the men
to come.
The turning door-knob rattles like a drum. At once there is a
change in the quality of the night. A delicious wickedness is in the
air. A cool breeze stirs, as if the entry of the first man has suc-
ceeded in dispelling some of the intense treacly heat of the hot
season, enabling the ceiling fans to move a little more efficiently
through the soupy atmosphere. Forty women, one of them
69
Shame ? 70
Bilquis, stir damply under their sheets . . . more men enter. They
are tiptoeing along the midnight avenues of the dormitory and
the women have become very still, except for Bariamma. The
matriarch is snoring more energetically then ever. Her snores
are sirens, sounding the all-clear and giving necessary courage to
the men.
The girl in the bed next to Bilquis, Rani Humayun, who is
unmarried and therefore expects no visit tonight, whispers across
the blackness: 'Here come the forty thieves.'
And now there are tiny noises in the dark: charpoy ropes
yielding fractionally beneath the extra weight of a second body,
the rustle of clothing, the heavier exhalations of the invading hus-
bands. Gradually the darkness acquires a kind of rhythm, which
accelerates, peaks, subsides. Then there is a multiple padding
towards the door, several times the drum-roll of the turning door-
knob, and at last silence, because Bariamma, now that it is polite
to do so, has quite ceased to snore.
Rani Humayun, who has landed one of the prize catches of the
marriage season and will shortly leave this dormitory to wed the
fair-skinned, foreign-educated, sensually full-lipped young mil-
lionaire Iskander Harappa, and who is, like Bilquis, eighteen years
old, has befriended her cousin Raza's new bride. Bilquis enjoys
(while pretending to be scandalized) Rani's malicious ruminations
on the subject of the household sleeping arrangements. 'Imagine,
in that darkness,' Rani giggles while the two of them grind the
daily spices, 'who would know if her real husband had come to
her? And who could complain? I tell you, Billoo, these married
men and ladies are having a pretty good time in this joint family
set-up. I swear, maybe uncles with nieces, brothers with their
brothers' wives, we'll never know who the children's daddies
really are!' Bilquis blushes gracefully and covers Rani's mouth
with a coriander-scented hand. 'Stop, darling, what a dirtyfilthy
mind!'
But Rani is inexorable. 'No, Bilquis, I tell you, you are new
here but I have grown up in this place, and by the hairs of our
Bariamma's head I vow that this arrangement which is supposed
The Duellists ? 71
to be made for decency etcetera is just the excuse for the biggest
orgy on earth.'
Bilquis does not point out (how rude it would be to do so) that
the minuscule, almost dwarfish Bariamma is not only toothless and
blind but no longer has a single hair on her ancient head, either.
The matriarch wears a wig.
Where are we, and when? � In a large family house in the old
quarter of the coastal city which, having no option, I must call
Karachi. Raza Hyder, an orphan like his wife, has brought her
(immediately after descending from the Dakota of their flight into
the west) into the bosom of his maternal relations; Bariamma is his
grandmother on his late mother's side. 'You must stay here,' he
told Bilquis, 'until things settle down and we can see what is what
and what is not.' So these days Hyder is in temporary quarters at
the Army base while his bride lies amid sleep-feigning in-laws,
knowing that no man will visit her in the night. � And yes, I see
that I have brought my tale into a second infinite mansion, which
the reader will perhaps already be comparing to a faraway house in
the border town of Q.; but what a complete contrast it affords!
For this is no sealed-off redoubt; it bursts, positively bursts with
family members and related personnel.
'They still live in the old village way,' Raza warned Bilquis
before depositing her in
to come.
The turning door-knob rattles like a drum. At once there is a
change in the quality of the night. A delicious wickedness is in the
air. A cool breeze stirs, as if the entry of the first man has suc-
ceeded in dispelling some of the intense treacly heat of the hot
season, enabling the ceiling fans to move a little more efficiently
through the soupy atmosphere. Forty women, one of them
69
Shame ? 70
Bilquis, stir damply under their sheets . . . more men enter. They
are tiptoeing along the midnight avenues of the dormitory and
the women have become very still, except for Bariamma. The
matriarch is snoring more energetically then ever. Her snores
are sirens, sounding the all-clear and giving necessary courage to
the men.
The girl in the bed next to Bilquis, Rani Humayun, who is
unmarried and therefore expects no visit tonight, whispers across
the blackness: 'Here come the forty thieves.'
And now there are tiny noises in the dark: charpoy ropes
yielding fractionally beneath the extra weight of a second body,
the rustle of clothing, the heavier exhalations of the invading hus-
bands. Gradually the darkness acquires a kind of rhythm, which
accelerates, peaks, subsides. Then there is a multiple padding
towards the door, several times the drum-roll of the turning door-
knob, and at last silence, because Bariamma, now that it is polite
to do so, has quite ceased to snore.
Rani Humayun, who has landed one of the prize catches of the
marriage season and will shortly leave this dormitory to wed the
fair-skinned, foreign-educated, sensually full-lipped young mil-
lionaire Iskander Harappa, and who is, like Bilquis, eighteen years
old, has befriended her cousin Raza's new bride. Bilquis enjoys
(while pretending to be scandalized) Rani's malicious ruminations
on the subject of the household sleeping arrangements. 'Imagine,
in that darkness,' Rani giggles while the two of them grind the
daily spices, 'who would know if her real husband had come to
her? And who could complain? I tell you, Billoo, these married
men and ladies are having a pretty good time in this joint family
set-up. I swear, maybe uncles with nieces, brothers with their
brothers' wives, we'll never know who the children's daddies
really are!' Bilquis blushes gracefully and covers Rani's mouth
with a coriander-scented hand. 'Stop, darling, what a dirtyfilthy
mind!'
But Rani is inexorable. 'No, Bilquis, I tell you, you are new
here but I have grown up in this place, and by the hairs of our
Bariamma's head I vow that this arrangement which is supposed
The Duellists ? 71
to be made for decency etcetera is just the excuse for the biggest
orgy on earth.'
Bilquis does not point out (how rude it would be to do so) that
the minuscule, almost dwarfish Bariamma is not only toothless and
blind but no longer has a single hair on her ancient head, either.
The matriarch wears a wig.
Where are we, and when? � In a large family house in the old
quarter of the coastal city which, having no option, I must call
Karachi. Raza Hyder, an orphan like his wife, has brought her
(immediately after descending from the Dakota of their flight into
the west) into the bosom of his maternal relations; Bariamma is his
grandmother on his late mother's side. 'You must stay here,' he
told Bilquis, 'until things settle down and we can see what is what
and what is not.' So these days Hyder is in temporary quarters at
the Army base while his bride lies amid sleep-feigning in-laws,
knowing that no man will visit her in the night. � And yes, I see
that I have brought my tale into a second infinite mansion, which
the reader will perhaps already be comparing to a faraway house in
the border town of Q.; but what a complete contrast it affords!
For this is no sealed-off redoubt; it bursts, positively bursts with
family members and related personnel.
'They still live in the old village way,' Raza warned Bilquis
before depositing her in
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