Typhoon by Qaisra Shahraz Read Free Book Online

in a neat circle, showing off to great effect her creamy white throat and the upper half of her shoulders.
    Hajra accepted with dismay that her daughter was no match for this sophisticated specimen of womanhood. Unable to resist, Hajra’s eyes roamed over the woman’s face, dwelling on the shape of her eyebrows, arched in an elegant line, not a hair out of place, complemented by thick curly eyelashes, above two coquettish dark brown eyes.
    The woman’s cheeks shone with the vigour of youth and health. She had apparently spent all her life indoors, under fans, for there was no blemish, no
chaeei
in sight – a plague that afflicted nearly 60 percent of the village women in the summer.
    Cleverly outlined, the full lips were generously sealed with a dark shade of lipstick that no single village woman hereabouts would ever dare to flaunt so early in the morning, even before breakfast. And where was the chador to cover her, or even a proper dupatta? All she wore was a rope-like scarf, casually hanging on one side of her shoulder. It covered practically nothing – definitely not the shape of her high full breasts, well defined against the fitted dress. Was the woman devoid of all shame? ‘But she is a
whore
! And whores feel no shame,’ Hajra cried in her head.
    Her eyes wandered up to the woman’s face again and then beyond – to the hair. Loose! Masses of it!Silky, soft and glossy! All wantonly draped around her shoulders! Which man’s head would not want to nestle in that? Haroon had!
    Hajra could take no more. This woman had wrecked her daughter’s marriage and stolen her husband. The next minute she had leapt at Naghmana and, grabbing her by the hair, she began to swing her around the courtyard.
    Petrified, Naghmana tried to wrench herself away from the mad woman. Her head reeled as Hajra kept a firm hold of her hair. Fatima watched helplessly, unable to believe her eyes. Then, coming to her senses, she rushed up to Hajra and dragged her away from her niece.
    ‘Sister Hajra! Have you gone mad!’ Fatima screamed, desperately clawing away at Hajra’s tight grip on her niece’s hair.
    Loath to let go, Hajra glared wildly at her friend and then shot a venomous look straight into Naghmana’s stunned eyes.
    ‘Tell your precious aunt where you were last night and with whom,’ she panted.
    Naghmana froze on the spot. Her heart thudded to a standstill; her face paled. Then a horrified blush of shame seeped through her cheeks, sweeping right across her face, down to her neck.
    Dumbfounded, Fatima stared at her guilty-looking niece, with horror. The fogginess had cleared. Her worst fears had now been confirmed. She had noticed something going on for the past two days but had been unable to put her finger on it. Why should Haroon, a married man, have visited her home four times in the space of two days, when normally he hardly visited at all?
    ‘Look at her! That’s your proof, Fatima,’ Hajra taunted, tightening her hold on Naghmana’s hair, bringing tears of pain to the young woman’s eyes.
    ‘Well, what have you got to say now?’ she jeered up into Naghmana’s face. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
    Her head lowered, Naghmana’s cheeks smarted. There was nothing to say. Her lips were sealed.
    Fatima stumbled back in disbelief, unable to believe either her ears or her eyes. Her mind, a whirlwind.
    Wildly Hajra jeered again, ‘Well! What have you got to say?’
    Dismayed, Naghmana saw two cloaked heads peering from behind the door post and met head-on the speculative looks in their eyes.
    A pronounced sneer on her lips, Hajra glared at Naghmana’s bowed head. ‘There you are, Fatima! See for yourself. This slut’s silence is your answer. She has ruined my daughter and her marriage. I am not going to let her get away with it. I am going to the hawaili, to see our village elder, Siraj Din, and I will demand that he hold a court, a
kacheri
, and shame her there for what she has done. This is how she ensnares men, like