Haveli (24 page)

Amina made her cumbersome way down the aisle to the flower-festooned dais. Leyla helped her as she climbed the steps to the wedding party. When she turned to sit, Amina’s face was florid, nearly matching the brilliant pink of her sequined
shalwar kameez
. She and Leyla sat on either side of Ahmed, amid heavily embroidered bolsters. Amina handed Ahmed a glass of sweetened milk. When he had drunk from it, his mother urged him to give it to Zabo. She took a small sip, in an act of ceremonial obedience to her husband.

From within the folds of her
dupatta
, Amina produced
a gilt mirror. Shabanu watched quietly as Amina slipped the mirror into Zabo’s lap, under her downcast eyes. Amina said something to Zabo, who hesitated a moment, then curled her fingers around the edge of the mirror. Amina took Ahmed gently by the back of his thin neck and steered his gaze toward the mirror.

As the bride looked at the reflection of the groom, at the reflection of her husband that was to become the very essence of herself, the mirror clattered to the floor. Zabo’s hands went up under the
chadr
to her face.

Shabanu put her arms around Zabo’s shoulders. At the same instant, Leyla grabbed Zabo’s hands to pull them from her face. Shabanu leaned forward, inserting her body between Leyla and Zabo. After an absurd moment of resistance like a silent shoving spree, Leyla moved aside and allowed Shabanu to comfort her friend.

All this happened in the space of a minute, amid the chaos of relatives fluttering to get a closer glimpse of the bride and groom and gossiping among themselves, and the male relatives drifting in from the tent area where the formal wedding documents had been exchanged.

And before anything could be made of the incident, the wedding party was whisked away to reassemble for the banquet.

Shabanu and Mumtaz stayed with Zabo as the
guests gathered on the lawn, under the
shamiyana
and cascades of tiny white lights. People stood in clumps, the ladies twinkling with jewels, and watched servants in white jackets and white turbans heap the long tables with silver platters of lamb on skewers, steaming tureens of curries, baskets of fresh steaming
roti
, and a sweet
biryani
rice with raisins and nuts.

Shabanu kept a firm hold on Mumtaz’s hand. She caught sight of Omar several times, but she pretended she didn’t see that he was looking at her. Her heart felt as if it were encased in glass.

The thought of giving up Mumtaz to her family had opened her heart wide again to the pain of loss. It made Omar’s loss seem very far away, as if it had happened years ago. She kept pushing away panic at the thought of living without Mumtaz, telling herself it was only temporary. She’d be able to join Mumtaz and Zabo and Sharma and Fatima one day. They were the people she loved and trusted most on this earth. The thought of all of them living and working together should have comforted her. But all of her plans for Mumtaz’s education, for the two of them to live in Lahore at the
haveli
, were shattered.

Mumtaz was caught up in her own loss, and she willingly clung to her mother’s hand. Since Choti had disappeared she’d taken to carrying Bundr with her, and she had him hugged to her chest with her free hand. The other children her age drank Coca-Cola and ate fistfuls of sweets, and while the adults stood
around talking after the dinner was served, the youngsters chased one another pell-mell, like rabbits, through the rows of chairs and under the tables.

Mumtaz and Shabanu floated among the other guests, congratulations and wisps of gossip and the shrieks of the other children parting around them as they passed like bits of cloud.

S
habanu and Mumtaz went to see Zabo in the big house the day after the wedding and found the apartment she and Ahmed had occupied only the night before in chaos. Servants ran from room to room gathering pieces of clothing and wrapping them in tissue paper, hauling trunks from storage and filling them to the brim.

Zabo had chosen simple furniture, and she’d moved many of her hand-embroidered bolsters and cushions from her father’s house. Strewn over them was more evidence of planning for a long journey: shawls and scarves and a bag of biscuits; silk pouches filled with jewelry; a box of writing paper; and a bottle of water. And Zabo stood prettily in the center of it all, looking rested and pleased.

“Where are you going?” Shabanu asked. Zabo came to her and hugged her cheerfully.

“My father is taking Ahmed on a hunting trip,” she said. “I’m going to Mehrabpur.”

“But why don’t you stay here?”

“Because my father wants me at Mehrabpur. Afterward we’re going to Lahore. And soon you’ll be there with me!”

Shabanu linked her arm through Zabo’s and walked her out to the garden, a thousand questions threatening to burst from her lips before they were in a private place.

The garden had been cleared. The
shamiyana
had been rolled and carried away, the carpets lifted, and there was no sign a wedding had taken place except for the compressed, muddy grass.

It had rained earlier, and now steam rose from every surface in the hot sunlight. Crows hopped across the ruined lawn, their heads cocked, looking for earthworms that had emerged the night before under the carpets.

Zabo looked behind them.

“Where’s Choti?” she asked. Mumtaz looked stricken. Zabo glanced from Mumtaz to Shabanu and back.

“She’s gone away,” said Mumtaz. “She’s not coming back.”

“Oh!” said Zabo. She bent and hugged Mumtaz, who stood still and clutched Bundr tightly against her. “I’m sorry.”

She stood and took Shabanu’s arm again.

“What happened?” she asked softly. Shabanu shook her head.

“She’s not coming back,” Mumtaz said again, and Shabanu could have cried for her.

They walked along arm in arm, not talking for a while. Then Shabanu could wait no longer.

“You look well for the day after the worst night of your life,” she said, and Zabo laughed her old tinkling laugh. It lifted Shabanu’s heart.

“Last night,” she began, “Father gave Ahmed some whiskey.”

“Oh!” said Shabanu.

“Ahmed fell sound asleep. And today they leave for the hunt as soon as we arrive at Mehrabpur.”

“We mustn’t tell Rahim!” said Shabanu. Her husband was a devout Muslim who disapproved of liquor.

“Certainly not!” said Zabo, her old spark returned for the first time in months. “Listen! This is a reprieve! Uncle Rahim would not only disapprove of the liquor. He would want the marriage consummated as soon as possible. The sooner he has a grandson, the sooner the rest of the family lands are consolidated.”

“But what an odd thing for your father to do!” Shabanu said. “Why shouldn’t he want you to become pregnant too? He benefits most of all, because it gives him an equal claim to the family holdings.”

“I don’t care what the reason is!” Zabo said, tossing her head. “If it means Ahmed stays away from my bed until I can get away with Sharma, I want it that way.

“But if your father is up to something, it could be dangerous for you!” Shabanu said.

“You think I care about danger!” Zabo’s eyes flashed. “Promise you won’t tell Rahim.” It was a demand more than a request.

Shabanu hesitated. If she promised not to tell Rahim, she would be violating her oath of loyalty to him for the first time. And she had a strong sense of some terrible impending danger.

“Promise!” Zabo insisted. “Promise!”

“When will you return from Lahore?” Shabanu asked.

“Promise!” said Zabo, refusing to yield.

“All right, I promise!” said Shabanu. “But Sharma will be ready for you in two weeks.”

“Father is going to Lahore early to please me,” Zabo said. “We’ll still be there for Leyla’s wedding.”

Zenat came then to tell them that Nazir was ready to leave and that the others had assembled for the traditional farewell.

Zabo’s eyes sparkled, and she did look like a bride departing for her honeymoon, almost like a bride in love, as she waved good-bye to the assembled household. Everyone stood under umbrellas, for the rain had begun around noon and was growing steadily heavier. There was traditional wailing among the female members of the family, but it all seemed acted, except for Amina, whose tears for once were real as she kissed Ahmed good-bye.

The car was loaded and waiting as they left in the early afternoon, with Nazir and the bodyguards all squeezed into Nazir’s sedan. Shabanu’s last glimpse of Zabo was through a circle she’d wiped in the fog on the window, waving good-bye to her and Mumtaz as the car splashed through the rain.

In the main house life returned to normal very quickly. It was as if Zabo and Ahmed never had been wed. The pots and pans had been returned, the extra servants had gone back to their own households, the lights and flowers and tables were gone. Even the ruined lawn had begun to recover in a thick thatch of new growth prompted by the rain.

Shabanu sat in the doorway of her room watching the rain, which fell gently now,
plipping
in the stable yard puddles. She felt she had crossed a precipice into a new and dangerous territory. She had actively violated her oath of loyalty to her husband.

But she was not sure which was more dangerous: telling Rahim or not telling him what Nazir had planned for Ahmed. She knew Nazir well enough to expect the worst of him. She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to risk Zabo’s life.

But she had already broken one promise to Zabo, and she would not break another. What sealed her decision was this: If Rahim knew that Nazir had delayed the consummation of Ahmed’s nuptial vows, he would be angry. If he knew of the hunting trip, no
doubt he would intervene. And no doubt he would require Shabanu to go to Mehrabpur with him to keep Zabo company.

And that would delay her departure for Cholistan. Shabanu could not let anything interfere with her taking Mumtaz to safety.

That same afternoon Shabanu sent word to her sister that she would be coming to visit at the farm near Mehrabpur. She asked Phulan to let Sharma know. The message expressed all of her excitement about a visit to her family. But there was an urgency to it, lent by the short notice of just two days. These family gatherings normally took up to a month to arrange. Shabanu’s mother and father must be summoned from the desert, and Phulan could never be certain where Sharma might be found.

Back in her room, Shabanu began to gather Mumtaz’s clothing and books. She took from the cupboard only those
shalwar kameez
that were newly made and sturdy. She wanted them to fit her for as long as possible. The silks and fragile lawn clothes she left in stacks on the shelf, as if Mumtaz would soon return. And when that was done she sat on her bed. Mumtaz had been watching her silently.

Late in the afternoon the rain let up, and Selma came to see her before leaving for Lahore. She reported that the wedding plans for Omar and Leyla had run into delays.

“Amina has demanded that Rahim postpone the
wedding,” she said. “She thinks it’s barbaric to have a wedding celebration in such terrible weather.” Selma twisted a wisp of hair back into the bun behind her head.

“You mean it won’t be in two weeks as planned?” Shabanu felt her panic rise.

“No, I’m sure Rahim will win this argument,” Selma said with a small, weary chuckle. “He wants it all over and done before the assembly meets. He wants Omar ready for the elections. It’s just more aggravation for him.”

“Poor Rahim,” Shabanu said, but her mind and heart had already fled to the desert. She did not have the energy to worry about Omar’s wedding.

She kissed Selma good-bye and went back to getting ready for her trip to Cholistan.

That evening Shabanu had an early supper with Rahim. They ate quietly, talking little.

Shabanu, who knew that her ability to be untruthful with him would be limited, did not want to discuss anything that might give him a hint that Mumtaz would stay with Mama and Dadi in Cholistan. Any question from him that would force her to lie would be a disaster. She also wished to avoid any discussion of Ahmed, for fear she’d break her promise to Zabo and tell Rahim about the whiskey and the hunting expedition.

“When will you return from Cholistan?” he asked.

“In a week,” she said, concentrating on her plate.
“And you?”

“I’ll stay here until you return. We’ll all go to Lahore together, the week before the wedding.”

Rahim also seemed preoccupied. After dinner he kissed her good night and sent her back to her room early, even before Mumtaz was asleep.

It seemed forever until morning. Shabanu could not sleep, and she listened all night to the rain outside. She listened to Mumtaz’s soft breathing on the small
charpoi
beside her own.

How she would miss her! Shabanu helped her with her lessons every day, and they read books together and walked together beside the canal. She must see to it that Mumtaz continued to read and write. Shabanu would ask Mumtaz to keep a diary so she might read what her daughter did and thought about every day.

How would she fill the hole in her heart that Mumtaz would leave? And how would she fill the empty hours?

At first light Shabanu awoke with a start, without ever realizing she’d been asleep.

They were ready to leave by the time their bed tea came on a tray with fried bread and milk. Zenat had to coax Mumtaz to swallow just a few bites.

It was a fine morning, the air washed fresh and clean of dust by the heavy rains of the days before. The big leaves of the leathery saal trees in the courtyard waved and flopped, bidding Mumtaz farewell.
The birds in the banyan twittered and chirped as if an evil cloud had passed and the courtyard was safe once again.

Shabanu’s heart lifted. But she cautioned herself not to let down her guard until they were safe in Cholistan.

The
tonga
that waited outside the gate for them was clean, and the horse was spry, lifting its head to sniff the air. The
tonga-wallah
greeted them cheerfully. It seemed the whole world was buoyed by the break in the rains and the heat.

The servants loaded their bags and bundles of gifts for Shabanu’s family into the carriage, and the horse took off at a lively trot.