Authors: Zeenat Mahal
almost relieved that he hadn’t picked up. Then she heard the click and his deep voice resonated
across the line.
“Hussain.”
“Yeah…hi. Sorry to bother you…”
“Shabana, what’s the problem?”
Who the hell was Shabana?
“Shahira,” she said a little testily.
She thought she heard a faint trace of what might have been humor in his voice when he said,
“Sorry. You were saying?”
“There’s a situation here…”
“Is Natasha okay? Ami?”
With forced patience, she intoned, “If you allow me to finish, you’ll get there quicker and save
yourself time to make even more money.”
Silence.
Then in a crisp, cutting voice, “I’m listening. Please go on.”
“I’m afraid Aunty Salma is on a crusade to make you come home. She even faked a heart attack
two days ago and she would’ve called you, but I got to her first and handled the situation. Now, I’m
sure you agree that our…contract is working just fine for the two of us. You coming here will just
complicate matters. I think the best solution is for you to come over for a night or two. You could
leave, maybe, the next day or evening. You won’t have to come again too soon after that, I’d say.”
She paused, admiring her perfectly conceived plan. Yes, it could easily work. Aunty would no
longer chafe at his continued absence. Maybe she’d even believe Shahira was pregnant after the night
of revelry and sexual orgy that she seemed to think Hussain owed her. As she shuddered with
revulsion at the prospect, she realized that there was complete silence on the other end.
“Er…Hello?”
Outraged, he said, “Am I to understand that you want me to come home, but I’m not welcome
in my
own house
for more than a night?”
How to play it? Men were so…volatile. Especially when they’d stumbled on to the truth and didn’t
like it. Because that was exactly what she’d meant.
“Not at all, you misunderstand me. Of course, this is your home. You can come and go as you
please. Who am I to interfere? I was merely trying to avoid the problems that could occur should you
make an extended visit.”
Yeah, that should do it. No matter how old they were and how much money they made, self-
preservation always came first with men.
“Like what?” he asked, sounding wary.
“Well, for instance, Aunty will want a
Valima
reception for your family and friends if you stayed
for more than two days.”
“Good gracious! Are you…yes, you’re right. She absolutely would.”
Shahira stifled her mirth.
Good gracious
? Who spoke like that?
“She has an
achkan
ready for just such a day. It’s white, with gold
dabka
and has a matching
kulla
…” She was warming up to her theme but he interrupted, his voice held a faint trace of panic.
“I get the picture. I’ll take a day off as soon as I can. Thanks for the heads up.”
“That’s my job. Bye.”
Sighing happily, she went to take a long, scented bath in her huge marbled bathroom—she was
living the life, wasn’t she? She sobered at the thought. Yes, she was living her ideal life and she
prayed nothing would ever change.
* * *
At the other end of the world, Hussain thought that his wife of convenience worked entirely too
hard to ensure he wouldn’t have to come home, or stay long if he did. Not only had she not wanted
him to come, she’d cleverly manipulated the situation so that he was now actually afraid to go home,
even more than usual.
There was something intriguing about her voice though, that niggled at him. There was nothing
extraordinary about it, except for the undertones of a vast grief and that schoolmarm tone that
overrode every other nuance. Or was it his mother’s doing? Shahira this and Shahira that, so that he’d
had to reduce his calls even further to avoid the heavy doses of brain washing. He was afraid it might
end up having the effect his mother wanted. Why else would he still be thinking about her?
Natasha was really fond of Shahira too. She wouldn’t be able to survive without her now. So was
this a clever manipulator or the genuine article? She’d learnt her lessons the hard way and she was a
survivor, she would’ve had to be, to have accepted his contract and the terms and conditions that went
with it. He’d been having a really bad day. What a stroke of luck that he’d decided to give the
manipulative schoolteacher a piece of his mind.
She’d returned the favor of course.
It was an ideal marriage so far. Initially, he’d been just a little bit afraid that she’d start whining
and calling him, trying to behave like a real wife to get him into her clutches. It hadn’t happened. She
hadn’t even tried to contact him before that night. She really had made a business deal and nothing
more.
What a relief.
The woman was a good employee and wanted to make sure he got what he wanted—and had paid
for. Excellent.
≈
THREE
Hussain booked a flight for Lahore the next day and arrived home late that night. He’d informed his
mother earlier of his forthcoming visit and left a voicemail for his wife. His mother, as he’d expected,
was still up when he arrived and he was glad to see that she looked healthy and happy. His filial love
turned to irritation however, when she insisted that he go up at once to his new wife, as if he were a
twenty-something bridegroom.
Further annoyed that his wife was behaving like a shy bride and was nowhere to be seen, he took
leave of his mother, with a smile fixed on his face. He tried to hide his ire. Where the hell was she?
She should’ve been there to make sure his mother’s suspicions were put to rest. Wasn’t that the whole
purpose of the exercise?
He went up to his daughter’s room. Natasha was the spitting image of her mother, a fact that made
it hard for him to not think of the woman every time he looked at her. Sometimes he wished there was
something of him that he were able to see in her, something that would reassure him that she was
actually his. He supposed a DNA test would do that but he couldn’t imagine what he’d do if she
wasn’t.
The familiar old rancor gurgled in his throat and rose in his mouth, bitter and harsh, leaving him
resentful and angry. As he cautiously opened the door to Natasha’s room, he felt a strange tug at his
heart. What an unfortunate child to have lost a mother because she couldn’t keep her legs crossed long
enough and a father who didn’t believe she was his biological daughter.
Natasha was waiting for him, wearing a bright smile, her eyes shining.
“
Abba
!” she cried and hurled herself into his arms.
“Hello, princess!” he hugged her. Holding her close, he felt all his bitterness seep away and a deep
calm settle over him.
“Why are you still up?” He picked her up in his arms and smiling into her face, asked, “Missed
me?”
That was unnecessary and he totally knew the answer but it was always nice to hear.
“So, so, so, so much! Have you met Mom?”
Usually, Natasha would go into long declarations of how much she’d missed him and how much
she loved him. Tonight, though, she had other business on her mind.
“Mom?” he asked skeptically.
She giggled.
“She said if I called her Ami, she felt like her aunt, who is huge and extremely annoying and if I
called her Mama, it made her sound like one of the Barbie doll mothers who come to school to show
off their latest purchases. And if I called her…”
“So what does she think Mom sounds like?”
“She said it sounded like her, practical and capable.”
“Hmmm. Are you happy with…Mom?”
“Yesss! So much! I love her.” She looked at him shyly, as if she was waiting for something. And
Hussain realized he hadn’t bought anything for her this time.
“Hey, I didn’t get you anything this time. I was in such a hurry. I’ll buy you something from here.”
She looked disappointed.
“I’m sorry,
Toat Batoat
, I was in a hurry…”
“It’s not that.”
She sounded miserable.
“What is it? Did she do anything to hurt you?” he asked ominously.
His daughter shook her head looking at him reproachfully for suggesting something so ridiculous.
“Didn’t you notice anything different about
me
?”
Hussain looked again, trying to appear thoughtful, feeling the pressure only a male can feel because
he has no idea what he’s supposed to notice about the female in question. What was it? Her hair?
Perhaps she did look different, but he couldn’t say what it was.
“I’ve lost fifteen pounds!”
She sounded tearful.
“Wow! Of course I noticed. I was just teasing you.”
Lame, but it would have to do. She brightened a little. “Mom banned all fast food and sweets for
four months, even for Shahaan and herself to support me. She taught me how to speak out and how to
stand up for myself. We even got matching outfits, just like Katie Holmes and Suri Cruise.”
He laughed.
“Okay, so you’re happy…”
He sighed heavily, feeling relief and a strange new lightness in his heart.
“Time for bed,
Toat Batoat
.”
She giggled. He always used to call her that but only recently had she found out who that was, an
ancient character in an Urdu storybook series. Mom had told her the stories.
“Did you meet Shahaan? He asks me a lot about you. I think he wants a father, just like I wanted a
mother.”
He had to play this cautiously. He didn’t want to give any false hopes to anyone.
“I haven’t met him yet, he’s probably asleep. Maybe you can introduce us tomorrow?”
He smiled and kissed her again. “Go to sleep now.”
“How long are you staying? You’re not going too soon, are you?” A fearful note had crept into her
voice.
“I’m leaving tomorrow, I have some work. But I’ll be back again, soon.”
He didn’t mean it, and she knew it. He was doing the best he could and anyone who expected more
was just kidding themselves. He waited for her to doze off and only then did he seek the comfort of
his room. It had an adjoining door that led to his wife’s bedroom. Rutaba had insisted on a separate
room and he’d obliged. Later, when he found out about her indiscretions, he’d been grateful for it and
had kept the door locked. Out of curiosity he tried the handle. It was firmly sealed. He looked at it
thoughtfully for a moment and then went to bed.
* * *
It seemed as if he’d only just closed his eyes when a shrill excited voice yelled in his ear, “
Abba
!”
He groaned and tried to cover his head with a pillow, but to no avail. “
Abba
! Wake up, please!”
The voice had assumed the velocity of military proportions.
He obliged unwillingly.
“
Toat Batoat
…” he tried to smile as he looked at her, his eyes squinting against the shaft of bright
sunlight now coming through the window. Then he noticed the little boy with solemn brown eyes who
was regarding him steadily.
“Hello.”
He smiled at the boy.
Natasha piped up.
“This is Shahaan, my little brother.”
The boy’s head whipped sideways. “I am not
little
. I’m eight years old,” he said firmly.
Then the solemn eyes were back on him. Hussain wasn’t sure what was expected of him, but he
knew enough about boys to not laugh like he wanted to. He offered his hand.
Smiling shyly, Shahaan took it. Apparently he’d passed some sort of test. Shifting closer to Natasha
the boy whispered, “He’s cool.”
Hussain bit back his smile again. They were talking about him as if he were deaf or invisible.
Natasha said archly, “I told you he was.”
Shahaan nodded. After thinking for a minute he added, “Mom’s cooler.”
Remembering Hussain’s presence in this moment of blatant betrayal, Shahaan gave him an
awkward glance.
Laughing, Hussain said, “Aren’t they always?”
The boy gave him another shy smile.
“Okay, you two. Off you go to school.”
“Will you be here when we get back?” Natasha asked and Hussain was glad he could say yes.
“Yes, I’ll be here. My flight’s at seven in the evening. So when you get back we can have a nice
chat. Okay?”
Natasha jumped with joy and he hugged her. After a moment, he opened his other arm for Shahaan
and said in a complaining tone, “Come on pal. Girls like to do this kind of thing and we men…we just
have to suffer.”
Natasha punched him in the stomach and he laughed. But he kept his eyes on the boy. Unsure and
awkward, he stood unmoving till Hussain smiled at him again. Then he came forward reluctantly, and
allowed himself to be included in the embrace, but once there, he was the last to step back. Hussain
noted the forlorn expression on the boy’s face as he let go of him. The boy seemed to miss his father,
and he wondered about the circumstances of Shahira’s divorce. He knew nothing about her besides
what his mother had told him.
“Natasha, Shahaan, I’m waiting!”
The schoolmarm was calling from downstairs, heedless of the fact that her husband and employer