A LITTLE WHILE later, the stirring notes of ‘Allahu Akbar …Allahu Akbar’ could be heard from the village mosque, as the muezzin called the faithful to their morning prayers. Naseem was hurrying along the street when she heard the call. By the time the azan ended with the words ‘La ilaha illallah,’ she could be seen walking along a grassy trail that ran between the cultivated farmlands. She was so lost in the soothing, spiritually uplifting notes of the azan that she had left the village and was approaching her destination without having noticed that someone was following her.
She heard the footsteps behind her as the azan ended. Startled, she looked over her shoulder before exclaiming in a reassured tone, ‘Bhaaji?’
Boote Shah walked up to her before responding, ‘I thought I would come along, lest you are scared or something.’
Feeling a bit awkward, Naseem continued to walk towards the well in silence. Boote Shah also didn’t make any effort to strike a conversation and the two walked up the trail, one behind the other. They had only walked a short distance when they caught a glimpse of someone in white clothes in the adjacent tract of farmland, which extended all the way to Chaudhry Fazal Karim’s well, near the banks of Soan river. Suspecting that it must be the Chaudhry himself, out for a walk in his estate, Boote Shah quickly took a detour, with Naseem following behind him.
The well was located inside a small grove and as they approached its periphery, Boote Shah could see Yusuf pacing up and down, impatiently. ‘I am going across to our fields to take a look,’ he told Naseem and left.
Yusuf had lost his father at a very young age. Abdullah, or ‘Dulla’ as he was known in the village, was a blacksmith by caste. He used to have a job in the workshop at Golra railway station, but he lost his leg in a railway accident while he was still a young man. He was sent to hospital and paid a modest sum by way of a provident fund. But the hospital discharged him prematurely and upon his return to Chakri, he continued to suffer the after-effects of amputation. The poor man spent six or seven months in agony before the injury prematurely claimed his life. Fortunately, Yusuf’s maternal uncle Sikander was doing fairly well in Rawalpindi those days. He had a small business repairing horse carriages, and gladly offered to support his widowed sister and young nephew. He would send some money each month to help them meet their expenses. The family also had a small piece of land that they gave to a sharecropper. The produce from the land and the financial support from the uncle enabled them to make both ends meet until Yusuf reached the age of thirteen. He had entered his fourteenth year and had already developed a reputation for being something of a rascal. Sikander thought he would solve the problem by taking him along to Rawalpindi. The blithe environs of the village were replaced by the grind of long days at his uncle’s workshop, with a hammer and chisel as his constant companions. He hated it but didn’t really have too many options at that stage.
He would get a chance to visit the village every six or eight months but only for a few days. His mother wanted him to stay longer but the uncle would insist on his early return, apprehensive that lack of supervision and the company of unruly friends in Chakri would lead him back to his old ways. Sikander had managed to get Yusuf on the straight and narrow by directing his energies into work and he wanted to keep it that way.
Not long thereafter, Yusuf’s mother fell ill and received the inevitable invitation from the Angel of Death. Her passing also took away the principal reason that had pulled Yusuf towards Chakri. He had no particular attachment to their small mud house. It was the streets that he remembered more often. The alleys where he had spent much of his youth would appear in his dreams every now and then.
But this visit to the village was different. It was taking place at a time when his life had taken several difficult turns. His decision to join the police had led to an unpleasant altercation with his uncle and aunt, and forced him to leave their home. His infatuation with the dissolute wife of a cobbler had been an unmitigated disaster. Rudderless, he felt the tug of his roots, the urge to find an anchor on familiar turf.
It isn’t easy to be granted leave so soon after joining the police force. It had spent barely six months in the job, but Yusuf managed to persuade his bosses to let him take a week off. On reaching the village, he first went across to meet his closest friend Boote Shah and poured out his heart. Boote Shah had heard of Yusuf’s escapades and some of the stories had left him quite distressed. But his tale of woes was enough to neutralize Boota’s angst and he found himself recalling the old saying, ‘It is the friend’s friendship that matters, not the friend’s traits.’ And so it was that he embraced Yusuf at a time when the young man was down and out. Not only did he embrace Yusuf, but he went a step further and made a promise that even today sends a shiver down his spine—the promise to help Yusuf fulfil his desire to marry his foster-sister. He reasoned that this was best accomplished by creating an opportunity for Naseem and Yusuf to meet face to face and resolve their differences directly. He knew that he would not force Naseem into the marriage against her will, but he had also heard enough from Yusuf to recognize that Naseem too was fond of him. He reasoned that once they had met and sorted things out, he would be able to take the proposal for their marriage to the elders and seek their blessings.
Boote Shah left after escorting Naseem to the grove. She lifted her eyes and wondered, ‘Is this really the same Yusuf?’ Her thoughts went to the poet Gul Marsool’s rendition of the legend of Yusuf and Zuleikha that she had read some time ago, and she could discern the similarities between this Yusuf and the Yusuf of lore. He did look exceptionally handsome, and she felt compelled to lower her gaze for a moment or two. That was enough time for that familiar cloud of hatred to emerge from the morning skies and cast a dark shadow over her emotions. With a deep sigh, she mused, ‘How I wish this Yusuf was like Zuleikha’s Yusuf—pure and noble like that son of Yakub!’ Her eyes shifted their gaze from the ground only when she heard a plaintive voice, ‘You … you’ve come, Naseem?’
Naseem didn’t respond. She felt her mouth dry and her heart pounding in her ears.
‘Come inside,’ he said from the entrance of the thatched hut inside the grove. Naseem found her unsteady legs drag her to the entrance.
A cot made from rough twine was positioned at the side of the hut. Responding to his signal, she gingerly sat on the edge of its wooden frame.
An uncomfortable silence prevailed, broken eventually when Yusuf said, ‘Naseem!’
Her lips didn’t utter a sound but her eyes lifted. They had the look of a deer caught in the sights of a hunter. A thin film of moisture appeared on them.
‘I really thought you wouldn’t come,’ Yusuf continued as he read the message of pain writ large on her face.
‘How could I not come?’ Naseem had to clear her throat before she could voice the few words. Her damask lips had blanched to resemble the petals of the nilofar water lily. Head bowed, her slender fingers were nervously tugging at the inky fringe of her dupatta.
‘Naseem!’ Yusuf slid a couple of inches closer to her. ‘Are you still angry with me?’ Naseem raised her head and lowered it again, as though trying to convey, ‘Is there any doubt on that score?’
‘Come on, Naseem! You are acting like you have marbles in your mouth. Who should I speak with?’
‘Go on, please,’ she managed to say. She realized that the ‘please’ was an afterthought, a word that would never have occurred in earlier conversations with Yusuf. But he was no longer the errant lad with whom she could speak so informally. The suffix appeared appropriate, particularly since he too was addressing her as Naseem and hadn’t called her Seema the way he used to.
‘What can I say, Naseem?’ Yusuf found himself getting tangled in a web of shame and guilt. ‘You must have heard a lot of stuff about me and…’
Naseem’s eyes lifted again, this time digging her gaze firmly on the young man’s face. She wanted to hear his side of the story.
‘It is true, whatever you’ve heard. I am a sinner in Allah’s court, and in yours too. Forgive me, Naseem.’
Naseem could see that Yusuf’s eyes were brimming with remorse. His earnest confession and the transparent sincerity shining in his eyes had started to dissipate the miasma of loathing that Naseem had accumulated. But a reckoning of her own self-esteem and religious beliefs arose like a dense mist to cloud even those parts of the mirror had started to clear up. The crimson flames of lava were once again rising within her and she saw them take the form of words as she spoke, ‘Who am I to forgive or not forgive you?’ The rage within her was melting her eyes and she could feel the searing heat of her tears streaming down her cheeks.
‘Believe it or not, Naseem,’ he whimpered, ‘the devil had taken over my mind and I…’
‘Please tell me,’ Naseem interrupted with an edge in her tone. ‘Why did you ask to see me? Please hurry up because I have a lot of chores waiting for me.’
‘I asked to see you so that I could remind you of our deep love for each other.’
His words only aggravated her agitated state. What a scoundrel, she told herself. After trampling on his own love and discarding it without a second thought, he has the nerve to come here and remind me of my love for him? She felt the veins in her forehead dilate with anger and her instinct told her to get up immediately and make a dash towards home. But she also needed to unburden herself before she could get up. The embers of her rage crackled as she spoke, ‘Love? What love?’
‘Have you forgotten, Naseem?’
‘Aren’t you ashamed to be saying this? How mulish can a man be?’
Yusuf winced at the insult but swallowed his pride. He bit his tongue and held himself from retorting, ‘How dare you speak like that, you who has been raised on the crumbs of others!’ Keeping his habitual aggression in check, he said in a gentler tone, ‘Let bygones be bygones, Naseem. My actions have already shamed me enough.’
‘But I am not the one responsible for your actions,’ Naseem replied in the same fiery hue.
‘Naseem,’ he pleaded. ‘Please don’t wreck my life.’
‘Why would I do that? Allah punishes those who go about destroying the lives of others.’
Yusuf’s sense of self-esteem was yelling at him, ‘Do you have no self-respect, you contemptible man? Why are you allowing this chit of a girl to heap such insults on you?’ But he hadn’t given up hope yet. His restraint was once again able to push aside his surging ego as he implored, ‘Naseem, I swear by my mother that I will always remain faithful to you. If you can just once…’
‘I’ve heard such oaths many a time,’ Naseem retorted and turned her face away from him. ‘Those who take a false oath invite the fury of God Himself,’ she continued sternly.
‘Naseem!’ Yusuf crackled as he found himself losing his battle for self-control. Naseem anxiously turned her face towards him. She could see a ferocious anger building up in his eyes. Annoyed by what she had observed and also a little bit concerned by his reaction, she got up from the bed and signalled that she was ready to leave. Her eyes glared at him in defiance.
She had barely taken a couple of steps when Yusuf leapt forward and caught her arm, pulling her back towards the cot, saying, ‘Look Naseem! Such disdain isn’t good for anyone. Sit down for a while so that we can chat about a few more things.’
The powerful grip of his hand on her arm sent a tremor through her body. Her senses warned her of impending danger. But without any further protest, she sat down again on the cot.
‘Naseem!’ Yusuf spoke with a conscious effort to add a touch of honey to the bitterness of his voice. ‘I had asked you to come with the hope that you would apply some balm to my wounds. Had I known you were going to sprinkle salt and aggravate them instead I wouldn’t have come.’
‘I don’t know about your need. My brother asked me to come, and I couldn’t say no to him.’
Yusuf recoiled at the harshness of her response. A rising tide of anger swept aside the reason he had summoned to pull her back so they could complete their conversation. His lips quivered as he growled, ‘Brother? Which brother of yours are you talking about?’
‘The same one that brought me your message.’
‘And how is he your brother, Naseem?’
‘The same way that Aziz is my brother.’
Her blunt response knocked another hole into the reservoir that was holding back Yusuf’s anger. He felt his pent-up frustration tumble into his words as he spoke menacingly, ‘And why not! That Hindu becomes your brother and I become a complete stranger.’
‘Stop it! Don’t you dare say a word against Bhaaji. You insult him again and you’ll see what I do to you,’ she hissed.
‘You! And when did you become such a beloved of your brother?’ Yusuf roared. His face had turned ochre with rage as he snarled, ‘Did your mother secretly give birth to him?’
‘Don’t you dare cross the boundaries of civility. If Bhaaji hadn’t asked me, I wouldn’t be here to even spit on you.’
‘Watch it! You are the one crossing boundaries. Looking at your arrogance, you must think you are some kind of angel from the heavens.’
‘You won’t find your houris in these villages. But I am sure you can find them in the windows of the brothels in your city. Why don’t you look for them over there?’
‘Shut up, you bitch!’
‘Who are you calling a bitch? Your mo—’ The word ‘mother’ was still on Naseem’s lips when his palm came crashing on the side of her face. The impact of his heavy hand reverberated through her ears. She felt her head spinning and a darkness enveloping her. It took her a few seconds to regain her bearings and when she did, she found his powerful arms crushing her against his body. She kicked and slapped and pinched to free herself from his grip, but her efforts were like those of the tiny sparrow flapping its wings and screaming in vain as the viper tightens its hold.
‘You bitch! You low life! You illegitimate progeny of a swine!’ Yusuf hurled the curses in a single breath even as he splattered her face with kisses. The animal in him was unleashed and he might have continued if he hadn’t noticed someone appear at the entrance of the hut. His arms involuntarily loosened their grip, allowing Naseem to escape his clutches. She bolted straight through the door and through the grove without pausing to see the face of her saviour.
‘What do you think you are doing, you nasty piece of work?’ young Allahditta rumbled as he leapt towards Yusuf with the agility of a leopard.
Yusuf was rather proud of his physique and also stood a couple of inches taller than Allahditta. But the intruder was exceptionally muscular, and his stocky frame was hard as iron after years of tough manual labour. He placed one hand on Yusuf’s throat and pushed him out of the hut. ‘Let me show you what happens when you mess around with girls from our village,’ he warned.
‘Get lost,’ Yusuf twirled his moustache as he growled. ‘Or you’ll find yourself leaving this place with a broken jaw.’
‘Really?’ Allahditta said as he rolled up his sleeves. ‘Let’s settle the matter then. We’ve had enough of your nuisance. It’s time someone taught you a lesson.’
As the two went at each other, Yusuf found it hard to believe that his shorter opponent could possess such strength. Within minutes, he had pummelled Yusuf to the ground, ripped his clothes and boxed his face black and blue. After being released from Allahditta’s brawny arms, Yusuf looked sheepishly at his feet.
Allahditta brushed the dust off his clothes and warned, ‘Blacken your face and get lost, you son of a swine. If I ever see you in our village again, I promise you I’ll shove that police uniform of yours up your arse! Son of a bitch! Even the most depraved know where to draw a line. And you … you had no qualms about assaulting a daughter of your own village? If you ever return to this place, I will make sure that your face is blackened and you are paraded on a donkey. I swear that if I don’t do that, I am the offspring of a bitch and not of my mother.’
‘Allahditta,’ Yusuf pleaded as he used a section of his turban to stem the flow of blood oozing from his teeth. ‘Please forgive me, brother. I’ve made a mistake,’ he panted.
‘Made a mistake?’ Allahditta scowled. ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve behaved like this! We know your habits well, you scoundrel.’
‘Alright, brother. But I implore you to protect my honour this one time. Please don’t breathe a word about today to anyone in the village. And if I ever do something wrong again, you can treat me like a bandit and give me the same punishment.’
‘Not tell anyone in the village?’ Allahditta asked incredulously. ‘And what about the poor girl that you have assaulted? What will she say? That her village folk have all vanished? No way! I suggest you take the track outside the village and make your way to Rawalpindi without uttering another word. That’s your safest bet. Or else…’