‘You taunt me. I really can’t stand the sight of blood.’
‘Here, then take this stick and give her a good hundred thrashes. My anger will cool down. That’s the only remedy.’
‘You’re joking again!’
‘I don’t joke.’
Saeed extended his hand to take the stick but Zarina didn’t trust him and dodged, thinking that he would probably break the stick and throw it away. She spoke, ‘Oh! So you’ll play tricks on me! Then let me show you my skill.’
Saying this, the inhuman creature began to beat me wildly. Writhing in pain, I was screaming, pleading with her profusely, begging her, asking for forgiveness, saying words of blessing for her, beseeching her to have mercy in the name of saints and prophets. But nothing had any effect on that murderous woman. And Saeed stood still like a figure carved from wood, watching this sad spectacle of pain and cruelty. And he stayed unmoved at the crying and wailing that would have moved even my worst enemy. My back was lacerated and bleeding profusely. Wounds were being inflicted. Every lash would fall like a burning rod on my body. I don’t know how many times she lashed me, to the extent that the stick itself took pity on me and split into two. The heart of the wooden stick burst with pity but the human heart refused to melt.4
Having ruined and destroyed me in this manner the three evil souls left. Saeed’s servant untied me before leaving. But where could I have gone? How could I have stepped into that house?
My whole body was festering with wounds but the blisters in the heart were far more hurtful. My heart felt full of lacerations. No space remained for human compassion. I would have laughed to see a blind man falling into a well or pulled a face on hearing an orphan weep. The condition of my emotions had undergone a revolutionary change. To the extent that there was no desire for revenge either. I wasn’t angry or sad, nor did I want to die. Extreme humiliation had snuffed out even the wish to take revenge. Although I could have used the law to ensnare Saeed, this crushing insult and shame inflicted on me was beyond retaliation. Just one awareness remained and it was that of degradation. I had been degraded and demeaned forever. Could this stain possibly be washed off? Certainly not! Yes, but it could be concealed, and the only way to do this was that I jump into the very abyss of debasement. The dark blackness of my dress would conceal the darkness of the stain on my being. Isn’t the wilderness better than a home whose walls have crumbled? Isn’t the riverbed preferable to the boat which has a gaping hole in its bottom? The same applied to me in this state. I made up my mind to make my ruin more complete, heighten my debasement even further and make the blackness of my face shine brighter. I was determined, though unknowingly, to avenge Saeed emotionally. I lay there all night, alternatively moaning in pain and struggling with my thoughts. My originally weak decision gained strength with each passing moment. No one in the household cared to look me up. I emerged from the garden at dawn itself, having shed all the inhibitions I might have had earlier. What cares does one have for ponds and ditches after having dived into the ocean? I, who had earlier been shy of even the walls of the house, was walking through the lanes of the city without any hesitation, and where to? There where infamy is valued. Where there is no one to scoff at you and the market of bad names flourishes. Where modesty is on sale and where the sense of shame is destroyed.
On the very third day, I was looking at the sights and sounds of the bazaar before me, seated in a prominent part of the flesh market on a high balcony. It was evening, there was a milling crowd below, people jostled against each other as they walked. Today was the day of the monsoon fair. Groups of people were heading towards the river dressed in their best clothes. The priceless items of our bazaar too were adorning the riverbanks. At one place some pretty women, who were also rather brash, played on swings; at another place some of them sang the folk songs of the rainy season. I found the excursion of this bazaar most pleasurable from the banks of the river. It seemed as if all the other highways of the city were closed and just this narrow street was open. And everyone’s eyes were fixed on the balcony as if they were flying in the air and not walking on the ground. Yes, the cultured among them did not have such unreserved airs. They stared too, but their glances were sidelong. It was the middle-aged men who were the most unabashed. Perhaps they desired to flaunt a fire that only youth has. It was less a bazaar and more a theatre. People would crack jokes, not for their personal enjoyment but to show off before the pretty women. Though they would look in one direction, their words were directed somewhere else. It was an assembly of mimes and clowns.
Suddenly, Saeed’s phaeton appeared. I had ridden in it so often. Pleasantly dressed, Saeed sat erect in it. The town couldn’t boast of a more well turned out and handsome man, so full of manly and virile youthfulness. He raised his glance once towards me and dropped his gaze after that. The blood left his face as if a snake had stung him dead. He said something to the coachman and the phaeton soon vanished. The pleasure I experienced on seeing him at that time reduced the pain and suffering of that
