A Pair of Jeans and other stories Read online

  “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!

  …ooo000ooo…

  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!”

  “They won’t spill anything and never mind their feet. Anyway, they will be offered refreshments outside in the dining room.”

  “What! In the dining room?” exclaimed Bilkees, thunderstruck. “Why, you only use it for your family? You are not allowing these gauche village women to sit at your wooden walnut designer suite? I think you are going too far, Mistress. It will go to their heads; they will boast to everybody at having sat at your table! In your seat!”

  “Let them, Bilkees, if it gives them pleasure – all the better. Now come on.”

  Bilkees just shook her head in dismay. What had happened to her Mistress? Had she taken leave of her senses? Parameters had to be maintained and social barriers fenced in place. That was how there was order and how things worked. The Mistress was going to create chaos, where nobody knew the social boundaries. She shrugged, for she would leave it to the Master to sort out his wife, after all it was not her job or role to do so.

  The girls and women waited in the drawing room in a state of uneasy excitement. The Zemindar and his wife the Chaudharani Noor Sahaba entered. The Zemindar welcomed all the village women politely and told them that this time his wife would do the honour of presenting the gifts. Noor stepped forward, looking as breathtakingly beautiful and elegant as ever, making some of the young women envious. “Yes, I hope the young ladies will like the fabrics I have chosen for them from the city. For some girls, I have included something else. It is something that their fathers left with the Zemindar for safe keeping, but I am sure that you all can look after your own property now.” She paused. “It is your documents and deeds”, she uttered softly lifting the folds of the fabric and holding out the papers. As she did so, she cast a quick challenging glace towards her husband. He had paled, losing some of his poise. He caught her steely glance and something flashed in his eye, and the smile on his face ebbed away, replaced by a look of anger. She stared at him for a further few seconds and then before everyone’s eyes she handed the first gift to Kaniz’s daughter and then to the others. Kaniz’s face beamed as she stood next to the wall. In each case, as she did so, she took out the document, read out the name, and showed it to the woman and then handed it the daughter.

  By the time the twelfth and final document had been given away, the Zemindar felt that he was losing his composure entirely and turned away to look out of the window into the courtyard. He didn’t want to face the group of women when he was not in control of himself. When he was able to pin a smile to his face, he turned and joined his wife. He felt that he needed to say something to save face. His wife had given away, back to their owners, the deeds that he wanted, and he felt it would look strange if he didn’t mention them. After all they were supposed to be in his safekeeping. She had very adeptly destroyed his plans, but he had to do something to save face. He had to give the women the idea that the documents were coming from him, otherwise the villagers would think it was his wife who was giving them away. Who ruled this household – he or his wife?

  “Thank you everyone for coming!” he uttered with authority. His shoulders stiff with anger, he had turned to the women and stepped in front of his wife, shielding her from them. She had very neatly usurped his role. “I hope you will keep these documents safe. These are your properties, and we thought that we would take this special occasion to return them to you. Please take them home and hand them to your menfolk. If you do, by any chance, wish to sell them, please sell them to your neighbours, rather than outsiders.” He deliberately refrained from saying that they should sell them to him. He stepped back and moved to the window and looked out onto the lawn of the courtyard, expecting the women to leave.

  Summoning a smile, Noor stepped forward again and thanked the women for coming and wished them Eid Mubarak, a happy Eid. They returned the greeting and Bilkees, who was standing near the door, led the women out.

  Closing the door, Noor turned to her husband. He was still standing near the window with his back to her. She surveyed his tall, tense, body, as she went to sit on the sofa. She waited for him, expecting him to explode.

  He was aware of her presence in the room, and the tense silence that reigned in the room after the departure of the women. He didn’t trust himself to turn and face her. He was unsure of what he was capable of or how she would react. He waited and when nothing was forthcoming from her, he turned and stood two yards from his wife. He seemed to be towering over her seated body. Exuding aggression, he looked down at her face and into those cold green eyes. They were at their coldest now and just stared defiantly in return. He tried to dominate her with his manly glare, but her eyes didn’t waver nor fall away. They just calmly stared into his. He stepped back disconcerted and dumbfounded.

  Noor patiently waited for his explosion. He was owed that and he had the right to it, but she was determined to stare him out; after all she was in the right. She had done the right and humane thing, even though it had angered her husband. For sure, she knew that she had ruined his plans, but now she was a defender of the villagers. Was the choice to be the villagers or her husband? Had she already jeopardised her marriage and her relationship with her husband.

  The towering Zemindar, in his turn, was holding a tight rein on his temper. His eyes scanned her beautiful face. He had never been so angry in his life, and with his
wife it was the first time. She had done an unpardonable thing! His mind was also signalling and flashing all sorts of troubling images; above all, that of his wife’s capacity to undermine his authority and to usurp his role: the master, the Zemindar, of the village. He struggled with the concept again. Who was the master in his marriage? Who was in control, he or she? By her action, her juruth, in doing what she had done, she posed a direct threat to him as a man, as a husband and as a Zemindar. His head filled with the thought that she wasn’t just the decorative wife he had chosen, but she posed a greater and more dangerous threat, one that he had been hitherto unaware of. His heart sank.

  He had ignored her previous action in tearing up the documents in the office – indulging her. This time what she had done went far beyond tolerance and indulgence. She had not given any form of indication of what she was going to do, nor had she consulted him. He had almost lost face in front of the village women. But the most alarming thought which thundered through his mind was what would she be capable of doing next? Would he ever get to know her mind? Would she ever open up to him?

  Noor had an inkling of what he was thinking; she was both very intelligent and astute. As the seconds ticked away on the large clock on the wall, they both tried to read each other’s mind as to what was to happen next. Both were fighting from their own corners and both were struggling. Both were proud and neither of them saw themselves as compromising. She knew that if it came to the crunch, she would have to leave his home as a matter of principle. He struggled with the reality of the situation of living with such a wife, trying to weigh one side against other. He recalled his own obedient mother, always looking up to his father. He remembered one incident when she had spoken in front of another man in a slightly disparaging tone, and his father had never let her forget it. He had thundered and verbally lashed out at her. His mother had literally shrivelled and didn’t come out of the room for two days. His father had established who was the Master, and whose words held power and authority. And in the old days, he had heard about his grandfather beating his grandmother over minor things – that was his brutal way of controlling his wife.