Authors: Anita Nair
Tags: #Kerala (India), #Dancers, #India, #General, #Literary, #Triangles (Interpersonal Relations), #Travel Writers, #Fiction, #Love Stories
Mistress (15 page)
I, Saadiya, good girl, descendant of the Sahabbakal, descendant of the incomparable Malik, descendant of the leader of Kahirs, with the purest of Arab blood in my veins, lie here felled by the weight of a glance.
Where does it come from? This pain, this torment. I feel it now as it rises again to clutch me. Twin metal claws that extend from behind my spine and embrace my innards, smashing my resolve not to scream, ripping my flesh, pulling my hip bones apart. I bite my lips as the pain poles into me.
I am all alone in this room that is heavy with the reek of disinfectant and the darkness of blood effused and screams spilled. All of it has seeped into these walls, I know. I can smell it like I can smell my fear. I wish they were at my side—my sisters, Ummama and Zuleika. They would have stroked my brow, wiped the sweat off my face, given me a hand to cling to and smothered my pain with their caring. I have never felt as lonely as I do now.
I am paying my dues as I have in the past two years. I am paying my dues for letting the weight of a glance negate the weight of my ancestry.
Zuleika did what was expected of her. She told Ummama that she found me in the common alley coming in from the road. Ummama did what was expected of her. She threw up her hands and beat her heaving bosom. ‘What have you done, Saadiya? When I tell your father, he will be furious.’ She turned to Zuleika and pinched her forearm. ‘And you? Who else saw her there? Tell me the truth, you lazy cow. Where were you when she decided to put the honour of the family in jeopardy?’
Zuleika rubbed her forearm where Ummama had pinched her and wept, ‘No one, no one was there. I swear by all that I hold precious. No one saw her. No one knew it was her but me.’
Then my venerable Vaapa Najib Masood Ahmed did what was
expected of him. He had Zuleika heat an iron rod till it blazed a fiery orange and, with tears in his eyes, he laid it on my calf. ‘This hurts me more than it will hurt you,’ he said. ‘But I can’t let you go unpunished for risking the honour of my family.’
expected of him. He had Zuleika heat an iron rod till it blazed a fiery orange and, with tears in his eyes, he laid it on my calf. ‘This hurts me more than it will hurt you,’ he said. ‘But I can’t let you go unpunished for risking the honour of my family.’
Through my pain, I saw him raise the rod and place it a second time by the line of burnt flesh. I screamed. He looked away and said, ‘It is your age, I know. You feel the need to break rules. This, my Saadiya, good girl, is to still the restlessness in you. The next time you feel the need to break your reins, remember how your flesh melted and how my heart broke.’
Then for the final time, my venerable Vaapa pressed the now not so hot rod alongside the two bars of burnt flesh and uttered in his coldest voice, ‘This is a lesson for you as much as it is for me, that it is unwise to give girls even a little rope. That it isn’t in women to understand the nuances of freedom. Henceforth, these welts on your calf will help you remember your place.’
I did what was expected of me. I fainted with the pain. When I regained consciousness, I wept. I wept for the anguish in Vaapa’s eyes and for causing him hurt. I wept for my flesh that was marked by his anger. I wept, for I knew that even though Vaapa had done all he could, I couldn’t stop thinking of those heady moments of freedom. Of a sky that was not bound by grey walls. And of him, Malik, for that was the name I gave him, and of how he had caressed me with his eyes.
That night as I slept, Vaapa climbed the stairs and came to my room. He carried in his arms his precious Bulbul-tara.
He flung the door and windows open. Vaapa couldn’t stand to be in a closed room. Then he sat down at the foot of my bed and began to pluck the strings of the musical instrument. The soft notes of the Bulbul-tara echoed a lullaby and Vaapa sang in muted tones the words of the song. I did not know the meaning of the words, nor did Vaapa. Perhaps in the many years of it being passed from father to son, the words had been corrupted. But the melody was that of a lullaby and when I was a little child and ill, Vaapa would sing it to help me sleep. As the words and music swirled around me, I felt a rush of tears in my eyes.
Vaapa set so much store by this lineage of ours. He sang only the songs his ancestors had bequeathed him. Vaapa loved me more than
all his other children, but he loved his ancestry more.
all his other children, but he loved his ancestry more.
The music was his way of asking forgiveness. But Vaapa, I wanted to cry, it is I who must ask your forgiveness.
For I am not sorry for what I did.
Vaapa, stop the music. Vaapa, go away. Your music makes me think of all that you want me to forget.
As much as you love your ancestry, so do I. When I close my eyes, I see the stories of my ancestors taking shape.
I see the ship with the billowing sails. I see the horse. The white steed galloping down the gangplank and racing against the wind. I see the rider …and there I pause. For it is him I see. But I let the story go on and he plucks me from the roof of my prison and takes me into a world where the sky has no end.
My bodice feels tight. My insides quiver with a queer churning. My breath quickens. I do not understand any of this. Vaapa, you ought to have branded me so that I could never dream again.
Vaapa, go away and take your music with you.
They spent the night in a room attached to the dargah. Dr Samuel watched Sethu unfold the bedding that had been provided.
‘You probably think this is very ill-mannered of them,’ he said, trying to fathom the set cast of Sethu’s features. ‘But let me tell you, it is an honour. They seldom let strange men in, yet the two of us who are not of their faith are spending the night within the gates.’
Sethu looked up.
‘Yes, in fact, they were very reluctant to let you stay at first. But once I explained that you were my assistant, they agreed. You see, they need me and my medical prowess. They know that, and they also know that if they upset me, I might not make my periodic visits here.’
Sethu lay in bed unable to sleep. He lay with his eyes closed, feigning sleep, because otherwise the doctor wouldn’t shut up. And all Sethu wanted to do was explore the wondrous sensation the girl had evoked in him.
It came to him again and again, the beauty of that face. He had never seen a face so untouched by life. The naked hope in her eyes. The slender lines of her throat as she raised her face to the breeze. The slight parting of her lips as if to draw in the wonder of the
moment. And when her tongue had appeared and licked at the curve of her lips, he had felt a desire to be that lip, to draw that pristine being towards him and make her his for life.
moment. And when her tongue had appeared and licked at the curve of her lips, he had felt a desire to be that lip, to draw that pristine being towards him and make her his for life.
‘One of the major health hazards in this little settlement is polio,’ the doctor said as he checked the contents of his bag.
Sethu watched the doctor as he counted the vials of medicine. Sethu had packed the bag as Hope had taught him to. But the doctor was never satisfied till he had personally checked that everything was as it ought to be. Sethu tried to stem his irritation. There was no point in saying it was all there. More and more, it seemed that the doctor and he were having little skirmishes. The doctor’s will prevailed because Sethu knew he needed the doctor more than the doctor needed him. That, Sethu reflected bitterly, was the measure of the doctor’s strength.
‘All of them are in-bred a thousand times over. Not to mention the damp—you can see it for yourself. The absence of fresh air in their houses makes them a breeding ground for the disease. And to think the beach is just outside their thresholds. I have been trying to persuade them to let the women go for a stroll everyday, and they say yes to please me but I know that it won’t be allowed,’ the doctor muttered as they walked.
He turned to Sethu and said, ‘Please remember that you will have to wait in the outer room. And that at no point must you make eye contact with any woman, even if she is old enough to be your great-grandmother. ’
Sethu nodded. All he could think of was, would he see her again?
In the first house they went to, Sethu sat in the outer room, silenced by the oppressiveness of its insides, the wooden ceilings and the narrow windows. The weight of the confined space pressed down upon him. The doctor emerged a few minutes later. ‘Nothing complicated here. I have an elderly patient with sciatica. But we must go now to Pasha’s. His son has a fever, they tell me. I hope it is not a resurgence of polio. If it is, heaven help us. And He will. That I am sure of. “It is God that girdeth me with strength, and maketh my way perfect. He maketh my feet like hinds’ feet, and setteth me upon my high places. He teacheth my hands to war, so that a bow of steel is broken by mine arms.”’
The doctor waited for Sethu to respond. ‘Psalms,’ he prodded.
But Sethu wasn’t listening. All he wanted to do was move on. She was here somewhere, he knew that. ‘Do we go this way?’ he asked, moving towards the common alley.
‘No, no,’ the doctor said, trying to hide how vexed he was. What was wrong with Seth, he wondered. ‘We go this way,’ he said, stepping into a narrow alley.
‘This is the women’s way. Only women walk this way. As a doctor, I become an asexual being. For now, you are one, too,’ the doctor said, threading his way through what Sethu thought was a maze.
Even though the doctor had said he shouldn’t, Sethu searched the face of every woman surreptitiously. Was it her? Was it the girl?
‘We are to dine at the Haji’s. He lives with his mother and youngest daughter. But before that we must go to Razia’s. She is his second daughter and is eight months pregnant. She has had two miscarriages before and I am not sure I like the way this one is going,’ the doctor said at about six in the evening.
Sethu wiped his brow. The day had been long and tedious for want of anything to do. All he had done was wait. He felt more trapped than ever. A curious weariness entered him, and a deep loneliness. If she did exist, where was she? Was she someone he had conjured up out of his own need for somebody to touch and hold? For someone to lay his cheek upon and rest his head against?
My leg felt as if it was on fire. My petticoat brushed against the blisters and every movement was agony. Was this the hell Vaapa talked about?
There was much hustle and bustle in the kitchen. Zuleika was cooking mutton. And chicken. There was to be rice and idiappams, and rotis made of rice flour. Who was coming, I wondered.
Zuleika and Ummama darted glances at me as they went past, but they didn’t say anything. Their silence caused me more anguish than the rawness of my wounds.
I thrust away the plate that Zuleika brought. ‘Come Saadiya, pet, darling,’ she cajoled. ‘Eat something. You haven’t eaten since last night.’ She averted her eyes from mine. ‘Who are you angry with? Me?’
‘Talk to me,’ I said. ‘Then I will eat.’
She sighed. ‘But I am talking to you.’
‘No, like you normally do,’ I said.
‘What do you mean, normally? Listen to this girl, bibi,’ she said. ‘She says we are not talking … That is what she says.’
That was Ummama’s cue to break her silence. She came towards me. ‘How can we not talk to you, darling child?’
‘Are you angry with me?’ I asked.
She folded me in her arms in reply. The warmth and cooking smells of her embrace, my relief at being included in the circle of her love, made me feel weak. I went limp in her arms.
They sprinkled water on my face. ‘She’s fainted because she’s hungry,’ Zuleika said.
‘Poor thing,’ Ummama murmured.
‘My leg,’ I whimpered. ‘It’s on fire.’
Zuleika raised my petticoat. She sucked in her breath. ‘I don’t like this. What if it gets infected? I wish I hadn’t said anything to you.’
Ummama peered at my leg. There was guilt in her eyes. ‘Forgive me, my child,’ she wept. ‘I do not know what came over Najib.’
I said nothing.
Zuleika wiped a tear and said, ‘Bibi, let the doctor take a look. He will be here soon. He’s gone to see Razia first.’
Ummama nodded. ‘I will tell Najib that the doctor has to attend to her.’
Ummama didn’t tell me what she told Vaapa, but just before dinner, when the doctor arrived, she ushered him in.
‘Show the doctor your leg,’ she said.
Doctor Samuel looked at my blisters. ‘Please call my assistant here,’ he said.
Zuleika and Ummama looked at each other. ‘Can’t we do what is required?’ they asked.
‘If you could, would I have asked for him? Please fetch him. This is important. She has second-degree burns,’ the doctor snapped.
They ushered you in. You whose glance had stoked in me a thousand desires and sucked away all thought of propriety. They ushered you in silently and the doctor said, ‘Seth, I need you to prepare a sterile pad dressing for me.’
You didn’t raise your eyes from the doctor’s bag. He has tutored
you well in our ways, I thought. Suddenly the doctor asked, ‘How did this happen?’
you well in our ways, I thought. Suddenly the doctor asked, ‘How did this happen?’
Vaapa, who had come in just then, said quickly, ‘I think she stepped too close to the wood fire and a burning twig fell on her.’
The doctor stared at Vaapa and said, ‘If you insist. Though I must tell you that this is the first time I have seen a twig fall so uniformly in three adjacent bars.’
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