peer-e-kamil(English)

chapter 1 (part 3)

Putting the packet of papers down on the table, Philomena Francis glanced quickly across the hall. There were ten minutes to go before the examination. In the hall students were leafing through their books and notebooks in last-minute preparation. Their body language betrayed their anxiety. This was a pretty familiar scene for Philomena. Her glance fell on Salar, seated almost in the middle of the hall. Of the twenty-five students present, he was the only one who was relaxed, sitting with his legs crossed. He was tapping his shoe with a pencil held in his hand, and looked around, completely at ease. This was not a new experience for Philomena; in her seven years as a teacher in this school, she had always found Salar to be unconcerned and nonchalant about his exams.

At two minutes past nine, she handed Salar the Multiple Choice Question sheet; the students had thirty minutes to complete the paper. At ten minutes past nine she saw Salar stand up from his seat. The other students looked up at him. He walked up to Philomena Francis-she was used to this too. An examination paper to be solved in thirty minutes had been completed by Salar in eight minutes and he was standing before her, paper in hand.

She did not say 'Review your paper' as she knew well that the reply would be 'I've checked it.' If she had insisted, he would have returned to his seat and sat with his arms folded across his chest with his papers on the desk. She could not recall if he had ever reviewed his paper when he had been asked to, and she accepted that the need to do so never arose. It was hard to find a single error in his paper.
She took the paper from him with a smile.

'Do you know, Salar, what I would really like?" she asked, glancing at his paper. 'I would like to see you hand in a paper in the time allocated.'

He smiled at her remark. 'Your wish can only come true, Ma'am, if I solve this paper when I am 150 years old!'

'Not really-I think you'll do this in ten minutes even at the age of 150.'

He laughed and turned back. Philomena Francis flipped through the pages of Salar's paper. Even a cursory glance showed her that the answers were all correct.

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Salma looked with surprise at the gift-wrapped parcel in her daughter's hands.

'What's that, Imama? I thought you had gone shopping for books.

'Yes, I did, Ammi; but the books are a gift for someone.

'For whom?'

'For a friend in Lahore. For her birthday. I'll courier them to her.'

'Here, give them to me. I'll ask Waseem to send them across.'

'No, Ammi, I won't be sending them now...her birthday is still some time away.'

Salma felt as if Imama was alarmed. She was surprised: what was there to be alarmed about?

Three years ago, Salma and her husband Hashim were very worried about Imama, Hashim more so than Salma. But in these three years matters seemed to have settled, especially since Imama's engagement to Asjad. Salma knew that Imama liked Assad. In fact, it was difficult for a girl of her age not to like Asjad as he was a fine person in every respect. Salma also knew how happy Imama was about the engagement. They had a close and friendly relationship, but of late Imama seemed to become quiet. It was unlike her.

'But she's no longer a schoolgirl...she's a medical student. She has hardly any time for herself. Salma tried to reason it out. Imama was her youngest daughter. The two older girls were married and a son too; now Imama and two younger sons remained to be settled.

'Just as well that she's getting serious...it's good for girls to learn restraint. The sooner they become aware of their responsibilities, the better.' Salma sighed deeply and looked away from Imama. Her daughter was home for the holidays and quite often Salma's gaze would be fixed on her.

'God knows where Sajid has disappeared to, Salma grumbled. She suddenly remembered that she had come here looking for the servant. 'He's so forgetful about his work,' she muttered as she left the lounge.

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It was New Year's Eve: thirty minutes to go before the New Year began. A group of ten or so teenagers were roaring around the city streets on their motorbikes, doing all kinds of stunts. Some of them wore shiny headbands to celebrate the coming year. An hour ago they were in one of the uptown supermarkets, teasing girls with whistles. They had firecrackers too which they let off to celebrate. At a quarter to twelve they reached the parking lot of the Gymkhana Club where a New Year's party was in full swing. The boys also had invitations to the party and their parents were already there.

When they got in, it was five to midnight. In a few moments,the lights in the hall and the dance floor would be switched off and then with a display of fireworks on the lawns, the New Year would be heralded in. The partying would be on all night-dancing, drinking-all the festivities especially organized for the occasion by the Gymkhana management. 'Lights off meant a display of complete abandon-that was what the crowds came for.

One of the teenagers who had joined the party was on the dance floor, rocking to the beat and impressing all with his performance. At ten seconds to twelve the lights went off. Voices and laughter filled the hall as people counted the seconds to the New Year, and this rose to a pitch as the clock struck midnight and the hall lit up again. The teenagers were now out in the parking lot, their car horns blaring away. Beer can in hand, the youth who was on the dance floor got on the roof of a car. He pulled out another beer can from his jacket and pitched it at the windscreen of a parked car, which shattered with an explosion as the full can hit it. He stood on the car, calmly drinking from the can of beer in his hand.