The Merry Widow |
|
These widows, Sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world. The Spectator Addison
|
|
LEILA BANU had reached the age of discretion - or so she thought. She was a widow of thirty-five summers, and her late husband, a fat contractor, had left her a house (built mostly with materials filched from his clients) together with a tidy sum in the bank. She had put in commendable efforts, and large chunks from the hand account, to add allurment to an otherwise plain building, and displayed surprisingly good taste in the selection of furniture and fittings. But then Leila was, for a countrywoman, unusually sophisticated. A college education, and flashy magazines, had left their mark. The house was situated in a lane, not too far from the heart of the town, and seemed ideally suitable for a quiet life of retirement without remorse. Just before the political storm broke over East Pakistan, a group of foreign engineers had arrived in the town, to begin survey work on a telecommunications project, and, in their search for houses in which to accommodate some of their officers, had been led by a local broker, galvanised into feverish activity by the prospect of a neat commission from gullible foreigners, to the abode of Leila, who lived in languid expectancy of such an event. She was ready to move at a moment's notice to her mother's village home. Her husband, snatching desperate moments of lucidity from his last diabetic coma, had given her a few invaluable business precepts, from which it was hoped she would benefit. The foreigners looked over the house, and at once approved. This was just what they were looking for, said the Project Manager, without adding that he had selected it for himself - for who could resist such a charming landlady? Another house would have to be found for the others. A cup of tea sealed the bargain, and all that remained was to sign a lease for three years, which Mr Grigson promised to do as soon as he returned from Dacca, having obtained governmental approval of the arrangement. And then the storm broke, East Pakistan erupted into civil war, the Pakistan Army eventually took over the town, and the foreigners never returned. * * * * *
Leila was looking bewitching in a dark green saree. She bad covered both wrists with green glass bangles, and her face was aglow with makeup. She cast a practised eye to see that the bottle of whisky was in its right place, together with soda-water bottles and an ash-tray, on a table next to Major Sadiq's favourite armchair. Abdul, her boy-cook, was busy frying potato chips, and roasting almonds. The evening, as usual, was carefully arranged. Even a mosquito-coil sent grey pungent wisps across the floor of the room, to ensure naked comfort, free from importuning insects. Presently she heard a jeep draw up, and opening the front door herself welcomed her visitor. * * * * *
Captain Mumtaz had many things on his mind. He was in Signals, and his CO was far from satisfied with communications in his sector. The General himself had made caustic comments. His desk was stacked with files, and Captain Mumtaz fancied himself a man of action, not an office-room cissy! With a war raging-however juvenile and irregular the civil war in East Pakistan may on the surface have seemed - he had spent the best part of the morning ordering the Telephone Department chaps about to get one installed in the house of a certain Leila Banu, whose claim to a connection was based on the amorous interest of Major Sadiq. Really, the QMG had little else to do, outside ordering rations for the men, and whisky for himself! * * * * *
There was commotion at headquarters. The General had arrived on a surprise visit, and all officers were stiff with apprehension. The reports on this particular sector had failed to impress the General, especially with regard to the capture or destruction of rebels, and the Brigadier was in for a rocket. * * * * *
Captain Mumtaz jerked his head up from a black cushion. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. He had been away from his office for almost two hours. Major Sadiq had wanted to see him about an order for the Signals mess. A jeep outside backfired. There was a loud knock on the from door. Abdul, the stupid boy-cook, opened it, and Major Sadiq barged into the room. * * * * *
Leila Banu opened the front door herself. Outside stood a young man in a green uniform. His hair was long and shaggy, and his beard was matted, like a thick piece of black jute. He had been a straggler with the Freedom Fighters, yet had seen no action. But he was important. He knew how to throw his weight around. He was the New Bengalee Youth - representing the total failure of a generation.
* Freedom Fighters. |
|