Page 3 of A Shimla Affair
She threw back her head and laughed. ‘How can I not smile while I am bestowed with this honour? To go to jail for one’s freedom is a pleasure like no other.’
‘And here I was, trying to talk the constable into letting you out.’
There were guffaws of laughter from the women at the back of the cell, ‘Thebadimemsahib has come to rescue the Begum! First rescue yourself, memsahib.’
I ignored them, ‘And these quarters … they are comfortable for you?’
She looked at me as though I, not her, deserved to be the subject of pity. ‘I’ve spent most of my life sleeping on the streets, Bibi. You know what happens to a woman who sleeps on the streets? She is bothered by all kinds of dogs, and I am not just talking about the animal variety. So, yes, these are rather comfortable. They will release me soon, don’t worry about that. The longer I stay in here, the more my sacrifice will be recognized.’
‘Noor is not pleased, she wants you to be back at work.’
‘Your sister is a hard woman to please, Bibi,’ she said with a dramatic sigh. ‘But I promise to return in a few days.’
I knew her position at the Oriental Bazaar was too important for her to give up, it was where she often picked up titbits from the goras.
Begum Jaan beckoned me closer towards her, after looking around for any stray policeman listening in. There was no one nearby.
‘The tide is changing, Bibi. The Imam has called for people to make their sacrifices, if we are to be free.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I abhor this question! I know because I listen—my people listen. Every child on the street knows Begum Jaan, and, in turn, Begum Jaan knows what every child wants. I have ears everywhere, you know that. My ears tell me that not just Muslims, but also others in the city are gathering, and they have promised to stand by their brothers who have been unfairly sent off to war or arrested. The Hindus are coming together, and it puts us at unease; we know it is time for us too. Shimla was once a docile town of hillsmen, not any more. They understand my effect in the community and have called me up to serve them.’
‘Noor will not be happy to hear that … Begum Jaan, you will have to choose. The Oriental Bazaar or this fight.’
‘There will come a time when we will not be able to choose any more. I cannot ignore their calls. I have been with them ever since I made my way to Shimla all those years ago after my husband’s family accused me of his murder. When I arrived here, the Muslims here protected me. Not one of them spoke a word against me. Nobody knew Zainab Fatima Khan, they only knew Begum Jaan, the crazy, local woman who lived on the streets. I helped each one of these people back, and today they look to me for leadership, because they know that I am aware of everything that is going on. And I will listen, because Shimla is calling, Bibiji.’
One of the women in the cell crawled up next to Begum Jaan and leaned towards the bars. ‘Shimla calling, Bibi. Did you hear it?’
Begum Jaan pushed the woman and I stepped away from them, startled.
Begum Jaan inched even closer to the bars. ‘I must do my part. And you must too, Bibi, along with your sisters. Afreen Bibi, at least, I have seen her around, and word on the street is—’
The other woman came back to where we stood and Begum Jaan slapped her hard. Upon hearing the commotion, a havildar attempted to shoo me away until I reminded him to mind his manners. I yelled out to Begum Jaan, telling her to report to the hotel as soon as she was out. In return, she gave me a big smile, revealing her crooked teeth and the mischief in her eyes.
I walked away from the police station with Begum Jaan’s words ringing in my ears, feeling energized. If she, who had far less, could define her life with so much depth, why couldn’t I?
It was true that the mood in Shimla seemed to have changed; no longer were people eager to obey the White sahibs as easily as they had before the War. Rumours abounded of the Mahatma leading a new revolution. Every day, we heard of skirmishes breaking out in the Lower Bazaar. The Indians who worked for the British found ways to rebel.
I pushed these thoughts away as I faced the Harrison Brothers Bookstore, one of the few places that was friendly to me, an Indian. A little bell jingled as I pushed open the door and entered. Beautiful and intricate volumes of books were on display in stands, with the rest tucked behind neatly in shelves, their spines gleaming under what was obviously constant care. One table in the corner displayed letters and paintings, while the shelves above it groaned under the weight of more books. Behind the counter was one of the Harrison brothers.
‘Morning, Miss Mistry,’ he called out cheerily. ‘Nobody escorting you today?’
‘No, Mr Harrison, my sister agreed to let me venture out on my own …’
‘Then we better be quick, you should not be out once it begins to get dark.’
‘So, do you have it?’
The twinkle in his eyes was more than an answer. I squealed in delight as he excitedly went to the back of the store and emerged several minutes later with a large file. He opened it to reveal the most breathtaking spectacle ever to be delivered on a poster: Clark Gable holding Vivien Leigh in his arms as everything in the background burnt. Rhett and Scarlett,Gone with the Wind.
I caressed it with my hands, holding it close to me, as if the poster would swallow me and transport me to their world if only I stared at it long enough. One day, I could be an actress. Surely, someone in America would be willing to cast in their movie a woman from India with fair skin and thick, curly black hair? There must be roles for people who looked like me. I had no way of realizing that dream just then, especially without going to America, or at least Bombay. Nobody would come to Royal Hotel Shimla and discover the passion in my heart. I feared that I would remain unremarkable, but until then, I had these rare posters.
I looked at Mr Harrison. He laughed at my expression, and I nodded happily, clutching the poster tightly to my chest.
Perhaps it was fitting that it was at this time, when I was so impressionable, so keen to change, and so inspired to create meaning, that I met Charles.
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