Razia

by Abda Khan

  Mr Mansur walked into the room with a sense of presence that was hard to ignore; he had an authoritative manner, dripping with self-importance and grandeur. He was dressed in a finely made and neatly pressed pale blue salwar kameez, and over it he wore a dark blue traditional waistcoat with bright gold buttons. He was taller and larger than Zaheer, but he definitely bore a resemblance to his younger brother, particularly around the face.

  ‘As-salamu alaykum,’ Mr Mansur said, although he only looked at Ali; he did not meet Farah’s gaze.

  ‘Wa alaykumu as-salam,’ they both replied.

  He shook hands with Ali, and then proceeded to sit on the sofa directly opposite them.

  There were a few moments of silence; Ali and Farah looked at him, and yet he still did not acknowledge Farah in any way.

  ‘I don’t wish to be rude, but we have a flight to catch back to Islamabad in a couple of hours. Why exactly did you invite us here?’ Ali said.

  Mr Mansur raised one eyebrow.

  ‘You are not going to engage in even a few pleasantries?’ he asked, still looking only at Ali.

  Farah also looked at Ali, who did not respond, and sat with his arms folded.

  ‘Very well then. Seeing as you have got to the point, so will I. Word did reach me that you were trespassing on my brick kiln and speaking to my workers.’

  Farah sat up, shocked by this accusation, but upon reflection she wasn’t surprised that he should say such a thing, if his brother was anything to go by. He was most likely a bully, just like Zaheer. Well, she had stood up to Zaheer, she thought to herself, so no reason why she couldn’t stand up to his brother.

  ‘Firstly, we weren’t aware that we were doing anything illegal,’ she said, ‘and secondly—’

  Mr Mansur raised his hand, palm facing towards Farah, and she was suddenly unable to finish her sentence. Farah didn’t know what had happened to her; this brute of a man, who still hadn’t looked her in the eye, perhaps because he saw her as being beneath him because she was a woman, raised his hand and she just stopped talking. She didn’t mean to, she wanted to carry on, but it was a knee-jerk reaction on her part. It was as though he had physically shoved his hand in her face, invaded her personal space.

  There was a pause before Mr Mansur Senior continued.

  ‘I don’t know all that much about you two, about your zaat paath, but let’s get one thing straight right now; we are khandaani people.’

  Farah couldn’t believe the sheer conceitedness of this man, the way he talked about his caste and bloodline. How could he claim they were of an honourable background and lineage when they behaved like criminals?

  ‘We have centuries of noble traditions and customs,’ he continued. ‘One of those attributes is that we as a family do not involve ourselves in matters that are beneath us. We have a certain standing in society, and it would not be becoming for us to engage in petty, small issues – unless, of course, we are left with no choice.’

  The atmosphere in the gigantic air-conditioned room grew even cooler as he continued.

  ‘Miss … er …’

  ‘Jilani,’ interjected Ali. Farah thought he must have sensed her hesitation, which was rapidly growing into a sense of agitation, and she was grateful to him for the intervention.

  For the first time Mr Mansur turned and looked at Farah.

  ‘Miss Jilani. Yes. I believe my brother warned you not to interfere in his private matters. And yet you proceeded to do so. Now look at the end result. Perhaps you would have been well advised to heed the warning, no?’

  She was still unable to speak; this supercilious man, and his menacing words, were making her feel uneasy. He was managing somehow to completely overpower and intimidate her, and despite having Ali by her side, she felt nervous.

  ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’ Mr Mansur asked, still looking at Farah.

  ‘Are you threatening us?’ Ali asked.

  Mr Mansur smiled slowly. His eyes crinkled, and he let out a small laugh.

  ‘Why, there is no need to jump to such a baseless conclusion. I am doing no such thing. I am merely pointing out a few essential facts which you would both do well to keep in your minds.’

  Farah noticed that Ali had clenched his fists. She knew him well enough now to realise he would be feeling very angry, but she admired the fact that he kept his steadily brewing rage inside and maintained a calm outward façade.

  ‘I think we can judge the facts for ourselves, and make up our own minds, without any pointers from you. Now if you don’t mind, we have a flight to catch, and must be on our way,’ said Ali, with a sense of finality.

  ‘Yes, but before you go. There is one more thing.’

  Farah noticed he turned his gaze towards her; it unnerved her, and for a split second he reminded her of Zaheer, which added to her unease.

  ‘Miss Jilani, I have to say, you are playing a very dangerous game with your latest antic.’

  ‘What antic?’ asked Ali.

  Farah began to shift around in her seat, but didn’t say anything. Ali looked at her, probably, she thought, for a hint as to what Mr Mansur might be talking about. Farah looked away.

  ‘Oh, hasn’t she told you? Miss Farah here has started an online petition. She wants not only, as she sees it, justice for Razia by implicating my brother, but she wants a thorough investigation by the authorities of the conditions at the brick kilns, and consequently, she wants the family to be investigated.’

  Farah now turned to look at Ali, and she noticed his face begin to constrict; he squinted his eyes, as if he were trying to understand what he had just heard. Farah could see that Mr Mansur Senior had also registered the complete bewilderment on Ali’s face; he displayed a wry smile, and seemed to be enjoying the moment.

  ‘Oh, wait now; it gets better. She is also petitioning for an investigation into the local police, who she claims are on the Mansur payroll, and, not content with stopping there, she even wants the local judiciary to be investigated.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t you all be investigated?’ said Farah, as she sat up tall to retaliate. ‘I know how badly you treat your workers, and how they can never escape the debt. And I know that you pay the police off, even the judiciary, so that they will turn a blind eye to all the offences you commit.’

  Farah then turned her attention towards Ali, who sat open mouthed.

  Mr Mansur Senior leaned over and shot a stern look at Farah.

  ‘You know no such thing. And nor do you know the consequences of what you are doing.’

  ‘Has the petition been up long?’ Ali asked Farah, but the response came from Mr Mansur.

  ‘I believe it was put up today.’

  ‘When you wandered off with your phone?’ Ali asked Farah.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘But—’

  ‘She will take the petition down as soon as we land back in Islamabad, if not before; it’s not been up long, so there’s no harm done,’ said Ali.

  Farah glanced at him with an injured look, but she didn’t contradict him.

  Mr Mansur Senior raised his right eyebrow high like the wing of a bird of prey. The men locked eyes.

  ‘You have my word,’ added Ali.

  ‘Ali, you know why I—’

  ‘Not another word,’ Ali said to Farah through gritted teeth.

  34

  The pair left the house in silence. Ali marched on ahead, and Farah quickened her pace to try and keep up with him.

  Their driver was already waiting in their car; Farah had barely even closed her door when Ali instructed him.

  ‘Gari challao, jaldi; straight to the airport, as quick as you can.’

  Once they were on their way, Ali finally spoke to her and did not hold back.

  ‘What the hell did you think you were doing! Why didn’t you run this stupid petition idea past me first?’

  Farah was stunned at Ali’s audacity. While she understood that, clearly, he thought she had done something wrong, she didn’t care for his self-important tone.<
br />
  ‘Why? You think that I need your help or guidance? Or worse still, your consent? Your typical Pakistani male narrow-minded attitude is finally coming out I see!’

  ‘Nonsense! Utter nonsense!’ Ali shouted.

  He clenched his fists and Farah edged away a bit. Her actions had clearly unnerved him for some reason, although she couldn’t fathom why; on the face of it, he was overreacting spectacularly, and she didn’t get it.

  Ali shifted in his seat to look directly at Farah.

  ‘You will delete that petition, and promise me that you will never pull a stunt like this again.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘But nothing! You have no idea what you are playing with. Promise me!’

  ‘I don’t see why I should!’

  ‘Farah, stop being so belligerent! You’re not in England any more. And you clearly have no inkling of what sort of people you are messing about with; what people like the Mansurs are capable of. No amount of protesting on your part is going to make a jot of difference to me, nor will I change my mind as a result. I mean it. You will get online right now and scrap that petition, before anyone notices it. I’m not asking you. Do you understand? I’m telling you.’

  They stared silently at each other for a few seconds.

  ‘OK, OK,’ said Farah, finally relenting. She had put the petition up in the heat of the moment, after she had seen the state of the brick kiln, especially having witnessed young children working alongside their parents in the baking heat. She hadn’t really thought about the consequences; evidently Ali knew that side of affairs much better than she ever could.

  ‘My battery has died. But I promise, I will do it when we get to the departure lounge just as soon as I have charged my phone,’ she added.

  Ali nodded his head, and his mood softened. He offered Farah a slow, reassuring smile, his anger now having subsided. Her promise to remove the petition was all it had taken to ease the tension on his part.

  ‘Look, I know it’s probably hard for you to understand where I’m coming from. But you have to believe that it is a genuine concern on my part. Some actions, which may seem benign, or fair and just, can have devastating consequences,’ said Ali.

  Farah didn’t respond.

  ‘Can we just forget about all this?’ Ali asked. ‘The hardest part is over now. We got through the funeral, difficult though it was. Razia died, in the most dubious of circumstances to my mind, but regardless, her death was a tragedy for everyone concerned. No amount of hastily-put-together online petitions, or feelings of guilt about her death, are going to bring Razia back, are they? I have regrets too; there are things I should have done differently, but none of these thoughts will bring her back.’

  Farah shut her eyes, and quietly thought about what a tough day it had been.

  ‘Look at me,’ Ali said.

  She stayed as she was.

  ‘Look at me,’ Ali repeated, this time softly.

  Farah opened her eyes and looked into his; his gaze was soft, and tender.

  ‘You will get through this. We will get through this.’

  She responded without any words, but instead with a slight smile; he responded with a generous smile back. She took a soothing breath in and started to relax.

  As they sat in the departure lounge, Farah stayed true to her word and charged her phone and then set about the task of removing the petition.

  A man came out from the nearby café and walked around among the waiting passengers, shouting in a high-pitched voice with a strong Pakistani accent, ‘Sandwich, pizza, burger. Sandwich, pizza, burger.’

  The man’s voice trailed off as he headed towards the other side of the lounge, still shouting ‘sandwich, pizza, burger.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’ Ali asked Farah.

  ‘Err, no, thanks,’ she replied, momentarily looking up from her phone.

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want any “sandwich, pizza, burger”?’ asked Ali, mimicking the man’s strong accent.

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ said Farah, smiling in spite of herself.

  She put her phone away in her bag.

  ‘It’s done. The petition’s gone,’ she told Ali, who mimed a ‘thank you’.

  When the announcement to board the flight to Islamabad came, Farah let out a huge sigh of relief. It had been a very difficult day, and she was ready to get on that plane.

  When they reached their seats, Ali sat back and tried to get comfortable.

  ‘So, what are your plans now?’ he asked.

  Farah sighed as she looked out of the window. She felt tired, and a bit numb, after the turbulent day.

  ‘To go back to London, I guess. I will phone first thing tomorrow morning about getting a flight out as soon as I can.’

  Ali leaned over and peered out of the window as the plane taxied across the tarmac and headed towards the runway. Farah could hear him breathe, and his proximity made her feel strange.

  Ali slowly sank back into his own seat, breaking the short interlude of intimacy, and he buckled his seat belt.

  ‘Why are you in such a hurry to leave?’ Ali asked. Farah could tell that he was trying to sound blasé, but he didn’t quite manage it. He repeatedly picked away at a loose thread on his jeans as he spoke.

  ‘I’m not particularly in a hurry, as such, but there isn’t really much purpose in my staying here now. I need to get back to my work; to some sense of normality.’

  ‘So, there’s nothing, or rather no one, that you’re in a rush to get back to?’ Ali asked, to Farah’s surprise. She turned away from the window and looked at him.

  ‘No. There is no one. Other than my family, of course. Why?’

  ‘I’m just curious. I mean, I thought you’d be attached or something.’

  Was he actually interested in her? Farah asked herself. No, she concluded quickly. He was probably just being inquisitive, and even if he was interested, she knew better than to go there again, to have any personal involvement with someone who was a professional contact only.

  ‘You mean at my age! You sound like one of those aunties who come around to our house, or the ones you meet at weddings; the first thing they ask is “When are you getting married”?’ Farah said, in a mocking Pakistani accent.

  They both smiled. He seemed to understand where she was coming from.

  ‘There was someone,’ said Farah, ‘but it didn’t work out. We never got to the marriage stage; we almost did, but not quite, and it’s over. My mum is now fretting because she has a daughter aged thirty who is not yet married – forget married, not yet even engaged!’

  ‘It’s not so different for us guys, you know. My mum asks me the same thing pretty much every day, and whenever I see them, so do the aunties, and uncles, and my cousins; the list goes on. Although, I must confess that my mother is laying off me a bit at the moment because my sister is getting married soon, and so she is busy with all that.’

  ‘When is your sister getting married?’ asked Farah. Perhaps she had revealed too much about herself already, she thought, and she welcomed the opportunity to change the subject.

  ‘In just over a week’s time. My kid sister is tying the knot before her rapidly aging older bachelor brother.’

  Although on the surface it looked like Ali was making a joke of it, Farah sensed that perhaps there was more to this subject than he was letting on.

  ‘So, you have a sister? How old is she? What does she do?’ Farah asked.

  ‘She’s a doctor, she’s twenty-eight now, and she’s made my parents extremely happy by agreeing to marry one of the doctors she met at her hospital. He is from a family of top medics, which has pleased my father no end.’

  ‘That’s lovely. Congratulations to you all.’

  The sister had made the seemingly perfect match; maybe Ali was feeling the pressure, thought Farah.

  ‘It’s the mehndi on Friday evening, and the wedding is the week after. Why don’t you hang around until then, and come along?’

  Farah didn’t say anything immediat
ely. She took a few moments to think about the impromptu invitation. She didn’t really fancy going. She wouldn’t know anyone at the mehndi; she would look and feel out of place. But Ali had been so kind to her since she arrived in Pakistan, and he had gone above and beyond with Razia’s case.

  ‘You would be one of my VIP guests. What do you say?’

  ‘VIP guest, you say?’ Farah chuckled.

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘How VIP?’

  ‘The most VIP-est of all the guests. Extra food, extra mitai, front row seat, all that kind of stuff,’ Ali said, his palms wide open.

  Farah thought about it for a few seconds. Did he actually mean all of this, or was he just teasing her?

  ‘Extra mitai, you say?’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘And does the definition of “extra mitai” include khoya barfi?’

  ‘Naturally!’

  ‘And gulab jamuns?’

  ‘That goes without saying!’

  ‘OK. You’re on!’

  ‘Brilliant! But there’s something that I think you need to do before then,’ Ali declared.

  ‘Oh yeah? What’s that then?’

  ‘I think you need a dose of sightseeing. And I will take it upon myself to be your personal tour guide.’

  ‘That sounds like an offer that I simply cannot refuse.’ Farah half smiled and locked her hands together in her lap. She was beginning to look forward to it already, although she also felt guilty at the prospect of having fun when she thought of Razia and all that had happened.

  35

  ISLAMABAD

  Farah caught a glimpse of herself in the large mirror in the corridor outside her hotel room. Today she wanted to look less the lawyer and more the casual tourist, so she had donned a long, kurtha-style pink and grey kameez, with black leggings. She had left her hair down, and it fell below her shoulders in layers, like shiny black silky thread.

  It was now half past three in the afternoon; Farah made her way down to reception and caught a glimpse of Ali waiting for her. She remembered the very first time she had seen him, in almost exactly the same spot. She remembered thinking how scruffy he was. He didn’t look all that much different now, but she no longer saw him as that unkempt strange man any more.