Authors: Zeenat Mahal
intimate details with others but apparently they did. It was another thing to be competitive about. How
many times? Whose husband was the most insatiable; apparently that woman was the luckiest. She
shuddered.
Trying to put on a flirtatious tone, she said, “Well, it was…amazing. Absolutely earth-shattering.”
She’d read that somewhere.
Nudrat sounded skeptical. “Give me details,” she said.
“Er…I have to go now, Aunty’s calling me. Talk to you later, okay? Bye.”
She disconnected the phone.
Nudrat sat in her bedroom, the phone still in her hand. With a smirk, she said to no one in
particular, “He didn’t touch you, did he? The little brown sparrow from nowhere.”
She laughed in delight at her surmise.
Nasir, her husband, had been married to someone else when she’d met him. It hadn’t taken Nudrat
long to get rid of the wife and move into his house and his life. And it hadn’t taken him long to find a
new mistress. Only Nudrat wasn’t going anywhere. Nasir’s money was the only attraction, and all the
security, she had ever needed. She’d done what she had to, to get it.
She and Rutaba had been like two peas in a pod. Hussain was a traditionalist, raised with those
ancient ideas of morality that revolved around women not doing what men did. Why should a wife be
faithful if her husband wasn’t? But in Rutaba’s case, her husband
had
been faithful while Rutaba had
been a greedy, spoilt little rich girl, wanting everything that didn’t belong to her.
So while she was sleeping with everyone else’s husbands, Nudrat had been there for Hussain. At
first, she hadn’t told him about Rutaba’s infidelities; she’d made sure he trusted her first, spinning
made-up stories of Nasir abusing her. Like all good men, Hussain was a sucker for a woman in
distress.
Then, like a good friend, she’d told him about Rutaba, crying for him while doing so. He’d been
devastated. After the horrible accident that killed Rutaba, who else could he turn to in his pain but
her? She had given him all the comfort he needed.
She smiled as she remembered those few months after that when Hussain hadn’t known what to do,
or what had struck his perfect life and driven it straight into chaos. To her shock and anger, he’d
extricated himself out of their affair too soon, and made his business his entire life.
Nudrat was determined to get him back and the little sparrow would be old news soon enough.
* * *
Hussain was not at all happy.
He did not want to attend weddings and be a part of a life he had left far behind. He’d created a
comfortable set-up that worked for him and his family, but his mother was determined to play fairy
godmother to Shahira’s Cinderella. Only, his mother hadn’t got the memo about Shahira actually being
the wicked witch.
Almost at once, he admitted to himself that he was being unfair to her. She was extremely good to
both the people he’d hired her to take care of. She just rubbed
him
the wrong way.
Deciding that he wasn’t going to stay out of his own house just because of an employee, he elected
to come home for the blasted wedding his mother was insisting he attend. And
she
was nothing more
than that. An employee, whom he could and would ignore, no matter how attractive or intriguing she
may be.
Impulsively, he flew back without informing them, thinking to surprise Natasha. As he got closer to
his home, he saw it was lit with fairy lights with a marquee set up on the lawn. What was going on?
He could hear loud music, laughter, children—he hadn’t seen this kind of family gathering in ages.
He entered the marquee from the back, trying not to create the commotion he knew his arrival was
sure to cause. A group of girls and boys were dancing and he smiled. Some things never changed.
Nostalgically, he recalled his own flirtations with girls he’d danced with in his youth.
He caught a glimpse of Natasha amongst the dancers. She looked thrilled. He laughed to himself,
seeing the open pleasure on her face. He caught a glimpse of the slim girl she was dancing with and
realized it was none other than his dear judgmental wife, or employee, if one wanted to be technical.
She was light on her feet, a natural, moving effortlessly. A smile played on her lips and…had her
hair been this long? His eyes roved over her body. He didn’t remember her looking this delectable.
People started to notice him, and stopped him to greet him. He chatted with easy familiarity to people
he hadn’t seen in ages. It seemed that the years vanished as they talked, bridging time. This was
family, and he realized with a pang that he’d missed out on a lot with his self-imposed exile.
All the while, he was moving forward, his eyes kept homing in on Shahira. He still couldn’t
believe it was her. There she was, laughing, holding hands with a young man who was grinning from
ear to ear and couldn’t take his eyes off her. He understood then why he hadn’t recognized her at first.
It was because she was happy and relaxed and flirting. All he’d seen of her was her stiff upper lip,
self-righteous mode.
He stopped to talk again with another relative, firmly averting his gaze from the dance floor.
“Hussain!” he heard his mother exclaim excitedly as she spotted him.
He ambled over to her and hugged her. It just so happened that she was right in front of the dance
floor, probably so that she could watch her beloved Shahira dance. His mother’s yell had been loud
and now he was standing right in front of the dance floor. But did that stop Shahira from spinning
around? Not at all. The schoolteacher paid absolutely no attention to him and was busy keeping in
step with…was that Ali Shahid’s son? How time flies, he thought bemused. Ali had been extremely
good-looking and so was his son. The grinning idiot was probably flirting with Shahira to his heart’s
content. For some strange reason, he felt irritated.
Salma had been observing her son long before she’d called out to him. Noting with delight that his
gaze returned repeatedly to Shahira. He was definitely interested she could tell, but being a man, he
was also upset that instead of pining away for him she was actually having a good time. And now he
was staring at the poor girl like a stern father.
She diverted his attention. “Hussain, what a surprise! Why didn’t you tell us? So happy you could
make it.”
The evening passed quickly—too quickly for Hussain. He hardly got time to meet everyone
properly and Amidst all the food and chatter, he forgot how tired he was and just enjoyed himself.
The last guest finally departed at three in the morning. His mother and the kids had gone to bed much
earlier. Only Shahira, playing the gracious hostess, smiling, still tempting, was there with him.
As the last car drove away, he turned to her and said lightly, “You’re more popular with my family
than I am.”
She laughed. It was a pretty sound, soft and light. He smiled.
“You seem to have taken on much more than you’d bargained for,” he said quietly, referring to their
arrangement. Like a flower closing its petals, all the softness and light-heartedness vanished,
replaced by the mask he’d seen on his last visit.
She replied coolly, “I hope you don’t mind. I wasn’t trying to make inroads into your family or
anything. It’s just that Aunty can’t arrange these things.”
He held up his hand, “I didn’t mean anything of the sort. I was paying you a compliment. Or at least
that was the intention.”
Why was she so prickly?
She looked surprised, then suspicious.
“Oh.” With that profound observation, she quickened her pace and walked away from him as fast
as she could.
Well, one thing was for sure, he thought wryly, his wife of convenience couldn’t get away from him
fast enough. Her aversion was reserved only for him apparently. She’d been friendly enough with
other men of all ages and doubtful hygiene.
Hussain decided that this time he would stay home for as long as he wanted it
was
his house after
all, and she was his employee.
≈
SIX
Shahira’s pleasure in her beautiful clothes and the wedding revelry was much diminished because of
Hussain’s presence. She had to be careful to behave like an employee around him and not appear to
be having too much fun. She’d learned that lesson from Usman, who’d disliked her smiling too much,
or wearing nice clothes, even if he hadn’t paid for them.
She recalled his long lectures on how she wasted money. Once she’d made the mistake of saying
that her parents had paid for the clothes. For three days, Usman, his mother and his entire family had
berated her, saying her parents couldn’t afford anything and if they could why was she a burden on
them? Why couldn’t she bring some of that money her parents seem to have so much of to support her
husband and his family? Then had come the other permanent taunt—she was ungrateful; they fed her
and clothed her, even though Usman had never once bought anything for her, and yet she couldn’t be a
good wife and daughter-in-law. That incident had taught her never to explain or complain. She would
always be wrong. She’d never be good enough. Period.
“Hi.”
Nudrat did a quick once-over and her eyes flickered uncertainly. If Shahira or any of their other
friends looked exceptionally good, this strange expression flickered across Nudrat’s face and Shahira
recognized it.
“Hi, Nudrat. I’m so glad you could come,” she said smiling. It must be such a burden being in
competition with other women all the time. She didn’t understand it at all.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Nudrat said, sounding sincere. “So, what’s the occasion?”
“Aunty’s cousin’s daughter is getting married and she wanted to have another
dholak
for her. You
missed the first one, remember?”
Nudrat smiled and nodded, “I heard your husband’s back? But he wasn’t downstairs when I
looked.”
Shahira was putting on a
tika;
Aunty Salma had insisted on buying her huge pieces of jewelry
when she’d married, and she wouldn’t be dissuaded. Shahira had never once worn them or
considered them her property but she had to wear them for the wedding, Aunty Salma was insistent.
She would return them to the locker after the ceremonies. She hadn’t earned them. She didn’t want to
accept anything that she hadn’t worked for.
Eyeing her jewelry, Nudrat said, “That looks expensive.”
She sounded disapproving. Shahira laughed. “I think it costs almost as much as your Prada bag.”
“
Touché
.”
Shahira looked at herself critically. She’d grown her hair long, and it fell in waves almost to her
waist now, layered so that some curled around her face, giving structure to the cut. The shirt, slim
fitting and straight, was a beautiful nude-gold, complimenting her
navratan
jewelry.
In keeping with the latest fashion, she hadn’t bothered with a
dupatta
although every time she left
the house without one, Aunty Salma displayed her silent disapproval. Shahira would playfully
reassure her that she wasn’t as well-endowed as most, so she could pull it off. That always made
Aunty Salma laugh and talk about ‘girls these days’. It was a favorite topic with her since it showed
off her generation in a better light, or so Shahira let her believe.
Again, she found Nudrat’s gaze on her through the mirror but Nudrat didn’t see her and Shahira felt
unease at something in Nudrat’s expression.
“Let’s go downstairs, people might have started arriving.”
As she descended the staircase she could see quite a few people had come already. Thankfully
she’d given instructions to the help to serve drinks and appetizers so everyone was comfortable.
She looked for Natasha. She’d insisted that all their clothes be coordinated. For that evening,
Shahira had done hers in a brighter gold, with lots of colored embellishments. She had bought a small
tika
for her as well and colorful bangles. She looked very pretty now that she’d lost so much weight.
Shahira spotted her with Shahaan, who was dressed, to his utter disgust, in an
achkan
. He glanced
at her, gave her an angry look, and marched off. She was not very popular today with her son on
account of the
achkan
.
Her eyes followed him and she was perturbed to see that he went straight to Hussain, who’d been
monitoring her descent, apparently. In that brief moment when their eyes met, Hussain’s were full of
appreciation.
That just got her back up even more. She had no intentions of letting him come anywhere near her
or her son. The man didn’t even have time for his own child, what was he doing playing with her
son’s affections? She bristled, imagining the havoc he could play with Shahaan’s emotions. As for the
other thing, they had a contract and he was going to honor it.
Resolutely she walked towards them, a polite smile fixed on her face.
“
Assalam aleikum
, Javed Uncle,” she said in a sunny voice, while putting her hands on Shahaan’s