Beyond the Fields

by Aysha Baqir

  “Tara! We can’t find her.”

  “Since when?” A vein throbbed in Abba’s neck.

  “Afternoon. Amma’s gone to help Omer search.” I shivered.

  Abba clamped his hands on my shoulders. “We will find her, but do as I tell you.” His eyes scanned the horizon. “I have to go out after them. Keep the door bolted and stay inside. Don’t open it for anyone. If someone knocks, pretend you’re not home. You hear me?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, but Abba had already disappeared. After fastening the door, I leaned against the cold wall. Darkness flooded the sky like water soaking parched earth. I sank to the ground and locked my arms around my knees. My head throbbed.

  “I have an idea. Let’s surprise Omer,” whispered Tara. I opened my eyes. It was deafeningly quiet. I was hot and damp. The river stones had fallen to the ground. Dazed, I stared at the empty courtyard. Where was everyone? Chickens scurried around looking for the feed. Kullo grunted and tugged against the rope restlessly. Kittens meowed. Pins and needles stung my feet as I struggled to my knees. Where was Tara?

  16

  Thud. Thud. The pounding. Was it in my head? Why was I on the floor?

  “Open the door,” yelled Omer.

  Leaping forward, I flung back the latch. Abba rushed inside and I sagged against the wall. Abba had found Tara. She was back.

  The next instant I spun around. Why was she in Abba’s arms? Why was Abba’s shirt covering her? Abba hurried inside, with Amma right behind him. The door shut.

  “What’s going on?” I burst out.

  But before Omer could answer, Abba was out again, his face darker than dusk. His eyes blazed at me. “Where’s the water? Didn’t your mother tell you to get some?” He swerved towards Omer. “I’m going to Amjad Chacha’s place. Follow me.” He strode out.

  “What’s going on?” I repeated. Words stuck to my throat.

  Omer shook his head.

  “Tell me.”

  “You don’t want to know.” Omer shut his eyes.

  “I do.” Suddenly I didn’t. Fear crawled over my windpipe like a centipede.

  “Tara … she … there was blood, around her mouth. I thought she was dead, but then she moaned. They raped her, said Abba, but she’s alive. Thank God! Are you okay?” Omer’s hand was on my shoulder.

  “Raped?” I clutched Omer’s arm. “Who?”

  “Don’t know. Abba found her. I’d better go. He’s waiting. We’ll talk later.”

  17

  Seconds after falling into the dark waters, my mind had flashed like lightning. On Omer’s dare, I had leapt across the rocks and missed. I had sunk into the rushing current, blinded by a red-hot glare, until Omer had hauled me up, swearing at me for jumping like a girl. And then everything had blurred until I coughed, spat out water and gulped mouthfuls of air. Now, it was happening again.

  My mind flashed over the jumbled bits of the afternoon in slow motion, then faster and faster. I had urged Tara to run out. Tara had zipped off through the fields. I had raced through the forest. How long had I watched the clouds drift past? How long had we searched for Tara? Amma had cried out when I had said we couldn’t find Tara – had she had a premonition?

  I shuddered and squeezed my eyes. I couldn’t have heard right. Not rape. It happened elsewhere, in other villages, to other girls. Not in my village. Not to Tara. Not to my twin. It was a mistake. I hadn’t heard right. Not rape.

  I drifted, surfaced, drifted off again, and woke with a jolt. I was hot and clammy. The sky was inky black. I edged towards the door and pushed, but it was bolted from the other side. There was no sound. When the sky lightened to the shade of an onion peel, I finally slept. A hand was on my shoulder, shaking me. I pulled away and burrowed into the charpai.

  “Zara, wake up,” urged Omer.

  I winced at the morning glare. How long had I slept? I scrambled up. “Tara? How is she?” I searched Omer’s face, willing him to say there had been some mistake, and that Tara was okay.

  “Still inside,” said Omer. “Amma’s saying we can’t see her. Abba left early, so I let you sleep, but you should get up before he returns. There’s work to be done.”

  I nodded, and struggled to stand up. Seeing darkness, I took a deep breath. It would be all right. Abba must have gone to the police to register a case. They would hunt out the beasts that had attacked Tara. Waiting for Abba to come back, I swept the floor, cleaned the chicken coop, and bathed Kullo.

  It was early afternoon before Abba returned alone. “I’m going to Khalid Chacha’s,” he told Omer. “Go to the market and get some vegetables for dinner. I’ll be back before evening.” I stared at his back. Had he gone to the police? Where were they? Why was he going to Khalid Chacha’s? I dared not ask. We never asked Abba where he went or what he did.

  “Abba, Tara?” My voice broke.

  Abba stopped and stiffened, but didn’t look back. “Your Amma is taking care of her.”

  “I want to see her,” I whispered.

  “Me too.” Omer stepped forward.

  “No, she’s not strong enough. You can help by doing what your mother tells you.” Without another word, Abba strode out.

  “Tara must be better, or he wouldn’t have left,” said Omer.

  I nodded, feeling my throat tighten. Why wasn’t Abba saying more? Why the silence and secrecy? Had he gone to the police? They must be trying to find the men. I forced myself to get back to the chores: I folded the clothes, fed the animals, and sorted the rice grains. Someone banged on the door, but I ignored it, remembering Abba’s warning. I was cooking the evening meal when I heard the door creak open.

  “Fill this with water,” called Amma, and slid the tin pail outside. “Leave it by the door when you’re done.”

  I tilted the water drum to fill the bucket and hauled it to the door. Thinking fast, I called out, “Amma, I’ve got it.”

  “Leave it outside,” shouted Amma.

  I stood silently. Hearing the latch lift, I pushed against the door. “I want to see Tara,” I began.

  “Are you mad?” Amma shoved the door back. “Stay out. Didn’t you hear your Abba?”

  “Amma, please.” My voice shook. “I have to see her. She’s my twin. She needs me.”

  “No. Go away. I have enough to …” A low moan muffled Amma’s voice. Was that Tara? Before I could call out, Amma had pulled the pail inside and shut the door.

  Flames burst in front of my eyes. No one was going to keep me away from my twin. I pounded the door and kicked it.

  “Amma,” I cried. “Open the door, open it.”

  “Zara, don’t,” warned Omer, coming up behind me.

  The door opened an inch. “Stop this madness,” hissed Amma. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her lips pulled back in a snarl. “Tara doesn’t want to see you. You made her go out; you made her run alone. Should I tell your Abba that?” The door slammed shut.

  Staggering back, I stumbled. It wasn’t because of me. My mouth tasted of ashes.

  “Zara,” said Omer. His voice came from a distance. His hand curved around my shoulder, but I wrenched away. It wasn’t because of me.

  Abba returned late afternoon. “Zara,” he began, his hawk-like eyes searching my face. “Clean the family room and make something for dinner. We have guests coming.”

  The crimson moon hung low when the guests gathered in the courtyard. The men ate in silence, except for Abba, who said he wasn’t hungry. I looked around and released my breath.

  All these men knew us. They were like family. It was going to be okay; they would make it okay. Tara and I were like their daughters. They had said that so many times. Amjad Chacha was our old neighbour. He had carried us on his shoulders when we were younger. Tara and I had always marvelled at his wriggly moustache that curled like two worms. Riaz Chacha was our relative. He had always brought us candy. He sat opposite Abba, who was squeezed between Khalid Chacha and Moulvi Saab, a religious scholar who led the Jummah prayers in the mosque.

  I squirmed, t
hinking of the times Tara and I had mocked Riaz Chacha’s tinted glasses and his tight T-shirts. He worked as a driver in the city but returned for holidays and family gatherings. Riaz Chacha had been married to Kulsoom Chachi’s sister. I had heard that the death of his wife during childbirth had driven Riaz Chacha to the city. When they finished eating, the men strode inside. The door shut. At Omer’s nod, I darted forward. It was okay to eavesdrop. I had seen Amma do it when Abba went inside with his friends. We had a right to know what they said. Tara was my twin, closer to me than anyone else. I pressed my forehead against the door and peered through the crack in the door.

  18

  “It was important we meet tonight,” began Moulvi Saab. His gaze settled on Abba. “We will hear Yaqoob Bhai and then decide what to do.” He paused. “Yaqoob Bhai?”

  “Uh.” Abba glanced up, and without meeting anyone’s eyes, looked down again. He began to talk in a flat voice. I strained to hear.

  I shivered. My belly twisted like a wet cloth being wrung dry. Tara had been raped and rolled into a shallow ditch. If the wind hadn’t puffed out the corner of her kameez, Abba might never have found her. Why hadn’t I heard her cries? Why hadn’t I known something was wrong? I was supposed to know. She was my twin.

  Abba stopped talking. The men muttered and whispered. Someone recited a prayer. Moulvi Saab murmured something, but Abba shook his head.

  Moulvi Saab cleared his throat. “You said there were two?” When Abba nodded, everyone started talking, but Moulvi Saab raised his hand, and they stopped. “So we agree there’s no use in going to the police now?” I gasped as everyone nodded. Not go to the police? What were they going to do? “Then we must find the culprits. I’ll make an announcement tomorrow. Every man and boy over twelve years old must come to the mosque to take an oath on the Qu’ran that he knows nothing about this heinous crime. We will investigate anyone who refuses to comply. We will find the criminals and then take them to the police. We will make sure our daughter gets justice.” He thumped his fist on his knee.

  “Yes, we must,” said Khalid Chacha.

  “Yes,” murmured Amjad Chacha.

  “Moulvi Saab,” began Riaz Chacha. “I hold you in the deepest regard, but there’s a hitch.”

  “What hitch?” demanded Moulvi Saab.

  “Well,” said Riaz Chacha looking around. “I agree that we must punish the criminals. I pray they burn in hell, but you must understand that Yaqoob Bhai has more to lose.”

  “More to lose?” echoed Khalid Chacha. “What has happened is not Yaqoob’s fault. We can’t let these dogs get away.”

  “If we don’t catch them, they’ll strike again,” added Moulvi Saab.

  “Listen to me,” said Riaz Chacha. “Do you know anything about what’s happening in the country? There are reports of new laws. I don’t have the full details, but there are rumours.”

  “Rumours of what?” demanded Khalid Chacha.

  Riaz Chacha looked at Abba steadily. “New laws that say the victim has to prove rape. Otherwise, he or she can be found guilty.”

  “What are you talking about?” Abba frowned.

  “I’m saying Tara Beti will have to prove she was raped or they can accuse her of zina,” Riaz Chacha burst out.

  A sharp shiver grazed my arms and neck. Cold and clammy, I pressed against the door. Zina. It was part of the Hudood Ordinance. I knew that much, but what did it really mean?

  “I don’t believe you,” spat out Abba.

  Riaz Chacha shook his head. “It’s not up to me. It’s the law. If we can’t prove rape, the criminals can accuse Tara. She can be convicted. You know, zina is a crime against the state. And there are new laws – about the testimony of one woman only being half of that of a man in a court. Even if Tara Beti testifies she was raped, it will not be enough.”

  “Don’t worry Yaqoob Bhai, I’ll make sure that never happens. We have our own justice system here; it will go in our favour,” declared Moulvi Saab.

  Riaz Chacha frowned and shook his head. “It’s risky. New courts are being set up. And if we do as you say, what guarantee is there that anyone will own up? Can we force anyone to come to the mosque and admit to this crime? You say you will investigate, but what can you do against them? What can you prove?” He glanced around, but no one spoke. “Sorry, Moulvi Saab, but an oath will make no difference because the criminals won’t think twice about lying. What’s happened can’t be changed. We need to think about the future.”

  “There might be some truth in that,” began Amjad Chacha, and pulled at his moustache when Moulvi Saab and Khalid Chacha stared at him. “My wife was saying that if this news gets out, Yaqoob Bhai won’t be able to hold his head up. People will make up stories.”

  “I don’t care about people,” burst Abba. His eyes blazed.

  “You need to care. You have a responsibility to your family name and to your other children,” reproached Riaz Chacha. “What’s happened has happened, but think about your other daughter. She can marry anyone now, but who will want to marry her once you speak out? Even close relatives break off relations at such times. Have you forgotten what happened to Chiragh?”

  My mind reeled. Chiragh? What did Chiragh have to do with this?

  “Riaz Bhai has a point,” declared Amjad Chacha. “Once the news gets out, people will manipulate the story and draw their own conclusions. There is no better example than Chiragh’s parents. Such good people, but they had no choice except to disown their daughter and leave their village. The villagers don’t forgive or forget such matters. Samina said that there’s a rumour brewing.”

  “What do you mean?” Khalid Chacha frowned.

  “People saw Yaqoob Bhai leave the village in a hurry,” said Amjad Chacha. “No one has seen Mariam Behen since yesterday. And anyone on the street can see Yaqoob Bhai’s door is half broken. When someone banged on the door, no one answered. People add one and one and come up with four. My wife said it would be different if Tara had died.” Abba growled, and Khalid Chacha frowned at Amjad Chacha, but Amjad Chacha continued. “We would have buried her body with honour. But now you risk dishonouring your family name.”

  “Amjad!” warned Abba.

  “How can you say such things?” warned Moulvi Saab. “Our faith doesn’t support such thinking.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Amjad Chacha. He wiped his eyes and looked around. “Tara is like my daughter, and I could kill those dogs. But my opinion won’t change anything. Our women uphold our family honour. Once it’s gone, nothing can bring it back.”

  “Exactly! That’s what I’ve been trying to say,” exclaimed Riaz Chacha.

  My breath choked. What were they talking about? We had run out to play. What did honour have to do with it? Omer grabbed my wrist as I sprang up. “Not now,” he mouthed. When I resisted, he shook his head and whispered, “Please, we need to listen.”

  Shakily, I leaned against the door. I wasn’t going to let them get away with this. They weren’t going to make up lies, not about Tara.

  “How can I let it go? My daughter’s innocent. How will I live with myself?” protested Abba. “What if this happens to someone else’s daughter tomorrow?”

  “Think of your own family before thinking of others,” advised Riaz Chacha. “Do you want to ruin your other daughter’s life?” He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. “Once you tell everyone, there will be no turning back. In the end, there won’t be many who will support you. They’ll find ways to blame your family. Why did you let your girls out? Why didn’t their mother control them? What were they doing in the fields? Did Tara know those men from before?”

  “How can you say this?” argued Moulvi Saab. “The girl’s been wronged.”

  “You are an exceptional man,” said Riaz Chacha, turning to Moulvi Saab. “But are most men like you? No. We have to consider the risks. Remember Tara was found in our landlord’s fields. What if the landlord’s thugs raped her? Can we force them to come to the mosque and take an oath?”
He turned towards Abba. “You will have exposed the incident for nothing and shamed your family. And our landlord will never forgive you. He might send his men after you, your other daughter, or even your wife.”

  “That’s true,” murmured Amjad Chacha. “We must think this through.”

  “You haven’t done anything to upset the landlord, have you?” asked Khalid Chacha, looking at Abba.

  “No, no,” muttered Abba, but then frowned. “I complained about not being allowed to sell my crops in the open market at the tea stall the other day. You don’t think?”

  “No.” Khalid Chacha shook his head. “This was not revenge. How would they recognise your daughter? It was an accident. Tara was alone, and they knew they could get away with it. But it’s true, the landlord has eyes and ears everywhere. You need to be careful.”

  No one spoke. Abba closed his eyes. Khalid Chacha clasped Abba’s shoulders and turned to the other men. “We can’t do much against the landlord. He has relatives in the army, and we know who rules our country. We can’t afford to upset him. We don’t know what his men did to Amir Buksh when he tried to pay off his debt. No one has seen that man for weeks. His poor wife and children are too afraid to step out. No one is allowed to bring them food. They are starving inside their own home.”

  Moulvi Saab turned to Abba. “I can’t foresee what might or might not happen. I can’t force the landlord’s men to come to take an oath. But I can advise and support you. I promise you that I will do my best to ensure your daughter gets justice.”

  Abba gazed at Moulvi Saab for a few moments, then turned to Khalid Chacha. “Tell me, what should I do?” Khalid Chacha opened his mouth to speak, but then shook his head and looked away.

  “I’ll tell you,” interrupted Riaz Chacha. “I feel your pain. I can help you. There is a way out – a good one, for the whole family. But first, you must understand that you will find no peace if you allow Tara to stay here.”