Of Smokeless Fire A.A. Jafri (books to read to improve english TXT) 📖

‘But you are a good djinn,’ she said, ‘and my mother was an illiterate, gullible woman.’

Just then, Mansoor spotted Haider Rizvi entering the restaurant with Sadiq Mirza. Lowering his head, he whispered to Mehrun, ‘What is the distance you have to keep from Uncle Sadiq to avoid getting killed by Auntie Talat?’

‘What?’

Mansoor repeated his question.

‘Don’t joke, Mansoor Babu.’

‘I am not joking. Don’t look back, but guess who just walked into the restaurant?’

‘No!’

‘Yes. Finish your coffee, and we will try to sneak out without getting noticed. Here are my car keys. Go sit inside, in case they see me, and I am called.’

Mehrun had not finished her coffee, but she pushed it aside and got up. Mansoor left two hundred-rupee notes on the table and followed her. They tried to slip out of the restaurant quietly, but Haider noticed them.

‘Mansoor!’ he waved at him.

Mansoor tilted his head ever so slightly, signalling Mehrun to go to his car.

‘How are you, Uncle Haider, Uncle Sadiq?’ he asked the two men as he walked over to their table.

‘Fine, fine! Who was that young lady, huh?’ Haider demanded.

‘No one; just a friend.’

‘Uh-huh, uh-huh,’ Haider winked conspiratorially at Mansoor as he said this.

Sadiq, however, appeared to be having the most awkward moment of his life as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes trying to avoid looking at Mehrun when she passed them. He knew that Haider had recognized Mehrun and would try to tease him incessantly. He had regretted telling Haider about his feelings for Mehrun as soon as he had confided in him. Sadiq tried to change the subject swiftly, ‘Congratulations on your exam, Mansoor.’

‘Thanks, Uncle Sadiq. I would have stayed and chatted, but I have to go.’

As he sped out of the restaurant, he heard Haider yelling after him, ‘Tell your abba we expect him at the club next Friday.’

Mansoor saw Mehrun inside the car, slumped against the seat, looking pale and scared. He started the engine and began driving back towards her bank on McLeod Road.

When Mansoor returned home after dropping Mehrun, he saw Athanni, who came running towards him.

‘Did you hear about Nana Jaan? He is dead,’ he said.

*

That night after his grandfather’s funeral, Mansoor slept restlessly, with nightmares about Mehrun and Sadiq torturing his sleep, his heart pulsating with anxiety. At one point, he woke up thinking of Uncle Zahid. The next day, he asked his father about his uncle. Noor had telephoned him in Germany, but because Zahid was in the middle of his course, he wasn’t able to come for the funeral.

Zahid, it seemed to Mansoor, had vanished entirely from the face of the planet. In the beginning, he wrote frequent letters to his father and to Farhat about the loneliness in a foreign country, a loneliness that he struggled to keep at bay by immersing himself in his studies and work. He also sent a couple of postcards to Mansoor. But with time, his letters became sporadic, and then they stopped altogether. And six months after the death of Javed Sultan, they received the terrible telegram informing them that Zahid Sultan had been killed in a fiery car crash. For the first time, Mansoor saw tears trickle down his father’s cheeks.

*

Seasons rolled by without any fuss. The new general in charge of the country finally announced the date of the first election to be based on adult franchise. The people, however, didn’t believe him. Demagoguery reached new heights as thuggery got enshrined in the body politic. The brilliant foreign minister granted himself the grand title of The People’s Leader. Noor called him the Tippler. Holding one successful rally after the other, the man became genuinely popular. Sniffing victory, The People’s Leader also became arrogant, not realizing that the ultranationalist leader of the eastern province, known as Bangabandhu, the Friend of Bengal, could rob him of the premiership. The eastern province, separated by India, was the largest, and if Bangabandhu took all the seats there, he was sure to become the next prime minister. A hung parliament would be good for the country, Noor had thought. It would weaken the dictatorial leanings of The People’s Leader.

On the hustings, The People’s Leader gave electrifying speeches to the poor farmers in the villages. In one such public address, he asked the villagers, ‘How many of you have gone to those big cities of the exploiters?’ A few in the crowd raised their hands.

‘How many among you have seen these kaloo, black sahibs walking with their wives, holding their hands?’ A few more raised their hands again.

‘When I am elected, you will freely roam around in cities with your wives, holding their hands without shame. Are you in any way inferior to those bastards in the cities?’

And the farmers looked at each other, puzzled. Why would they want to roam around uselessly with their wives, that too holding their hands? Someone in the crowd yelled a new slogan: ‘Surkh hai! Surkh hai! Asia surkh hai! (Red! Red! Asia is Red!)’

The leader of the G.O.D.s gave a befitting reply, ‘And to the socialists and the godless communists, I have a simple message: We will do unto you what was done unto them in the Islamic Republic of Indonesia!’ This was a reference to the communist purge of 1965 in Indonesia that killed at least five hundred thousand people.

And his crowd chanted: ‘Subz hai! Subz hai! Asia subz hai! (Green! Green! Asia is Green!)’

And Noor, of course, would not be Noor, if he did not react to this. He chanted: ‘Subz hai na surkh hai! Asia ko kabz hai! (Neither green nor red! Asia is constipated!)’

And Bangabandhu said, ‘This time, the struggle is for our freedom! This time, the struggle is for our independence! It has nothing to do with green or red!’

*

As the election day approached, people worked their enthusiasm up to a fever pitch. It was to be the dawn of democracy, as promised by Rangeelay Shah. Amid the chaos, they saw glimmers of order; amid anarchy, they noticed flashes