A Pair of Jeans and other stories Page 2

  …ooo000ooo…

  In every household that evening, when the villagers returned home, the talk centred not on the dinner, but on the Zemindar’s wife. Her beauty and haughtiness were both already subjects of everyday conversation, but now they talked about her amazing warmth. She wasn’t so bad after all, and she was human like anybody else – she too smiled genuinely just like normal people. Now they all looked forward to next week’s dinner, not just because of the wonderful food that they were sure to get, but that they would surely catch another glimpse of their landlady. They wondered what she would be wearing then. As the Chaudharani stayed inside the hevali most of the time, and travelled to and fro in a car, it meant that they rarely came in contact with her. It was generally the custom of the rich and high bred families to make their women folk, in particular the young women, inaccessible to the general public. They were too precious to be soiled by coming in contact with ordinary people or people of a lower status. They weren’t to be ogled at by any Nethu Pethu, any Tom, Dick or Harry.

  Noor had obeyed the customs of her family and made very few public appearances. When she did, however, she didn’t quite flaunt herself, but on the other hand she didn’t attempt to hide from the public gaze, as some of the elder women did in semi-purdah. No purdah for Noor. Her beauty was there to be seen and enjoyed, and not to be hidden from the public gaze.

  When the following week approached, people began to wonder, amongst themselves, as to why their Zemindar was inviting them to dinners? One occasion was enough, but not week after week. Why was he doing it? Why would any man in his position do it, they mused.

  Younis, with his typical cynicism, had already managed to cast a shadow over his parents’ eagerness to visit the hevali for dinner. Their eagerness had nauseated him. He thus sowed the seeds of doubt in their minds, which cast a gloom over their visit.

  Again the Friday afternoon proved to be a great event for the villagers. The Zemindar had invited a tamasbeen, with a bear, to entertain them. Everybody, especially the children, loved the bear’s antics. To top the event, Noor made her spectacular appearance. Again she was beautifully dressed in elegant clothing. This time the smile actually reached her eyes, when she greeted and welcomed her guests. Moreover, she stayed a few minutes longer than last time. Again her guests were honoured, gratified and humbled by her presence.

  Noor had drunk in their openly speculative and admiring glances – she was used to them, particularly when she was out shopping in the city’s shopping parades. Here it was a gratifying experience. This is what it felt like to be a Chaudharani, the mistress of this rural community. You gained admiring glances, but you worked to gain respect. To perform the role of a landlady, a Chaudharani, is what she had been trained to perform well. In Noor’s case, her beauty had given her that extra edge. It enabled her to have almost a charismatic influence on the people she came in contact with.

  Later that evening, Noor sat reading some magazines, but the pictures escaped her notice. She was thinking about her husband and the feast they had been putting on and would be on future occasions. He hadn’t mentioned next week’s feast, but she knew that it was on the cards. He had already ordered lambs to be transported from the neighbouring village. Why was he doing this? What was the purpose behind this goodwill? His innate generosity couldn’t be the underlying factor. There was a limit to one’s generosity.

  Her attention was caught by the voices she heard in the hall. She remembered her husband’s solicitor going with her husband into the office. Apparently he was now leaving. They had been locked in that room for over an hour. Throwing the magazines aside, onto the chair, Noor arose and headed for the office. The servants were nowhere to be seen. Her husband had gone out with the solicitor. She went straight to his leather-topped desk and rifled through the papers. A tight knot was beginning to form inside her. Surely her husband had not gone mad and decided to do something rash with his inheritance. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. Finding nothing of importance on his desk, she took the key from his drawer to open the safe. There she sifted through some documents and took them out. She returned to the desk, and sitting down, began to read them.

  There was a report saying that there were substantial deposits of bauxite in the area of the village. There was a recommendation that the bauxite should be mined by open cast methods. That’s what he was up to; he needed the villagers’ land to mine for bauxite. She had seen the devastation which opencast mining had caused, in other areas. How could he be planning to do the same for their beautiful fertile valley! As she read document after document, her mind somersaulted into action.

  She sat back in his leather swivel chair and rocked to and fro while staring into space. Then in a clean deliberate move, she tore each document one by one. There had been eleven altogether and she had torn them at such an angle that they couldn’t be put together again. She felt no repugnance for what she had done. She didn’t fear her husband’s anger as her inner integrity was more important than his anger.

  With a steely look in her green eyes, she waited for her husband to return. The torn documents lay strewn on the floor around her. An hour later, he came into the office, and was surprised to see her there. He was further surprised to see the torn pieces of paper on the floor. He looked questioningly at his wife. He bent down to rummage through the torn bits on the floor, and on seeing what they were, his eyes shot at his wife. Her own steely gaze didn’t waver under his.

  “What have you done, Noor?” He said, with his voice trembling with anger. She noticed, with satisfaction, that even in anger he called her with respect, her full name. “Have you gone mad?”

  “No, I haven’t gone mad. I think that it is you who have lost your head. Is that what the dinners were in aid of? So that you can psychologically blackmail them to sign those documents for you?”

  “Well I would be paying them!”

  “What would you be paying for? For them to lose their livelihoods? It’s a form of moral and psychological blackmail. You are feeding them so that they cannot refuse to sell their plots of land to you. I find that despicable. I may have my faults, but this is something that I will not let my husband stoop to.”

  “You do not understand, Noor. It would only be for three years; they could have their land back after then.”

  “What sort of land would they be getting back? The land would be sour and no longer productive? How could you destroy so much of what your family has protected for generations?”

  “We will make a lot of money! We could choose to live somewhere else! You just don’t understand! Fortunately these documents could be reproduced”, he snorted as he left the room.

  “Well, I’ll just have to rip them up again!” she shouted after him. “And” she continued, “You are not going to host any more dinners, unless you can guarantee that you will not do this again.”

  She couldn’t quite understand her feelings. It wasn’t just about her repulsion for opencast mining, but why did she feel so bad about her husband doing what he intended to do. It was the prerogative of landlords to buy and sell land from and to the village people. Why did it, therefore, seem such an underhand thing to do - for her husband to buy the land. It wasn’t the buying of the land from them that she objected to but the psychological pressure he would impose on the villagers, who didn’t want to sell, but would feel obliged to do so, just to please the Zemindar, especially as he had feasted them. Her mind revolted from the idea. It was too demeaning and it was against the grain of their traditions and reputations.

  Sarfaraz, as he walked back to his bedroom, did not know what to do. Her look of scorn had touched a raw spot in him. He was passionately in love with his wife, and had gone to extreme lengths to win her hand in marriage. He couldn’t, therefore, jeopardise his relationship with his wife. Her action in tearing up those documents and the way that she had reacted didn’t bode well for him. He was placed in a very difficult situation. The desire to buy the land and use it for mining, vied strongl
y with his desire to stay on good terms with his wife. He still wasn’t sure whether she loved him. She had never said so. On the other hand, she had never said that she didn’t. Their relationship was not on an equal footing. He had given everything to her, including his innermost thoughts and feelings, and she, on the contrary, had remained coolly detached from him, although she humoured him in every way. What he couldn’t bear was to estrange her further over the land issue. Already she had been on frosty terms with him since the idea of the dinners cropped up – who would have thought that his wife would be such a self-righteous woman. He had married her for her looks and her beauty, but he feared that one day she would get the better of him. It seemed that there was more to her than he had been led to believe. Now what about the dinners? He didn’t know whether he should go ahead with Friday’s feast or not. It was a question of saving one’s face. He waited patiently for his wife to join him. She came one hour later and seemed once again her normal self. The matter was not raised again.

  During the afternoon of the next day, while Noor was preparing to watch a new Indian film on their video, her woman helper, Bilkees, came running to the room, looking worried.

  “What’s the matter, Bilkees? Has something happened?”

  “Yes, Chaudharani-ji. Younis, Kaniz’s son has died.”

  “The one who was studying at the university in Lahore?” Noor asked. Although she never met any of the villagers personally, she knew most of them by name. Younis and his family in particular, were brought to her attention by her husband, especially about the interest he displayed to the family and the animosity he had against the educated young man. Noor’s human intuition had enlightened her to the fact that her husband saw the young man as a sort of threat to himself and his plans. More than anything he feared his education.

  “Yes, Mistress, the same one. He was their only son, and so very precious to his family.”

  “Oh, I am sorry to hear that. How did he die?”

  “The coach carrying him collided with a car, while he was returning to Lahore.”

  “Does the Zemindar know?”

  “Yes. He has already started to make arrangements to have the body returned home. He has been to see the family to express his sorrow and to tell them that he would be looking after and provide food for the guests who came to offer their condolences.”

  “Thank you, Bilkees, for telling me. Can you also tell me when my husband returns home?”

  He didn’t arrive until much later, and by that time she had gone to sleep. When she woke up the following morning – he had already left. She had wanted to talk to him and to ask him some questions.

  The Zemindar, as befitted his role, headed the poorie, the gathering of the relatives and neighbours to express their sorrow at Kaniz’s home. He saw men crying for the young man. He, on the contrary, could not shed a single tear. He tried, but he couldn’t. He was aware that this man had had enough education to realise what would happen to the village, if it was going to be used for bauxite mining. He had feared him as his only threat. But now he was dead and a threat no longer, and although he knew it was the thing to do, he couldn’t cry for him. He had cried for a young girl who had died a few months ago, but here his tear ducts failed him. This was a time when he needed to cry to show that he shared the sorrow felt by the young man’s family and friends.

  The guests were thrown into a dilemma by the Zemindar’s invitation. They didn’t know where to go. They had to offer their sympathy to Younis’s family, yet the meals were being prepared at the Zemindar’s hevali. It was an awkward situation. To be seen going to the hevali was tantamount to stating that they were keener on the rich meals they would have at the hevali rather than the simple food they would be offered in Kaniz’s home. Some guests found it more diplomatic to stay in Kaniz’s home, even though they knew they would be offered dhal - lentils rather than lamb.

  By the second and third day, the number of guests going to the hevali had dwindled to a few. The funeral had been held. The guests still kept coming, but most stayed in Kaniz’s home. There were so many guests that they had spilled over into her neighbour’s guest room and courtyard. After all it was their son who was dead; it had nothing to with the Zemindar.

  As the Zemindar remained out of the village most of the time for the following three days, Noor had very little time to communicate with him. She watched the proceedings in the village with interest from her window in the hevali. She had sent her condolences to the young man’s family. By the fourth day, nobody came to the hevali, although full meals had been laid out and it had been well announced in the village by Bilkees herself. Noor learned that Kaniz had got the local village chef, to cook two daigs, huge pots, of meat and rice. Whether they meant it or not, it was a snub to the Zemindar and his dinners, nevertheless. Noor identified with the situation keenly; what would she do in their situation?

  That evening she decided that she would do something that she had never done before. It wasn’t the done thing for a Chaudharani to do nor encouraged. She decided to visit Younis’s family’s home to pay her respects and offer her sympathy in person. Landlords often visited the homes of their villagers – that was the done thing; for a landlady, however, a Chaudharani, as young, beautiful and haughty as Noor, it was unthinkable. An ocean lay between her and the village women. For a Chaudharani to visit any villager’s home was an honour indeed. It almost set a stamp of respect on the family which she visited. Noor, the proud lady from the city, going there personally doubly affected their reputation.

  She went unannounced, with Bilkees, in the twilight hours of the night – no pomp or ceremony. When she entered the threshold, her tall, heavily shawled figure visible to all, a hushed silence fell on the crowd of people gathered in the small courtyard. Mouths and eyes gaped open. Hushed whispers floated from mouth to mouth in disbelief.

  “The Chaudharani is here! The Chaudharani is here!” were the strange words.

  There was an uneasy and eager shuffling of feet and bodies, as the village women awkwardly looked around as to where the Chaudharani could sit. Which place in that shabby courtyard, heaving with human bodies? There was no ideal place for her to sit to do her justice, even if they vacated the whole courtyard. They gazed up at her in awed admiration. Even in the semi-darkness of the courtyard, her beautiful face shone out from the cowl hood of her outdoor black chiffon overcoat. It was bare of makeup, but still incredibly beautiful.

  Kaniz came forward with dignified confidence. Even in her sorrow, her eyes brightened with satisfaction. The Chaudharani had come to her home. It was an honour and a humbling experience. Very befitting her son’s status – her five foot body stood tall indeed.

  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 t
he 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.