A Pair of Jeans and other stories (3 page)

Having come this far, Noor was not in a mood to flaunt her class and cultural differences and her innate pride. In fact, she found it irksome and was very much aware of the havoc her arrival had created. She whispered gently to Kaniz, as she stood in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by women, of all ages, sitting on rugs on the ground – all temporary struck dumb. She didn’t want any fussing.

“
Assalama-Alaikum
. I have come to pay my respect and offer condolences on the death of your beloved son.” She offered, before quickly whispering “Listen, it doesn’t matter where I sit, but not here in the courtyard.” She wanted to get away from the crowd of gaping women and the claustrophobic smallness of the surroundings.

“Yes, yes, of course!”

Kaniz quickly led her to her
bethak
, the lounge, blushing, hurrying to dust the sofa for the Chaudharani. The sofa was always reserved for very special guests. And who could be more important than their young utterly beautiful Chaudharani – she was their Benazir Bhutto.

With her beautiful manicured hand she gracefully slipped off her chiffon overcoat and sat down. She was wearing a shalwar kameez in subdued colours which, as with everything she wore, seemed to etch and show off the contours of her body.

Squatting on a small footstool, with her daughter hovering shyly beside her, Kaniz welcomed the young landowner’s wife. Bilkees stayed outside; it was her opportunity to meet up with and gossip with some of the village women. They talked about Younis. What a tragedy it was for him and his family. He had so much going for him. It wasn’t fair for somebody so young, their only son, with so much potential to die – just like that.

“Yes, Chaudharani Sahaba, he was our future. He was all we had. Apart from the land we own here, we have nothing.” Kaniz was openly weeping, sniffing in the folds of head shawl. At the back of her mind she noted the dazzling green of the Chaudharani’s eyes as they shone with unshed tears. Her chest bowed with pride. The landowner’s wife was shedding tears for her son. Gratified, she swallowed in the sight. Her son had labelled her as a ‘proud haughty bitch’ and now she was shedding tears for him. “He was our means of livelihood. We had invested our futures in his education. He was going to graduate this year, and then get a job in the city, and we were going to live in Lahore. Now we have nothing! No son. No livelihood. No future. Not even the documents for the land. Our son said that we should ask for them, but we were always embarrassed to do so.”

“Who has your documents?”

“Our
Zemindar
, your husband”, Kaniz stuttered after a short pause.

“Oh!” Taken aback, Noor averted her gaze from Kaniz. In her mind, images of her husband’s plans leapt back, the solicitor’s visit and the documents she had ripped up. Knowing what her husband had been planning, she was troubled to learn that he had their land documents. She wanted to find out as much as she could, without arousing Kaniz’s curiosity or animosity.

“How long has my husband had those documents?”

Kaniz was lost in thought, she hadn’t expected this question. “Oh, a very long time; and before him, his father had them. It is a village tradition to keep them safe in the Zemindar’s safe. Most of us have never owned such a safe, and there is always a fear of them being destroyed or stolen.”

“I see”, answered Noor, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

With decades of maturity behind her, Kaniz had noticed the mistress’s unease and decided to speak more boldly to Noor, even though she feared offending her.

“My son told us that perhaps the
Zemindar
might not wish to return them to us, especially if he was interested in buying the land himself. Most of the villagers had always been afraid of that possibility. The land means so much to us… Our lives are entwined with that land… We eat from it. Yet if ever the
Zemindar
wanted to buy the land, we couldn’t refuse him. He is always so good to us; how could we refuse him – it is unthinkable.” She paused, scanning the landowner’s wife’s face. The latter was looking down. “Yet without the land we have no future, especially now that we have lost Younis.” Kaniz’s eyes swelled with tears, and she drew the fold of her head shawl to wipe her eyes again.

Noor sat awkwardly on her hostess’s sofa and held out her hand to her; it was a spontaneous movement borne out of human empathy and concern. Kaniz took it, holding onto the beautiful hand and drawing comfort from the contact with the Chaudharani and reaching forward. It was a novel experience to hold her delicate hand, a hand so soft and smooth. It was worrying to that her own chapped hands might chafe the soft skin of the other woman’s. For her hand had never done any form of physical work. Did such hands actually exist?

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll get the documents returned to you – you have my word on it. My husband has so much land already, why would he want yours? He even inherited some from my parents as part of my dowry, when we were married two years ago.” Noor smiled at her hostess, attempting to reassure her.

“Oh, I think that would make us all feel much better.” Kaniz beamed back. “Do you know, Chaudharani Sahaba, I hope you are not offended by what I am saying, but some people were afraid of losing their land.” Her eyes suddenly dipped. “They couldn’t see any reason for the dinners, and felt that by going to them, they were being put into a position where they were obliged to sell him their land.”

Noor coloured in surprise as to how much of her husband’s intentions and plans had become known to the villagers. Noor felt that she must reassure them. Did her husband think they were all blind to his devious plans?

“Oh dear, no! I am not offended. I can assure you that my husband will do no such thing.” She responded with a tone rising to lofty heights. “He is just trying to act his role of
Zemindar
. You should not be afraid of his generosity and hospitality – there are no strings attached. I can assure you.” Now she stared into her hostess’s eyes with a challenging look. In her head, she just hoped that her husband had, by now, changed his mind.

“I must be going. You have other guests to attend to.” She politely informed – ready to leave. It was then that a four year old girl bounded into the room and saw Noor. She dashed towards her and embraced her body. Noor stood frozen as she looked at the young child. The humanity asserted itself as she looked down at the child on the floor and swung her into her arms and hugged her against her chest. It was at that moment that the girl’s mother stepped into the room. Seeing her daughter in a tight embrace with the with the Chaudharani brought immediate tears to her eyes, Three other women peered over the woman’s shoulders too and glimpsed this rare sight.

Noor was oblivious to the reaction around. All she knew was that she wanted to go on hugging the child against her body. It felt so good. At the back of her mind the words tapped “I want a child of my own.” Her husband had been pressurising her – but she had resisted so far. Now she knew – she needed the maternal fulfilment of a baby in her arms and against her breast.

The seconds ticked away, everyone watched as the Chaudharani held on to the four year-old in her arms. “Please don’t go yet!” Kaniz asked gently but boldly. “Have something to eat.” Noor looked at her hostess above the child’s face, unsure of herself.

“You must have something to eat – it is only
saag
, spinach, I’m afraid, but you are most welcome to join us. “Kaniz offered tentatively, desperately hoping, yet knowing that the landowner’s wife would politely decline.

Noor stared into Kaniz’s eyes and read the appeal and the message in them accurately and the human appeal for equality. Noor capitulated, stepping out of the armour of her class, material wealth and background that divided her from these women. She gently lifted the child back to its mother, as she smiled at her hostess. “Yes, I will stay for a little longer and taste your
saag
. I love the village
saag
.”

Kaniz sat back in surprise, for that wasn’t the answer that she and the other women, hovering about, had expected. A ripple of whispering went through the women that the landowner’s wife was going to eat with them.

She quickly beckoned her daughter, who was also taken aback, and gave her some instructions. They had never dreamed that the Chaudharani would have something to eat in their home. There was a scuffle to get the best china to serve to their honoured and unexpected guest. A table was pulled aside and a lock was opened. Kaniz’s face glowed in disbelief and pleasure to think that the Chaudharani Sahaba was actually going to taste her
saag
. Noor sat down and watched the proceedings calmly. She knew that she had bestowed an honour by accepting their offer, but she didn’t want them to go to any trouble as she watched their movements to serve her. She didn’t quite know why she felt like that, as normally she would have expected it and took delight in all the pomp and ceremony relating to an occasion. But not today, for she felt guilty for causing them trouble. If anything, now she felt a little embarrassed by it all.

Kaniz’s teenage daughter, Miriam, shyly placed things in front of their elegant, beautiful and very special guest. Mother and daughter couldn’t take their eyes off her. They were full of adoration – for they wanted to hold onto this moment for eternity. They only felt embarrassed that they could only offer her such a humble dish. Noor was touched and heartened by their warmth and hospitality, and she smiled sincerely from her heart and felt deeply happy in herself. Bilkees, who had stayed out in the small corridor, also couldn’t believe her eyes, when she came in and saw her mistress eating. A special three-course dinner had been prepared in the
hevali
, as Noor’s parents were coming to visit her and she should be eating with them. Instead, she was quietly ploughing her way through the humble village spinach, the food that most of the villagers ate twice a week.

If she had entered without pomp and ceremony – she left with both, as well as leaving a happy, cheering audience behind. Seven chattering women, trailing behind, accompanied her all the way back to the
hevali
, looking after her and guiding her, making sure that she reached her home in safety, and with her elegant sandals didn’t trip on any of the stones on the cobbled lane. They were riding on the high tide of the occasion and gratified to be in her company, each vying for attention, each one wanting to say something personal to her but lacking the courage. What could a simple villager talk about to a Chaudharani – everything and yet nothing. Her higher station in life forestalled natural discourse between them.

On reaching the
hevali
, Noor kindly and politely thanked them for their company and sweetly said her goodbyes. She disappeared, with Bilkees, through the lamplit gates of the
hevali
. The women turned back down to the village, now freely chattering amongst themselves, still overwhelmed by her charismatic personality. They all agreed on one thing, that the
Zemindar’s
wife seemed a kind person, with a warm heart and understanding personality. At least Kaniz now thought so. She was so unlike the person that they had first met.

Noor, too, had undergone a unique experience. She had enjoyed her visit and learned a lot from it. In her heart, she knew that she wouldn’t think twice about visiting them again, even if her husband forbade it. Above all, she felt as if she had matured, as a woman and a human being. She would now fulfil her husband’s wish for a child – for she ached for it too.

After she had entertained her parents, she returned to the subject of the visit. She knew one thing, she thought as she cleansed her face in the mirror and brushed the long tresses of her hair. She wouldn’t let her husband buy their land. “Over my dead body” she thought. Her beautiful mouth twisted cynically. She smiled into the mirror – the villagers weren’t the simpletons, her husband took them for. In fact, if anybody, it was her husband who was the simpleton. They had seen straight into his drama and they weren’t going to part with their land, for all the dinners he was offering them!

It was
Eid-Ul-Fitr
, the first Muslim festival that the village was celebrating and the one everybody looked forward to – especially the young women. As had become the custom, the
Zemindar
gave each daughter from every household in the village a present. Normally it consisted of fabrics, for
shalwar kameez
suits. This time the Chaudharani had taken this task onto herself and with a relish. She had carefully chosen the materials; she had ordered rolls of fabric.

Since her last visit down to the village, she had made three other visits. On each occasion it was a death that had prompted her visit. It was the cue for her to mingle with them; social barriers and her husband’s etiquette still prevented her from mixing with them all the time. During those three visits, she got to know some of the younger women and took a liking to one in particular, because she was well educated and intelligent. She refrained however from inviting her to the
hevali
although she wanted to, but it would be showing favouritism. She didn’t want that at all. She did, however, send some magazines and two novels down to her. The woman had been truly gratified.

On the morning of the Eid, the daughters, accompanied by their mothers had been called to the
hevali
to receive their presents. They were all assembled in the large drawing room. They were especially honoured to be allowed to come into such a room, with wall-to-wall carpeting. All barefooted, they were afraid to tread on the soft carpet pile in the large airy room, not wanting to crush or soil it. Normally they received their gifts in the large courtyard or out on the verandas. This time, the Chaudharani had insisted that Bilkees should open up the drawing room for their guests. Her woman helper’s eyes had widened.

“Why do we have rooms, if we are not to use them, Bilkees?” Noor waspishly reminded her.

“But Chaudharani-ji, do you know what will happen to the carpet? What if they spill anything on it? And their feet – half of them will be coated with dust!”