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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/300634
Rated: 13+ · Book · Relationship · #873924
Two Muslim girls, childhood friends, must pay a price to remain friends as adults.
#300634 added August 2, 2004 at 8:52am
Restrictions: None
Chapter III
Chapter III



Laila's father, Fakhruddin, was at the entrance to welcome all the invitees to the birthday party. He was a large man with a booming voice. He stood with a painted-glass plate in his hand; the plate was laden with dry fruits like cashew, fig, almonds and grapes.As a guest came up to him, he welcomed him/her into his home, offering the dry fruits, and then calling out to his wife Arjumand to attend to the guest.

Munira arrived as early as was decently possible. She was wearing her best red Punjabi suit with the shimmering pink dupatta. She paid her respects to Fakhruddinchachu by taking the latter's hand into her own, and bringing it to her lips and kissing it. Fakhruddin acknowledged the greeting by gently mussing up Munira's hair and pecking her on the cheek. Munira grabbed a few cashew-nuts and ran inside shouting, "Laila... Laila!"

Laila was instructing one of her servants when Munira found her.

"Not here, Ramu, keep the table... there, near the door, so that we can put the presents brought by our guests on it for viewing!" she said to a bespectacled, middle-aged man, who stood with his towel-cloth in one hand, and listened to Lailababy with rapt attention.

"Okay, bibiji," returned Ramu, as he scampered away with the table between him and his co-workers.

Munira rushed up to Laila and gently nudged her on the shoulder. Laila spun around and whooped with joy on seeing Munira.

"Munira! How are you? And how is your papa?"

"He is well, thanks! Happy Birthday to you, Laila, and many, many happy returns of the day!" So saying, Munira handed over a beautifully wrapped box with a red ribbon tied elegantly in a bow over it.

"What is it?" enquired Laila, eager to open the box.

"Open it, if you wish," said Munira, and waited expectantly as Laila reached for a knife that lay on a table nearby, and with it, cut away the sticking tapes that bound the ends of the gift-wrapper. The paper fell away, and Laila stood holding a rose-wood box. She found its clasp and opened the lid. Inside the box was the most pretty necklace made from sea-shells, and with it, a matching pair of earrings and a bracelet as well.

"Oh, it's wonderful!" exclaimed Laila, as she bent forward and kissed Munira on the cheek.

Munira was pleased that her gift had been appreciated, and her face flushed with joy.
"My father had placed an order for it a month ago, and it has been brought all the way from Mumbai!" she said.

Laila took Munira's hand in hers, and ran with her to Laila's mother.

Arjumand was supervising the Mughal safraa. In traditional Muslim style, she had spread a roughly oval cloth on the floor where the food would be served. The cook and his assistants were bringing all the dishes and these were being spread out in the central area of the safraa.

Laila came running up to her and said with as much excitement as is possible in a 12-year old: "Look, ammijaan, look at these!"

Arjumand turned around and took the intricately carved box from Laila's hands. She opened the box and looked inside. She put her hand in and bringing out the necklace, she held it up against the light. She murmured appreciatively, and beckoned Munira to her and kissed her on the cheek. She replaced the necklace into the box and said to Munira,"That's very nice, Munni, thanks." She turned to Laila and admonished her gently.

"You did thank Munni, didn't you?"

"Yes, ammijaan," returned Laila.

Munira took Arjumandchachi's hands into her own, and kissed them with respect.

"Abbu has sent his salaams to you and to Fakhruddinchachu," she said to Arjumand.

"Allah bless you and Zaheer. How is he doing, by the way?" enquired Arjumand of Munira.

"He is well, chachi," replied Munira politely.

She silently nudged Laila to retreat from where they were, and with the latter obliging, they raced past the kitchen and the dining area to the Hall, and then, past that, to the terrace.

The terrace was something Munira looked forward to whenever she visited Laila's house. It had many attractions for her like the grand swing that allowed four to five people to sit on and swing at the same time, and the excellent potted plants arranged all along the terrace. There were roses, poinsettias, chrysanthemums, and even pansies. One pot had the most beautiful marigold plant that Munira had ever seen. There were dancing jews, money plants, and bluebells hanging from the grill that was laid around the terrace.

Apart from all these though, what Munira really came to this terrace to see was a running fountain that emptied into a shallow, elongated run-off that went past the swing to the other end of the terrace. It had live gold-fish in it!

"Wow," she exclaimed breathlessly, as she ran to see the fish swimming in the "stream". She leaned over the small toy-bridge that was erected over one of the curves, and before she knew it, she had lost balance and was amidst the fish, in the water!

"Glub, blub, help!" she shouted.

"Hey Munni, don't be silly, just stand up, the water is just two feet deep!" shouted Laila, obviously enjoying herelf.

Munira, looking very abashed, got up and looked at Laila, and past Laila, at a group of guests, all laughing their heads off.

She grasped the outstretched arm of one of the guests and pulled herself out. The water dripped off her and on to the newly tiled floor of the terrace.

Laila's parents came to her rescue. Arjumand took Munira aside and handed her a big towel to dry herself. "Go inside, beti, and change into dry clothes," she said to her.

Laila took Munira into her bedroom, and handed her some of her clothes to change into. Munira disappeared inside the bathroom/toilet, and emerged after ten minutes, looking fresh, dry and gleaming. She was now wearing a golden sharara with a lovely black and golden dupatta.

"You look be..au..tiful!"exclaimed Laila, as she held Munira's hand in hers, and took her back among the guests.

Munira was still embarrassed by the events of the past half an hour, and wished nothing but a quiet corner of the house where she could "lick her ego", but Laila would have none of her brooding, and soon escorted Munira into her special friends' circle.

"Fatima, Neha, Sharmila, Ginny, Rehana, this is my best friend Munira!"Laila said by way of an introduction.

Munira smiled at all the girls, and shook hands with them. They all smiled and shook her hands, and presently, the group was having the time of its life playing sitting kho, a traditional game of catch, where one of the girls chased another, while the remaining girls sat on their haunches, in a straight line, alternately facing opposite directions; the girl who chased had the option of nudging one of the sitting girls to take her place and chase the runner.

"The girls are really enjoying themselves," said Rehan, Laila's elder brother, to his friend Shahrukh.

"Let's have some fun with them," said the latter, gleefully rubbing his hands.

"No, let them be, or Ammijaan will be after us," replied Rehan.

"Just a little fun, Rehan, come," persisted Shahrukh.

The two boys hid behind the door of the room in which the girls were playing. Shahrukh pointed silently at the girls's shoes, lying just inside the door. Rehan agreed that a harmless prank of hiding the girls' shoes would be "permissible", and so the boys brought a gunny-bag, and quickly picked up one shoe from each pair, and hastily retreated to Rehan's room, where they hid all the shoes under the bed. Then the boys went back to join the party.

"Dinner is served," announced one of the serving staff, and the guests began moving towards one end of the terrace, where a buffet was laid out.

"Where are the girls?" asked Arjumand.

"Playing in Laila's room," returned Arjumand's sister Hanifa, who stood next to her.

Arjumand went upstairs to call the girls, but the girls had evidently already been informed about the dinner, and stood near the door, searching for their missing shoes.

"Ammijaan," cried Laila, "all of us are missing a shoe each!"

"Missing a shoe each?" questioned Arjumand. "What do you mean?"

Laila was openly weeping now. The other girls too looked distraught. Many of them were wearing just one shoe, and looking at Arjumand with a plea in their eyes.

"I mean, someone has come here and spirited away one shoe from each pair!" replied Munira.
"Oh!" exclaimed Arjumand.

"Yes, and I know who it must be," said Laila, and getting up, she ran out of the room, shouting "Bhaijaan! at the top of her voice.


****


The party finally ended at nearly 11.30 p.m., a late hour indeed. Munira called up her father, who advised her to stay overnight at Laila's place, and Arjumand wholeheartedly agreed. Laila offered her best night-suit to Munira to wear for the night, and the two retired after their usual bedtime rituals of washing up.

"It is good that to-morrow is a holiday at school," said Munira.

"Yes, indeed! Or else, this party would not have been possible!" returned Laila.

"Our examinations are coming closer now, and I am getting all jittery about Maths!"

"Don't worry, after all, I am senior to you, and will help you if you have any difficulties," reassured Laila jovially.

In reality, although Laila was almost eight months older than Munira, she was a September-born child, while Munira was a May-born, so they both studied in the same class, namely, sixth grade, at the St. Peter's Convent, the most well-known school of Afzalpur. It was run by the Catholic Church, as most Indian Christian schools are, and it was run very efficiently.

The two friends were giggling about something when Arjumand peeped in.

"Laila, Munira, ab soe jaoo! Go to sleep."

"Yes, ammijaan," said Laila, while Munira respectfully said, "Good Night, chachiji!".
After a few more more minutes of giggles and whispered conversation, the girls finally gave in to the need for rest after their wonderful, but exhausting day.

(End of Chapter III)



© Copyright 2004 Dr Taher writes again! (UN: drtaher at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/300634