Mehrunnissa:

A love story From Lahore

By Zeenath Mahal

Part 3

Mehru settled in well. A month went by and she began to understand the machinations of the household much better. For one, it became obvious to her that she'd be going nowhere anytime soon. Bibi went into near epileptic seizures, every time she mentioned going back. Secondly, she was fascinated by her grandmother.

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculties-and yet... Ah, dear Hamlet, what did you know of Indian grandmothers?

Mehru used this time to write. She began writing about her mother and her story. Coming to this place had made a huge impression on her. She felt closer to her when she wrote, as if she were keeping her alive through her writing.

In the evenings, the family gathered and sat together in the verandah, where there was a takht, sandalwood inlaid with silver and copper, where Ami Begum sat. On one side was the mandatory silver beetle-leaf box, all carved and with one ruby in the middle of the lid. All the females of the house sat around the takht where Ami Begum sat for morning prayers at 4:30 a.m. to noon. Then she came inside because it was too hot to sit in the verandah.

They all had lunch and rested for a couple of hours in their own rooms. The children were supposed to sit in the study and do their lessons with the Qaria Apa. At five, all the women, newly freshened, perfumed and combed gathered again in the verandah for tea. That was when the real fun began.

Peddler women selling bangles, or jewellery or cloth, would turn up with all the gossip of other families, since they were trusted women who had done this for years. It was like they had a free pass to all households of repute. They were snobbish too.

They always sat on the cool red floor of the verandah, but behaved with such poise. When offered tea, they never said yes, just looked away in silence. Apparently that meant yes. Then Ami Begum said, 'No one asks a guest if they want tea, Roohi,' she chided one young woman of the family. 'You bring tea, with biscuits. Tell Gulaab Begum to make pakoras as well. I feel like having something.'

When the tea arrived, Ami Begum didn't touch the pakoras, and the peddler women, two of them chatted, now relaxed and consumed the huge tray of spicy pakoras.

Mehru hadn't seen women in the family go anywhere, even though there were three palanquins for their use and old family servants who had been born here, to carry them. Mehru knew, women of good families didn't just go with any carrier. They had to be trusted old servants. They had strange status in the household. They could get away with a lot.

They were consulted even, in little matters. The respect they had was implicit. One time, Gulaab Begum, the hijra who was their cook, had actually made a face at Ami Begum

when she told him to cook, chicken biryani, and retorted, 'Hai, Ami Begum, the Maliks, the Tiwanas, the Noons and the Chaudhrys eat lamb and mutton, and the Hayat household is stuck with second-rate chicken? Hai, hai, what is this world coming to?'

Ami Begum, that woman of iron and steel had actually laughed and said fondly, 'All right Gulaab Begum, cook what you want. Cook five ten kilos of lamb curry if it pleases you.'

Coquettish smile

Then Gulaab Begum had given her signature coquettish smile and walked away, with a wink at Mehru. She'd almost giggled. She was glad that Bibi and Gulaab Begum had hit it off instantly.

Mehru and Bibi always sat at the periphery of these gatherings. No one talked to them or acknowledged them but no one ever excluded them from the general happenings. Sometimes the men joined them for the afternoon tea. It was a great occasion. Ami begum would have prior notice and tea would be special that day. There would be three kinds of savoury treats and two kinds of sweets that day, along with biscuits and fried nuts and lentils mix made at home. Everything was homemade.

Gulaab Begum would likely kill herself if anyone suggested to make use of the new-fangled bakeries at Charing Cross that the British had encouraged and patronised. So they'd have mince samosas, pakoras and dahi barhas, jalebis and gulaab jamun, or some times, ras gullahs.

The tea serving would be more formal that day. The rose-patterned China tea-set would be replaced by silver teapot, milk-pot and sugar pot with matching silver cutlery. The cups would be the robin-blue bone China one imported all the way from England. There were only two of these in all of Lahore, she'd been told proudly by Gulaab Begum. That was another thing.

The pride the servants took in 'their' family was almost comical, but mostly endearing. That day, the family men were joining them.

By the time Mehru arrived, there was already a discussion underway.

Submission

Mehru noticed her father, his head bowed and with him sat a young man she hadn't noticed before. He wore the traditional white embroidered kurta and plain white shalwar. His dark hair was tamed into submission and not a single hair was out of place. His face bore the mark of authority, even though he was no more than 26, she guessed.

Mehru didn't quite catch everything, but she got the gist. The discussion was about her. People were divided. Her corner only had Ajoo Chacha and his family and Shahbaz Chacha.

'Jamal, you haven't given your opinion? Farooq Chacha has come with a complaint. He thinks I have not accepted his daughter.'

Ami Begum addressed the young man she'd noticed earlier. So he was the adopted son of her Ajoo Chacha. He was the brother of his wife actually. Their parents had died, when Jamal was only five, and so Mallo Chachi had looked after him. It was only natural that he was considered their son. 'She lives here. Sits with us, Eats with us. Yet, I stand accused.'

Admiration

Oh wow, Machiavelli, Mehru thought with grudging admiration. It is better to be feared than loved. Her grandmother was from Nicolo's school of thought it seemed. Jamal's velvety brown, bedroom eyes lifted, alighted on Mehru for a brief second, and her heart did an unfamiliar flip. She ignored it. She was still getting used to this new environment, she consoled herself.

Nothing to do with the man. He said, 'Ami Begum, how can I possibly offer one in such a matter? What you decide to do with your son's daughter...your granddaughter is entirely up to you.'

Her grandmother looked pleased. Then he added, 'And I have never known you to shirk your duty or responsibility. If you think that your granddaughter is receiving the care she deserves in her father's home, who is to say different?'

Absolute silence greeted his words. Mehru waited for the matriarch to sort him out with a tongue lashing. 'You've made your point well, Jamal. But I don't expect anything less from a promising barrister even ferenghis admire.'

'Thank you Ami Begum. I owe it all to you. Your graciousness is legendary. I'm a living example of it. Your kindness to me...' 'Oh stop, my dear boy. I don't want you to compare yourself to this case.

This is entirely different. Entirely.' Ami Begum's gaze shifted to Mehru. Cold. Dismissive.

Then she said, 'Let's have tea in peace. Roohi, serve tea, my dear girl. Help your mother.'

Long-limbed, light-eyed females were not a novelty to Jamal thanks to his years at Lincoln's Inn. Yet he found his gaze wandering towards this beautiful stranger ever so often.

The golden skin and the grey eyes, the dark, silky waist-length hair, and that quiet watchfulness; it was such an intriguing combination. He shouldn't think like this. He was almost engaged to Sania. The thought never failed to depress him a little but she was the official candidate handpicked by Ami Begum who gave her trust and love to no one, and had somehow given them both to him one day when he'd barely been eight.

He'd accidentally broken a Waterford crystal vase, not even knowing its value at the time. And he'd gone straight to her and taken responsibility, offering to take the punishment she thought fit. He still remembered the steady long look she'd given him, designed to terrify. When he hadn't even flinched, she'd pronounced the punishment-he was to read to her for an hour every day. How that strange and mutual affection developed between them, he'd never really understood. She'd been lonely he realised now, a widow with grown up children had plenty of time on her hands. She was tough as nails though, principled and a bit of a bully.

For a long time he hadn't even understood the great honour she'd bestowed upon him when she'd adopted him. But then gradually, in small things, the import and the constraints began to reveal themselves to him.

She expected total loyalty. He gave it, not out of fear but gratitude and that inherent moral law he was blessed-or cursed with. She'd given him everything that he could possibly dream of. Going abroad to study was a rare opportunity.

She hadn't batted an eyelid and had supported him financially throughout. She'd refused to let him reimburse the expenses. She wanted, and had, his complete loyalty. She'd made it clear very early that she wanted him for her grand-daughter.

But it's the wrong grand-daughter. He ignored the whisper. Every time she raised those sad grey eyes, they were focused on Ami Begum. Her face was a mask of studied indifference. She gave away nothing. Even her eyes were so full of that steady sadness nothing else lurked there, not even for an instant.

Here she was, in a strange place with a cohort of newly found relatives, and she seemed calm and poised, as if this was how she'd spent all her evenings. She wasn't easily rattled it seemed.

Look away, nothing good can possibly come out of this. But for the first time in his life, Jamal ignored the voice he'd long identified with his conscience.

Glossary of terms

Takht: a wooden seat large enough to accommodate four to five people.

Qarai Apa: A gentlewoman like a governess employed by a household to teach the children the Holy Quran. Usually these ladies were relatives with no income or no one to depend on.

Hijra: eunuchs. Hermaphrodites were given special consideration even in the time of the Mughals. However, in the British Raj, hermaphrodites were persecuted and often killed. The British had homophobia and Hijras were reviled and lost the social protection they had hitherto enjoyed. Old households always had Hijras among their servants.

Pakoras: a fried accompaniment to tea. Made with gram flour, it has vegetables and spices and is a common food.

Samosas: another common accompaniment to tea made with white flour wraps and fried.

Jalebis: fried sweets

Gulaab jamun: another sweet

Dahi barhas: made with gram flour dumplings and yoghurt, tamarind sauce and spices.

Chacha: paternal uncle

Chichi: wife of paternal uncle

Kurta: shirt

Shalwar: loose traditional trouser

Ferenghis: foreigners