by Aysha Baqir
“You had us worried,” said Khalid Chacha. “You said you were going to leave early morning, so I expected you to reach hours ago. I came out with my boys to look for you. It’s not safe to be here at this time even if we’re together. Can we all fit in?”
“Yes, of course.” Ignoring the tonga-walla’s protests, Abba beckoned to Omer to sit with us in the back. Khalid Chacha and my cousins squeezed into the front with Abba. The tonga sped forward, and Amma continued to pray until we drew up outside Khalid Chacha’s house. I helped Amma down and followed her inside. A semicircle of oil lamps cast a warm flickering glow.
“Mariam Behen!” exclaimed Kulsoom Chachi, swooping out from the dark. “Thank God you’re here. We were worried.” She clasped Amma by her shoulders and turned to me.
“Salam, Chachi,” I murmured.
Kulsoom Chachi tilted my chin under the lamp’s glow. “Still going out in the sun, I see.” She frowned. “You know, Sakina was asking me the other day.”
“Let it be,” interrupted Amma.
“Let it be? Never! Think about it, Mariam,” urged Kulsoom Chachi. “A good proposal is like a pearl in an oyster shell. Better to marry her off before …” She sighed. “You won’t get a moment of peace with an unmarried daughter in the house.” She gave me a slight push. “Go meet your cousin Nazia. Your Saima Appi is visiting, but don’t bother her, she needs to rest.”
I made my way to the room, hoping Nazia had been able to pinch the hookah again. I was dying for a few puffs. Seeing a slight figure huddled on the charpai, I paused at the doorway. Was Saima Appi really unwell?
“Zara,” called Nazia. I spun round and saw her approaching.
“Ah Zara,” called Saima Appi. “When did you get here?”
“Just now,” I murmured, unable to tear my eyes away from Saima Appi’s hollow face. How much weight had she lost? Was she pregnant already? She couldn’t be.
“Let Saima Appi rest. We can go out to help Amma,” suggested Nazia. I nodded and followed my younger cousin out again.
We gathered around the mat in the courtyard. When Kulsoom Chachi brought out a dish of steaming rice, Khalid Chacha enquired about Saima Appi, but Kulsoom Chachi muttered under her breath and looked away. Chacha repeated the question, but Kulsoom Chachi still didn’t reply. Abba and Amma glanced at Khalid Chacha curiously, but he shook his head, and with forced gaiety urged us to start eating.
I tried to catch Omer’s eye, but he ignored me, something he had started doing when there were other boys around. Once done with eating, I looked around: no one spoke, shared a joke, or even an anecdote. Chachi and Amma began to gather up the dishes. Why had Chacha invited us over? After dinner, Khalid Chacha asked Abba to join him on the charpai. Signalling to me to follow her, Nazia disappeared into the room with a plate of rice.
Saima Appi sat up when I walked inside. “Come, sit,” she said folding her knees. “How are you?”
I dropped down beside her and took her hand. It was cold and clammy. “I’m all right,” I said, looking at her closely. Her eyes were dull and her skin pale. Something was wrong.
“And Tara? How is she? Happily married?”
Had Amma not told Chachi? “She’s fine,” I whispered.
“She’s lucky, then.” Saima Appi’s voice broke.
“You’re lucky too,” burst out Nazia.
I shivered at the look on Saima Appi’s face. “What’s going on?” I asked.
“Nothing,” mumbled Saima Appi.
“Tell her. It’ll make you feel better,” urged Nazia.
Saima Appi shook her head.
“Tell me,” I pressed.
Saima Appi shut her eyes. “Fine. You want to know. Then I’ll tell you.” She pushed out her breath. “I have a shadow.”
“What?” What was she talking about?
“I have a shadow. I’m cursed.” Saima Appi sighed. “It’s true. A few weeks after our wedding, two of our buffaloes died, then the rains wrecked the crops, and my sister-in-law lost her baby in the third month. It was a boy. My in-laws accused me of bringing them ill luck.”
“That’s crazy. How could you have done anything?” I began.
“That’s what I’ve been telling her,” interrupted Nazia. She grasped Saima Appi’s arm. “You had nothing to do with this. Dozens of buffaloes died in your village because of disease. And you never went near the fields. The floods ruined half the district’s crops.”
Saima Appi shook her head. “My mother-in-law said I was unlucky. I had brought this misfortune upon them. Everyone believed her. What could I do?”
“And your husband?” I asked.
“My husband said nothing. He believed his mother. He stopped coming near me.”
“Did you try to talk to him?” I leaned forward.
“Talk? I pleaded and begged him to believe me. It was so good between us in the beginning. I thought he loved me. He took me out, bought me juice and ice cream. When the first buffalo died, his mother and grandmother declared that my shadow had killed it. I thought they joked. I hadn’t even gone near the livestock. But they were serious. They said I was the only change in the house. They said my shadow was cursed. When I told my husband he laughed and told me to forget about it. A few days later, the second buffalo died. There was a terrible uproar. My mother-in-law accused me again. This time my husband beat me and forbade me from entering the kitchen. He moved out of our room. I could only come out to eat meals.”
“You put up with it?” I whispered.
“What was I to do? Could I walk out? I wanted to, but where could I go? I couldn’t go back home. When the rains destroyed the crops, my mother-in-law told me I couldn’t come out at all. No one talked to me. They set a plate of food inside the room for me. I thought I would go mad. Finally, when my sister-in-law lost her baby, they whipped me and locked me in the storeroom. I was there for days.”
“No!” I burst out.
“Then Abba’s friend visited,” interrupted Saima Appi. “I didn’t see him, but I heard them talking. Abba had sent sweets for me. They told him I was unwell. He must have suspected something was wrong because the next day Abba stormed in. He refused to leave without seeing me. I heard him running through the house, calling my name. That’s when I began to scream.” She shivered. “I’ll never forget the look on Abba’s face when he saw me. He threatened to get the police if they didn’t free me. My in-laws just stood and watched me leave. Even my husband, he just stood there. Abba brought me straight back home, didn’t say a word to anyone, and told Amma that my marriage was over. Amma was furious. Said I must have done something to upset them.”
“You did nothing. It wasn’t your fault,” insisted Nazia.
“They said it was,” murmured Saima Appi.
“It always is,” I murmured.
“What do you mean?” Saima Appi stared at me.
“I mean,” I stopped, afraid of my thoughts. Pins stung my neck and arms.
My aunt. Chiragh. Tara. Saima Appi. Each and every time, it was always our fault.
24
“There’s no need to take the girls, I tell you,” Kulsoom Chachi thumped the platter of grains on the floor. “There’s work to be done, and …”
“And what?” demanded Khalid Chacha, halting at the door. I bumped into Saima Appi and Nazia, who had stopped behind him. Omer had already left for the mela with the other boys. Chachi hadn’t stopped fuming since Khalid Chacha had announced he would take us to the mela after the morning chores were done.
“How can you parade the girls with the disaster on our heads? What will people say? That we have no shame?” Kulsoom Chachi shook her fist. “You forget that I’m her mother. Better for my daughter to be dead than divorced.”
I winced. Saima Appi didn’t need to listen to this. And who was going to recognise us in our black burkas? It hid us from our heads to our heels. It covered our faces. It buried our voices. What more did Kulsoom Chachi want?
“I promised the girls. It will do them good,” said Kh
alid Chacha.
“Good?” screeched Chachi. “You talk about good. It would be good if my daughter was back in her husband’s house.”
“Kulsoom!” growled Chacha.
“Go then. But when people talk, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Kulsoom Chachi turned away.
Nearly an hour later our tonga rolled into the fair grounds. Ice-white mist shimmered against the blue sky. I hurried after my cousins and Khalid Chacha through the maze of stalls set up on the campground, but couldn’t stop glancing back. Tara had always been there, behind me, following me. My eyes blurred. I didn’t want to remember Tara, not all the time.
We walked past carts stacked with glass bottles full of neon coloured drinks. Sticky sweetmeats floated in platters of thick sizzling oil. Hearing the shouts and laughs from the merry-go-round, I stopped to gape at the animal-shaped swings whizzing higher and higher. Tara had loved such rides, and we had planned to see the carnival together. Children laughed and squealed as the swings flew past. A dizzying lightness filled my limbs. I longed to join the crowds that lined up for the ride, but Khalid Chacha had walked ahead. A boisterous group of boys rushed forward, chatting about snake dances, acrobatics, and cockfights.
I inhaled the scent of spicy chaats, roasting channas, and golagandas in the air and hurried past tables loaded with plastic ware, chinaware, glassware, clothes, old books and magazines, soaps, towels, odd bottles filled with murky potions. I giggled with my cousins, spotting the heap of women’s underwear stuffed with foam.
Shopkeepers crooned limericks to entice customers over the low hum of chatter. Reaching the end of the first row of stalls, I stood unsure of which way to turn. Abruptly, Khalid Chacha pointed to a corner stall. “I know what we need to get.”
“Shoes?” I asked.
Saima Appi nodded. “I’ve been wearing Nazia’s old ones since I returned. Abba got me out so quickly that I didn’t have time to grab mine.”
Half an hour later, I was following my cousins out of the shoe stall, carrying my first pair of maroon khoosas wrapped in newspaper. I had gaped at the variety of slippers, sandals, khoosas, and boots available in an overwhelming range of colours and designs, and immediately thought of Tara. She would have loved the embroidery and the sequins and sparkles. She loved everything that shone and glittered. I hoped her husband had taken her shopping. She hadn’t taken much from home.
We hadn’t walked far when Nazia tugged Chacha’s arm. “Abba, I want the anklets, the ones hanging over in that stall.”
“Don’t you have enough at home?” asked Khalid Chacha.
“But Amma said I need another pair.” Nazia pouted. “And I don’t have the ones that make a tinkling sound.”
“Oh, all right,” conceded Chacha and turned to Saima Appi and me. “What about you two, do you want them too?” He paused, seeing Saima Appi look down. I flushed. Divorcees and widows didn’t wear jewellery in our villages. Had Khalid Chacha forgotten?
“I don’t,” murmured Saima Appi.
“You do,” contradicted Khalid Chacha. “I’ll get one each, for you all.”
“I want the ones with bells,” chirped Nazia, browsing through the display.
The spiky-haired boy flashed a toothy grin and waited for Nazia to decide. “That’s an excellent choice,” he declared, seeing her choose one. “It comes to rupees thirty for three, but for you, a special discount, only rupees twenty-five.” He dangled the anklet, laid it out on his palm, and held it out.
“What, rupees twenty-five for such frivolous trinkets! You can’t be serious. Rupees twenty, that’s it!” declared Khalid Chacha.
“Saab, please, you insult our treasures. We use the original moulds that were made for the royal family of Bahawalpur. Rupees twenty-three. That’s my final price.”
After a few minutes of haggling, Khalid Chacha set rupees twenty-two on the table. The boy grinned, wrapped the trinkets in paper bags and handed them over.
On the way back, Saima Appi drifted off to sleep and Nazia grasped my arm. “We’ll try on the anklets with our new shoes once we get home,” she whispered. I nodded. A warm rush ballooned my chest. I couldn’t wait to reach home and show Amma my new shoes and anklets.
“I was lying, you know,” Nazia whispered. “Amma didn’t say anything about getting anklets.”
“Huh?” I turned towards Nazia.
“I’ve met a boy,” confided Nazia. “He’s a shoe-keeper at the shrine. Nobody knows about us. I’ll meet him when we go to the shrine next Thursday wearing my new anklets.” She flushed.
“Be careful,” I whispered, and squeezed her arm. The flush on Nazia’s face and the spark in her eyes made my heart race, and made me think of Saleem. I had been thinking too much about him.
When we reached Khalid Chacha’s house, I jumped down and followed my cousins inside. Amma sat sorting grains by the cooking pit, across the courtyard from Kulsoom Chachi. I waited for them to stop talking. When Kulsoom Chachi got up to rinse the clothes, I peeled off the newspaper and held up the khoosas. “Amma, look, aren’t they beautiful?” I said.
“Very nice.” Amma smiled and nodded. “Better put them away for your dowry before they get spoilt. Here, wrap them in this.” She bent to pick up the newspaper.
I broke into a cold sweat. Marriage. Did Amma think of nothing else?
“No,” croaked Amma, staring at the paper she had picked up. “No, it can’t be.”
“Amma?” I went forward to steady her.
“Him, it’s him, Kamran. But how?” Amma’s voice was hoarse.
“Huh? Who? Where?” I tried to peer past Amma. “Amma, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t understand. It’s him, Tara’s husband,” whispered Amma.
“Tara’s what?” I steadied my voice. What was Amma talking about? “You mean Imtiaz, Abba’s friend.” I tried to reach for the newspaper, but Amma dodged.
“Yes, no, I mean ... your Abba made me promise.” Amma shook her head. “He said we couldn’t reveal his real name in case anyone made a connection. Tara’s married to Kamran. We met him at the maid agency. He was a friend of Riaz Chacha’s contact.”
“You lied?” I cried and yelped when Amma struck my cheek.
“It wasn’t a lie,” hissed Amma. She thrust the paper towards me. “Read it. Tell me what it says! Why are the police there?”
I stared at Amma in horror. Police?
“Read it!” commanded Amma.
“Amma, shush,” I said, trying to tug the newspaper from Amma’s grip. Without warning, Amma’s head lolled, and her body sagged.
“Is everything all right?” called Kulsoom Chachi.
I slipped the newspaper out from under Amma’s elbow and shifted her to lean against the charpai. “Stay here until I get back.” I stood up. “Chachi, Amma’s not feeling well. I’m going to get her some water.” I called out and without waiting for an answer, I hurried towards the cupboard and ducked behind a pillar to study the paper. It was from two weeks ago. I stared at the black and white image of a thin, bearded man being handcuffed by two officers. Tara’s husband? A shiver ran down my spine.
The headline ran: “Police Raid. Man Arrested on Suspicion of Operating a Brothel.”
My vision blurred. I pressed my forehead against the wall, trying to pull air into my tightening chest. I heard the sound of shuffling feet. Footsteps sounded, and voices bounced. Someone shouted. Amma cried out my name.
“Impossible! You’re hallucinating,” growled Abba.
“I’m not. I’ll show you. Where’s Zara?” cried Amma.
Before I had taken even a few steps, Abba seized the paper from me. He stared at it, with Khalid Chacha looking over his shoulder. He straightened up, snorted and shook his head. “See, I told you. How can you tell? The picture is hazy. You’re mistaken. It can’t be him. It must be someone who looks like him. All this uproar for nothing.” He flung the paper down.
“Read the paper, Zara,” ordered Amma. Kulsoom Chachi’s mouth fell open. “Read it,” repeated Am
ma. I shrank back. Amma wanted me to read. Now? Not before, not when I had a chance to go to school, but now, and in front of everyone?
“What do you mean, read? Have you gone mad? She can’t read,” said Abba. No one spoke.
“What have you done, Behen?” whispered Kulsoom Chachi, and shook her head.
“She can read,” murmured Amma, not looking up. “I was going to tell you about the lessons, but then ...” Her voice hardened. “Read, Zara. Read what’s written.”
“Inside, now!” warned Chachi, turning to Saima Appi and Nazia, who watched.
I picked up the paper, read the headline, and paused. My face and neck were damp with sweat. My heartbeat hammered in my ears. I forced myself to read on.
“Kamran Sultan,” pounced Amma. “That’s his name. Do we need more proof? Oh God, help us. Why didn’t we just kill our daughter?”
“Mariam, stop,” Abba snatched the paper from my hands. “It’s lies, rubbish. I’m going to call Riaz Bhai right now. He told us he knew this man. There has to be some mistake.”
Amma shrieked and began to beat her chest. Kulsoom Chachi rushed towards her. I couldn’t move. A dark sandstorm was growing inside my head. My eyes stung. Abba was right. There had to be some mistake.
I crouched in the shadows, waiting for Abba and Chacha to return. The sun was setting before I heard a noise outside. When the latch snapped, I shot up and saw the truth written on Abba’s face even before Khalid Chacha began to speak.
At first Riaz Chacha had been outraged at the accusation. He knew Kamran because of some work he had done for the maid agency, but he had no idea that he was involved in anything illegal. He insisted he had always heard good things about Kamran Sultan and had promised to call back. Then, he had called back to beg for forgiveness. Everyone who knew Kamran Sultan was shocked. He was reputed to be a quiet man who worked hard. No one had suspected more. The police inspector had him in custody, with all the evidence required for conviction, but was under pressure to let Kamran go. And he would if he wanted to keep his job, because Kamran Sultan had close contacts with influential people in the city.
“God has punished us,” whispered Amma. “We betrayed our daughter. Not even our saints can save us.”