by Siya Turabi
‘They’re migratory birds,’ Zain said.
Only the geese objected to their presence and a flock burst screeching into the air.
‘That’s what they always do,’ Amina said.
They stopped at a large pond laced with white lilies and rimmed with golden-brown rushes which was about a hundred metres away from the house, a one-storey building with a flat roof.
‘Buck deer,’ Zain said, pointing at a herd with curly horns and white bellies and legs that was drinking from the pond on the other side. The deer looked up but stayed where they were.
‘Yes, I know them,’ Hassan said.
A pheasant-like bird danced over to them.
‘A jacana,’ Amina said. ‘They walk on lilies. He might do it now.’
They waited but nothing changed.
‘Let’s have a camel ride,’ Zain said.
Hassan preferred the bumpy ride on the camel’s back around the house to being in the jeep, but Maryam was groaning.
‘That’s enough,’ she said, holding onto the hump of the camel.
After a couple of circuits, Amina said, ‘Tea on the roof. Go up, we’ll sort it out.’
Hassan followed Maryam up the stairs and onto the roof where there were four chairs and a table. It must have been around seven o’clock; the sun had not yet set. Hassan was used to being alone with her by now but somehow it felt strange. They sat down. Their seats faced each other but he moved his so that it was alongside hers and they both looked out onto the jungle. There was enough noise from the birds to allow them to sit in silence for a minute or so. It started with one or two butterflies and then a few more came until there was a shower of butterflies that flew all around them. Dozens of white butterflies.
‘Where did they come from?’ Hassan asked.
‘It’s a sign,’ Maryam said to Hassan, her voice quiet.
‘Of what?’
‘You tell me,’ she said.
‘That we still need to talk about time,’ he said.
She laughed.
‘How can time be the ruler?’ he asked.
‘“How?” the lover asked, tired that she had just resigned herself to watching his nails and hair curl and twist,’ Maryam replied.
‘Until the day they stopped growing,’ Hassan said.
‘Because he died?’ she asked.
‘No, because she did nothing but watch him in the bubble of now. And her fear diminished until there were no more words for her or him to paint the scene with.’
‘Was that enough to make time stop?’ Maryam asked. ‘For her to simply watch?
Hassan nodded and started to recite:
‘She learnt by listening to what she heard from deep in the oceans.
The wind’s spirals carried a strange language of silence to her ears.
Songs of great sea creatures became clearer as she became truly still.
Sounds arrived at her ears without any sound at all
And joined with the spirals inside her body
To dissolve borders and slow down blood flow,
Until the cycles of moments ending and dying stopped,
And only one moment was left that never stopped expanding.
The two lovers joined together.
Two circles, two dances that merged into one.
One circle and time grown still,
With their love at the centre and all around.’
Maryam clapped. He laughed. The butterflies vanished and all of life was perfect. Her eyes were cat-like now and, to Hassan, she was simply magnificent. This was the right path – with her. It had to be.
‘Have you thought a little about London?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘You could come back during the holidays,’ she said. ‘You could meet the beekeeper regularly and your mother.’
Hassan sat back in his chair. Her words came out fast, breathless. He felt dizzy, as if he had drunk the coconut spirit. Doubt tiptoed in his belly and crawled around his skin, like the ants in the jungle – only these were invisible ants. Even Mir Saab had not managed to have both worlds at the same time, but when Hassan looked at Maryam again and her happy face, he slipped that thought into the drawer of unthinkable thoughts. Service to the bees could be possible. He would make sure of it when he came back in the holidays. He had travelled further than Mir Saab into the hive and he had found the beekeeper. England and the bees, both of them were his destiny.
‘You’ll learn to speak with an accent like mine, Hassan.’
‘Oh no… Maryam, if I did decide that it was the right thing, how would it all work?’
‘My mother could arrange a visa for you.’
‘I have no qualifications. I’m just a kid.’
‘My mother could tell them that you’re studying. She would pay for your life there. You wouldn’t have to do anything while you study.’
Maryam was speaking fast. Her eyes were dancing. She could see the plan working and he smiled.
‘Why would your mother do that for me? Why would she let me live with you? She doesn’t even know me.’
‘It wouldn’t be a problem. She’d be happy that she could provide someone from the village with…’ She slowed down now and looked at him. ‘An education.’
Hassan looked upwards and shook his head. This would never end. He would always be an object of charity.
‘Hassan, I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s all right.’
‘I just want you to come back with me. I like you. I want you to live with me – as a brother.’
‘Once you’ve gone, you’ll forget me.’
‘I’ll never forget you. If there’s a chance that you can come, why not try? My uncle could even write a reference for you. You could get a student visa.’
‘I know so many who would die for this opportunity. But…’
‘I understand. It’s difficult. I’m just being selfish but I can’t help it.’
Hassan took her arm. ‘I do feel the same as you.’
She let him hold her arm. ‘What do you feel, Hassan?’
He felt warm. His hand was trembling. ‘I like you too.’
An owl screeched from deep within the forest – or was it from somewhere inside of him? Was Baba in the forest? Somehow, he could sense his father drawing closer. Perhaps they could sense each other, now that they were nearer again. His heartbeat quickened. A knowingness squeezed through.
Hassan couldn’t wait any longer. It was late, nine o’clock already, and he had run down from the fort in the dark after they got back from Amina’s house. Most people were already at the tent or getting ready to go to there. Faint music greeted him when he knocked on the front door.
‘Amma,’ he called.
No one answered. He pushed the door open. Nothing had changed apart from that there were a few more plates on the shelf and two chairs by the table. No one was in the house.
He went through the back door. His mother had his back to him, and she was sitting on the carpet of bamboo leaves next to a tray full of white roses and an oil lamp. A gramophone stood on a small table in the far corner of the courtyard – a dark wooden box with its brass horn speaker playing Indian classical music. Amma picked up a rose from the tray and threaded it onto the garland on her lap. She finished one garland and placed it on an empty tray. Loose petals fell onto her bare feet.
Something moved in the corner opposite the gramophone, probably a lizard under the leaves. There was no more movement until the bamboo shook again. The leaves lifted, and then stillness. More leaves lifted and the head of a snake peeked out. It was three metres away from his mother and its long body began to slide over the leaves – towards his mother. She had started another garland.
He didn’t think. He just grabbed the broom next to him and lunged forwards. Smash! He brought the broom down on the head of the snake. And again, this time on its body. It went limp.
A rose fell onto the floor out of his mother’s hand.
‘Who is it? What’
s happened?’
They were facing each other.
‘Who’s there?’ she asked again.
He let the broom drop and ran to his mother and they clasped each other, both crying.
‘Your eyes,’ he said, ‘the doctor said two months.’
‘Yes, it’s been quick.’ She put her hands on his shoulders. ‘I can still see you. My eyes are much worse in the dark. You’re blurred but I can see you.’
He put his head on her lap. ‘I should have come back straight away,’ he said, ‘I wanted to find the honey first.’
‘Do you have it?’ Her voice was hopeful.
‘Not yet.’
She nodded and squeezed his hand. ‘You’ll find it.’
‘How do you manage, Amma?’
‘I’m fine. The neighbour’s girl comes every day.’
‘Sami?’
‘Yes, she stays with me after school. She just left.’
‘How is she? Is she all right?’
‘Yes, I give her some money, now that—’ She stopped.
‘And Baba…?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I found the beekeeper and I’ll go again tomorrow.’
The lines on her forehead smoothed out and her lips relaxed. He stood up and pushed the snake onto a bamboo leaf with the brush and took it out of the house. If he had been a minute later… He didn’t want to think about that as he took the snake to the bottom of the street. The dogs and cats would eat it. He came back inside and sat down at her feet. He told her about the forest, about the bees and about the beekeeper.
‘Mir Saab sent the gramophone as a gift when he heard about my eyes,’ she said, ‘just a few days ago.’
That must have been when he had told Mir Saab about her eyes. Amma felt for a rose on the tray and carried on with the garlands. Her remaining eyesight along with her sense of touch worked well together.
He had wanted to tell her about London, ask her what she thought about Maryam’s idea, but instead he said, ‘I missed you.’
‘How was Karachi?’
‘You were right. I learnt a lot there.’
‘And you will continue to learn a lot there. I’m happy you’re settled. Don’t worry about me.’
It was true, she had someone to help her. But her eyes were much worse. It was taking too long with the bees. A restlessness began to creep up his feet and into his legs. He tried to shake it out but it would not leave. It became stronger every time he looked at Amma. He had to find the honey.
They sat mostly in silence as she made the garlands. After an hour, he started to stand up.
‘I’ll be all right, Hassan,’ she said.
She seemed to understand.
‘When are you coming back?’ she asked.
‘Tomorrow.’
Poetry was rising from inside the tent. Mir Saab was ahead, about to go inside with two guards. Hassan went over to the family’s car as Maryam was stepping out and joined her behind Amina and Zain. Ali Noor followed them.
‘How is she?’ Maryam asked him.
‘Her eyes aren’t good.’
‘Will the honey still work?’
‘I hope so,’ he said.
‘Do you want to stay with her, Hassan?’
He had thought of nothing else since seeing his mother but now, when he was with Maryam, he was not sure. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Maryam.’
Inside the tent, they made their way to the side. Around them were distant relatives of Mir Saab as well as his staff and family friends. Maryam started to walk around the women’s side, handing out leaflets. Hassan walked amongst the men, slipping leaflets into raised hands. They were like messenger bees bringing news of the whereabouts of flowers. People took the leaflets and glanced at them and then dropped them to the ground where they sat. Hassan wanted to pick them up and make them look again. Some of the villagers looked at him longer than they did at the leaflets. That’s when he shrank into his own bubble. He wanted to shout and tell them to look away but the priest started speaking and it happened by itself. The priest was the storyteller in this tradition.
The storyteller’s voice was quiet as he began the story of the ancestors who were tricked into leaving their homes. ‘Come and be our advisors,’ the leaders of a neighbouring city had said to them. But once there, with their horses tethered by the river Euphrates, and their tents providing shelter for the women and children, they were left without food and water. After three days, the men were told to come out one by one to fight for water. And one by one, they died. The women and children were made to begin the long journey home on foot. The long hair of the women blew over their faces in the desert winds.
The villagers of Harikaya cried for these women, for their children and also for themselves. Mir Saab had brought them together for these gatherings for this very reason. Hassan understood now. This was about bringing the people together as a community, allowing them to let out the grief that had been carried down through generations and which spread out now, understood by each of them. Hassan thought of his mother and a tear dropped from his face too. What if he was too late? And Baba, where was he?
The sobs grew quieter as the priest finished. The gaps grew bigger between the cries until there was a welcome lull. The villagers rose together for a love that had lasted hundreds of years, a love that touched a place in all of them. Hassan stood with the others. The leaflets lay around on the floor.
A melody broke free over their heads – a voice from the speaker that rose out of the tent through the skies. Their grief was free again and there was a feeling of relief. People clapped their chests.
Perhaps there was still a chance. He’d got this far; the black honey could still work. Mir Saab’s words dropped into his mind: ‘You are the next holder of their secret.’
The humming was in his ears again behind the poetry of melodies around him. He followed Mir Saab and the others outside and looked up at the moon, which was around two-thirds full. He had to find the honey soon.
Maryam had her head turned upwards as they headed back to the jeep.
‘I wish I could see the view more clearly without my glasses,’ she said. ‘Will you give me some of the black honey when you find it?’
‘I will.’
She took off her glasses and looked up again, her eyes growing wider.
‘What do you see without them?’ he asked.
‘Over there I see an eagle emerging out of snowflakes. Yes, I see it clearly now. It has a hooked beak and small eyes that stare straight at me. Its wings are open and it’s about to take off. Don’t you see it?’
He searched for the eagle but Maryam spoke again.
‘And look over there.’ She pointed to the right. ‘I see a mouse, but the eagle is looking the other way.’ A smile was beginning at the corners of her lips. ‘Do you see the roads in the moon?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Mir Saab’s mother was right. Her eyes were beautiful.
‘Look, see those stars.’ She pointed with her arm outstretched. ‘I think they look like a honeycomb.’
A man passed, leading a donkey loaded with bags of fried chickpeas. ‘Channah!’ he was shouting.
Hassan gave him a coin and took a small paper bag. He put a few chickpeas in his mouth. Maryam held out her palm. He put his on hers. It was warm.
‘Channah,’ she said.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mir Saab had his head in his hands when Hassan walked into the hall for breakfast.
‘Why don’t you do something?’ Begum Saab asked.
‘What can I do? The government passed the bill. They’re taking over all charities.’ Mir Saab sat with his arms on his lap.
‘Bills normally take months to pass.’
‘The bad publicity did it. They think I’m a mad eccentric who wants to build an ark.’
‘You must fight them,’ Begum Saab said, in between the prayers that she whispered as she moved her fingers around the beads in her hands.
‘I fought so hard to have th
e factories made into charities. It’ll be hard to reverse that in a hurry.’
‘Try,’ she said.
‘How? Like a lone warrior with a sword? Warriors with weapons have no meaning anymore. They’ve trapped me. I’m losing this battle and for what? A shameful glory for them at the expense of the people.’ Mir Saab glanced at Hassan. ‘The jungle is the only refuge. At least the animals are free. The government will never have that. They’ll never hurt the animals while I’m alive. Nature will always have the final word.’
‘You must fight them. The factories belong to you,’ Hassan said.
Mir Saab looked at him, moving his head slowly. ‘That’s what I used to believe.’ He was thinking hard, his eyes blinking through his glasses. ‘But I’m a steward. That’s what I am, a steward for the people.’
‘Mir Saab,’ Hassan said, ‘I saw my mother.’
But Mir Saab was muttering to himself, lost in his own world. ‘That man, the cook, he wanted money and he sold my soul.’
‘You’ve brought community to this place, Mir Saab. I think the people need more encouragement. Change is difficult when people are scared of what might happen.’
‘Yes,’ Mir Saab was present again. ‘The energy of fear is powerful.’
‘We can’t let it rule our lives. The people have to speak.’
Mir Saab thought for a few moments. ‘I’ll have a conversation with the speaker at the gatherings. He could say something about a peaceful demonstration.’
‘Yes,’ Hassan nodded.
‘That’s what the bees would do,’ Mir Saab said.
‘Yes, the queen passes on the wisdom to the colony.’
He wished he was there now, deep in the wave of her sound. Ancient wisdom passed on an ancient sound.
‘Let’s see,’ Mir Saab said, ‘whether the speaker can pass on wisdom or his own fears.’
The black honeybees were still far away but there was something in the air, a charge that was drawing him close. Like in the temple in Karachi, the force that had pulled him in was at work here in the forest too. Today his steps were lighter, and he reached the watering hole of the vultures more quickly than the previous day.