The Ear-rings

The whisper ran quick round the village, as it always does. Everybody addressed everybody else, "Have you heard, Ayesha has run away from home!"

"Which Ayesha do you mean?" Inquired one from among the group.

"Why, surely, Ayesha, the matchless beauty, the faithful wife of Habiba, the basket-weaver."

Another peasant, washing his feet in the shallow cold stream, commented poetically, "Hai Allah! What has happened? Laila has run away from Majnun. Zulekha has given the slip to Yusuf."

The hefty Kashmiri peasants, sitting under the majestic Chinar, by the stream, whence wafted a cool breeze, roared a malicious deep laugh. The sun had just set. Towards the west, the evening star added its glittering lustre to the long mountain twilight. The peasants loved to gossip at this hour and thus relieve the tedium of the days hard toil. As they gave avid ear to the sensational rumour over pinches of snuff and puffs at the hookah, which they fraternally shared among themselves, they were joined by ‘Gulala, the Nightingale', known for his sweet voice.

He was bursting with news. Before squatting on the turf, he said, gesticulating with his expressive hands. "Ayesha and Habiba had a loud quarrel before she quit the house. He beat her, and, calling her a whore, said to her, 'Go to the one who gave you the ear-rings. May lightning fall on you!' She sobbed, 'You have lost your senses'. That incensed him. He kicked her and slapped her. She too lost her temper and she told him, 'You are a brute, Habiba, you are mad.' Habiba's old parents and children stood aside, gaping, not daring to interfere, for they know he is fire, all fire."

After a pause, 'the Nightingale' had a long puff at the hookah, while his intrigued audience gathered round him. He continued, 'Then poor Ayesha collected her few clothes and tied them in a bundle. She shouted, 'This house is not for me where my own man does not trust me.' Then, Habiba told her: 'Go away, you daughter of a bad father. I shall now think that I was never married.' She ran out of the yard followed by a lamb and the dog of the house. None of her four children followed her to the stream which she waded across".

Some of the peasants wetted their lips with their tongues as they relished the yarn. One old farmer, nicknamed 'Foresight' true to his reputation, observed. "Who'll make baskets for us in the long winter now? Habiba was helped by his wife who knew the skill as well as he but it was with her help that he could turn out a lot of the stuff."

In their scheme of things, Ayesha's exit from the village scene was big news, and they carried it to their respective homes when they dispersed with the sage remark of the oldest among them," Allah is great. I pray that He may preserve you from sin. These things happen in the transitory world."

An ominous gloom fell on the home of Habiba, when Ayesha went away. The younger children cried in their hay beds. Habiba's aged father gave fodder to the cattle and his mother went into the kitchen to extinguish the cow-dung cinders. These and many other chores used to be regularly performed by Ayesha, every morning, every evening. No sooner had she gone than the members of the family automatically divided her domestic work among themselves. The children carried water to the cattle in the heavy wooden troughs that energetic Ayesha would handle ever so lightly.

Habiba had to take upon himself the share of labour that his wife did in the rice field. Grim and taciturn, he toiled on uncomplainingly. Earlier, he used to say to the Patwari or the landlord, "We farmers are bulls and work with and like them". Now, he knew, though he did not give vent to the feeling, that he was exerting himself like an ass, the beast of burden sweated worse than the bull. But he was only keeping up appearances. Inwardly, he was afire with jealousy and hurt pride. His cheeks were more hollowed than before. He thought constantly of bygone times when he, a sturdy youth of the village, had married Ayesha. How he had adored her!

And she was adorable in those days. Her pearly white teeth were the same, though her complexion had suffered due to the sun. Despite six childbirths her figure was as slim as ever. The four surviving children were his and hers. The eldest, Ali, did not even once talk about Ayesha after she had left. They did not laugh and joke together any more.

A heavy silence pervaded their home. The children uncannily understood that their laughter was unwanted in the house. Even the baby, Habiba's youngest child, showed less of its toothless smile. Giving the spare feed to the baby, Habiba's mother said, "May plague victimise these modern women who can thus leave their own hearths in the hands of others because of a petty squabble with their quarrelsome husbands." Habiba, sharpening his scythe, heard this ex parte indictment.

This was no minor quarrel, he told himself. Biting his lower, thick lip hard and long he told himself, "I know the ear-rings are the gift of my wife's lover. Who is the man. I would very much like to know, so that I may rip open his stomach with this scythe?" In a frenzy of anger, he clutched his scythe, gnashed his teeth, preparing as if to meet an adversary, the giver of the trinket, whose identity she would not disclose to him.

The matronly hen cackled, followed by a brood of chickens. A beautiful piebald lamb bleated piteously to get near its mother that was tied away. Looking at the lamb pulling at its tether, tears welled in Ayesha's eyes. She stood up and let the lamb loose. Sitting on the threshold, she saw the green paddy fields, beyond her father's cottage, studded with willows and appearing to stretch towards and meet the mountains. The lovely sunset scene did not catch her eye or attention. She stared blankly at the encircling snowcapped peaks. On the highest peak, she thought she saw the form of a man, a farmer, young, handsome, with a scythe in one hand and a basket in the other. The giant man of her imagination enthralled her. But she marked a dark frown cross the face. Yes, he scowled at her and lifted the scythe to strike her.

Coming to, she felt more unhappy than aver. Seeing the lamb having its evening suck, she cursed herself for having left her baby behind when she left her home in a hurry. She could not explain to herself the sudden jealousy of her husband. Earlier, she had worn ornaments given to her by her father, and he had not asked pointed questions. The thought of her children made her very much miserable. Would she see them again? Unable to restrain herself, she wept. The free flow of her copious tears somehow soothed her. While she brushed her tears to hide her sorrow she heard a familiar shout in the compound "Mother Ayesha!"

Not believing her eyes, she confronted Ali. As if seven days of their separation had been seven long years, she hugged him and kissed him on the forehead, saying, "My son, dear Ali, you did not forget me?"

"How could I, mother?" Ali replied in his frank way. "I left home on the errand of going with the summer feed of salt to our sheep with the shepherd in the mountain meadow of Sonamarg. "

"You're a good boy, my Ali. Now come in and smoke a hookah till I prepare salt tea for you."

Ali was besieged by the children in his grand-father's home who shouted, "Merry Ali has come." Disconsolate and sad, Ali summoned a smile to his parched lips and greeted the children. He was itching to talk to his mother. After tea, Ali and Ayesha left the cottage and walked to the bank of the nearby stream.

"What angered father, Mother Ayesha?" broke from Ali's lips.

"The ear-rings and Allah knows what else."

Ali was stunned to hear this. He now understood why Habiba had raved. Looking at her woe-begone face, he addressed his mother, "Dear Mother Ayesha, have you not told father that my would-be father-in-law sent you these ear-rings and that a Pir had given these to him, ordaining that the mother of his future son-in-law should wear this bauble as amulet, to guard against harm to me? Mother, you have suffered for me. Why did you not tell him?"

"How could I?" she replied simply. "Your grand-parents and I have kept your betrothal a secret from him for he did not approve of this alliance."

"No, mother Ayesha," Ali decided, "He must know. I shall now hasten to the marg and return home in two days."

Ali took his leave from his sobbing mother and the children who had gathered round.

Reaching his home, Ali had a long talk with his father. Habiba was surprised -- and gratified. His eyes were opened at last, he confessed candidly. He cursed himself on his folly. Lifting his hands in token of prayer, he said, "Allah! I have sinned in suspecting my faithful wife. Forgive me, O Merciful One!"

On the following day, father and son left to fetch Ayesha back home. Gulala, the 'Nightigale', carried the news to the evening assembly under the Chinar. Neighbours received it with interest and satisfaction .'Foresight' had his say, amidst laughter, "No worry, brothers, our baskets will come in winter as before. And Ayesha, wearing the ear-rings, will weave them.