Faredoon’s manly bearing and soft-spoken manners quickly found their way into Punjabi hearts. He had a longish, nobly contoured, firm-chinned face. His slender nose was slightly bumped below the bridge, and, large and heavy-lidded, his hazel eyes contained a veiled, mystic quality that touched people’s hearts. His complexion was light and glowing. All this, combined with the fact that he was a Parsee – whose reputation for honesty and propriety is a byword – made him a man of consequence in the locality. His sales picked up almost at once and he began to live in reasonable comfort. He was even able to save a bit.
Faredoon made a point of giving small alms every Friday, and his wife and mother-in-law never appeared in public withoutmathabanas – white kerchiefs wound around the hair to fit like skullcaps. The holy threads circling their waists were austerely displayed, and sacred undergarments, worn beneath short blouses, modestly aproned their sari-wrapped hips. Stern-visaged, straight-backed, the two women faced the world with such moral authority that Hindu, Muslim or Christian, all had profound respect for the man and his family.
Putli was content. She fulfilled herself in housework and in the care of her children and husband. But her unblinking, seemingly inane eyes saw more than Freddy ever realised. They instinctively raked the depths of him and, often enough, surfaced somewhat uneasily. Of one thing, though, she was sure: whatever else he might do, he would never stray. Blissful in her knowledge, she would, over the years, produce seven children. From the joyous climax of conception to the delivery, Putli would enjoy it all.
But for all his steady progress at the start in Lahore, Freddy’s happiness was marred. Jerbanoo was a canker, a thorn in his side that blighted his life.
