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

country put together. And when the news about the opulent lifestyles of these wealthy industrialists began to appear in the newspapers, patience started deserting the people of Pakistan. A fit of anarchic anger overtook them, and the time for violent action finally arrived; it was now or never. The day after the celebrations, the brilliant ex-foreign minister gave a stirring speech. Threatening to let the Russian bald cat out of the bag (a reference to the accord that the general had signed with the Indian prime minister in the Soviet Union), he suggested that his former benefactor was an American puppet. The nation rallied behind him as he called for demonstrations and strikes, his supporters clashing with the police, burning buses, destroying government buildings and torching cinemas, as well as the American and British consulates. Once again, the general retaliated by throwing the brilliant ex-foreign minister into jail and made him a bigger hero. Once again, schools and colleges were shut down. And with nothing better to do, the jaded students joined the protestors and the professional rabble-rousers, backing them in their chaotic protest marches and abetting them in arson, looting and killing. Then, in a strange twist of politics, General Dundda performed a volte-face and released all political leaders languishing in jail, calling for a ‘reconciliation meeting’ with them. When everything fails, you can always count on what the Pakistani public calls ‘lota’ politicians. These are turncoat politicians who are ready to wash the ass of anyone promising them power. But this time, nothing succeeded. And then, on the anniversary of his Constitution, demoralized and dejected, the general abruptly handed over power to the then commander-in-chief of the armed forces, making him the chief martial law administrator, and faded into obscurity. The people’s agitation had finally succeeded in removing General Dundda.

According to the ‘sources’ of the lurid tabloid the Daily Hulchul, when the general had called the commander-in-chief, he was ‘rumoured to be playing blind man’s bluff with a bevy of beauties in a five-star hotel, utterly inebriated.’ His bacchanalian temperament later earned him the epithet Rangeelay Shah, or the Colourful King. The scandalous story mentioned that the telephone call from the outgoing general had annoyed him as ‘his frivolity’ had been disrupted. His ‘women’ had to give him gallons of coffee to clear his head. With a semblance of sobriety restored, he gave a tiresome televised speech, promising a new constitution and fresh elections. At first, the people did not believe the Rangeelay Shah, but what option did they really have? The change of leadership and the promise of elections scattered the agitators and sent the students back to their schools and colleges. Much to everyone’s surprise, Rangeelay Shah relaxed the emergency laws that General Dundda had hurriedly passed and re-allowed political meetings, even as he continued the martial law.

*

During this whole political turmoil, the banks had remained defiantly open. Although many clerks and officers absented themselves, Mehrun diligently came to work every day. And since the colleges were closed, she could work full-time too. Her sedulous efforts and painstaking industry caught the attention of Ameer Abbas Alvi, who advised her to quit college and work for him full-time. Heeding his advice, Mehrun withdrew from college and buried herself in the affairs of this nascent bank. Success kissed her feet and she inched towards becoming the begum of her dreams. Mehrun now acted and attired like a successful professional. She was promoted to a loan officer and soon became a close confidante of Triple-A. In Mehrun, he saw his own past. He found affinities in her social background and the economic hardships they had both endured. Observing her working long hours, hearing her talk self-assuredly with her clients, and seeing her solve problems, he decided to take her under his wing. Alvi gave her the lift that he himself had got early in his career. Now, her career kicked into high gear and she was ready for the take-off to prosperity. Her personal life also returned to normal as her father suddenly snapped out of his melancholic state and went back to working at the Kashana. Life was suddenly a sweetheart, but not for too long.

One day, as Mehrun finished her afternoon meeting with her boss, a bank secretary came and whispered in her ear that a woman was waiting for her in her office. Mehrun quickly checked her diary to see if she had forgotten an appointment. But there was no entry for 2 p.m. Puzzled, she excused herself from the meeting that had almost ended and went to her drab office. Through the partially open door, she saw Talat Mirza sitting and waiting, twirling the loose end of her saree. Her stern face jaded the elegance of her beautiful saree. Suddenly, Mehrun had a sense of déjà vu: the face resembled the one she had seen on that fateful day, when Talat had found her with her husband and had hit her. She told herself that Talat was in her territory and could not resort to violence, but that did not calm her. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open her office door.

‘Begum Sahiba?’ she said.

At the sound of Mehrun’s voice, Talat took out a wad of cash from her purse and threw it on her desk.

‘I have sold my jewellery for all this. Take it and leave this city. Leave my husband alone, for God’s sake,’ she said.

Mehrun looked at the bundle of fifty-rupee notes and approached her desk. She picked up the money, looked at it with pursed lips and then, as an afterthought, threw it back into Talat’s lap.

‘Please leave my office,’ she gritted her teeth, fighting hard to maintain her composure.

But Talat sat there defiantly, her choler rising, and said, ‘I will never allow you to become his second wife! And if I ever see you with him, I will personally strangle you.’

Without saying anything else, Mehrun rang the bell on her desk. Within minutes, the security guard came in. He looked