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Within the brief span of a single year, the centuries-old ancestral house collapsed. The ancient culture was buried beneath its rubble, and from that rubble arose a new building—one that Naz's brother, who once begged for three hundred rupees, could never have imagined even in his dreams.
The brother pulled Naz out of her veil and concealed the father away. The father too was nothing more than scrap from the old house. The rubble lay on the outskirts of Hyderabad, while the father was thrown into a corner of the new house. There are some who are born with greatness, and some who achieve it through intelligence and courage. But Naz's brother belonged to neither group. He was of the third kind—the man who thrusts greatness upon himself. His upbringing had been shaped one way, yet he had set off on another. A crow had donned the feathers of a swan. Every flaw, every foolishness of his, was concealed behind the curtains of wealth earned by dishonesty. The seasoned players of society trained him in their ways, which he considered a matter of pride.
Naz's marriage had been arranged when she was thirteen, but now her brothers no longer approved of it. They had broken all ancient bonds. The elder brother was no longer a small man; his income was immeasurable. He looked upon his surroundings from a lofty height. This base arrogance blinded him. He refused to descend. The very first thing he did was break off Naz's engagement with the man from below.
Through Naz, he was building connections with the so-called men of status, for she was the most effective means. Thus he began to make her "social"—introducing her to the sisters, wives, and sisters-in-law of his friends. And when he saw that she had blossomed, he started arranging her meetings with his friends themselves.
By then, Naz had completed her matriculation exam, and both brothers were planning her admission into college. Fortune had smiled on them. Bribery and dishonesty had made the goddess of wealth their servant. Naz's dupatta, which once covered her head like a veil, slipped to her shoulders; when she breathed the air of Karachi, it fell to her chest—and then disappeared altogether. Her long shirt, once falling to her ankles, shortened, and her shoulders lay bare. "My dear brother says Naz's neck and shoulders are very beautiful," one of her friends remarked one day.
That very evening, Naz was shaking hands with that friend's brother.
Naz's father had grown old. His sight was not so weak that he could not see, yet he began to squint at his children. Time and again the thought came to him that his sons and daughter had been taken away by someone else. The old man sat in his corner, lost in the dim fog of bygone memories.
Now Naz had begun going to college.
And with college came new programs and outings.
Naz's brother believed he had rid the house of old-fashionedness. But he did not realize that the same old culture, the same upbringing, still ran through every vein of his being. His subconscious remained under the dominance of that very conservatism. He had only changed the outer garment. His worship of the West was nothing more than a way of concealing his inferiority complex from the eyes of others.He did not know that between awareness and self-deception there exists only a slight difference—one that can vanish at any moment. He was making Naz walk the tightrope of a circus.
Naz was still in her first year when she selected, at the same time, two admirers—though in truth, they had been chosen for her by her brother. She did not know that her brother had put her up for auction. All she knew was that the new furniture in her bedroom had not been bought—it had been given as a gift. Even the radio was a gift. Her brother intended to marry her off to one of these two suitors, who were competing with each other by offering newer and grander gifts.
Naz's brother knew very well that every rich and powerful man is interested in only two things: office and women. Ministries collapse every other day, but the services that can be taken from a beautiful woman must be taken at once. Meanwhile, the number of Naz's "customers" was increasing, while her own mind was filled with nothing but education and fashion.
A deputy minister came to Hyderabad on a tour, and a party was held in his honor. Naz's brother took her along. There, a government dignitary from West Pakistan noticed Naz and inquired about her details from his attendants. He was told: she is merchandise for sale, just waiting for a good buyer.
The dignitary was fifty years old, with an old-fashioned wife at home, but upon seeing Naz's charms, he sank into deep thought. From those depths soon emerged the practiced, businesslike smiles that, throughout the party, were directed only at Naz and her brother.
Naz had now begun to speak English as well. The line of her admirers was growing longer, though most in that line sought her not for marriage but for one night's companionship.
When the dignitary reached Lahore, within a week his brother was transferred there. The dignitary welcomed him at the station, arranged a bungalow for him, and within a few days Naz was summoned to Lahore as well. The Hyderabad house was rented out, and the aged parents were also moved to Lahore.
In Lahore, they met Aslam, also a resident of Hyderabad. He was a low-level office clerk, and had known Naz since her childhood. She was in the eighth grade when Aslam, having completed his B.A., left for Lahore. He was the wayward son of a landlord—a bee sucking nectar from every flower it landed upon. Handsome, well-dressed, with a sweet tongue and flattering words, he had already broken many hearts.
By the time he passed his intermediate exams, his father had died. He was delighted: first, because he was freed from his father's constant threats; second, because he thought the property would fall into his hands. There were three hundred acres of land and four fortress-like mansions rented out. But a few days after his father's death, he discovered that except for one small house, everything had been mortgaged to creditors. Even that little house was pledged to moneylenders.
The indulgences of his father's time were ingrained in his very bones. Aslam had made himself appear as though he belonged to the elite society. Now, when the truth of his real condition was exposed, he did not worry. Instead, through cunning and deceit, he preserved the appearance of grandeur.
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To be continue