In the Company of Strangers, page 17
Ali was perplexed. ‘Held what?’
‘Oh come on. Drop the charade already! I know what’s going on. I’m your mother, remember?’ Padding up to the stool in front of the dresser, she sank into it, and wrapped her arms around her legs. ‘So, who is she?’
Ali rose from the bed. Had Gul reached out to her? Or had she, with a mother’s shrewd understanding of her children, somehow figured out his repressed but undeniable feelings for Mona? With a level voice, he managed, ‘She?’
‘Oh Ali! I wish you would trust me just a little. You don’t think I’m a total dingbat, do you? I mean, I’ve been looking at your dazed expression in the mornings, your nightly absences, the way you make an extra effort to dress smart every morning.’
The knot of unease that had risen up to his throat loosened a little. She was grasping at straws. ‘I’m a model, Mom. It’s my job to dress smart, and work late.’
She flapped a hand at him. ‘Oh come on! You think I wasn’t young once? I understand what’s happening all right, but until now I had decided not to say anything. I mean, I can see you’re still uncomfortable in owning up so I won’t push you – oh my God, look, you’re blushing!’
‘I am not! And I’m not seeing anyone, Mom, if that’s what you mean. At least not yet,’ he added.
‘Oh, so there might be someone in the near future? Interesting.’
‘Oh God.’
His mother’s face grew serious; her sky-blue eyes that were dancing with delight moments ago were darkening now. ‘Dekho Ali, I would never presume to interfere in your life, you know that, and God knows I don’t have the right to after all I have put you through, but bear in mind this little piece of advice I’m giving you.’ Her gaze locked level with his. ‘Always play fair when you can. Your personal life aside, you are a rising star today. Soon, people will throw themselves at you. The world will be open for you. If you’re serious about someone, just go for it, take it to the next level, but just make sure that person is worth it. The world is already a sad place without us making stupid mistakes only to regret them later on. And the grief of a broken heart, Oh Ali, that is something else altogether.’
Ali stared at her. ‘Do you regret marrying Abbu?’
She hung her head as if at a loss for further words, before glancing up at him. ‘Just be careful, won’t you beta?’
He didn’t know what to say to her. Instead, he asked her about Hussain.
Her eyes lit up at that. Jumping up from the stool, she dropped a quick kiss on his forehead, and turned for the door. ‘Hussain’s started taking baby steps on the prosthetic,’ she said looking back at him. ‘I’m so thankful to Allah! Life is getting better, and all because of you. Do thank that gracious man from me.’
‘Who, Mir Sahab?’
‘Yes yes, the one who paid for Hussain’s prosthetic leg. What an angel. Do take me to meet him sometime, won’t you?’
Ali assured her he would, but something about taking his mother down to the Mir’s abode didn’t seem right, like he would be crossing a line. He couldn’t quite put a finger on the feeling except that he’d have to think things through before he could even hope to introduce her to Mir Sahab. Not that he was a bad guy, he thought, determined not to let anything taint the saint-like image he held of the man in his mind. His request to meet Elahi was a reasonable one, and Ali was glad to be of some use to him.
Getting out of Iqbal Town during rush hour was another matter though.
Two men in black suits and what looked like very expensive silk ties approached him when he finally climbed out of his car. ‘Ahmed Raza, Sir,’ one of them, a burly, bearded man said to him, extending a hand.
‘Jamal Abid,’ said the other one.
Ali shook both their hands, sizing them up in the process. Their grip was strong, their hands rough and callused – they definitely didn’t seem like the hands of accountants who spent their entire day behind a desk. A prickle of unease pierced him.
‘You guys work out much?’
‘Indeed,’ Jamal Abid said, his eyes gleaming as he ran his fingers through his fashionably tousled hair. These men seemed to be dressed for the Oscars, not some random party in Lahore.
Ahmed Raza exposed large, neatly filed teeth. ‘Every single day. You’d be surprised at how boring a desk job can be.’
They were just accountants, but with a penchant for muscles. Mir Rabiullah sure seemed to know how to intimidate people. Of course, Ali berated himself. How else would he be where he was today if he didn’t know how to work the magic of intimidation.
‘Let’s go,’ Ali said, gesturing them to take the lead. ‘We’re late already.’
Meera agreed with his observation. ‘You’re late,’ was the first thing she said as she stood to greet guests at the entrance to the magnificent haveli. ‘For a moment, I thought you were a no show.’ She rolled her eyes upward as if berating herself for even entertaining such a thought, before her gaze landed on the men with Ali. Meera let out a low whistle. ‘Well, well, who do we have here?’
Ahmed and Jamal both introduced themselves with their first names only, glossing over the fact that they were from a charity organisation. Ali didn’t press them on the subject as revealing their true identities would just serve to alert Elahi.
He felt a savage delight in the plan to take Elahi by surprise. Elahi hadn’t got back to him regarding the offer for movies or introductions with directors. And after he’d heard the rumours that Elahi swung both ways, he had given up trying to contact him. Good riddance, he thought.
Meera’s eyes sparked in mischief, as she tugged on the shimmering black blouse of her sari to reveal more cleavage.
‘Stop staring,’ she quipped, catching where his gaze had drifted. Ali brought it back to her face. Meera’s eyes were fixed on the two handsome men. ‘Make yourselves at home, gents. We have enough drinks to last us a lifetime. And food too! Not that you seem to require sustenance. What are you, beasts?’
As Ali led them away, Meera widened her eyes at him, and gave him a thumbs-up, mouthing something that sounded strangely like ‘Hook me up!’
Wasn’t she already married? Or was she between husbands at the moment?
Unsure of how to reply, Ali hung his head low, and entered the expansive courtyard of the haveli. It was something out of the Mughal era with its elegant courtyards and towering arches. Ali understood then why this place was such a haunt for the elite of Lahore; it was a careful mix of old-world charm splashed with the amenities of today. Standing erect at three storeys high, the building possessed enough magnificence to enchant even the most detached observer.
Ali was amazed to see couples kissing openly, something unheard of in Lahore. From the excited whispers of the men that passed him, Ali gleaned that a mujra was going on inside one the haveli rooms.
‘Dancers from Heera Mandi itself,’ Jamal remarked, fixing his red silk tie in place, an avid expression on his face. ‘This woman, Meera, has some balls. You don’t get to see courtesans dancing everyday.’
A group of younger men and women sat huddled together on the porch overlooking the courtyard. Even from afar, Ali caught the sweet, cloying smell of their weed as they threw their heads back, taking turns to smoke a single roll-up. From the jaded look on some of their faces, Ali guessed the involvement of other drugs. His suspicions were confirmed when a man from the group sprinkled something on a small table, and lowered his head to snort it up.
Cocaine. He quickly looked away.
‘There’s a dance floor too, look!’ Ahmed exclaimed, nudging Jamal, and pointing to a space that had been cleared in the middle of the courtyard where a raised dais had been put up. A bunch of technicians squatted on the glass-floored dance floor, testing strobe lights. Ali slowed his pace. Due to the careful, studious way in which the accountants spoke, he had assumed that they were native Urdu speakers, but just now in their eagerness, their accent had slipped. It didn’t really mean anything. These men could be from elsewhere in Punjab. He shook his head. Why was he on edge? Was it the sight of the cocaine that had thrown him off like that? He needed to get Mir Rabiullah’s work done and then cook up an excuse to leave. This party was not healthy for his vow of abstinence. Already, he could feel the sweat trickling down his neck.
A woman in a long, flowing black gown caught Ali’s attention. She was ambling along the edge of the courtyard, just short of where the garden began. The decided restraint in her walk, the delicate waves of the luscious brown hair… she looked like Mona.
‘Hey, where’s Elahi?’ Jamal asked, but Ali ignored him and strolled toward the woman in black. ‘Mona?’
What if she refused to recognise him? He wouldn’t be surprised after his behaviour at the charity event the other day.
She turned, but it wasn’t her.
It was a haggard old woman, her ancient face full of lines. It was Shahida Elahi, he realised. ‘Mona?’ Her voice was as sharp as a whip.
Ali winced.
‘Why would you be looking for Mona now?’
‘I’m actually looking for Elahi Sahab, your husband.’
Shahida’s eyes narrowed into slits. ‘Really now? Why would that be? Has my husband been feeding you that cock and bull story about his long-unfulfilled desire to enter the film industry, his friendship with film directors, because I would advise you to save your breath. None of that will happen. My husband simply needs fresh fuel to feed his perennial delusion about the film industry.’
‘I wanted to see him about something else,’ he said when he was sure his tongue would bear the weight of his words.
‘Hmmm, well don’t ask me. Elahi will be where the girls are. Or the boys. I tell you, there are days when I can’t figure out whether I married a hetero or a homo.’ She waved a hand at him. ‘Go ahead and call me a homophobe. I can proudly say that I am.’
Ali returned to the two men, shaking his head.
Jamal’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. ‘His wife, I presume. The old bat. Mir Sahab has a special dislike for her.’
At least there was one thing in which they saw eye to eye, Ali thought.
He gestured toward the place where the mujra was in progress. It was anybody’s guess how they were going to weave their way into the thicket of men surrounding the stage. ‘Let’s start there.’
Ali noticed how Ahmed checked his watch furtively. ‘Ten-thirty. It’s getting late, Jamal.’
Jamal looked back at Ahmed, his smile as wide as ever. ‘No, it’s not. Not unless we find Elahi in good time.’
Before Ali could ask what this little exchange meant, they were swallowed into the crowd of men. The smell of their sweat and cologne came in heavy waves, causing tears to erupt in his eyes. Ahmed and Jamal were shouldering their way deep into the crowd, Ali barely managing to keep up. They elbowed and kneed people in the gut giving the impression of a couple of crazed tractors crashing around a field of tender wheat. People tipped and bent out of their way, some deferentially, others painfully as they got hit somewhere tender.
‘Ali!’
Ali turned around to find himself face to face with Mona. He blinked once, before letting his gaze travel all over her body. The dress she wore hugged her body in all the right places; a slender silk ribbon was tied into a bow around her waist, drawing attention to how slim it was. Ali was certain it would fit in his two hands. It was a wonder this woman had borne two children. He wondered why she hid herself beneath loose kaftans and baggy shirts.
‘Wow, you look…’ It was quite the cliché, but he wanted to say ‘sexy’. He felt himself going red. ‘I meant to say that you look fantastic.’
It was her turn to blush. She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned toward his ear. He felt an involuntary shudder pass through him. Perhaps he was destined to fall for women many years his senior. Right now, all he wanted to do was… he was embarrassed to even think of what he wanted to do.
He focused on what she was saying. ‘Everyone knows young people fake their admiration for the middle-aged. You don’t need to flatter me to be my friend. I’m not one of those women.’
‘I never lie about my admiration,’ Ali quipped.
She gave a short laugh, shaking her head. ‘Something tells me I should trust you.’
Ali shrugged. He couldn’t take his eyes off her waist. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to make sure they didn’t act of their own accord. Slowly, he levelled his eyes with hers. A series of fine lines crinkled around her eyes when she smiled. He still found her irresistible. He gulped, mustering a gob of saliva to wet his parched throat.
‘Rather claustrophobic in here, isn’t it?’ Mona remarked, eyeing the rowdy crowd of cheering men around her. ‘Someone told me Meera was here, but all I can see are drunk men. Drunk and’ – she cleared her throat – ‘lusty. I’ve been groped three times tonight. I think it might be a record.’
‘You look beautiful, Mona.’
‘Why, thank you Ali for saying it again.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘You look pretty dapper yourself.’
He thanked her.
‘You’re not angry about the other day, I hope?’ he said all of a sudden. ‘I shouldn’t have questioned you about your private life.’
Her face assumed an impassive look. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. And besides, you could never hurt me. You’re too sweet for that.’ She looked past his shoulder. ‘Hey, are those men with you? They’re pointing at you.’
Ali whipped around, and saw Jamal and Ahmed waving and pointing at him. They looked comical with their flailing arms and serious faces. When they were sure they had his attention, Jamal pointed at something to his right. Ali followed his finger with his eyes, and saw that he was pointing right at a tight clump of men, Elahi planted firmly in the middle.
Ali looked back at Ahmed’s raised eyebrows and nodded. It was Elahi, all right.
‘Wow, your friends sure know how to dress up. Those silk ties, my my.’
When Ali didn’t smile, she broke into laughter. ‘Oh, to be young and full of such conflicting emotions. I only meant it as a mild compliment, Ali. I think you look much better in your red shirt. It’s silk too, isn’t it?’
Ali still didn’t reply, but this time a genuine smile crossed his lips as he closed his eyes. Better, but her way of speaking to him was still detached, like she was talking to a child. Maybe it was all in his head. It wouldn’t be the first time. He thought of holding her hand, but she grabbed his with such ferocity that Ali’s eyes opened in surprise.
‘Oh my God,’ she whispered. ‘Oh my God.’
The next few seconds passed in what seemed like a flash, and yet Ali saw every minute detail of what happened as if someone had played it in slow motion. He was still reeling from Mona’s touch, her icy hand in his, when the unthinkable happened. With the flourish of experts, Jamal and Ahmed drew revolvers from inside their jackets, and aimed them at Elahi and his group.
Nobody else had noticed them; they were all busy admiring the dancing courtesan. Mona screamed, but nobody heard her. The shout building in Ali’s throat died there. He knew his voice wouldn’t travel. His muscles flexed in anticipation of action, but before he could so much as lift a foot, the sound of shots rang in the air. The men around Elahi fell like a row of dominoes, one after the other, until the only one left standing was Elahi himself. Ahmed’s back was turned to him, but Ali heard his savage laugh in the chaotic noise as he aimed the gun at Elahi’s forehead and pulled the trigger.
Elahi crumpled to the ground, his face bearing a look of utter incomprehension. He had been too surprised to even shout for help.
Finally, as if awakened from a feverish reverie, the people around them turned their attention to the spreading pool of crimson on the concrete, the jumble of bodies lying one atop the other, limbs spread at inhuman angles. The courtesan herself seemed to have paused mid-air, too scared to move a muscle. What followed were a few moments of silence where the people knew that something terrible had happened, but their minds hadn’t had the chance to process the severity of the event to initiate an appropriate response.
Before they could spring into action, a deafening boom sounded somewhere near the entrance of the haveli, followed by a rain of concrete and earth.
Chapter Eighteen
Mona
‘Bomb blast!’ someone screamed.
‘Duck!’ Mona shouted, plunging Ali to the ground with her, as a spattering of hot concrete fell on their backs. Before her eyes, a flying steel rod drove straight through a man; launching itself into the ground like a flag post, the man hanging like a grim trophy.
Women screamed, men shouted. Beside her, Ali sucked in a breath as someone ran over his back. People were rising to their feet, and she knew what would be next. A stampede. They had to get out of here.
‘We’re going to get minced if we stay on the ground like this,’ she growled, the grit thick on her tongue. She tasted ash and terror. Her gaze drew a blank across the courtyard. There was nowhere to go. Everywhere she looked, dozens of puzzled eyes stared back at her, the realisation of what had just happened dawning on their faces. The place was going to fall into bedlam in seconds. ‘Get up,’ she urged Ali, who seemed to be lost for words. He would widen his eyes, blink furiously and then repeat the same gesture.
‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, his head resting on his arm.
The smell of burning wood reached them.
‘Well, neither can I,’ Mona replied, pulling herself to her feet. She didn’t want to get burnt alive. Perhaps that’s what kept her head clear. From the expression on Ali’s face, she knew he had gone into shock, as had many other people who stood with creased eyebrows, unable to move. She looked behind to find the wooden entrance on fire, the flames licking their way toward the haveli proper.
