Dancing in the ruins

"There are many ruins near my house," was the bait Basma used. She knew
the past fascinated me; I had dragged her often enough to explore
promising sites. Having received Basma's letter during a particularly
difficult time, I was glad to get away from it all. Arriving at her
doorstep the very next day, I promptly fell in love with her house.
Clinging to a hillock near the Attock Fort, it had a sweeping view of
the River Indus.

"Have you had time to study the ruins?" said Basma's husband, Hamid,
as we sat on the terrace after dinner.

"Not yet. Anyway, my interest is more of an over-powering curiosity
than a serious study. Sometimes I can almost feel the emotions of the
people who used to live there, that's when I really get a really good
idea for a story."

"Yes, they say the aura of a person is imprinted on a place where they
have lived. More so, if they have been especially happy or sad there,"
said Basma.

"Ruins always make me wonder about the loves, the sorrows and the
secrets of people who had lived there. That's what really fascinates
me about ruins. I was thrilled when you wrote about your
transfer. It's such a lovely coincidence that you should be posted to
Attock Fort, of all places."

"I don't believe in coincidences," said Basma firmly. "There is a
purpose to everything. I don't believe God plays roulette with the
world!"

"You had written about the ruins near your house," I said, hoping to
bring the conversation back to the real purpose of my visit. "I saw
some on the way up, but don't really know much about them."

"Yes, I knew that would attract you," Basma chuckled at my
predictability.

"That is why you were the first person I thought of, when we came
here."

"Well here I am, so give me some details!"

"I don't really know many historical facts," she said, "only the tales
told by the local people. There is a large Serai near the east-end of
the Attock Bridge. You know, rooms surrounding a courtyard. They all
it the 'Begum's Serai'. It is said that it used to be the Queen's
favourite picnic spot."

"Yes, I think I saw it. There were some steps leading up to it from
the road."

"Unhunh, that's the one. Then there is Bahram Khan's Baradari. It's a
raised building with high arches, facing a small rectangular
courtyard. It is smaller than the Serai, and you might almost miss
it. Over the years the road has been raised so often, that the
Baradari is now almost ten feet below it." Basma was thoughtful for a
moment. "But first I must tell you about the ’Kanjri's Tomb.' She was
not really a prostitute, poor thing, just a little dancing girl who
had caught the King's fancy."

"Then why is it called a prostitute's tomb?" the name intrigued me.

"It seems the Queen's sarcastic name stuck with it, and GulLalay's
Tomb is known to posterity as the 'Kanjri's Tomb'."

She was telling me about the single-domed square building that
straddles the road near Attock Bridge, when the lights went out.

"This often happens here," I heard her sigh in the dark. "Anyway it's
late and you must be tired; now is as good a time as any to turn in."

My imagination aflame, I tossed and turned all night. Finally at dawn,
pulling on a light cardigan, I crept out of the house. It was
threatening to rain, so I went cross-country to the Baradari, which
was closer. The little courtyard seemed so forlorn and empty. Yet, the
eerie stillness of the place set my nerves tingling! My shoe dislodged
something, which fell with a dull, tinkling sound. I picked it up and
rubbed it against my sleeve. It was a small tarnished bell, green with
age. What if it had fallen off the anklet of a dancing girl long, long
ago? The thought pleased me, and I put it in my pocket as a memento.

I climbed one of the flights of steps on either side of the Baradari,
and sat facing the courtyard. Lost in thought, imagining the hustle
and bustle that once enlivened it, I had an uncomfortable feeling that
I was not alone. Turning, I saw a girl standing in the shadows. The
intensity of her gaze had made me aware of her. Seeing she had my
attention, she stretched out her hands mutely, beseechingly. She must
belong to the village down the road, I thought, following me here she
hopes to make a few rupees before breakfast.

"Go away, I don't have any money," her intrusion annoyed me.

She did not go away. Every time I turned, she was there, palms out-
stretched. I tried ignoring her presence, but the magic was gone.
Irritated, I walked away. The girl followed me.

Before turning into the ’Begum's Serai' I looked back and saw a brief,
startled expression on her face. Then she spun round and ran in the
opposite direction, as though the devil himself was on her heels. I
was glad to be rid of her.

The ’Begum's Serai' was a disappointment. It was inhabited by gypsies,
and looked more like a slum. Standing on the raised platform in the
middle of the courtyard I looked around, witness to the great leveler,
Time. Maybe the Queen's retiring rooms now house the gypsies' goats, I
mused, hearing their frantic bleating.

By now the sun was rising, chasing away the last clouds. Busy with
their chores, the gypsies looked at me curiously and feeling like an
intruder, I finally returned home.

"You are up early!" said Basma as I stepped onto the terrace.

"Actually I haven't slept a wink all night. I got up at dawn to
explore the ruins."

Basma smiled indulgently at my impatience.

"You better go to bed after breakfast if you want to enjoy the party
tonight," said Hamid.

Sipping my tea, I listened to their early-morning-just-before-
going-to- work conversation, hurried and full of instructions. I could
not bring myself to talk about the girl. I remembered the quiet
desperation in her eyes and felt a little guilty now.

Waking up quite refreshed from my mid-morning nap, Basma and I went
down to the river for a walk. An invigorating walk was just what I
needed to clear my head, she had said. In the distance I noticed the
girl from the Baradari. She was sitting motionlessly on a rock,
staring into the raging torrent. Her arms were tightly wrapped around
her knees that were drawn up under her chin. Turning to ask Basma
about her, I saw Hamid waving from the terrace.

"Oh, he's back early! I'll race you to the house." exclaimed Basma,
setting off at a quick lope.

That evening, while every one was having a good time at the party, I
could not shake off a nagging feeling of having unfinished business to
attend to. Finally, whispering an excuse to Basma, I left. She only
allowed me to go after I promised to go to bed the minute I got home.

"No more exploring tonight. I want you to be fresh for a long gossip
session tomorrow!" she said, shaking her finger in mock anger.

"Yes, yes I promise." I laughed.

The house was quiet when I got back. Restless, I was drawn to the
ruins. Finally, ignoring my promise, I decided to have another look
around the Baradari. I wanted to savour its magic by the light of the
moon. Hearing music in the distance, I guessed there must be a wedding
in the village. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I turned into
an unused path. I need not have bothered. The Baradari, ablaze with
light from almost a thousand torches, was full of people in fancy
dress. The Tourism Department must be staging a ’son et lumiere' show
that Basma had forgotten to tell me about; I thought, glad to have
chanced upon it.

"Do I have to buy tickets?" I asked a costumed person close to the
door, but he ignored me.

"Where are the seats?" I asked another who was rushing about and did
not bother replying, either.

I was losing my patience at being ignored. Pushing my way through the
milling crowd, I climbed the steps. Hoping I had not missed much, I
squeezed myself into the only available space, next to a man in fancy
dress, who was sprawled on a brocade-covered divan. Finally having
found myself a seat, I looked around and noticed that the Baradari
seemed quite grand. The floor and walls, glistened in the light and
looked as good as new.

Then an expectant hush fell upon the audience. In a flurry of tinkling
anklet bells, a lithe young girl started dancing. Everyone fell
back. I guessed she was the star of the show. Her red and gold dress
was a melody of colour and light, shimmering with each graceful
movement. At first her face was covered with a veil, then coquettishly
removing it, she threw it to the man sitting next to me. He, pleased
by the gesture held out his arms, and she came to him smiling
shyly. They had eyes only for each other as she swayed up the
steps. When she was alongside, our eyes met. She looked startled, and
I stared in disbelief. She was the very girl I had seen earlier. Then,
silently, she stretched out her palms.

"What is it that you want of me?" Her pleading was making me angry and
frustrated. "I don't have any money, see!" I said, turning out my
cardigan pockets.

The little bell fell out. Her eyes blazed with joy as she pounced on
it. I remember thinking ’It must be precious,' as I dived to get to it
before her. Next, I found myself crouched on the cold stone floor of
the dark, silent Baradari. Dazedly, I looked around. All the splendour
of a moment ago had disappeared. The Baradari was once more the
time-ravaged ruin I had visited earlier. Shaken by my experience, I
ran home. Bewildered, I was still trying to make some sense out of
what had happened, when Basma and Hamid returned.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" said Basma as they walked onto the
terrace.

"And why aren't you in bed, as you promised?" teased Hamid.

"Oh I am glad you are back. Let me tell you what I have seen. I hope
you can make some sense of it. I have been trying to figure it out,
but the only logical explanation is not logical at all!"

I told them about my trip to the ruins, and the knowing glances they
exchanged did not escape me.

"You both know something about all this, what is it?"

"I'll first get some coffee, then I'll tell you all I know," promised
Basma.

"You have seen the local ghost," she said bluntly when she returned,
handing me a steaming mug. "As the story goes, the King was deeply
smitten by a local girl. Bahram Khan, a courtier, owned the Baradari.
They say the king used to spend most of his nights at the Baradari,
where the girl entertained for him."

"Carry on, this is very interesting." Impatiently I tried to hurry her
along, while she took a leisurely sip of coffee.

"The Queen had once found an anklet bell in the King's possession and
setting her spies' the job of finding the owner. She soon learned the
truth, but bided her time. When the local tribesmen rose in revolt,
the ladies were moved to the fortress for protection. GulLalay was one
of them," continued Hamid. "That is when all the trouble started."

"From what they say, the Queen seems to have been quite a terror,"
said Basma, taking over the story.

"The story goes that, while the King was away she had the girl thrown
over the battlements, into the river."

"Oh, the poor thing!" I couldn't help exclaiming, thinking of the
rough, wild torrents of the Indus. "The King was heartbroken. Although
everyone whispered about it, no one could prove the Queen's guilt. A
monument was built in memory of GulLalay, his little dancing girl. It
was called ’GulLalay's Tomb' for as long as the king was alive."

Basma was quiet for a moment and then continued, "Local people swear
they have heard music in the Baradari on nights of the full moon."

"Tonight was a full moon. The anklet bell. Yes, it is the key to the
whole story." I muttered. Suddenly understanding, I whispered dry
mouthed,

"I have exorcised the ghost of the Baradari! Everything disappeared
when she got the bell. In another time dimension, where it is all
happening over and over again, she has been trying to change the
story. She must have been searching for the bell all these
centuries. I have finally set her free!" I said softly.

"Yes, everything has a purpose, there are no coincidences." said Basma
thoughtfully. "It was time that the restless spirit was pacified and
set at rest. You had to be here. You had to make it all stop."