Translated short fiction: Jameel’s outspoken servant, Nazru, puts him in a sticky situation

Jameel had never given it a thought, but Zakir’s unexpected behaviour sparked an interest in his heart – or at least a nagging curiosity. It happened like this: One day in the visitors’ room, Zakir was sitting with his arm around Jameel’s waist when suddenly Nazru appeared from within the house. He lingered, eyeing the occupants of the room, then squared his shoulders, puffed his chest encased in the thick, dirty cotton vest whose colours had smudged with long use and become spotted and brown, his arms sticking out of the short sleeves, swirling his striped tehmad hitched above his ankles and twirling the black thread he wore around his neck with utter nonchalance, walked straight towards the table.

Zakir’s eyebrows went up as soon as Nazru entered the room, and his eyes became fixed on him. His eyes followed Nazru as he walked, and his arm around Jameel’s waist became slack. As soon as Nazru left, Zakir tapped Jameel on the shoulder, then, putting his left hand on his knee in a resolute fashion, perked one eyebrow, pulling the other one down, his forehead wrinkled, and with a twinkle in his eye, asked, “Who is this gentleman, brother?”

“Arrey, you haven’t seen...

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