The Price of Friendship

Chapter VII

Chapter VII

Given the extremely delicate situation, Zaheer came within a few inches of being skinned, and Mufazzal knew it well; he missed the sage counsel of Sajda most acutely now.

He remembered how he had met his future wife: he had merely seen her photographs, that too black and white, 4x6's, and he had muttered a coy "yes" to his father. They actually saw each other just a week before the "Nikaah" (or the actual solemnisation of marital vows), and when they did, Mufazzal recalled with a smile playing at his lips, he fell in love with her at "first sight"! He recalled wistfully that at the age of 19 when he was first "thrust" into their bedroom on the wedding night, he barely managed to "learn the ropes" about love-making, and actually never succeeded that night, but about two nights later.

And now, here was his strappling fifteen year old son, who knew about sex, love and all such matters so "perfectly", and actually managed to write graphic letters to a girl, albeit unposted. How was he supposed to deal with this? He had no past experience and no scale by which to measure the seriousness of his son's behaviour. He decided he had to do something about this. But what?

The options were: A) to speak to his maternal uncle who stayed in Delhi; B) to take Zaheer to a counsellor; and C) to do nothing further but to keep an eye on his son. He was still mulling this over in his mind when his eye fell on the wall clock, and he realised with an alarm that it was past 11:30 a.m.

His love for Munira returned in full measure, and his gut twisted with remorse at the way he had spoken to her earlier this morning. He called out to her, and she came running to him, and then hesitatingly waited for him about eight feet away. He could see that she had been crying, as her eyes were puffed up a little and they were red too. He looked at her tenderly and opened out his arms.

Munira looked at him, and crying, she ran to him and enclosed herself in his fatherly hug.

"I am sorry, Munni, for shouting at you back then," began Mufazzal, as he continued to hold her to him.

She looked up at him and sniffed. Wiping away her tears, she gave a weak smile and said, "It's okay, Abbujaan."

"I ... er ... shall we go?"

"Okay, I will just come, abbu," said Munira, as she went back into the bedroom to change. She emerged a few minutes later, in a shining green salwar kameez topped by a red dupatta. She was carrying a handbag.

"I am taking a Ludo game, abbu," she said by way of an explanation, "and water and some biscuits," she completed.

Mufazzal said, "Okay, and have you taken the camera as well?"

Munira replied in the negative.

"Well then, go and get it. It's beside the radio set," said Mufazzal encouragingly.

Munira was soon back with the Yashica her father had purchased just over six months ago and a smile played at her face. She held her father's hand and gently tugged him towards the door.

Mufazzal allowed himself to be led outside the house. The 'Nehru Children's Park' was a mere three kilometers away, and Mufazzal decided to take an auto-rickshaw to the park. Munira was excited to sit in an "auto" as the three-wheeled hire vehicle was called by all the people. She clambered in and slided on to the rightmost seat so that she could gaze out. Mufazzal smiled to himself as he followed her in. He told the driver where they wished to be taken, and then relaxed into his seat as the rickshaw pulled off the kerb and proceeded to their destination.

The road was a bit bumpy, and it was all Munira and Mufazzal could do to remain firmly in their seats. The straps hanging from the low roof only provided flimsy support to them, as the rickshaw took a left turn, and then a right, and finally stopped outside the park.

"Nehru Children's Park" was named after Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of free India and a truly secular Indian with a vision to make India self reliant and independent in the comity of nations. He was an avowed lover of children, and Indians remembered him as a pleasing, child-loving leader. His birth anniversaries were even today celebrated as "Children's Day" on November 14th every year.

The board had worn, and hung askew from the top of the gate to the garden. Just inside the bower that enclosed the gate was a black bust of Nehru. It was clear that it had not been cleaned in quite some time. Bird-droppings and fine dust had turned the polished stone quite dirty.

Unmindful of history and ignorant of the concept of "preservation of public places and monuments", there were many defacements of the bust with scratches and graffiti on Nehru's face, his cap and even the pedestal upon which the bust rested.

Munira ran in prancing and gallivanting, touching all the spikes of the wooden stile that separated the "jogger's walk" from the beautifully maintained hedges. Mufazzal meandered in, his mind still in a turmoil over the incidents of the past few days.

Fakhruddin had already arrived with his daughter, and was waiting under the shade of a central cupola created by the municipality for the comfort of the visitors. He was enjoying a cold drink. Mufazzal waved his outstretched hand to Fakhruddin, who waved back.

Laila came out from behind one of the pillars that supported the cupola and Munira ran to her, her dupatta blowing away from her head in the wind. Munira laughed and ran to retrieve it. Laila ran up to her and took her hand in hers and shook it forcefully.

"Hello, Munni! I hope you brought the Ludo ... "

"Hi, Laila!" Munira was delirious with joy.

"How are you, and how did you like my "return gift"?"

"It was great!" said an excited Munira. She brought out her favourite snack, peanuts, and offered some to Laila.

"Um ... Hmm ...Ummm ...No, Munni, I am not really hungry!"

"Oh, come, come, Laila ... just have a few then!" Munira thrust some of the unpeeled peanuts to Laila who collected them within her dupatta, and taking Munira's hand, she went up to a bench and sat down in it. They began chatting animatedly while Mufazzal and Fakhruddin retired to another bench for a more sedate discussion.

Mufazzal was torn between disclosing the "letters" issue and not doing so. His reasoning was affected by the friendship between Munni and Laila. If I bring the issue out into the open, and it creates a rift between the two families, what will happen to poor Munni?

He decided to keep mum on the subject. However, he resolved to approach the matter from a different context, so he casually threw a question at Fakhruddin.

He began tentatively, "I have heard that you are planning to get Laila married as soon as she is 18?"

Fakhruddin guffawed. Mufazzal was taken by utter surprise at this behaviour.

"Why are you laughing, Fakhruddin?"

The other man stifled another laugh and said between giggles, "Mufazzalbhai, you are too much! She is just thirteen, janaab!