Next part..
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Jaida's eyes opened to the morning light spreading across the room. He looked at the morning as if he were seeing the first morning of his life. He stretched, then yawned. This was the first time he had actually felt his own stretch and yawn. It occurred to him that perhaps he woke like this every morning. He sat up and began watching the morning sunlight through the window. He sensed some change in the atmosphere that he couldn't quite understand.
He was watching the morning when Naz came in, carrying a breakfast tray. Jaida looked at her as though trying to recognize her.
Before this, Naz would sit in front of him fully done up — gel, powder, lipstick — but Jaida had never found any particular charm or novelty in her. Yet this morning, Naz hadn't even washed her face; sleep still lingered on her eyelids, and traces of a late night showed on her face — and still, Jaida found her captivating. It was as if he said to himself: why doesn't this girl ever sit beside me, tilt my head, and splash water on my face herself?
Naz sat across from him making tea, her eyes lowered. Jaida's eyes began playing with her tousled hair. He fell into a kind of daze, caught in a struggle simply over whether or not to say: *Naz, you look very beautiful today.*
He gathered his courage, but some strength — or perhaps some weakness — within him made his resolve falter. He grew flustered. Naz, seeing him lost in thought, said, "Jaida, what are you thinking about? If you haven't had enough sleep, eat breakfast and go back to sleep."
Every part of Jaida seemed to wake up at once; he grew irritated with himself. He snatched up the teacup and poured it down his throat, grabbed a piece of toast, stuffed a bite into his mouth, and walked out of the room. Naz kept watching, but before she could stop him, he was already gone. She assumed he'd left for his usual routine — but Jaida hadn't left the house at all. He went through the veranda into Mannay and Tipu's room, where they were sleeping deeply, intending not to wake until evening. This was Jaida's own world, where he ruled alone — a world with no laughter, no turmoil, no emotion, no old musician, no smoke from a lit hearth, no clatter of dishes. In his world there was no melody, no instrument — and in this whole small world, no one else existed. He spread a mat on the dusty floor and lay down, but even so, he couldn't sleep for hours, caught in some inner conflict he himself didn't understand. He wanted to run away from the world of Naz's songs. Eventually he dozed off. Naz never realized that Jaida had disappeared into the next room — she rarely went into that room.
That night, when Naz took the boy and went to her teacher's house for sitar practice, Jaida woke up.
"Ibn's wife has sent for you," Mannay told him. "Tipu's already gone there. They've called for you."
Jaida got up quickly, fixed a fake black beard on his face, put on a muslin cap, changed out of his pajama trousers into tight pajamas, threw a sheet over himself, tucked a pistol into his waistband, and went out.
When he arrived, he found Tipu sitting there with his head bowed. Ibn's children were asleep. The door to the side room was shut, and muffled screams could be heard from behind it, followed suddenly by a rising wail. Jaida and Tipu both stared fixedly at the closed door, exchanging no words.
After a while, the wailing subsided, and the cry of a newborn was heard. Jaida and Tipu kept staring at the closed door.
The door opened, and Ibn's wife came out, looking worn and sorrowful.
"A boy was born," she said wearily.
"And Zeenat?" Jaida asked.
"She's fine," Ibn's wife replied.
"Shall I take the child now?" Jaida asked after a moment's thought.
"Now?" Ibn's wife asked. "Where will you go?" She started to say something else, then stopped, and tears came to her eyes.
"Yes, now," Jaida said. "I won't throw this child away anywhere. He'll live — with me, not with you. Today your and Zeenat's troubles are over. Now live in peace. Bring me the child — Tipu will stay here. If you need anything, tell him... bring me the child."
Ibn's wife walked away with her head bowed and brought the child, placing him in Jaida's arms. Jaida, carrying the newborn, vanished into the darkness, while Ibn's wife wiped her tears and went to her daughter's side.
A gentle jolt woke Naz from her deep sleep. It was two in the morning. Her eyes opened, dazzled by the lamp still burning. She saw Jaida standing beside the bed, holding a newborn in his arms. Naz sat up, startled.
"Naz, here — a child," Jaida said.
"Where did you get this child from?" Naz asked, alarmed and bewildered. "Whose child is this?"
"Didn't you say this house needed a little one playing in it? So..."
"So, Jaida—" Naz said, as if she wanted to strike her own head. "God, Jaida, what cruelty have you done? Whose grieving mother's lap have you emptied?"
"He needed no one," Jaida said, holding the baby out to her. "This child is yours now."
Naz hesitantly took the child into her arms, and Jaida told her the whole story.
"Oh — I remember now," Naz said. "This is about that night — Baadal's been missing since that very night. Where is he?"
"He's paid the price for his child," Jaida said. "He's not alive."
"You—?"
"Yes, I had him killed," Jaida said, as if he'd had a mangy or rabid dog put down. There was no regret in his tone, no fear — as if he didn't even know that murder carried a sentence of death or life imprisonment.
"You've put your own neck on the gallows," Naz said. "The police must have investigated Baadal's murder."
"Whose police are you talking about?" Jaida asked. "England's? Scotland's? I'm talking about Pakistan's police. When the police found Baadal's body, they called me first. The officer in charge knew Baadal was my man. I told him to let it go. So the police declared the body unclaimed and either buried it or handed it to some medical college."
"The officer's that afraid of you that—"
"His son got into college and told his father the college was too far, that he needed a scooter," Jaida said. "The officer told me. I bought his son a second-hand scooter myself. None of that concerns you, Naz. Will you raise this child as your own?"
"I'll raise him as my very own," Naz said, her feelings stirred, and she pulled the baby to her chest. "This is my child."
"Naz," Jaida said, "this child's upbringing and raising should be such — should be such..."
"Unlike mine," Jaida said, his voice heavy with grief.
"It will be exactly that, Jaida," Naz said. "But you must make me one promise too."
"That from now on, this room's air will stay as pure as this innocent child," Naz said. "No sin will happen here. No crime. No liquor will come into this house, and you won't come here drunk or high on hashish. Understand?"
Jaida answered seriously: "I've never made a false promise. I'll only say what I can actually do. Yes — this much I can promise: I will not come into this room."
To be continue.....