Free Typhoon by Qaisra Shahraz Page B

life.’
    ‘Oh dear!’ Kulsoom repeated, having forgotten all about Fatima’s niece. There was a bigger crisis to be dealt with in their friend’s household. The village kacheri and its verdict could wait. Their priority was to help and support Jamila in this unfortunate predicament – one that women have found themselves in since the dawn of time.
    Kulsoom settled herself more comfortably on the edge of her friend’s bed, while Naimat Bibi drew forward a wooden chair, hating the grating sound it made on the wet floor.
    Bending forward, Kulsoom began to soothe and massage her friend’s damp forehead. Thankful, Jamila smiled up at her, momentarily closing her eyes. It was blissful to be able to confide in them and have their support.
    Ashamed of her earlier reaction, Kulsoom hurriedly assembled together her wits and acute sense of social propriety. She began with a generous measure of moral support and wholesome traditional advice.
    ‘Don’t worry about it, my sister,’ she offered. ‘Youonly have three children and it could be a boy – just think! Celebrate it as a blessing, my dear.’ she reassured Jamila, now having the foresight to switch tactfully from commiseration to sympathy.
    ‘But my daughter is nearly sixteen years old! She started puberty two years ago!’ Jamila wailed, not bothering to hide anything from her two friends. ‘How am I ever going to show my face and later my bulging waistline to my male and other village elders? I am so ashamed.’
    The two friends exchanged another quick glance of understanding. Naimat Bibi had decided that it was now her turn to voice her brand of stoicism and wisdom.
    ‘Come on, Jamila. It is not as if you are fifty years old. You are barely thirty-seven. There is absolutely nothing to be ashamed about. Remember our Noora, how last year she gave birth to a girl at the same time as her grandson was born? If any birth was bound to cause a flutter of embarrassment and fiery red cheeks, that was the one! Especially as mother and daughter delivered on the same day and in the same house! Her husband had a daughter and a grandson all at one go. The poor man didn’t know how best to accept the villagers’ congratulations.
    Therefore, so what if you are pregnant? Be grateful that you are blessed with children! Ask poor Basri, who has ached for children for the last twenty years and has worn her feet out visiting
darbars
and holy men to ask that her prayers be accepted and her womb blessed with a child. Count yourself lucky, my sister. Anyway, you still might be all right,’ ended Naimat Bibi, wanting to add her own bit at consolation. There were times she felt it imperative to assert herself and to openly air herown brand of wisdom. Somehow, Kulsoom always managed to be in the limelight. Not that she grudged her friend. For the most part she was happy to let Kulsoom take the lead role, for she was quick-witted and more intelligent on the whole.
    ‘Yes, Jamila Jee,’ Kulsoom quickly added. ‘Now, have you tried dried dates? They are always said to work.’
    Jamila began to giggle, her body rocking heavily on the bed. Then she held her arm to her waist, as the pain in her stomach became unbearable. Giggling was doing her no good at all.
    ‘Have I tried dates you ask? My friend, I have gobbled down two large sackfuls, I tell you! My poor husband has been making daily journeys to Malik’s shop, buying kilos of them. I am sure we have used up his entire stock.’ Jamila’s body shook with mirth again, as she saw the look on her friends’ faces. ‘Do you know, Malik Sahib had the cheek to tease my husband, saying that we have definitely taken a liking to his dried dates recently. Crafty devil. He sells sackfuls to women with unwanted pregnancies. He probably suspects that something is afoot in this house, for nobody could be using that many dates in their cooking. How many times could I possibly make
kheer
or
zarda
anyway? I have had them for breakfast, for dinner, and