Of Smokeless Fire by A.A. Jafri (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📕

Samson died two days later when, in a fit of coughing, he fell and banged his head on the floor of their shack. He died of massive internal haemorrhaging.

In the days that followed his death, Pyaro felt that her world had crashed. How would she take care of her son all alone? How would she send money to her mother, who lived with her widowed sister in Sialkot, Punjab? Would Samson’s ugly sister blame her for his early death? She had a job, no doubt, cleaning people’s toilets, but one income alone would not sustain her and Joseph. The responsibility of caring for her young son and her mother seemed all too oppressive to Pyaro. But as the gods took her husband away, they also provided her with a break—something that would change her son’s life.

Her friend Mavis, who worked as a sweeper at the Kashana, suddenly decided to go back home permanently to take care of her elderly mother in Punjab, who had fallen seriously ill. Farhat had asked her if she could find a replacement. Mavis recommended Pyaro. When Farhat heard about Pyaro’s predicament, she pitied the woman and hired her as Mavis’s replacement; and when Noor heard Pyaro’s story, he quietly gave her five hundred rupees.

‘Maybe things would have been different if he were alive. Your Babuji had talked about building us a concrete house just past the railway line, closer to the city,’ Pyaro said, recovering from the memory of her husband’s death.

‘Babuji was all talk; he did not do anything for us,’ Joseph said.

Hearing him mock her husband, Pyaro stood up and slapped him so hard that he staggered.

‘What was that for?’ he asked, stunned.

‘Never disrespect your father. He was a good man.’

Cupping her face with her trembling hands, she began to cry uncontrollably.

‘Ma, calm down. I am sorry. I’ll take care of you.’ Joseph hugged her tightly in an attempt to comfort her. It took a long while before Pyaro calmed down. Wiping her nose with her sleeves, she said, ‘I’ll visit Father Youhana tomorrow, maybe he’ll help us.’

‘Good luck, Ma . . .’

‘What do you mean by “good luck”?’

‘Ma, did he help you when Babuji died?’

‘Well, we didn’t really ask him to.’

‘So? We didn’t ask Barrister Sahib or Farhat Begum either, but she hired you and Barrister Sahib gave you five hundred rupees, that too without asking you any questions. Ma, leave it to me, I have a plan.’

‘What is your plan? What are you going to do? Rob?’

‘Trust me, Ma.’

‘Tell me, Joseph, what are you going to do?’

‘Tomorrow, we will visit Barrister Sahib and you will tell him about our plight. I know he’ll help us.’

‘I don’t know, son . . . I don’t think Barrister Sahib is going to help us again.’

‘Well, if he doesn’t help us, then you go to Father Youhana and beg.’

Pyaro began thinking about what she should tell the Barrister Sahib while Joseph started fantasizing about playing the lead role in a Punjabi film. The rain, meanwhile, continued to wreak havoc outside.

Seven

Mansoor saw his father at the breakfast table the next day. Dressed in a starched white shirt and the lawyer’s band tied around his collar, Noor sat absorbed in the inside pages of the Morning Gazette. His wearing the lawyer’s band indicated that a critical case was to be argued at the high court. And whenever that happened, he stayed back late in his office and prepared for it. Mansoor was relieved that his fear from the night before was baseless, but the thunderstorm and the nightmare still shook him.

The headlines of the Gazette screamed at Mansoor:

Flood kills thousands. Hundreds of homes destroyed. President closes schools.

Farhat had already told Mansoor about the school’s closure, which was why he had not put on his school uniform and was wearing his kurta-pyjama instead. But as he read the glaring headline, Mansoor gasped and asked his father: ‘Do you think Mehrun and Joseph are okay, Abba?’

Noor lowered the newspaper and replied, ‘I hope so, beta, but I’m not sure if their houses can withstand such heavy rains. The paper says that many houses have been destroyed.’

‘I am glad that they have closed all schools,’ and after a pause Mansoor continued, ‘how come your office is open today, Abba?’

‘I have an important case at the high court, and they haven’t closed the courts today. So, I have to make my appearance,’ Noor replied, and as an afterthought asked his son, ‘So, what are your plans for today, mister, now that your school is closed?’

Mansoor noted the sarcasm in the word ‘mister’, it was as if the school’s closing was his fault.

‘I don’t know,’ he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

‘I want you to read a book, rather than waste your time.’

Sikander came inside just then, took the lawyer’s briefcase from his study, and exited without saying a word. Noor followed him out briskly. But an hour later, they both returned. Noor held the black coat over his shoulder while his soaking white trousers clung to his legs. Sikander, equally drenched, followed him obsequiously with the briefcase.

‘Already back?’ Farhat asked.

‘The car got stuck in the standing waters outside, so we had to wade back home through that muddy river of filth that is flowing through the streets. A policeman told us that all the roads are closed. I guess they will have to wait for me at the high court until the water clears.’

Noor went to his bedroom to change into something dry, while Mansoor tiptoed to his father’s library to quickly hunt for a book that he could pretend to be reading. The floods meant that Budhoo wouldn’t return from his day off. Farhat did not expect Kaneez to show up either, but she knew that Jumman would definitely come, and so she decided that she would ask him to prepare their meals. Farhat knew how to cook, but she hadn’t done so lately and was not in the mood to do so now,