Shah's Harlot

No one called her Neelam, she was the Shah’s harlot to everyone. Neelam blossomed into
youth in a courtesan tenement in Lahore’s Hira Mandi. A sardar from a princely state performed
the ritual of removing her nose ring to deflower her for a precious sum of five thousand rupees.

Then one day she left the cheap tenement in Hira Mandi and moved to Falleti’s, the most
expensive hotel in town. Although she had not moved away from Lahore, the whole town
seemed to have forgotten her original name overnight and started referring to her as the Shah’s
harlot. She was known for her sonorous voice. No girl could render Mirza as well as her.
Although people had forgotten her name, no one had forgotten her voice. Every home with a
gramophone was sure to have her records. At any get-together there were always requests for
her records to be played over and again.

Her relationship with the Shah was no secret and his family knew of it. Not only did they know of
it, they had also accepted it. Though when the Shah’s son, who was to be married now, was still
a baby, the Shahni had threatened to take poison and kill herself. But the Shah, clasping a
necklace of the purest of pearls to his wife’s neck, told her: “Shahni! She is lucky for your
household. I know a gem when I see it. Haven’t you heard of the qualities of the neelam gem?
The sapphire can make or mar someone. This Neelam has made me. Ever since I took her,
even the mud that I touch turns to gold.”

“But she will ruin the home one day. We will be left with nothing.” The Shahni, swallowing the
pain that rose in her heart, tried to counter his argument.

But the adamant Shah said, “On the other hand I am scared. One can never tell with these
harlots. If someone else lures her away, our fate may be marred forever.”

The Shahni could say nothing more and left everything to time. But time did not move on for
many years to come. True enough more wealth came into Shah’s hands in comparison to what
he spent on Neelam. Earlier, he had a small shop in the city but now his was the largest
showroom with cast-iron railings. He owned not just his house, but the entire colony that was
rented out to well-off tenants. And the Shahni did not let go of the keys to the lockers of her
home.

Long ago while locking the box with the gold coins, the Shahni had told her husband, “Keep her
in the hotel if you will or build a Taj Mahal for her, but she must never enter my home. I do not
wish to see her.” True to her word, the Shahni had not seen the harlot till date. When she had
said this her elder boy was still in school. Now he was to be married but she had not even
allowed Neelam’s records to enter her home nor could anyone talk of her. But her sons had
heard her records all over the bazaar and had also heard innumerable people referring to her as
“the Shah’s harlot”.
The elder son’s marriage had been fixed. Tailors and embroiderers had been sitting in the house
for the past four months. One was embellishing a suit with gold, another with silver, yet another
was bespangling dresses and edging dupattas with golden trimmings. The Shahni was flush
with money – she would take out a pouch full of rupees, spend it and return to the locker to fill it
again.

The Shah’s friends insisted that they wanted to hear the harlot sing at the boy’s wedding. They
put the proposal forward with tact. “Shahji, many singing and dancing girls are available but you
must make sure that your melody queen comes, even if she sings just a verse of Mirza.”

Falleti’s was not just any other hotel. Only the Britishers used to stay there. It had not only single
and double rooms but also suites of three big rooms. Neelam lived in one such suite. The Shah
thought he would humour his friends by organising an evening of music in her suite.

“That would be like going to a house of entertainment,” a friend objected and everyone joined
him saying, “No Shahji, only you have the right to go there. We have never said anything for so
many years. She is all yours. But we want to celebrate our nephew’s wedding so in the true
feudal tradition; you must call her home, the home of our sister-in-law...”

The proposal appealed to the Shah. It was wise not to take his friends to Neelam’s abode
although he had learnt that a few aristocrats were visiting her in his absence. He also wanted
Neelam to see the grandeur of his home. But afraid of the Shahni, he did not concede to the
request of his friends.

Two of his friends found a way out and approached the Shahni, “Bhabhi, won’t you arrange an
evening of music for the boy’s wedding? We don’t want to miss out on any ceremony. The Shah
wants to arrange a get-together at Neelam’s place. It is all right but thousands of rupees will be
wasted on it. After all, you have to take care of the finances. He has already spent enough on
the harlot. Be wise and call her to sing here one evening. We will enjoy the music and a lot of
money will be saved.”

First the Shahni resisted. “I do not wish to see the harlot.” However, the friends persisted. “This
is your empire. She will come as a servant obeying your orders. It will be her humiliation, not
yours. She will be just another entertainer.”

The Shahni finally saw the merit of their case but she laid down the rules. “Liquor will not be
served. Everyone will sit as they would in a decent home. You men can join us. She will just
come, sing and leave. I will give her the four patasas that I will be giving the other girls who
come to sing the ghodhis.”

“That is exactly what we want.” The Shah’s friends flattered her. “You have saved this home with
your wisdom otherwise God knows what may have happened.”
And the harlot came. The Shahni had sent her personal carriage to fetch her. The home was full
of relatives and friends. White sheets had been spread out in the big room with big round
cushions and a dholaki was placed in the middle. The women of the home started singing the
ghodhis, the wedding songs for the groom.

As the carriage stopped outside the house, many eager women ran towards the windows and
the staircase to catch a glimpse of the woman they had all heard about but never seen.

“It is an ill omen to leave the song unfinished,” the Shahni scolded. But she found her own voice
weak as though her heart was sinking. She slowly walked to the front door. She rearranged the
borders of her pink sari as though she was seeking courage from the auspicious pink colour to
face the other woman.

There was Neelam! She was resplendent in a shimmering green garara trimmed with gold and a
bright red shirt. A green silk dupatta was draped on her head and trailed to her feet. She
seemed to be twinkling and the Shanhni felt that the shimmering green colour of her attire had
spread itself out in the doorway.

Then her green glass bangles tinkled and the Shahni saw a fair hand rise in a salaam. A
musical voice spoke out, “Many congratulations, Shahni. Many congratulations to you.”

She was a dainty little thing. The Shahni pointed towards the round cushion and asked her to sit
down and doing so she felt that her fleshy arm looked very unsightly. In one corner of the room,
the Shah sat with his friends. The delicate woman glanced at them and gave her stylish salaam
and then sat by the cushion. Her glass bangles tinkled again. The Shahni looked at those arms
once again, bedecked with green glass bangles. Then spontaneously she moved her gaze to
her own gold bracelets.

The whole room was bedazzled. All eyes were looking in one direction, including the Shahni’s,
but she was annoyed at the other admiring stares. She wanted to scold everyone and ask the
women to continue with the wedding songs. But she could not find her voice. The others too
seemed to have lost their voices. She looked at the dholaki in the middle of the room and
wanted to go and beat it hard to break the stunned silence.

She who had caused the silence broke it too. She said, “First of all I will sing a ghodi. Is that all
right Shahni?” And looking at the Shahni, she started to sing:

Nikki-nikki bundi nikeya meen ve ware

Teri maan ve suhagan tere shagan kare

(Tiny droplets, my young one, come down in rain

As your lucky mother performs the sacred ritual)
Hearing the song, the Shahni felt a little at ease because she was the mother and was being
sung about. Her husband was only her’s and only she had the right to perform the rituals.
Smiling, the Shahni sat right in front of the woman who was singing about the rites and rituals of
her son’s marriage.

The ghodi ended and conversation resumed in the room. The women wanted a dholaki song
and the men wanted to hear the verses of Mirza. The singer paid no heed to the request from
the menfolk and put her knee on the dholaki. The Shahni was pleased with the fact that instead
of pandering to the men, the harlot was fulfilling the requests of the women.

Some women did not know of Neelam. They were asking one another about her. The Shahni
heard whispers, “She is the one, the Shah’s harlot.” Even though they had whispered softly, the
words were piercing through the Shahni’s ears – the Shah’s harlot, the Shah’s harlot – and her
face went pale again.

The beat of the dholaki got louder as did the singer’s voice:

Soohe ve cheere waalea main kehani aan...

(I call out to you, the red-turbaned one …)

The Shahni’s heart sank. God forbid! The red-turbaned one was her son and today he was to
mount a horse to bring home a bride. There was no end to the requests. One song would finish
and another would start. The singer would oblige the women in one song and the men in the
other. Every now and then she would say, “Let someone else sing now, give me a breather.” But
who had the courage to sing in front of her. Singing came naturally to her and her voice was so
melodious. She was just saying this for effect because when one song ended, she would start
the next one.

It was all right as far as the wedding songs went but once she started singing the verses of
Mirza in her sonorous voice, even the breeze stopped blowing to listen to her. The men in the
room froze. The Shahni started feeling uneasy. She glanced at the Shah. He was a statue like
the others but the Shahni felt he had turned to stone.

The Shahni panicked. She felt that if she lost this moment, she would be reduced to a clay
statue forever. She had to do something, something to prove her existence. It was late in the
evening, and the function was coming to a close. The Shahni had said that she would distribute
only patasas but once the singing ended, tea and delicious savouries were served. The Shahni
took a rolled hundred rupee note in her hand touched it to her son’s head and then gave it to the
one who was known as the Shah’s harlot.

“Let it be, Shahni. I already live off your morsels,” she said and laughed. Her laughter twinkled
as did her silence. The Shahni’s face went white. She felt that the Shah’s harlot, by referring to
her liaison with her husband openly, had belittled her. However, she took quick control of the
situation. Pressing the note firmly in the other woman’s hand she said, “You will take from the
Shah always but when will you get the chance to take something from me? Come on, take it
today.”

The Shah’s harlot accepting the note seemed most humbled. The auspicious pink colour of the
Shahni’s sari had spread itself all over the room.