Calling Sehmat Read online

  The Brigadier’s heart was in his mouth, while Amir Khan considered the political correctness of the situation. But like all anglers, Amir could not resist the lure of fishing. He was at the fag end of his career and was in a position to make a minor change in tradition, after all. ‘Well Sayeed . . .’ he continued, ‘I don’t like sudden departures from the standard drill. But now that you have done it, let’s go ahead. Besides, one has to respect the feelings of our men. By the way, are you sure there’s fish out there? Why haven’t I heard of this lake before?’

  While the officers sipped tea at the lakeside, their GOC busied himself in counting the number of fish he had caught within half an hour of dropping the hook. Like a much-desired trophy, he lifted the largest fish and, exclaiming with joy, looked at his deputy, ‘I say Sayeed, have you seen her size? She weighs nearly a ton!’

  Sayeed was about to say something when he remembered his daughter-in-law’s words. Looking philosophically towards the lake he said, ‘Sir, I don’t know much about fishing. But I know for sure that it is caught not with the hook but with the power of one’s mind.’

  Sayeed’s response was music to the GOC’s ears. His eyes lit up. This was exactly his philosophy and how rightly put! He glanced at the assembled officers who were only waiting to break into applause. Feeling on top of the world because of the massaged ego, he turned towards Sayeed and said, ‘I didn’t know you are so deep into books, Sayeed. I say, I am impressed, very impressed.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir, but this calls for celebrations. This lake too demands to be honoured in the annals of history. It would therefore be appropriate if you could address the men from this very site.’

  ‘I think that is a very good idea. I am very happy to see your units in such great shape. Your men must be congratulated for all the efforts. Tell them no more inspection. They can relax now and I’ll meet them in the evening. Also, err . . . send some fish to my house. The rest should be cooked for the evening function.’

  The rest of the day was spent discussing the GOC’s fishing abilities, with each officer outweighing the others’ estimate in order to please the moody old man. His address to the jawans too was laced with fish innuendoes. So happy was the GOC with his angling skills that he referred to the enemy as a fish waiting to be trapped by the force of the mind.

  Dinner was carefully planned by Sehmat, keeping in view the GOC’s morning success at the lake. Everything possible was made to resemble a fish. Fishing nets were hung around the buffet tables with fish hooks, showcasing Thermocol replicas and cut-outs of the morning’s catch. Sehmat even gave new names to cocktails and carried the first drink to the GOC herself.

  Dressed carefully and strategically for the occasion, she looked stunningly beautiful. The GOC could not take his eyes off her the entire evening. She had draped her exquisite body in black crepe. The subtle lines of her long flowing gown accentuated her curves and the neckline, and though demurely cut, it was sensational.

  He stood up as Sehmat approached him with a bearer and accepted the drink, looking closely at the colourful cocktail presented to him by such a lethally beautiful woman. On the brim of the glass sat a tiny fisherman resting under the shade of a paper umbrella. A small piece of pineapple, cut in the shape of a tiny fish, hung at the edge of the hook.

  ‘It’s your day, General. All the fish, it seems, fought amongst themselves to grab your hook. With so much catch, we did not feel the need to buy more from the market. Wish you many more,’ Sehmat said and raised a toast, her sensual and mesmerizing eyes doing the talking, watching the hapless General fall into the trap.

  Amir Khan took a large sip and rolled his tongue over his lips, tasting the liquor and simultaneously gulping down Sehmat’s well-rehearsed compliment. ‘You look very beautiful. Thank you very much for such magnificent arrangements. Yes indeed, what a day. Never in my life have I been so successful. I still can’t believe my luck. And now you bring me this artistically designed cocktail. I hope there’s no fish inside?’

  ‘Oh! Nothing fishy, General. It’s called the GOC Special.’ And with that Sehmat walked away, diplomatically averting what could have been a faux pas.

  Amir decided to take a walk around the huge lawns, admiring and repeatedly complimenting Sehmat on each detail. Everywhere he glanced, he noted and acknowledged the effort put in by the Sayeeds to make it a memorable night. Walking closely by his side, Sehmat ensured that the GOC saw the fishing hooks that were used as buttons on the flowing knee-length coats of the waiters.

  ‘It was all Iqbal’s idea, General. He felt that he might not be able to match you in fishing, but would surely outnumber the morning catch by the hooks on display tonight,’ Sehmat gushed.

  ‘So it was the Captain teaming up with his wife? I should have guessed. Well, let me admit, Begum Sahiba, how deeply I am touched by this most heartfelt warm welcome. Your family must be suitably rewarded for all the hard work. And I’ll ensure that it happens sooner rather than later. Where’s Iqbal posted now?’

  ‘He is with the Light Infantry, base camp. Perhaps he could justify the power of his thinking if he could work with his GOC.’

  Sehmat knew that most officers dreaded working under Amir Khan. But she was also aware of the many layers of officials who would act as a safe buffer for an officer of Iqbal’s rank. Besides, she needed her own source at the GOC Headquarters. The GOC too was aware of his own reputation and was taken aback by Sehmat’s comments.

  ‘I think you are right. There is indeed a shortage of thinkers in my office. Perhaps that will also ensure that we’ll have the pleasure of your company more often, Begum Sahiba?’

  ‘It indeed would entirely be my honour, General.’

  ‘Good. Then let Iqbal join from next Monday. I’ll issue the orders tomorrow. He can come in place of Major Hussein who’s going for an advanced course.’

  Iqbal was watching nervously from a distance. The ease with which his wife was handling the entire situation was making him sweat even more. The moment arrived when Sehmat subtly gestured to him to come and join her and the GOC. After standing momentarily at attention, he greeted the GOC. He prayed that his shaky legs would not give his nervousness away as he stood in front of the man who was infamous for his erratic behaviour.

  Before the GOC could say anything, Sehmat reached out and excitedly grabbed her husband’s hand. ‘The GOC is impressed with your performance and has decided to promote you. You will now work under him in place of Major Hussein.’

  Both the GOC and Iqbal were taken aback by Sehmat’s comments. Noticing the change in their expressions, she inquired in a voice dripping with innocence, ‘Did I say something wrong?’

  Amir Khan quickly came to her rescue. ‘Well not exactly a promotion, Iqbal, but you can perhaps be appointed as an acting Major since you would be replacing an officer of that rank.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Sir. I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations,’ Iqbal said and quickly came to a brief attention posture, his shoes clicking at the heels, acknowledging the good news. The GOC shook hands with him and looked over his shoulders at the approaching group of officers. Even without the extra perks and higher pay, Iqbal knew that he would be able to wear the rank and be eligible for a promotion. He looked at his wife in awe, knowing that he owed it to her. Through sheer planning and meticulous execution, she had brought him on a par with his elder brother.

  Now on cloud nine, he headed towards the bar and ordered himself a rum and coke. He took a large sip and noticed a small plastic fish neatly hooked below the wedge of lime peacefully floating inside his glass. He quickly gulped his drink and pulled out the blue plastic. Finely etched under the belly of the fish was the three-letter word, GOC.

  9

  Two years passed. While Iqbal grew from strength to strength, he also became completely dependent on Sehmat for his day-to-day functioning. The father-in-law too found Sehmat indispensable and earned many brownie points from divisional headquarters by sharing operational details with his daug
hter-in-law.

  In order to be appreciated amongst the socially relevant, the crème de la crème of the Pakistani society, Sehmat convinced her family to let her teach music in a reputed school. ‘This would keep me productively busy,’ she stressed. Since taking up jobs by women from high-profile families was not considered very dignified, Brigadier Sayeed took time to relent, but gave in after his son started lobbying for his wife.

  Sehmat took time to shortlist the schools suited for her. She realized that there wasn’t much choice when it came to providing quality education in music to children in upmarket schools. She settled for one that had the right mix of students from both rich and powerful families. Getting a job was not difficult as music teachers were not easy to come by. The principal was only too happy to accommodate her. Sehmat went through the records of past music teachers and was surprised to observe that no one had lasted for more than six months at a single stretch. She was determined to be different.

  The following week, Sehmat found herself standing in front of a bunch of pupils belonging to the high and mighty, who had opted for music only because their parents wanted them to. When she entered the classroom, accompanied by the school administrator, she noticed that instead of rehearsing, the students were busy fighting over chocolates. Seeing a new teacher amidst them, the children stopped briefly but soon resumed their squabble without even acknowledging her presence. Sehmat hesitated but then reached for the big bowl of chocolates and pulled it away. There was firmness in her action, forcing the rich brats to retract. She placed the bowl gently on the shelf, turned towards them and without even introducing herself, began addressing them.

  ‘Music comes from deep within. It opens the walls of the mind and helps in removing mental blocks. It’s a great stepping stone to inner peace. It can help you attain name and fame and make your parents and country proud of you. If you want to be sincere about your goals, you will first have to lift yourself from small attachments and greed. Only then will you realize the innate strength of music.’

  The class was stunned into silence. These students belonged to the most affluent part of society. More importantly, they knew the strength of their influence and many were not averse to using it to their advantage. The administrator too was stunned. He was an old hand and knew his limitations well as also the fact that no one had survived in the school by being strict with the students.

  She added, ‘Anybody can play the violin but only those succeed who free their minds from the greed of the surrounding materialistic world.’

  Having made a lasting impression, she left the classroom for the day. The students remained in deep silence, pondering over the strong message. While locking the doors at the end of the day, the peon was amazed to find the half-filled chocolate bowl. He looked around, his face filled with surprise and disbelief, before stuffing his pockets with the booty.

  Sehmat carefully scanned the list of her students as well as their kith and kin over the next week. She was good with children and knew that they had fragile egos. Her soft, mellow voice and tender mannerisms were in stark contrast to the previous music teacher who was mostly disliked. She shortlisted a young boy, Anwar Khan, to be groomed as the leader of the group. Much younger than most students, Anwar neither possessed natural talents nor had the ability to pick up the finer aspects of music.

  Sehmat also realized that she would have to put in extra effort to bring Anwar up to even basic standards. But she had made up her mind to travel the extra mile. For all his drawbacks, Anwar had one strong credential: he was the grandson of the Pakistani army’s second in command, Lieutenant General Imtiaz Khan.

  As the annual day function came close, Sehmat helped Anwar to draw and paint an invitation for his grandfather. She then handed it over to Brigadier Sayeed and asked him to personally deliver it to the General in Islamabad.

  ‘Give it to him in front of as many people as possible and explain to him the importance of his only grandson playing live to a large audience. Tell him that his presence will boost his grandson’s morale.’ Sehmat’s voice was soft, but her confidence was now at its peak. She knew what she was saying. And, more importantly, the Brigadier too acknowledged her authority on the subject.

  Brigadier Sayeed did as he was told and flew back with the General in an army aircraft well in time for the function. Sehmat and her students presented a memorable show that mesmerized the crowd. Sehmat stood facing her students, partially hidden by the huge stage curtain, softly murmuring the song being played on a dozen violins in unison. She knew the words by heart for she had sung them hundreds of times after coming to Pakistan.

  Oh winds please carry a message to my beloved country.

  Tell her that I am lonely without her,

  That I miss her and wish to be with her,

  Tell her that my life is nothing without her,

  And one day I shall return,

  To sleep peacefully in her lap forever,

  forever, forever, forever.

  For Sehmat, the lyrics of the song struck a poignant chord. Though it was the children of Pakistan singing the song, her thoughts flew to her beloved country, its beautiful valleys, snow-peaked mountains, its fields of lush green meadows and the colours of its festivities. Her strong love for her parents and Aby, and the pain of losing him, was woven into this rich tapestry of memories. Despite her attempts to control her feelings, tears coursed down her cheeks unchecked.

  Anwar became the centre of attention as the star performer of the show. The sombre notes of the violins as well as the deep timbre of the drum reached a feverish pitch and so did the young Anwar Khan’s hands. On a cue, he turned towards the audience and stretched his hands sideways, bringing the show to an abrupt halt. There was a momentary hush in the hall. Then suddenly, as if to fill in the silence, the crowd began to clap. General Imtiaz Khan and his wife were astounded by what they had just heard. They knew their grandson did not have an ear for music and yet here he was. For them, Sehmat had brought about nothing short of a miracle, making their grandson and them the cynosure of all eyes.

  Sehmat’s young artistes graciously acknowledged the deafening applause and the standing ovation by the packed hall. The students stood in formation and bowed low while accepting the appreciation. They then turned towards the right-hand side of the stage where Sehmat stood, and knelt before her, urging her to come out. Sehmat was nonplussed and felt compelled to step out from behind the huge curtain. Despite her best efforts, she could not hide her tears, now flowing freely from her eyes. She stepped forward and hugged the students, simultaneously giving vent to her pent-up emotions.

  The display of such dedication by a teacher towards her students deeply touched the audience, urging them to now give her a standing ovation. General Imtiaz Khan, who also doubled as the chief guest, was so impressed by the proceedings that he announced rewards for the school and also hosted a special dinner in Sehmat’s honour. Little did he know that he was opening the doors of greater opportunity for the young Sehmat Khan.

  While going to bed that night, Sehmat switched on the bedside light, pulled out her diary and began to scribble. She appeared immensely satisfied with the day’s progress, but, deep inside, her heart ached. Half an hour later, she read aloud the couplets of her poem in a controlled and soft voice. Her verses floated freely in the closed confines of the room, carrying traces of her pain.

  Oh Nature

  Caged in the wrap of time,

  Surrounded by lust and desire,

  Holding on to greed for more,

  A bird within me wishes to fly free.

  Far away from shores,

  In the middle of nowhere,

  Am rowing my life’s boat in materialistic circles,

  Wondering how to free my soul,

  Hoping yet to fly free.

  I miss the shine of sun,

  The song of birds,

  The clouds hugging the winds,

  The purity of dewdrops and love,

  I desire yet to quench my
thirst,

  I yet aim to fly free.

  I have emotions that are meaningless,

  Courage that is worthless,

  I have a journey ahead that is aimless,

  I dream yet to reach my destination,

  I yet pray to fly free.

  In a jungle of steel, mud and concrete,

  Packed with scores like me as sardines,

  Tied in knots of social bonds,

  And hopeless hopes,

  I see my shadow amidst millions,

  I do not learn yet and change,

  I still yearn to fly free.

  Oh nature, dear nature, are you listening?

  As the last lines of her poem merged with the stillness of the night, she put the diary aside, closed her eyes and sank into the soft plush pillow.

  Iqbal, who lay asleep on the left side of the bed, woke up as the lights went off. He could not make much of the poem, but the pain in her voice was evident to him. He could neither fathom the depth of her poetry, nor muster sufficient courage to ask her. With deep furrows between his brows, he struggled hard to find a meaning to it, before falling asleep.

  It did not take long for Sehmat to learn that General Imtiaz Khan was also a golf aficionado. She missed no opportunity to build bridges with the rest of his clan and began following the game closely. In less than three weeks, she succeeded in fixing a game of golf for Brigadier Sayeed and simultaneously made a plan to get her father-in-law promoted. The next fortnight was spent in training a small dog to run away with the golf ball.

  Sehmat studied the game at great length and pored over volumes of books, learning the subtleties and nuances of the elite sport. And the more she read, the more fascinated she became. ‘Golfers’ psyche is completely different,’ she read. ‘They are a breed apart. It is common for a golfer to postpone an important issue, overlook a commitment or even forget his wife’s birthday or their wedding anniversary. But it is unlikely for a golfer to forget his victories on the golf course. He cherishes each win, however friendly the match play, and even decades later does not miss recalling its minutest detail over a drink.’ She was further shocked to learn of terms like ‘golfing widows’ and how a true golfer would prefer to be on the golf course than in bed with his wife.