MANUSHI Lihaaf [The Quilt]

1 36 MANUSHIIn winter when I put a quiltover myself its shadows onthe wall seem to sway like anelephant. That sets my mindracing into the labyrinth of timespast. Memories come crowding I m not going to regaleyou with any romantic taleabout my own quilt. It s hardly asubject for romance. It seems tome that the blanket, thoughless comfortable, does not castshadows as terrifying as the quilt,dancing on the was then a small girl andfought all day with my brothersand their friends. Often Iwondered why the hell I was soaggressive. At my age my othersisters were busy drawingadmirers while I fought with anyboy or girl I ran into!This was why when my motherwent to Agra she left me with anadopted sister of hers for about aweek. She knew well that therewas no one in that house, noteven a mouse, with which I couldget into a fight.

2 It was severepunishment for me! So Amma leftme with Begum Jaan, the samelady whose quilt is etched in mymemory like the scar left by ablacksmith s brand. Her poorparents agreed to marry her off tothe Nawab who was of ripeyears because he was veryvirtuous. No one had ever seen anautch girl or prostitute in hishouse. He had performed Haj andhelped several others to do , however, had a strangehobby. Some people are crazyenough to cultivate interests likebreeding pigeons and watchingcockfights. Nawab Saheb hadcontempt for such disgustingsports. He kept an open house forstudents young, fair andslender-waisted boys whoseexpenses were borne by married Begum Jaan hetucked her away in the house withhis other possessions andpromptly forgot her. The frail,beautiful Begum wasted away inanguished did not know whenBegum Jaan s life began whether it was when shecommitted the mistake of beingborn or when she came to theNawab s house as his bride,climbed the four-poster bed andstarted counting her days.

3 Or wasit when she watched through thedrawing room door the increasingnumber of firm-calved, supple-waisted boys and delicaciesbegin to come for them from thekitchen! Begum Jaan would haveglimpses of them in theirperfumed, flimsy shirts and feelas though she was being rakedover burning embers!Or did it start when she gaveup on amulets, talismans, blackmagic and other ways of retainingthe love of her straying husband?She arranged for night longreading of the scripture but invain. One cannot draw blood fromSHORT STORYIn the last issue ofMANUSHI, whilereviewing DeepaMehta s Fire, webriefly described thecontroversygenerated by IsmatChugtai s story Lihaafwritten in 1941. In thisissue we present anEnglish translation ofLihaaf along with anextract from herautobiography ( ) which showshow Ismat Apahandled, in her owninimitable style, theheat generated by herstory.

4 Not given toplaying martyr, shewon the day by sheerguts and a charmingsense of humour allof which contributedas much as her boldwriting to making hera famous andimmensely popularliterary heroine veryearly on in life. EditorLihaaf [The Quilt] Ismat ChughtaiTranslated from Urdu by M. AsaduddinNo. 11037a stone. The Nawab didn t budgean inch. Begum Jaan was heart-broken and turned to books. Butshe didn t get relief. Romanticnovels and sentimental versedepressed her even more. Shebegan to pass sleepless nightsyearning for a love that hadnever felt like throwing all herclothes into the oven. Onedresses up to impress , the Nawab didn t have amoment to spare. He was toobusy chasing the gossamer shirts,nor did he allow her to go , however, would comefor visits and would stay formonths while she remained aprisoner in the house.

5 Theserelatives, free-loaders all, madeher blood boil. They helpedthemselves to rich food and gotwarm stuff made for themselveswhile she stiffened with colddespite the new cotton in herquilt. As she tossed and turned,her quilt made newer shapes onthe wall but none of them heldpromise of life for her. Then whymust one live? ..such a life asBegum Jaan was destined to then she started living andlived her life to the was Rabbu who rescued herfrom the her thin body began tofill out. Her cheeks began to glowand she blossomed in beauty. Itwas a special oil massage thatbrought life back to the half-deadBegum Jaan. Sorry, you won t findthe recipe for this oil even in themost exclusive I first saw Begum Jaanshe was around forty. She lookeda picture of grandeur, reclining onthe couch.

6 Rabbu sat against herback, massaging her waist. Apurple shawl covered her feet asshe sat in regal splendour, averitable Maharani. I wasANOOP KAMATH fascinated by her looks and feltlike sitting by her for hours, justadoring her. Her complexion wasmarble white without a speck ofruddiness. Her hair was black andalways bathed in oil. I had neverseen the parting of her haircrooked, nor a single hair out ofplace. Her eyes were black andthe elegantly-plucked eyebrowsseemed like two bows spreadingover the demure eyes. Her eyelidswere heavy and eyelashes , the most fascinatingpart of her face were herlips usually dyed in lipstickand with a mere trace of downon her upper lip. Long haircovered her temples. Sometimesher face seemed to change shapeunder my gaze and lookedas though it were the face of ayoung skin was also white andsmooth and seemed as thoughsomeone had stitched it tightlyover her body.

7 When shestretched her legs for the massageI stole a glance at their sheen,enraptured. She was very tall andthe ample flesh on her body madeher look stately and hands were large and smooth,her waist exquisitely used to massage her backfor hours together. It was asthough getting the massage wasone of the basic necessities oflife. Rather more important thanlife s had no otherhousehold duties. Perched on thecouch she was always massagingsome part of her body or the times I could hardly bear it the sight of Rabbu massaging orrubbing at all hours. Speaking formyself, if anyone were to touchmy body so often I wouldcertainly rot to this daily massaging wasnot enough. On the days she tooka bath, she would massage theBegum s body with a variety ofoils and pastes for two hours.

8 Andshe would massage with suchvigour that even imagining itmade me sick. The doors wouldbe closed, the braziers would belit and then the session Rabbu was the onlyperson allowed to remain insideon such occasions. Other maidshanded over the necessary thingsat the door, fact Begum Jaan wasafflicted with a persistent using all the oils andbalms the itch remainedstubbornly there. Doctors andhakims pronounced that nothingwas wrong, the skin wasunblemished. It could be aninfection under the skin. Thesedoctors are There snothing wrong with you. It s justthe heat of the body, Rabbuwould say, smiling while she gazedat Begum Jaan ! She was as dark asBegum Jaan was fair, as purple asthe other one was white.

9 She38 MANUSHI seemed to glow like heated face was scarred by small-pox. She was short, stocky andhad a small paunch. Her handswere small but agile, her large,swollen lips were always wet. Astrange, sickening stench exudedfrom her body. And her tiny, puffyhands moved dexterously overBegum Jaan s body now at herwaist, now at her hips, thensliding down her thighs anddashing to her ankles. WheneverI sat by Begum Jaan my eyeswould remain glued to thoseroving through the year BegumJaan would wear Hyderbadi jaalikarga kurtas, white and billowing,and brightly coloured even if it was warm and thefan was on, she would coverherself with a light shawl. Sheloved winter. I, too, liked to be ather house in that season. Sherarely moved out. Lying on thecarpet she would munch dry fruitsas Rabbu rubbed her back.

10 Theother maids were jealous ofRabbu. The witch! She ate, sat andeven slept with Begum Jaan!Rabbu and Begum Jaan were thesubject of their gossip duringleisure hours. Someone wouldmention their name and the wholegroup would burst into loudguffaws. What juicy stories theymade up about them! Begum Jaanwas oblivious to all this, cut offas she was from the world existence was centred onherself and her have already mentioned that Iwas very young at that time and wasin love with Begum Jaan. She, too,was fond of me. When Ammadecided to go to Agra, she left mewith Begum Jaan for a week. Sheknew that left alone in the house Iwould fight with my brothers orroam around. The arrangementpleased both Begum Jaan and by heart. May I come to you, BegumJaan? No, Get back to sleep.