YASMEEN

YASMEEN 

I met Yasmeen attending classes in comparative religion in the department of religion and philosophy.

I had begun to enjoy the lectures on religion by Dr Ashby, our professor. There was a motley group of students in his class from different disciplines - medicine, literature, engineering and others. Among the thirty odd who were regulars, there were two nuns and a woman in salwar-kameez in her late thirties. She wore a lot of gold jewellery and was heavily made up. Since she did not wear a bindi, I presumed she was Muslim. She sat in the front row. I always sat in the last. After each lecture, there were discussions, and some students, the Muslim woman in the front row in particular, had much to say. I took no part in them since I knew very little about any religion.

Dr Ashby took us through the world's major religions: Zoroastrianism, Jainism, Buddhism, Judaism, Hinduism, Christianity and Islam. I was most interested in hearing what he had to say about Hinduism. Despite being a Hindu I knew almost nothing about my religion besides the names of Hindu gods and goddesses and the Gayatri mantra. Three lectures were devoted to Hinduism. By the end of that lecture I felt elated and wanted to shout: 'I am a Hindu and proud of being one.' 

It was that woman in the front row who dampened my spirits. She launched into a furious monologue. 'Professor,' she began as soon as Dr Ashby had finished, 'what you said about Hindu philosophy is all very well. But tell us, why do the Hindus of today worship a monkey as a god, an elephant as a god; they worship trees, snakes, and rivers. They even worship the lingam, which is the phallus [penis], and the yoni [vagina], the female genital, as god and goddess,' she screeched, thumping her desk. 'They have obscene [erotic] sculptures on their temple walls. Their most popular god, Krishna, stole girls' clothes while they were bathing so he could watch them naked [voyeurism]; he had over one thousand mistresses [to be more accurate, 16,108 mistresses]; his lifelong companion was not his wife but his aunt Radha. Hinduism is the only religion in the world which declares a section of its followers outcastes by accident of birth. Hindus are the only people in the world who worship living humans as godmen and godwomen. I am told that there are nearly five hundred men and women who claim to be bhagwans [Nazis]. They believe a dip in the Ganges washes away all their sins, so they can start sinning again! What basis is there for their belief that after death you are reborn in another form [True] depending on your actions in this life? You may be reborn as a rat, mouse, cat, dog or a snake.' [True. Nazis have done this to humans for billions of years. - G]

There was stunned silence. The woman had spoken with such vehemence that there was little room left for objective dialogue. Dr Ashby restored the atmosphere to an academic level. 'This sort of thing could be said about all religions,' he said gently. Muslims condemn the worship of idols, yet they kiss the meteorite stone in the Kaaba and millions worship the graves of their saints.'

I was fuming with rage. As the class began to disperse I quickly walked up to the woman and asked her, 'Madam, why do you hate Hindus so much?'

She was taken aback. 'I don't hate Hindus,' she protested. 'I don't hate anyone.' She looked me up and down as if she was seeing me for the first time. It had not occurred to her that I could be an Indian. She was contrite! 'Are you a Hindu from Bharat?' she asked. 

'I am,' I replied as tersely as I could, 'and proud of being both. And I don't worship monkeys, elephants, snakes, phalluses or yonis. My religion is enshrined in one word, Ahimsa - don't hurt anyone [except Nazis - G].'

She apologized. 'Please forgive me if I hurt your feelings. Perhaps one day you will enlighten me and clear the misgivings I have about Hindus and Bharat.' She put out her hand as a gesture of friendship. I shook it without much enthusiasm.

'My name is Yasmeen Wanchoo,' she said. 'I am from Azad Kashmir on a leadership grant.'

'I'm Mohan Kumar, from Delhi. I'm in business management and computer sciences.' 

Like many Kashmiri women Yasmeen was as fair-skinned as Caucasian women... (p. 98-100)

She was the first Pakistani woman I had ever spoken to, also the first Muslim. I wanted to know if there was any truth in the stories I had heard about Pakistanis hating Indians and the contempt Muslims had for Hindus. I hoped Yasmeen Wanchoo would tell me. It was not very long ago that our two countries had fought a war, their third, but I did not hate Pakistanis. Her outburst had shocked me. I have never understood hatred.

At the next class she came to me and said, 'No hard feelings. Come and sit next to me.' I declined. 'Madam, I sit in the last row, I hate being in the front.'

'In that case I'll sit with you in the last row. And do not Madam me, it makes me feel old. I am Yasmeen. And if you don't mind I'll call you Mohan.'

At the time I had no steady date so I kept company with Yasmeen. She turned out to be not as aggressive as I had thought, and I began pulling her leg often about her being anti-Hindu and anti-Indian. She told me more about herself. 'My parents lived in Srinagar, now the capital of Indian occupied Kashmir. Our forefathers were Brahman Pandits till they had the good sense to convert to Islam. It is the best religion in the world.'

'One day we will liberate your so-called Azad Kashmir from the clutches of Pakistan and make it a part of Indian Kashmir again.'

'You live in a fool's paradise,' she said warming up. 'One Muslim warrior can take on ten of you Hindus.'

'So it was proved in the last war,' I replied sarcastically. 

Despite our heated arguments Yasmeen and I became friends. (p. 97-102)

I swear I had nothing more on my mind than spending a pleasant evening with Yasmeen. Things did not turn out that way. 

Suddenly, she put her arms round my neck and said, 'It is our last evening together. Make love to me. Something to remember you by for the rest of my days.'

She took me by my hand and led me to the bedroom. She took off everything save her jewellery. While I gazed at her [naked] figure, she took off my shirt and pulled down my trousers. She pulled me over her and stretched her thighs wide to receive me. I entered her. She moaned with pleasure and locked her legs behind my back. She ate up my face with bites and passionate kisses. We came together. 

She lay back exhausted. Then she pushed me off her and went into the bathroom to wash. She came back and put on her kameez. 'You wash yourself and I'll lay the dinner on the table.'

I did as I was told. We sat down to eat. I noticed she had not put on her salwar. Her kameez hung down to her knees, exposing her broad thighs when she sat down. I understood she had not finished with me and expected another session. I put my right hand under her kameez and stroked her huge buttocks. They were like two gourds of a taanpura joined together - massive, rounded, smooth. She beamed a smile and kissed me on the lips. 'You want to do it a second time? So do I. We will make it different this time.' That did it.

She pulled off my trousers and fondled my limp lingam till it was ready for action. She sat astride my middle, spread her ample frame over me and directed my phallus into her. She was wet and eager and my penis slid in easily. Her breasts smothered my face. She held each in turn and put its nipple in my mouth, urging me to suck it. She kissed me hungrily on my nose, lips and neck, while she heaved and thumped me with her huge buttocks. 'I haven't had sex for six months. I am famished,' she said as her movements became more frenzied. 'Fill me up with all you have, you miserable kafir,' she screamed. She did all the fucking. I was simply fucked. 

'Wouldn't it be nicer if we settled Pak-India problems this way rather than by abusing each other and fighting?' she asked after a while.

'Sure,' I replied. 'And with Pakistan always on top?'

'Of course! Pakistan must always be on top.'

I was exhausted and wanted to get away.

She clung to me and begged, 'Please stay the night with me. I promise I won't bother you any more.' 

I agreed to spend the night with her. I could not resist asking her a few awkward questions.

She paused a long time, fixed me with her large eyes. 'What I did was sinful,' she admitted.

She was quiet for a long time. 

'Doesn't your conscience bother you?' I asked.

'The body has its compulsions,' she said.

'I'm sure it has, but that's the easy way to square your conscience.'

'What would you have me do?'

'I have no idea. But surely there must be something in your religion that allows you to absolve yourself of your sins by going on a pilgrimage?'

'I suppose so,' she said evasively.

'Like the Hindus being forgiven if they take a dip in the Holy Ganges?' I teased.

'O shut up!' she shouted angrily. 'Don't spoil my last night with you.' 

I laughed and pulled her close and kissed her passionately. 

We were soon fast asleep in each other's arms. 

I don't know when she slipped out of bed. When I awoke I took her in my arms and held her in a tight embrace. When I released her I saw her eyes were damp with tears. (p. 107-112)

That was the last I saw of Yasmeen Wanchoo.

But I thought of her often. Every time I met a Muslim, man or woman, she came back to my mind.

Although it was not I who had taken the lead but she who had manoeuvred me into having sex with her, and despite the fact that our copulation was by no means an earth-shattering experience because neither of us was in the slightest way emotionally involved with the other, it had somehow drained out whatever anti-Muslim and anti-Pakistan prejudices I had imbibed during my school and college years in India. Whenever anyone said anything against Muslims, my hackles rose because I had been made love to by a Muslim woman. Whenever anyone said anything against Pakistan, I strongly defended that country because I had been made love to by a Pakistani woman. It was not love but lust that proved to be a great healer. (p. 113)

(From Khushwant Singh: "THE COMPANY OF WOMEN", VIKING/ Penguin Books India; ISBN 0-670-88991-1; © Khushwant Singh 1999; 296 pages; hardbound; IBD Rs. 395)

Kishalay Sinha [G]