Upstairs on the balcony two of the (less modern) women looked down through the slits in a cane screen and discussed Saeeda Bai’s dress, ornament, face, manner, antecedents and voice.
‘Nice sari, but nothing special. She always wears Banarasi silk. Red tonight. Last year it was green. Stop and go.’
‘Look at that zari work in the sari.’
‘Very flashy, very flashy – but I suppose all that is necessary in her profession, poor thing.’
‘I wouldn’t say “poor thing”. Look at her jewels. That heavy gold necklace with the enamel work –’
‘It comes down a bit too low for my taste –’
‘– well, anyway, they say it was given to her by the Sitagarh people!’
‘Oh.’
‘And many of those rings too, I should think. She’s quite a favourite of the Nawab of Sitagarh. They say he’s quite a lover of music.’
‘And of music-makers?’
‘Naturally. Now she’s greeting Maheshji and his son Maan. He looks very pleased with himself. Is that the Governor he’s –’
‘Yes, yes, all these Congress-wallahs are the same. They talk about simplicity and plain living, and then they invite this kind of person to the house to entertain their friends.’
‘Well, she’s not a dancer or anything like that.’
‘No, but you can’t deny what she is !’
‘But your husband has come as well.’
‘My husband!’
The two ladies – one the wife of an ear, nose and throat specialist, one the wife of an important middleman in the shoe trade – looked at each other in exasperated resignation at the ways of men.
‘She’s exchanging greetings with the Governor now. Look at him grinning. What a fat little man – but they say he’s very capable.’
‘Aré, what does a Governor have to do except snip a few ribbons here and there and enjoy the luxuries of Government House? Can you hear what she’s saying?’
‘No.’
‘Every time she shakes her head the diamond on her nose-pin flashes. It’s like the headlight of a car.’
‘A car that has seen many passengers in its time.’
‘What time? She’s only thirty-five. She’s guaranteed for many more miles. And all those rings. No wonder she loves doing adaab to anyone she sees.’
‘Diamonds and sapphires mainly, though I can’t see clearly from here. What a large diamond that is on her right hand –’
‘No, that’s a white something – I was going to say a white sapphire, but it isn’t that – I was told it was even more expensive than a diamond, but I can’t remember what they call it.’
‘Why does she need to wear all those bright glass bangles among the gold ones. They look a bit cheap !’
‘Well, she’s not called Firozabadi for nothing. Even if her forefathers – her foremothers – don’t come from Firozabad, at least her glass bangles do. Oh-hoh, look at the eyes she’s making at the young men!’
‘Shameless.’
‘That poor young man doesn’t know where to look.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Doctor Durrani’s younger son, Hashim. He’s just eighteen.’
‘Hmm…’
‘Very good-looking. Look at him blush.’
‘Blush! All these Muslim boys might look innocent, but they are lascivious in their hearts, let me tell you. When we used to live in Karachi –’
But at this point Saeeda Bai Firozabadi, having exchanged salutations with various members of the audience, having spoken to her musicians in a low tone, having placed a paan in the corner of her right cheek, and having coughed twice to clear her throat, began to sing.
2.4
ONLY a few words had emerged from that lovely throat when the ‘wah! wahs!’ and other appreciative comments of the audience elicited an acknowledging smile from Saeeda Bai. Lovely she certainly was, and yet in what did her loveliness lie? Most of the men there would have been hard-pressed to explain it; the women sitting above might have been more perceptive. She was no more than pleasing-looking, but she had all the airs of the distinguished courtesan – the small marks of favour, the tilt of the head, the flash of the nose-pin, a delightful mixture of directness and circuitousness in her attentions to those whom she was attracted by, a knowledge of Urdu poetry, especially of the ghazal, that was by no means viewed as shallow even in an audience of cognoscenti. But more than all this, and more than her clothes and jewels and even her exceptional natural talent and musical training, was a touch of heartache in her voice. Where it had come from, no one knew for sure, though rumours about her past were common enough in Brahmpur. Even the women could not say that this sadness was a device. She seemed somehow to be both bold and vulnerable; and it was this combination that was irresistible.