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A love story from Lahore

[Chapter 4]

Bibi was combing out Mehru’s long tresses before bed-time, a habit Lispeth had inculcated as her English mother had with her. Bibi smiled as she recalled her only friend. Mehru was so much like her in so many ways, but mostly she was her own woman.

‘What did you think of the tea today?’ asked Bibi.

Mehru shrugged.

‘It’s too strong for my taste. Mama liked it lighter as you know.’

Bibi smacked the top of Mehru’s head lightly, and said, ‘Not the drink, you silly goose, the event.’

‘Oh!...oh? Well…’

Bibi smiled. Mehru at a loss for words? That had to be a first. So the looks she had noticed between her and Jamal were not her imagination after all.

‘It was nice,’ Mehru said trying to sound non-chalant.

Wonderful

Hmm. Nice? They’d all been discussing Mehru right in front of her and she thought it was nice? Bibi’s smile broadened. The girl was not thinking straight. Bibi wanted to put the comb down there and then, and offer prayers of thanks to Almighty Allah. Mehru was nearly 23, an old maid by most standards and if Jamal were to offer for her hand it would be so wonderful. It would be her dream come true. She would die a happy woman.

But how was she going to make that happen with Ami Begum determined to keep them at an arm’s length.

‘Mehru, your grandmother can be persuaded you know?’

‘Bibi.’

It sounded like a warning and she heeded it. For now.

There was a knock on the door and Bibi went to see. As soon as she opened a sliver of the wooden double door, Gulaab Begum slipped through, a silver tray in her hand covered with a white lace cloth. She put the tray on the table and sitting down on the small patch of carpet, pouted at Mehru.

‘Bibi, is this halwa so bad that this mem sahib can’t even eat a spoonful? Hmm?’

Mehru smiled and tried to explain.

‘Save it, maharani! I will not hear a word you have to say till you eat at least half of my special halwa. I’ve added extra pistachios, and kishmish for only you.’

Mehru laughed and said, ‘Oh aren’t you sweeter than the halwa you prepare Gulaab Begum.’

Much anger

That made her smile and she said with mock anger, ‘Huh! Eat first, sweet-talk later.’

Mehru laughed and happily accepted her favourite halwa.

‘Look at her eat now, and there on the table she wouldn’t touch it. So your grandmother’s bitter words are more attractive than my halwa, made with so much love, hain?’

So she’d noticed. Mehru looked up into Gulaab Begum’s face and sighed.

‘I never thought I’d find anyone else to love, Gulaab Begum. I thought Bibi and I would be…’

‘Hai! Hai! No one to love? And you are happy with an old woman and a hijra to love?’

‘Hey, who’re you calling old?’ Bibi thundered.

Gulaab Begum snickered.

‘O-ho, okay, so it’s an old mare with a red harness, eh?’
Bibi glared and Mehru chocked on her spoonful of halwa.
‘O-ho! Look what you’ve done, give her water.’

Bibi thumped her on the back and Gulaab Begum jumped to her aid with a glass of water from the red-clay ceramic matka always on the small table in the corner. It was emptied and filled with fresh water daily for her by one of the maids. The cold water coursed down her throat and Mehru cleared her throat.

‘I’m okay now, thank you.’

Bibi and Gulaab Begum had forgotten their spat and were now mumbling their thanks to Allah.

Mehru grinned.
Traditions
‘Thank you Gulaab Begum, it was delicious.’

Gulaab Begum preened and smiled and said in a gentle voice, ‘She’s a God - fearing woman, your grandmother but…women like her are bound by their traditions more than anything else. They feel they are the guardians of the great tradition of the family. She sees herself as the gate-keeper to her family’s honour and pride. It is both her strength and her weakness.’

Mehru looked away. Her grandmother was nothing more than an adversary in her eyes. A villain who had destroyed her parents’ marriage, and her mother’s life. Even now her mother was never mentioned. In fact she never even spoke Mehru’s name because to her she was her mother’s daughter alone.

Mehru straightened her shoulders.

‘I am my mother’s daughter Gulaab Begum. I don’t care what she thinks.’
‘Your mother cared what she thought. You’re your grandmother all over again, pet.’
‘No!’

Gulaabo and Bibi exchanged a look. Mehru stared at them open-mouthed and said again, more insistently.

‘I am not like that woman at all. I am not!’

‘Oh, alright. You’re not. You never get your own way. Your pride is minimal, and you’re known for forgiving people.’

Clenched teeth

Mehru opened and closed her mouth twice but no words came out. Gulaab Begum sniggered. Narrowing her eyes Mehru said through clenched teeth, ‘I. Am. Not. Like. Her.’

This time Gulaab Begum went into a fit of giggles, concealing her face in her dupatta, so that only her orange hair, dyed with henna, was visible. Mehru raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at Bibi, who did nothing to hide her smirk.

‘Oh, go away both of you.’

Still gigglingGulaab Begum collected the tray and went out. Bibi walked outside with her whispering and laughing in her tinkling musical. Mehru was jealous of that feminine laugh. Hers was like a child’s, full throated and free. Bibi’s laugh was what a woman’s laughter should sound like.

‘Your heart, your eyes, and the corners of your mouth should enjoy and feel the laughter, never your throat and cheeks,’ Bibi would beseech her.

To no avail, of course. Mehru’s mouth opened, her cheeks stretched and her throat let out a deep gurgling sound that was as unfeminine as ever.

Mehru sighed.

To her consternation, all her other cousins laughed softly and shyly. Even Sania, who was betrothed to Jamal. That was why she hadn’t come to tea that day, when Jamal was there. Betrothed couples were not supposed to see each other before their marriage vows were taken. Irritated for some unfathomable reason, she called out to Bibi. She could still hear them whispering and giggling outside her room.

Bibi slept in the same room as her. It was a baithak, a room separated from the rest of the house by a small terrace that led to a few steps with led to a raised terrace and then the main house. It was at the back of the house and Mehru felt they had the terrace and garden to themselves after dinner, when no one ventured out. This was the part of the house where unattached females had their rooms. Married couples had rooms nearer the part of the house where unattached males had their rooms.

So that the rooms, and this was a big house with at least 20 bedrooms, were divided in three sections.

The ones in the west veranda were considered bachelor quarters, where all the boy cousins lived.

The verandah, led to the library, which opened into the main living room to give the boys access to the main house. The drawing room was also part of that section of the house. The boys, it was deemed had more use for the library than anyone else.

The sitting room was the central room of the house, through which opened the dining room adjacent to which was the grand-mother’s room and all the married couples’ rooms.

These were divided from the rest of the rooms with a long dimly lit corridor which led to the girls’ rooms. There was a verandah at the back and the front of the house.

Sometimes the younger girls, from the ages of seven to fourteen came to talk to her.

The older ones ignored her, too afraid of Ami Begum’s wrath. But the younger ones felt they were invisible and so could get away with it.

And to Mehru’s delight they did. So at times, when there was a storm, or it was a particularly still, humid night they sneaked in to her baithak and they all sat or lay down on the vast spread of soft-low mattresses and white sheets, lightly sprinkled with water to make it cool.

The area around was also sprinkled with water so that the hot parched earth gave out that delicious wet smell, Mehru loved. Then she would tell them stories, and they would tell her about the family and they laughed and chatted until they fell asleep one by one with exhaustion. Bibi woke them up all before dawn and took them back to their rooms so that no one knew of their nocturnal rebellion.

Recollection

Mehru smiled at the recollection of those few times. She could hardly imagine two months had gone by. It seemed to her she’d always lived there and it was thanks to her young cousins and their secret friendship.

Still irritated, Mehru walked out to the terrace. She looked up at the dark sky. The garden around her was encircled by tall trees spreading their foliage out like dark clouds. She looked away towards the moon, bright and splendid, hanging in the darkness like a promise.

A movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention. She whirled around and a shadow detached from the darkness and moved towards her…

Glossary of words:
Halwa: sweet porridge made of semonila
Maharani: queen
Kishmish: currants

Mem sahib: originally used for British women and then used for someone with an attitude

Hain: yes?
Hai: an expression of pain or horror
Matka: a clay pot

Baithak: a suite of rooms, usually a bedroom and sitting room separate from the rest of the house.

Zeenat Mahal can be reached at : [email protected]

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