I said what I thought, ‘Men have a special need for women. Some feel it more, and some feel it less. My friend is the type that wants to sleep with a woman every night. If food, drink, and sleep are important to him, then a woman is just as important. Maybe he’s wrong to think like this, but at least he doesn’t pretend.’
Izzat Jahan’s tone became even more bitter. ‘Just because he doesn’t hide it, doesn’t make it right. If prostitutes consent to selling their bodies, it doesn’t mean it’s natural. It’s because our way of doing things is wrong and it’s unnatural that there are prostitutes. Your friend’s nervous system isn’t sound. That’s why he can’t tell the difference between women and food. You can’t live without food, but surely you can live without sex!’
‘Sure, you can live,’ I said. ‘But when did it become a matter of life and death? You know, not every man can get a woman, but all those who can, do.’
Nasir wasn’t at all interested in our conversation. ‘Okay, enough of this. It’s late, and we have nineteen miles to go. Let’s go, Izzat, shall we?’
Izzat didn’t listen to Nasir, but said to me, ‘Whatever you say, but, really, your friend is very rude. I can’t believe the three of us were sitting here chatting and in the next room he — lahaul wala quwat!’
Nasir was sleepy. ‘All right, for God’s sake, stop talking about it! Let’s go!’
Izzat got mad. ‘Look … look … now you’re finally starting to act like a real husband.’
I couldn’t help but laugh, and Nasir laughed too. When Izzat Jahan saw us laughing, a smile stole across her lips.
‘How else can I put it?’ she asked. ‘This is exactly what husbands are like — I mean he’s trying to bully me.’
Nasir and Izzat stayed for a bit and then left. Our first meeting was very interesting. Although I wasn’t able to talk to her in any detail about the Communist Movement, she still impressed me, and I imagined that future meetings would provide a lot of food for thought.
Then I found an apartment, and my wife joined me. One day Izzat came by, and the two of them took to each other immediately. From then on Izzat Jahan would often come by our apartment in the evening on her way home. I wanted to discuss with her every aspect of Communism from Hegel, Marx and Engels to Bakunin, Kropotkin and Trotsky, but she and my wife would go off to the other room and lie down on the bed and talk about who knows what. If I happened to mention the effects of Stalin’s current war policy on Communist theory, she would ask my wife the price of white wool. If I said anything about the hypocrisy of M.N. Roy, she would praise some song from the movie Family. And if I got her to sit down next to me and was able to begin a conversation, she would get up after several minutes to go into the kitchen to peel onions for my wife.
Izzat Jahan worked all day at the Party office. She lived twenty or twenty-five miles from there, and her commute was an hour by train each way, so she would return home tired every evening. Nasir worked in a factory, and every month he had to work fifteen nights as an overseer. But Izzat was happy. She repeated to my wife, ‘The meaning of marriage is not just a bed, and the meaning of a husband is not just someone to sleep with at night. People were not made just for this.’
My wife liked these words very much.
Izzat Jahan put a lot of herself into her work, and so I didn’t mind that she was too tired to talk to me. Nor did I mind that she spent more time with my wife, as it was clear she enjoyed her company more than mine. Nonetheless I was curious to see if Izzat would change my wife’s thinking — which was an average middle-class capitalist perspective — into her own.
One day I came back from work early, probably around two. I knocked on the door, but instead of my wife opening it, it was Nasir. Straightaway I went to put my bag on my desk as I usually did. Nasir lay down on my bed, pulling a blanket over him. Izzat Jahan was lying on the sofa on the other side of the room.
‘I think I’m coming down with a fever,’ Nasir said.
I looked in Izzat Jahan’s direction and asked, ‘And you?’
‘No, I’m just lying down.’
‘Where’s Ruqaiya?’ I asked.
‘She’s sleeping in the other room,’ Izzat said.
‘What’s this? Everyone’s sleeping?’ Then I called out for my wife, ‘Ruqaiya! Ruqaiya!’
‘Yes!’ her sleepy voice answered.
‘Come here. How long are you going to sleep?’
Ruqaiya came into the room, rubbing her eyes, and sat down next to Izzat. Nasir was still lying with the blanket pulled over him. I sat in a chair next to my wife, and we talked for a while about deep sleep because Ruqaiya always slept like a baby. Then Izzat and my wife began talking about needlework. In the meantime tea was made. Nasir drank a cup in bed, and I gave him two aspirins for his fever.
Izzat Jahan and Nasir stayed for a little less than two hours and then left.
When I lay down on my bed that night, I folded the top pillow in half as I always do, and what did I see but the bottom pillow did not have a pillowcase. Ruqaiya was standing next to me changing her clothes. ‘Why isn’t there a pillowcase on this pillow?’ I asked.
Ruqaiya stared at the pillow, and in a tone of surprise said, ‘Well, where did that pillowcase go? Oh, yes — it was your friend.’
Smiling, I asked, ‘Nasir took it?’
‘How should I know?’ Ruqaiya said defensively. Then she relented. ‘Oh, it’s so embarrassing! I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. I was sleeping in the other room and they were — your friend and his wife — damn them! They turned out to be very rude.’
The next day we found the pillowcase underneath the bed, and rats and cockroaches had soiled it. In addition to that, we also found the aspirin tablets I’d given to Nasir to relieve his fever.
HAMID’S BABY
WHEN Babu Har Gopal came from Lahore, Hamid found himself without anywhere to turn. As soon as Babu Har Gopal got there, he ordered Hamid, ‘Hey, get a taxi, quick.’
‘Why don’t you take it easy for a while?’ Hamid suggested. ‘You must be tired after your long trip.’
But Babu Har Gopal was stubborn. ‘No, no, I’m not tired at all. I came here to have fun, not lie around. It was hard for me to get these ten days off. You’re all mine — you have to do whatever I say. This time I’m going to do everything I want. Now get me some soda water.’
‘Look, Babu Har Gopal, don’t start drinking so early in the morning.’
But his guest didn’t listen. He opened a cupboard, took out a bottle of Johnny Walker and unscrewed the cap. ‘If you’re not going to get any soda, then at least get some water,’ Babu Har Gopal said. ‘Or don’t I get any water, either?’
At forty, Babu Har Gopal was ten years older than Hamid. Hamid obeyed his guest because he was a friend of his deceased father. Hamid immediately ordered some soda water, and then implored, ‘Look, please don’t force me to drink. You know my wife is very strict.’ But nothing he said had any effect on Babu Har Gopal, so Hamid had to drink too. As expected, after Babu Har Gopal downed four shots, he said, ‘Okay, then, let’s go see what we can see. But look, let’s get a nice taxi, a private one, I like those a lot. I hate the meter ones.’
Hamid arranged for a private taxi. It was a new Ford, and the driver was also very good. Babu Har Gopal was very happy. He sat down in the taxi, took out his big wallet, and looked to see how much he had. He had a bunch of hundred-rupee notes. He sighed in relief and muttered to himself, ‘That’s enough.’ Then he turned to the driver. ‘Okay, then. Driver, let’s go.’
The driver turned his hat on sideways and asked, ‘Where to, sir?’ Babu Har Gopal motioned to Hamid. ‘You tell him.’