A Pair of Jeans and other stories Read Online Free PDF

she had entertained her parents, she returned to the subject of the visit. She knew one thing, she thought as she cleansed her face in the mirror and brushed the long tresses of her hair. She wouldn’t let her husband buy their land. “Over my dead body” she thought. Her beautiful mouth twisted cynically. She smiled into the mirror – the villagers weren’t the simpletons, her husband took them for. In fact, if anybody, it was her husband who was the simpleton. They had seen straight into his drama and they weren’t going to part with their land, for all the dinners he was offering them!
    …ooo000ooo…
     
    It was
Eid-Ul-Fitr
, the first Muslim festival that the village was celebrating and the one everybody looked forward to – especially the young women. As had become the custom, the
Zemindar
gave each daughter from every household in the village a present. Normally it consisted of fabrics, for
shalwar kameez
suits. This time the Chaudharani had taken this task onto herself and with a relish. She had carefully chosen the materials; she had ordered rolls of fabric.
    Since her last visit down to the village, she had made three other visits. On each occasion it was a death that had prompted her visit. It was the cue for her to mingle with them; social barriers and her husband’s etiquette still prevented her from mixing with them all the time. During those three visits, she got to know some of the younger women and took a liking to one in particular, because she was well educated and intelligent. She refrained however from inviting her to the
hevali
although she wanted to, but it would be showing favouritism. She didn’t want that at all. She did, however, send some magazines and two novels down to her. The woman had been truly gratified.
    On the morning of the Eid, the daughters, accompanied by their mothers had been called to the
hevali
to receive their presents. They were all assembled in the large drawing room. They were especially honoured to be allowed to come into such a room, with wall-to-wall carpeting. All barefooted, they were afraid to tread on the soft carpet pile in the large airy room, not wanting to crush or soil it. Normally they received their gifts in the large courtyard or out on the verandas. This time, the Chaudharani had insisted that Bilkees should open up the drawing room for their guests. Her woman helper’s eyes had widened.
    “Why do we have rooms, if we are not to use them, Bilkees?” Noor waspishly reminded her.
    “But Chaudharani-ji, do you know what will happen to the carpet? What if they spill anything on it? And their feet – half of them will be coated with dust!”
    “They won’t spill anything and never mind their feet. Anyway, they will be offered refreshments outside in the dining room.”
    “What! In the dining room?” exclaimed Bilkees, thunderstruck. “Why, you only use it for your family? You are not allowing these gauche village women to sit at your wooden walnut designer suite? I think you are going too far, Mistress. It will go to their heads; they will boast to everybody at having sat at your table! In your seat!”
    “Let them, Bilkees, if it gives them pleasure – all the better. Now come on.”
    Bilkees just shook her head in dismay. What had happened to her Mistress? Had she taken leave of her senses? Parameters had to be maintained and social barriers fenced in place. That was how there was order and how things worked. The Mistress was going to create chaos, where nobody knew the social boundaries. She shrugged, for she would leave it to the Master to sort out his wife, after all it was not her job or role to do so.
    The girls and women waited in the drawing room in a state of uneasy excitement. The
Zemindar
and his wife the Chaudharani Noor Sahaba entered. The
Zemindar
welcomed all the village women politely and told them that this time his wife would do the honour of presenting the gifts. Noor stepped forward, looking as breathtakingly beautiful and