by Aysha Baqir
Hearing the call of food being set out, I slowly followed the crowd towards the heaped tables. Khalid Chacha had hired caterers to provide biryani, naan, chicken korma and purchased mangoes as a special treat. I grabbed two mangoes to share with Tara. We hadn’t tasted a ripe mango in years. The landlord’s thugs guarded the orchards like their women.
After lunch, the women retreated to sit on the charpais. Tara and I stood behind Amma. “Kulsoom Behen,” called out a plump woman wearing a deep purple, sequined chador, ambling over. “Congratulations! Sorry, I’m late. But why do you look so glum? It’s your day to rejoice and dance. What a catch, and so much land! Hearts must be burning with envy. Protect yourself from the evil eye, I tell you.”
“Thank you Sakina Behen,” Kulsoom Chachi sniffed and clasped her friend’s arms.
The woman turned to Amma, “Mariam Behen, how are you?”
“Thank God, all is well,” answered Amma. “How have you been?”
“I’m well, all’s well,” said Sakina Masi. “Ah, and are these your daughters?”
Amma glanced back in surprise. “What? Uh yes, Tara, Zara.”
We stepped forward. “Salam,” I said, a beat after Tara. My skin crawled under the woman’s lingering gaze.
“Pretty,” murmured Sakina Masi with her eyes still on us. She smiled at Amma. “Tell me, Behen, have you started talks anywhere?”
“Talks?” asked Amma.
“Yes, about their marriages. You have started thinking, haven’t you? And what better occasion to talk about marriage than at one.” She chuckled. “They look old enough. Good height and slim. And thick long braids, I see. Can’t stand girls who primp and fuss before marriage.”
My breath squeezed. Not again.
“Marriage,” echoed Amma looking at us. “But they’re only …” her voice trailed off.
“If you’re interested, I could bring my sister to your village. We’re looking for a girl for my nephew.” Sakina Masi beamed. “I like the look of the fair one.”
“Is this the nephew who works in the factory?” probed Kulsoom Chachi.
“Yes, the same one,” said Sakina Masi.
“Hmm, I’ve heard good things,” said Kulsoom Chachi.
“I’ll talk to their father,” said Amma slowly.
“Yes, talk to him,” interrupted Sakina Masi. “We are close to Khalid Bhai. Why, our family ties go back for generations.”
“Their father will be pleased,” said Chachi.
“Yes, but …” Amma paused.
“It’s best to marry them off before they start thinking too much,” declared Sakina Masi.
“Yes,” murmured Amma.
The pale sun had begun to sink when Khalid Chacha, along with the rest of his family, departed, to escort Saima Appi to her in-laws. Amma and Abba had gone to rest inside, leaving us to clear the courtyard. I rolled up one mat after another and stacked them all in one corner.
“Let’s take a break,” I said and sank down on the last mat. We had won the kikkli competition, but suddenly it didn’t matter. Without a word, Tara dropped down, close to me.
“Did you have fun?” I asked, after a pause.
“Today?” whispered Tara and when I nodded, she shrugged. “I don’t know.” She paused. “Fight for your dreams, Zara, go to school.”
“Huh?” I swung round to face her.
“I mean it. You will, right?”
I nodded and squeezed Tara’s hand. “Yes, but tell Amma.”
“Tell her what?”
“About Salman.”
“You’re crazy,” murmured Tara.
I shook my head. I wasn’t crazy. The day before we had left, Salman had come to deliver a jar of pickles. Amma had gone inside to empty it, and I had stood guard while Tara had rushed to the door to meet Salman. They had less than a minute before I had warned them that Amma was coming out. Turning away, Tara had tried to hide her flushed face and had hurried inside.
“She’ll understand,” I urged now.
“Understand what? What can I tell her? There’s nothing to tell. If only I’d met him sooner!” Tara’s voice trailed off.
“There’s still time,” I said.
Tara shook her head.
Silently we watched the sun sink into the shadows.
“I should light the oil lamps,” said Tara.
“I need to take the floral strings down,” I said.
We sat still. Finally, Tara shifted closer and rested her chin in her cupped hands. “Promise me,” she whispered urgently.
“What?”
“Promise me, we’ll always be close, and be there for each other after marriage, even after children, and when there’s no one else.”
“Yes.” My voice cracked. I tried again. “We will. I promise.” I reached for Tara’s hand. It was ice cold. I held it tightly, afraid of my thoughts.
Were our lives a race from our parents’ house to our husbands’ house? Done and over, even before we had started to run, understood what we were capable of, or what we wanted from life?
15
I crooked my head, sniffed, and rushed to the wall. Clusters of bright mustard flowers dotted the fields. Perfect. I was in the mood for a feast. I inhaled, savouring the sharp whiff of mustard greens. Amma would cook them with makai ki roti if Omer asked her to; that was the only way to get anything out of Amma these days. After topping the class exams, Omer was slacking off on his chores, yet getting whatever he wanted these days.
But I owed him. He had defended me when Amma declared she would not tell Abba about my lessons and it would be better for everyone if I stopped them altogether. He had threatened to quit school when Amma announced I couldn’t take the exam. On the day of the exam, he had waited for Abba to depart for the fields before rushing out with me, leaving Amma muttering that I would bring nothing but shame to our family.
Master Saab, a tall man with silver hair brushed back against dark weathered skin, had been waiting for us. Since it was a school holiday, there was no one around. “It’s good to put a face to a brain,” he had said with a smile, and told me to follow him inside the well-lit room with two large windows. I had stared at the rows of desks and chairs. Where had they come from? Beckoning me to sit behind a desk, he had set out the paper in front of me.
Trying to sit comfortably on the wooden chair, I had stared at the lines of typed questions in black ink, and broken into a sweat. And then without warning, my mind shut off. Dark waters crashed into me, and smothered my breath. Black. Cold. Clammy. I had looked around blindly. What had I been thinking? I had been a fool to think I could ever go to school.
I had shut my eyes and heard Nani’s voice: Dreams were like fireflies. We had to grasp them. Catch them. Otherwise, they would fly away. And it would be dark again.
Drawing in a deep breath, I had read the first question and begun writing.
“Zara.” Hearing Tara’s voice, I jumped down from the wall.
“The change in the wind, do you feel it?” I burst out.
“Yes I do, but why do you have that funny expression on your face? There’s a ton of work to finish. Come and help me.” Tara dropped the freshly peeled potato into a bowl of water and reached for the basket, but I slid it away. “Hey, stop that!” Tara protested.
“Let’s run out,” I urged, gripped by a current. I wanted the fields all around me. And the bleeding had finished. I was free for some weeks.
“Run out?” Tara rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you hear Amma? We have to peel the potatoes, air and mend the winter blankets, and prepare the room for …” she stopped abruptly.
“For Sakina Masi’s visit?” I shook my head and grasped her arm. “Tell Amma about Salman. You have to tell her.”
“No.” Tara looked around quickly.
“I think he loves you.” There, I had said it. Amma would thrash me for saying it.
“Love is a sickness, Amma says.” Tara’s voice wavered.
I paused, aware of her eyes on me. Amma did say love was a sickne
ss, but was it? Authors had written about it. Artists had painted it. Poets had sung it. I had seen a flash between Tara and Salman. Was that love? I didn’t know. Did Tara? Didn’t she have the right to find out? “I think he’s serious,” I whispered.
“Why? Because he sent a foolish poem?”
I shook my head, remembering the tightly folded paper note tied to a small rock that I had spotted in our courtyard the day we had returned from Saima Appi’s wedding. It must have been tossed over the wall. Ignoring Tara’s warnings, I had dashed to unfold the paper.
Come, my love, take care of me,
I am in great agony.
Ever separated, my dreams are dreary,
Looking for you, my eyes are weary
All alone I am robbed in a desert,
Waylaid by a bunch of way words.
“It’s one of Bulleh Shah’s poems,” I had exclaimed, and gripped Tara’s hands. “It has to be from Salman.”
“He said he would write when he came to give the pickles.” Tara had clasped the note to her chest.
“But Bulleh Shah? He knows Bulleh Shah?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tara had muttered before tucking the note inside her shirt.
Now, catching the strain in Tara’s eyes, I shook my head. “It’s not foolish. You have to tell Amma. I will support you, and so will Omer. If Amma knows how you feel, she will help you. She will have to. Salman is her childhood friend’s son.”
“You think I should? You really think there’s any chance?” whispered Tara. Her eyes searched mine. “I try not to think of him, but it’s impossible not to.”
“You have to believe there’s a chance,” I began, and tugged at her arm again. But come, let’s get out. It will be fun. And we haven’t been out in months.”
Hesitating for a split second, Tara sighed, “Okay, but only if we finish the game of hide and seek that we started last time. And remember what you said, the winner gets away with not doing any work for one day.”
I grinned. “Done. You can peel one more potato, while I take out the blankets. We can mend them once the musty smell has gone.”
Minutes later, I raced out, with Tara behind me. Amma had gone over to Nasreen Masi’s with a platter of rice, hoping to cheer them up. The village grapevine had been feeding on the constant clashes between Nasreen Masi and Bari Masi, her mother-in-law. We knew Nasreen Masi didn’t stand a chance.
I sprang up, feeling lighter and taller. I jumped higher, wanting to brush the leafy treetops. I couldn’t ask for more. I had taken the exam and given my best. I didn’t care what Amma said. I would go to school and win a scholarship to college in Lahore. No, Karachi. It was a bigger city. I knew I could do it. Then what? Work? No, I would go for my Master’s degree. I wanted to be a scientist, an astronaut; to discover, and explore. How would my village look from space?
“What’s the plan?” asked Omer as we ran up to him.
“Hide and seek,” I said. “We never finished playing.” I nodded at Tara, who had caught up.
“That’s babyish,” protested Omer. “Let’s cross the river instead. The water has gone down, and there are enough rocks for us to make it across.”
“I’m not going anywhere near that river,” I declared. I still had nightmares about the time I had accepted Omer’s dare to cross the river. Following him, I had leapt over the rocks and slipped. The current had swallowed me in seconds. I had gone down until I felt Omer’s hands hauling me up. Now I shook my head. “It’s two against one, and you’re IT! Count up to two hundred before you come to look for us. No, three hundred. Turn around now.”
“Fine,” Omer frowned. “But this is the last time. And stay clear of the orchards. The landlord’s men are out today. Understood?” He swung back and began to count, “One, two, three, four.”
I spun around to run, but before I could take the lead, Tara caught my arm. “I have an idea,” she whispered.
“Huh?” I wheeled back.
“Let’s hide by the water tank near the landlord’s haveli, but take different routes to get there. I’ll run through the forest, and you cross the fields.”
“Alone?” I stared at Tara in surprise. We never ran alone.
“Yes. When Omer sees only one of us running through the fields, he’ll start to search here. He’ll never think one of us has dared to cross the forest alone. And that will give us time to meet by the water tank and find a good hiding place.”
“Shouldn’t we stay together?” I frowned.
“Come on, it’ll be an adventure,” urged Tara. “And you keep on saying I should learn to be more adventurous.”
“Okay, but I’ll go through the forest. It’s longer, and I run faster.”
“Sure? You don’t like the woods.”
“I’m sure.” I wasn’t. But I ran faster than Tara. I nodded.
“It’s still light, so it should be okay. Let’s go.” Seeing Tara take off, I swung towards the forest. I raced through the dark woods, zigzagging to dodge low hanging branches and vines. I flew over dark shadows and deep ditches. I felt the chains break and the shackles dissolve. The air roared in my ears. My lungs blew fire. I could do anything I wanted. Coming out of the forest, I dove into the springy tuft of grass by the water tank.
My breath came out in spurts. My heartbeat slammed in my ears. Rolling on my back, I stretched my arms and legs. Cotton clouds floated in the azure sky above. The ground shifted, and I tilted with it. My feet touched the sky. I shut my eyes. I felt light as a cotton puff floating in the wind. Free.
“Come out. Where are you? I know you’re here,” called Omer.
I jerked up. My head reeled. How had Omer gotten here so quickly? Where was Tara? I made my way around the water tank.
“I know you’re here, so come out,” yelled Omer. I stayed still. He had to catch us. I wasn’t going to make it easy for him.
“Ah there! Got you!” Omer grabbed my braids.
“Ouch, don’t pull.”
“Where’s Tara?” Omer eased his grip.
“I don’t know. I was waiting for her.”
“She ran with you.”
“No, I came through the forest. She took off through the fields and was going to meet me here. Didn’t you see her?”
“No,” snapped Omer. “I overheard you two whispering about ‘forest and water tank’ so I followed, without even looking at the fields. Why did you run alone?”
I stared at him. “Tara wanted to, she said she wanted to trick you. Let’s look around. She must be hiding.” I pulled away. Goosebumps popped up on my arms and neck. Where was Tara?
I raced around the water tank. Omer ran to the boundary line of the forest calling Tara’s name. Within minutes he had turned back and caught up with me. “She’s not here. She would have come out by now. Let’s go back to the fields. Are you sure she didn’t follow you?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “I only took off when I saw her racing across the fields.”
“Well, she’s not here. We have to get back. She could have fallen and hurt herself. Hurry.”
I nodded. “Tara!” I yelled, beginning to run.
“Shush!” warned Omer. “Do you want the entire village to come out? You walk along the path, and I’ll cut through the fields. Don’t worry, one of us will find her.”
I rushed over the narrow dirt path, my eyes searching for Tara, my ears straining to hear her voice. Within minutes I had reached the end of the track. I stopped, and my eyes blurred. There was no sign of Tara. No sound.
Omer had stopped crisscrossing the fields and was staring at the swaying crop. I hurried over to him. “Where is she?” I burst out. My chest felt hard and tight. I could barely breathe. Where was Tara? Where had she disappeared? Was she trying to trick us?
Omer’s eyes swept the fields again. “Run to the house. Tell Amma we can’t find Tara.”
“What?”
“If Amma’s not home, go to Nasreen Masi’s. But don’t tell anyone else, only Amma. Now run.”
“No, I’m not going back without Tara.”
“You have to. Amma will know what to do. Hurry. Tara might be hurt. The quicker you go, the faster we’ll find her.”
“But ...”
“No buts. Do it for Tara’s sake.”
I swallowed my protest. Omer was right. Eyes pinned to our hut, I raced back and burst through the door.
“Where were you?” snapped Amma. “I came out and there was no one. What’s wrong?” Amma had leapt up from the charpai and gripped my hands.
“Tara, we can’t find her. Omer is calling you.”
“No!” cried Amma. “No, please, dear God.” She moaned and shut her eyes. Murmuring prayers, she pulled her chador across her head and shoulders. “I’ll go. You stay here.” She pushed her feet into her slippers. “Bolt the door and open only for Abba, no one else. You hear?”
“I want to come too.”
“No, just do what I tell you.” Giving me a hard stare, Amma rushed out.
I shut the door and stumbled inside. I thrust my head into our blanket. It smelt of Tara, of me, of us. I draped the blanket around my body, clenched the river stones in my fist and began to pray. The magic would work. It would bring Tara back. I murmured the prayers over and over again and then shot up. What was I saying? I didn’t know what I said. I began to pray again, but this time in my own words. I would be good; I would do anything God wanted me to do. Anything. Everything. In exchange, I just wanted Tara back, safe.
I lurched up, hearing a banging on the door. How much time had passed? “Who is it?” My voice broke as I ran to the door, still clutching the river stones.
“Zara?” called Abba. “Open the door.” I fumbled, trying to open the latch, and lurched back as Abba shoved the door. It slammed against the wall and splintered. Heat stung and slid down my cheeks. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Tell me. Zara! Stop it.” Abba slid the bolt back as far as it would go and grasped my shoulders. “Where’s your mother? What’s happened? I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”