Bastion of Free Speech

It is eleven thirty on a Tuesday evening. It has been a day of remarkable happenings - a day of sudden shootings, death, violence. The town's richest family had its home broken into in broad daylight. The whole town is shocked. Even the cops are looking more stupefied than usual.

The usually teeming Asia Street is almost empty this night. On either side of this narrow street is a young woman. As they eye each other furtively, each tries to ignore the other while watching the other's every move.

One of the women is dressed in traditional clothes. She is obviously lower middle class, lacking the sophistication of the one on the other side. Let us call her Pakeeza. She muses what her family would think, her standing like this on the sidewalk. She has told her parents, stern, conservative folk, utterly limited in their education and wisdom, that she is studying late at her college. They must be worried about her. She is concerned what they would do if they knew what she was up to. But she reckons if she wants to get out of this rut, she must do what she is doing. Rationalizations bounce about in her head.

Pakeeza has had a difficult childhood and youth. Her parents didn't expect her to be born, and when she came along, didn't quite know how they should raise her. From the strap to the book then back to the strap and back again to the book. And in her teenage years, the strap and the book. Sometimes they would allow her to see other friends, sometimes they would lock her up, claiming that was what the good book said. Pakeeza pushes all that back. She is determined. That young man who must pass by this street is her only ticket out of her problems. She must get him. She didn't love him - she knew that. He had insulted her, spat on her face, and talked ill of her. But he had money. And she needed money. She'd give him what he wanted. But she'd make him pay. Boy would she! But first, she had to make sure she got him. She took out her lipstick and applied it once more, looking at the pocket mirror to check again if her mascara was smudged. No. She looked fine. But the other woman across looked mighty attractive. She, Pakeeza, would need all her wiles to get her man!

The woman on the other side, Rameeza, is full of confidence. She is surprised to see the other woman out on the street. Wasn't she under a curfew? The bandits who did all that looting this morning were her relatives. And just look at her now, cool as dammit! Humph! Has she no shame? That common tart! Absently Rameeza lifts her dress a notch to show a her ankle a little, then does a brief dance to music in her head - as she imagines her meeting with a young man who she is sure must pass through this street in his swank convertible. She imagines getting into the convertible and going for a long drive. She imagines sitting under that huge banyan tree in the park out in the hills - there she wants him to relax in her arms, to put his head on her lap so she could comfort him. He would need someone to talk to about his losses of the morning. They would have so much talk about. Her family had had similar problems. Didn't they have the same background? Sure, his family was much richer than hers, but she came from a family of scholars and poets. And they had so much in common - they both enjoyed music, plays, art, literature, all the things two sophisticated people might discuss. And the club! He would take her to his club, introduce her to everyone...

Suddenly, a huge limousine swings into the street. The young man at the wheel is driving dangerously. Clearly drunk, and clearly angry, he hits a couple of garbage cans as he swerves through the narrow street at a high speed. Ignoring the danger to themselves, and excited at his appearance, both women run after the limo. "What happened to your open car", shouts Pakeeza. "Don't you understand? He's scared of passing by your house in an open car", yells back Rameeza. Both their cries are drowned by the car as it accelerates and drives away. The two women who had both been trying to clutch at the passenger door handle, are both thrown back as the car speeds away, and find themselves on the road.

Pakeeza is in tears. "You have blighted me all these years", she yells, followed by abuse. But all the same, there is a part of her that admires Rameeza - her independence, her beauty, her academic achievements, her vitality, her father's idealism and kindness as against her own parents' narrow-mindedness. Rameeza is fascinated by Pakeeza as well, but fears her dark side too. "You don't belong anywhere near this prince", she shouts back. "How dare you, you grasping hussy!" She ignores the Pakeeza's filthy and tearful abuse, which she knows comes from long years of a rebellious drug habit which all Pakeeza's siblings have developed. She turns her head away in disgust. "He drove away because he saw you", she tells Pakeeza. But inwardly, she is confused. Why didn't the prince stop and talk to her? She fully expected him to ignore Pakeeza, but he was ignoring her too! What happened? He must be really confused. She pulls out her cell phone and calls him. Riiing...Riiing...Riiing. No answer. The answering machine comes on. Is he ignoring her on purpose? What did this mean? She is a little agitated. She expected him to call first thing when this incident happened. But no call came. OK, so he must have been busy with the police and all that. But she was sure he would want to talk with her. After all, who else would understand his feelings?

The car is coming again, now a little slower. Pakeeza doesn't run after the car this time. She leans against a lamppost, like she has seen the women do in the movies - the few times they were able to watch one on her friend's VCR. She's done this before, but that was some years ago. Oh well, what's to be done must be done.

The car eases to a stop near her side of the street. Rameeza knows he has come for her! Her heart gives a leap. She runs up, flings open the passenger door, and begins to get in. The guy in the car is angry, but the drunkenness is on the way down. He smiles politely when he sees Rameeza. "Hi", he says, his eyes unenthusiastic. "Can I help you?", out of habit.

"Au contraire, can I help you", says Rameeza, heartily. "Oh, prince, I can't tell you how sorry I am. I haven't stopped crying all day. I knew how distraught you must be. Please tell me all about it. If there's anything I can do, you only have to ask.
This menace is really too much. Remember I told you about all the robberies in our neighborhood? It's been happening for many years now. There's a slum closeby where these bandits live. I can't walk to the train station each day without their bothering me. And I don't want to mention names, but..." Here she stopped to glance at Pakeeza, who was still continuing in her provocative stance.

It was then that Rameeza realized that the prince hadn't been listening to her at all. He had been watching Pakeeza all along. "Eh?", he said, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know." (had he really heard her?) "Well, I do appreciate your sympathy. I need to get going."

She doesn't understand. She thought she knew this man - at least slightly. What possibly could he see in that tart? But the prince was unambiguous. "I've really got to get going", he says firmly. Rameeza is too dazed to stop. "You know, I'm so very very sorry. As you know, some of my kinfolk were servants in your mansion when it was ransacked. I don't even know if they are OK. This neighborhood, as I was telling you, is really getting from bad to worse."

"Well yes, I'll see you around". The prince reaches out and grabs the passenger side door handle and slowly shuts the door.

He puts the car into gear and moves slowly out. Rameeza has to jump back, out of the way. She is more surprised than ever. What's wrong? That tart - don't tell me the prince is falling for her? No, it can't be. It must be just a physical attraction. They are so incompatible. Why, her folks, they come from a family of dacoits!

In a few minutes the car appears again. This time it pulls over on the other side of the street. Rameeza watches in dazed horror as she peers in the darkness, trying to make out what's going on from facial expression and body language. Now, the prince is actually stern-mannered (Good), and the tart seems apprehensive (Good). Now the tart says something and the prince chuckles (Bad) and the tart smiles (Bad) and the prince gesticulates wildly and shakes his finger at her (Good) but then the prince and the tart both nod their heads together (Bad). This conversation is going on forever (Very Bad). But though she had secretly visualized and dreaded it a hundred times in the last 20 minutes, now comes the worst. The prince goes around and holds open the passenger door, and the tart gets in. As she does, she throws a glance at Rameeza. Rameeza is surprised to see it wasn't a wholly triumphant or delighted face. It had fear, resignation, and apprehension, as well.

By now the street is filling up with the approaching morning. The milk vendors and the vegetable sellers and newspaper boys are just getting up and about. Rameeza stops everyone and anyone to talk. "She's doing it for the money", she declares. "She has no shame, the whore. She's done it before and she's doing it again. Her relatives are bandits. They are...I will tell the prince all about this. I'll write a letter to him giving him all the lowdown about this bitch!"

At this moment a big car arrives with some liveried servants. They emerge carrying a large bunch of gifts - looks like boxes of jewelry, silk dresses, fancy cakes, The car itself takes up almost the entire street. People stop and admire its shiny and sleek appearance, and the endless supplies. Rameeza can't take her eyes off this pageant. From the car number and the servants' uniforms, she knows this is a bounty from the prince. When the last of the deliveries are made, and as the servants come out to get into the car, Pakeeza's entire family comes on to her balcony, and starts spitting on them. Then they throw things at them. The car drives away, slowly, with patches of egg, kitchen garbage, offal and other dirt sticking to its exterior. As it drives away, the driver blows Pakeeza's building a kiss.

What kind of a crazy world is this? Rameeza thinks.

And then suddenly she becomes maudlin. "Oh I would have loved him for love...I offered my heart to him...", she wails. I've taken his money too, she reflects, but not like this. He took me out a few times, bought me dinner, took me to the movies, and the game. But never like this - that hooker! And under her breath, "But he'll realize. But he'll realize. And then where'll he go? I'll be here for him."

"I can't be bought for money! Look at that whore! How she had haggled with the prince. What - silk dresses? Oh, I've got plenty of those. And diamonds? With all her family's debts, the diamonds will have to be sold. And sweets (rolling her eyes) - aren't they all so fat already. I can't believe the prince would do all this. He can't love her. He can't he can't he can't..."

She bangs her head against a post.

"She'll double-cross him, that whore. He'll see. And then when he comes to his senses, he'll be ready to come to me."

That's how she was when an old bearded man found her. She was disconsolate at the injustice of the world. "But don't you know?", he said. That boy is completely self-centered, and thoughtless. "If his mood changes, as it often does, he'll abandon her somewhere. He's at the core a selfish oaf, though he's intelligent and well-meaning and suave too. That's what happened to her sister. That foolish girl has signed her own death warrant. Her parents are going to kill her. You're smart you didn't go with him."

Rameeza isn't listening right now. She is in shock. In denial. And a little ashamed. Like Scarlett in Gone with the Wind, she keeps muttering to herself. "He'll come back...He'll come back."

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