BISMILLAH
Saeed met Zaheer in connection with making films and was very impressed. He had seen Zaheer a couple of times at the Central Studios in Bombay and made some small talk but they met each other properly for the first time in Lahore.
There were countless film companies in Lahore but Saeed knew the grim reality behind most of them. He knew that many did not exist beyond the boards proclaiming their names. When Zaheer sent word through Akram and called him to his office, he was convinced that Zaheer was as hollow as most other film producers who spoke of producing films worth lakhs of rupees. They set up offices, took furniture on rent and, in the end, ran away without paying the bills of several small restaurants in the vicinity of their office.
Zaheer explained to Saeed earnestly how he wanted to make a low budget film. For five years, he had worked as an assistant to a stunt film director in Bombay. He was about to get the opportunity to direct a stunt film all by himself when India got partitioned and he had to come to Pakistan. He had been out of work for almost two and a half years but during this time had met some people who were willing to invest in a film for him. As he told Saeed, ‘Look here, I don’t wish to make a first- class film. I am not a very learned man. I can make a stunt film, and God willing, make a good stunt film. Within fifty thousand rupees, with a hundred per cent guaranteed profit … I can assure you that. What do you say?’
Saeed thought for a minute, then said, ‘Yes, at least that much profit seems assured.’
Zaheer said, ‘I have told the men who are ready to put their money in my film that I shall have nothing to do with keeping accounts. The financial aspect is their headache … I shall take care of everything else.’
Saeed asked, ‘Tell me, how can I help you?’
Zaheer answered with disarming sincerity, ‘Almost all the distributors in Pakistan know you, whereas I don’t know any of them. I would be extremely grateful if you could arrange for the distribution of my film.’
Saeed said, ‘You make your film; God willing, your work shall be done.’
‘You are very kind.’ With these words, Zaheer began to doodle with a pencil on the pad in front of him. He drew a flower and said, ‘Saeed sahab, I am hundred per cent convinced that I shall be successful … my wife shall be my heroine.’
‘Your wife?’
‘Yes.’
‘Has she worked in any other film before?’
‘No.’ Zaheer added a branch to the flower on his pad and said, ‘I got married when I came to Lahore. I hadn’t thought of bringing her into the film line, but she is keen — very keen. She watches one movie every day. Let me show you her photograph.’
Zaheer opened his desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. He took out his wife’s photograph and nudged it towards Saeed.
Saeed looked at the picture; it was of an ordinary looking young woman. She had a narrow forehead, a thin nose, thick lips, and eyes that were big and sad looking.
Her eyes were her most remarkable feature compared to the rest of her face. Saeed wanted to look closely at her eyes, but thinking it inappropriate, put the photograph back on the table. Zaheer asked, ‘So, what do you think?’
Saeed had no ready answer for such a question. As a matter of fact, those eyes had caught him in their spell. Those big, sad-looking eyes! Without meaning to do so, he picked up the photograph, looked at it once again and kept it back. He said, ‘You know better.’
Zaheer began to draw another flower on the pad. ‘This photograph is no good … it is a bit out of focus.’
Suddenly, the curtain on the back door rustled and Zaheer’s wife entered the office. The same big, sad-looking eyes! Zaheer looked at her and smiled. ‘She has the strangest name … Bismillah!’ And gesturing towards Saeed, he said, ‘Meet my friend, Saeed sahab.’
Bismillah said, ‘Adaab.’
Saeed got to his feet to greet her and said, ‘Please, do sit down.’
Bismillah adjusted her dupatta and sat down in the chair beside Saeed. The curve of her breasts sneaked from under the sheer, starched, pale pink mulmul dupatta. Saeed turned his eyes away.
Zaheer slid the photograph back into the envelope and told Saeed, ‘I am convinced that Bismillah will be a huge hit in her very first film, but I can’t think of a new name for her. Bismillah doesn’t seem like an appropriate name for the movies. What do you think?’
Saeed looked at Bismillah. For a minute, he nearly drowned in her big, sad-looking eyes. Quickly, he averted his gaze, and said, ‘Yes, you are right. Bismillah is not an appropriate name. She should be called something else.’
They talked about this and that for some time. Bismillah sat quietly. Her big, sad-looking eyes were silent too. Saeed plunged into those eyes several times. He and Zaheer talked. Bismillah kept sitting quietly, hiding her big, sad-looking eyes behind the curtain of her jet-black eyelashes. While the curve of her breasts kept tattling from beneath her sheer, pale- pink, starched mulmul dupatta. Every now and then, Saeed would steal a glance towards her but, almost immediately, his eyes would ricochet in the other direction.
Bismillah had a fairly dark complexion. The photograph gave no clue about her complexion. Against that dark skin, the big black eyes looked still sadder. Saeed wondered what had caused the sadness to lurk there. Were they so shaped that they merely looked sad, or was there a reason for the sadness? Saeed could reach no conclusion.
Zaheer was about to launch into a story about the Bombay days when Bismillah got up and left. There was an awkwardness in her gait as though she had recently begun wearing high-heeled slippers and was not accustomed to them. The way her gharara was tied too wasn’t quite right; its pleats fell sloppily. Saeed sensed that she didn’t possess many social graces but those two big black eyes on her face, despite their sadness, seemed steeped with many, unknown emotions.
Over the next few days, Saeed’s relations with Zaheer deepened. Zaheer was amazingly simple at heart, and this had a profound effect on Saeed. There was no trace of guile or artifice in anything Zaheer did or said. Any thought that arose in his mind, in whichever form or shape, would be clothed in the simplest of words, and find expression on his tongue in as straightforward a manner as possible. He preferred the same simplicity in matters of food and clothing.
Zaheer was extremely hospitable to Saeed whenever he visited his home. Saeed often told him not to take so much trouble, but Zaheer would never listen. He always said, ‘What trouble? Consider this your home.’
Saeed scolded himself one day when he realized that he had been going to Zaheer’s house every day. He berated himself, ‘The man respects me. He considers me his friend whereas I meet him only because I am interested in his wife. How awful!’
His conscience pricked him several times but he continued visiting Zaheer’s house.
Often, Bismillah would join them. In the early days, she would sit quietly. Gradually, she too began to speak up occasionally. But her conversations were pretty basic. It saddened Saeed to realize that she didn’t know how to speak well.
Once, when Saeed came calling, Zaheer wasn’t home. Bismillah answered from inside, ‘He has gone out.’ Saeed stood, undecided, thinking she would ask him to come in and wait. But she didn’t.
Zaheer’s film continued to be talked about. Almost every day, there was some discussion or the other concerning it. Zaheer would say, ‘I am in no hurry. Everything will be done at the right pace. And at the right time.’ Saeed wasn’t the slightest bit interested in Zaheer’s film. His only interest was in Bismillah, in whose large, sad eyes he had plunged many times. His interest was, as a matter of fact, increasing every day. This realization was quite painful for Saeed because he could no longer hide from the fact that he was desirous of establishing a physical relationship with his friend’s wife.