Free Revolt by Qaisra Shahraz Page A

doorframe.
    The two women nervously waited.
    ‘Mistress Laila has married the potter’s son!’
    Reaching her mistress’s side, Begum gently held her in her arms and guided her to the armchair. She crouched on the floor, clutching her mistress’s legs, fearing they would give way beneath her. Ali’s forehead was still pressed against the door-frame . Begum stared at the clock as if her whole life depended on it. The master was due back in half an hour.
    Hearing his mistress’s steps, Ali sidled away from the door, head lowered.
    ‘Ali, I’ll tell your master myself … Please phone Laila’s in-laws to cancel their visit … say that we have left for the city because of a family bereavement or something,’ Gulbahar instructed, before leaving.
    Begum sobbed loudly into her muslin shawl, unable to meet her husband’s accusing eyes.
    *
    Gulbahar leaned against the cold marble surface of the veranda colonnade, her eyes shut tight.
    ‘Sahiba-ji!’ Begum timidly asked. ‘Are you all right?’
    Gulbahar ignored her question and the chattering call of the parakeet swinging in his cage and returned to her bedroom. Husband and wife exchanged nervous glances.
    ‘What are we going to do, Ali?’ Begum beseeched.
    ‘Run!’
    Begum nodded, fear etched across her face.
    Ali’s bitter laugh frightened the two crows pecking the pomegranate fruit sewn inside little cotton bags in one corner of the courtyard. ‘Sometimes I wonder what your head is stuffed with – sawdust?’
    ‘You are cruel, Ali. I never expected our Laila would do this!’
    ‘She always had you wound round her pretty little finger, didn’t she? And you always became her puppet, her
phutley
that she manipulated to her heart’s content.’
    ‘You indulged and loved her too, Ali!’
    ‘Yes … but not in the reckless way you doted on her. She
used
you
, Begum. For God’s sake, wake up woman!’ His words were her undoing.
    Begum wept in self-pity. It was true; she had been thoroughly manipulated by her selfish young mistress.
    ‘Where’s my sister?’ young Arslan demanded from the rooftop, peering down over the railing. The question was innocent enough, but Ali and his wife, down below in the courtyard, stared up wide-eyed at the young master-ji flying a green kite.
    ‘She’s about somewhere!’ Ali lightly quipped, recovering first.
    ‘I want to fly my other kite with her. Tell her to come up when you see her!’
    ‘OK, Master Arslan.’ Begum whispered to her husband, ‘There will be more things flying tonight!’ Her heart bled for young Arslan, wondering how he would cope with Laila’s elopement.
    Begum shuffled back to the kitchen. The dinner preparation and the household chores had to be got on with. Above all, the
hevali
had to be emptied of all eavesdropping servants, and soon.
    ‘Farida, wash everything quickly! I don’t need you this evening! I’ll manage – the visitors are not coming,’ Begum explained to the young maid, ignoring her confused look.
    ‘Yes, Mistress Begum!’ came a meek reply.
    With exasperation, Begum eyed her leisurely scrubbing strokes. Why couldn’t the chit swing her arms out properly and give the pots a really good shine. What was wrong with the hands of the youth these days – weaklings!
    ‘Oh, God!’ Begum dropped the ladle in the curry sauce. She had to stop the guests from coming. And who would be the one to tell Master Haider? Begum agonised.
    She needn’t have worried.
    *
    Haider had personally decided to call on Jennat Bibi, the local sweetmaker’s wife, to order the sweetmeats for his daughter’s wedding. Jennat Bibi loved taking orders from Haider’s household, as the delivery of baskets of sweets gave her an opportunity to visit ‘that wonderful magical palace’ as she boasted to her family and friends.
    The sweetmaker’s front door was open and Haider overheard two female voices from within, locked in a hushed conversation; one speaker was Jennat Bibi.
    ‘Have you heard that Master