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''Listen, come here.
I won't tell you the way out of here," the boy said seriously. "Ask whatever you want."
Naz smiled—a smile in which defeat and sorrow were crying.
"Will they kill me here?" she asked the boy.
"No," he replied. "No one gets killed here. Here… they are murdered."
"Will they murder me too?" Naz asked calmly, as if that was the punishment for her crime—something she was mentally prepared for.
"That depends on the Ustad. He'll decide what to do with you," the boy said. "Last night he must have talked to you. The way he murders, he always hints about it first. What did he tell you?"
"He said no one will bother me here… and now I'll have to live here and…"
"Enough, enough."
The boy cut her off. "You'll be comfortable now. No one will trouble you here. Whatever the Ustad says, he does."
The boy sat beside her, smiled, and asked, "The Ustad has kept you for himself, hasn't he?"
She felt anger rising—but then remembered she was far away from the civilized world, now in someone's captivity. She controlled herself and replied, "I don't know that. Did he… tell you something?"
"No, not at all."
"I just asked casually."
The boy replied, "But he never keeps anyone for himself. Bali begged him a lot not to send her to Japanese Road and to keep her with him, but Ustad didn't agree."
"Is Bali beautiful?" Naz asked with a smile.
"Yes, she is beautiful—but not more than you," the boy answered as though praising one of his toys. "Her eyes are very enchanting… Anyway, I'll bring tea. You take a bath. Don't tell Ustad that I gave the tea late, I swear to God he'll skin me alive. And listen! Tell him to keep you for himself—you'll enjoy such luxury that words can't explain. Tell him, 'Don't make me a taxi, keep me private.' But don't tell Ustad I said this, otherwise I'll say you tried to open the window and run away, and I caught you with great difficulty. Then Ustad will hang you upside down and beat you."
"Where will you bring tea from?" Naz asked as she walked toward the bathroom.
"From the hotel," the boy replied. "Ustad said to bring tea with half-boiled eggs and a fruit cake. And for dinner, he ordered chicken, six kebabs, and two shahi tukras."
Naz's mouth watered, and she slipped into the bathroom where a towel, soap, comb, and a bottle of oil were kept. On one side of the counter, a blue suit with a dupatta was hanging, and against the wall, on the other side, a new mirror was fixed.
She stood before the mirror, but at first glance couldn't recognize herself. When she finally did, she kept struggling to believe it. Every part of her body ached, as if she was enduring something unbearable—but she wasn't ready to face the ruined state of her face, nor did she have the strength to confront herself. Tears welled up, and her heart began to sink.
Naz turned away from the mirror, took off her clothes, and opened the tap, sitting beneath it. The sharp stream of water began to wash away the torment and exhaustion of eleven days and twelve nights. Her veins and nerves started to relax, and she also began to feel the pangs of hunger.
The night when Jaida had entered the hotel room with Aslam, just before that, Naz had eaten to her fill—and today, after so many days, she felt that same kind of hunger again.
When she wiped her body with a towel and began to wear the new shirt, the shine and softness of the fabric gave her a bitter kind of pleasure. She quickly slipped the shirt on, then put on the trousers, and once again stood before the mirror. Seeing her freshened face brought her a sense of calm. She looked at herself from every angle, then stepped outside.
When she reached the room, she saw a cot laid out with a good-quality mattress on it. Beside it was a small table on which the boy had already placed tea. She drank the tea impatiently, and in no time had eaten all four half-boiled eggs and the entire fruit cake. She felt as though her jaws were exhausted; the hot sips of tea seemed to soothe them. Life began to stir again in her body, and her nerves started to feel refreshed.
She was just about to start thinking when the boy startled her.
"You're more beautiful than Bali, aren't you?" He had been watching her washed hair and freshened face all this time. That face, with a faint rosy glow here and there, looked perfectly natural.
"Ustad will keep you for himself," the boy said.
Naz looked at him and smiled in a peculiar way. The boy smiled back at that smile.
"Look!" the boy said. "Don't tell Ustad I said this. I just told you for your own good."
"Are you Ustad's servant?" Naz asked playfully.
"We don't tell such things to anyone," the boy replied. Then he asked, "At what time should I bring the dinner?"
"And at what time will your Ustad come?"
"Will you wait for him?"
"Mmm…"
"I don't know about that," the boy said. "Whenever you say, I'll bring dinner. Eat and then sleep peacefully. No one will bother you here."
"Does anyone else come here?" she asked.
"At night? Yes. Ustad's three companions—Muna, Tipu, and Badal. They sleep in the room next door. Maybe they'll come to you and try to persuade you to earn money through the trade. But they won't harass you. In this house, Ustad doesn't allow them to misbehave. For that kind of mischief, they go to Annu's place."
"Who is she?"
"She's also one of our taxis," the boy replied. "An old seat, but still works well."
"Listen," Naz asked with a hint of curiosity, "what is taxi, seat, and private?"
The boy sat on the corner of the cot and explained, "A taxi is the one a customer can take along to Clifton, to a hotel, or even to his own home. A seat is the one who has her own man with her. She roams around looking for customers. And a private… that's something very valuable. She's young and beautiful like you. She has good, permanent clients. She lives in her own house, not on the brothel. Sometimes, people pay a lot of money to send her as a bribe to some big officer."
Naz listened quietly. A strange tremor was running through her emotions. The boy was saying, "It would be better if you became a private. Bali is a private. Ustad values her a lot. Then there are singers—like our Shami. She only sings and dances, and earns a huge amount that way."
The boy was speaking like a guide in a museum, while Naz was touching those museum objects in her imagination. But her nerves weren't ready to accept this world of imagination.
What shocked her most was remembering Jaida's words—that he would keep her as a private. Now she understood what private meant. When she finally realized the meanings of private, taxi, and seat, she felt like slapping the boy—or killing herself. She began to feel disgusted with herself from within. I will attract men like this? I will sell my body like this?
Tears slipped down her cheeks. Memories of her parents kept flashing in her mind. She was still lost in those thoughts when the boy's voice startled her.
"Anything else, or just that?" he asked.
His voice pulled her back from that world. She realized—If I cry here, who will I show it to? I don't have anyone left to console me. She wiped her tears, let out a long sigh, and asked the boy,
"How long have you been here?"
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To be continue....