The parakeet looked at Maan. It did not appear to be impressed. When Bibbo entered with the drinks, it cried out her name: ‘Bibbo!’
It said this in rather a commanding, somewhat metallic, tone. Bibbo shot the bird a look of annoyance. Maan noticed this; he had been feeling equally irritated by the parakeet, and when he looked at Bibbo in amusement and sympathy, their eyes met for a second. Bibbo, who was a trouble-maker and a flirt, held his eyes for a second before turning away.
Saeeda Bai was not amused. ‘Stop it, Bibbo, you mischievous girl,’ she said.
‘Stop what, Saeeda Begum?’ asked Bibbo innocently.
‘Don’t be insolent. I saw you making eyes at Dagh Sahib,’ said Saeeda Bai. ‘Go to the kitchen at once, and stay there.’
‘The accessory is hanged, the principal goes free,’ said Bibbo and, having left the tray on the floor near Maan, turned to leave.
‘Shameless,’ said Saeeda Bai; then, thinking over Bibbo’s remark, she turned to Maan with annoyance. ‘Dagh Sahib, if the bee finds the bud of an inferior blossom more charming than the opened tulip –’
‘Saeeda Begum, you deliberately misunderstand me,’ said Maan, sulking a little. ‘Every word I say, every look –’
Saeeda Bai did not want him to sulk. ‘Drink your sherbet,’ she advised him. ‘It is not your brains that should be hot.’
Maan tasted his sherbet. It was delicious. Then he frowned, as if he had tasted something bitter.
‘What is the matter?’ asked Saeeda Bai with concern.
‘Something’s missing,’ said Maan, as if in appraisal of his drink.
‘What?’ asked Saeeda Bai. ‘That Bibbo – she must have forgotten to mix honey in your glass.’
Maan shook his head and frowned. ‘I know exactly what’s missing,’ he said finally.
‘Would Dagh Sahib vouchsafe us the solution?’
‘Music.’
Saeeda Bai allowed herself a smile. ‘All right. Fetch me the harmonium. I am so tired today that I feel that I am at the end of my four days’ tenure in the world.’
Instead of asking Maan what he would like to hear, as she usually did, Saeeda Bai began to hum a ghazal to herself, and moved her fingers gently along the keys. After a while she began to sing. Then she stopped, distracted by her thoughts.
‘Dagh Sahib, a woman by herself – what place can she find in an ungentle world?’
‘That is why she must have someone to protect her,’ asserted Maan stoutly.
‘There are too many problems for mere admirers to handle. Admirers themselves are sometimes the problem.’ She gave a sad laugh. ‘House, tax, food, arrangements, this musician loses his hand, that landlord loses his land, this one has to go away for a family wedding, that one fears he can no longer afford his generosity, someone’s education must be looked after, a dowry has to be arranged. And a suitable boy must be found. Endless. Endless.’
‘You mean, for Tasneem?’
‘Yes. Yes. Who would think that there would be people paying court to her? Here, in this house. Yes, it’s true. It is for me, her sister, her guardian, to arrange these things. That Ishaq – he has now become Ustad Majeed Khan’s disciple, so he moves with his head in the clouds even if his voice is very much of this earth – he visits here, supposedly to see me and pay his respects, but in fact to see her. I’ve taken to keeping the parakeet in my room. Yet still he contrives to find some excuse or another. And he is not a bad man; but he has no future. His hands are crippled, and his voice untrained. Miya Mitthu can sing better than him. Even my mother’s wretched myna could.’
‘Are there others?’ asked Maan.
‘You needn’t act so innocent,’ said Saeeda Bai, annoyed.
‘Saeeda Bai – honestly –’ said Maan.
‘Not you, not you. Your friend the socialist, who has taken to organizing things in the university in order to be someone in the world.’
This description hardly fitted Firoz. Maan looked puzzled.
‘Yes, our young maulvi, her Arabic teacher. Whose hospitality you have partaken of, whose instruction you have imbibed, whose company you have shared for weeks. Do not sell your wares here, Dagh Sahib. There is a market for injured innocence, and it is not to be found between these walls.’
But Maan must have looked completely perplexed. He could not imagine that Rasheed could possibly be paying court to Tasneem. Saeeda Bai continued: ‘Yes, yes, it’s true. This pious young student, who wouldn’t come when summoned into my presence because he was involved with teaching her a passage from the Holy Book, has now taken it into his head that she is in love with him, that she is going mad for his love, and that he owes it to her to marry her. He is a sly and dangerous young wolf.’