush India,” in every house one subject, in every gathering one topic—war, war, war. One single question followed him around, in and out of the house, everywhere: will there be war?

  “Maulana Sahib! A letter has come from my Karamat. Nowadays he’s posted in Dhaka.”

  “What does he write? He’s well, isn’t he?”

  “He’s all right, but it seems from his letter that he’s somewhat worried.”

  “Nowadays, who isn’t?”

  “Yes, that’s true, conditions are getting worse and worse with every passing day.” Khvajah Sahib then addressed him: “Isn’t it so, Zakir my son?”

  “Yes sir, conditions are not at all good.”

  “What’s the news?”

  “News? There’s no special news.”

  “Maulana Sahib!” Khvajah Sahib addressed Abba Jan. “What’s come over our sons? They wander around so much, but if you ask them for the news, they say there’s no news! When I ask Salamat, he always tells me the same news: that the revolution is coming. I said to him, ‘Son, revolution isn’t coming, war is coming.’ He answered, ‘Yes, and revolution is coming with it.’ I said, ‘Wretch, don’t you see what’s happening in East Pakistan?’ And what answer does he give me? ‘East Pakistan is
being liberated.’ I said, ‘Get out of my house, bastard son!’”

  “May God have mercy upon us,” Abba Jan said briefly, and put the mouthpiece of the huqqah in his mouth.

  “Yes, may God have mercy, conditions are very bad. Why, just this morning, when I had offered my prayers and was coming back, I saw army cars heading toward the border-crossing point at Wagah. There were a lot of them.” He paused, then addressed Zakir: “Son, what do you think, will there be war?”

  “What do you think?” He sent the question back to him.

  When the question came his way, Khvajah Sahib sent it over toward Abba Jan. “Maulana Sahib, please answer your son’s question.”

  Abba Jan continued to smoke his huqqah in silence. But Khvajah Sahib kept looking at him. Finally he took the mouthpiece out of his mouth, slid the huqqah toward Khvajah Sahib, and addressed Zakir: “Son, you’re the one who understands political affairs. I only know one thing: I tell you that when the masters are cruel and the sons are rebellious, any disaster at all can befall the Lord’s creatures.”

  “When the masters are cruel—” he hesitated, “when the masters are cruel, and the people lick the dust.” Abba Jan’s long-forgotten words echoed in his mind.

  “You’re entirely right.” Khvajah Sahib’s head was bowed.

  Seeing that both his elders were silent, he gratefully seized the opportunity and slipped away.

  At Nazira’s shop too, this was the topic of conversation. Handing him a pack of cigarettes, Nazira asked, “Zakir Sahib, sir! What do you think, will there be war?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, sir, but people are saying.”

  Karim Bakhsh, who had planted himself on a stool nearby, announced confidently, “War, sir, is bound to take place.”

  “Karim Bakhsh! How do you know?”

  “I offer the dawn prayer, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Offer it, then you’ll know. In the evening, you can’t tell anything from the sky, there’s too much noise. At that time it’s mute. Get up at dawn and see, at that hour the sky speaks. Lately a comet has appeared.”