by Aysha Baqir
“I’m tired,” interrupted Tara.
“Can she rest in your room?” I asked.
“Yes of course. Come, Tara.” Saima Appi got up.
“No,” Tara shook her head.
“Let me.” I got up and pulled Tara up with me. We followed Saima Appi to her room. I gazed around. We had chatted and laughed in this room less than a year ago. It seemed so long ago. Suddenly, I longed to puff at the hookah again.
“Don’t leave!” Tara gripped my hand.
“I won’t. I got you out. I won’t ever leave you,” I said, sitting by her side. Tara sighed, and lay down on the charpai, facing the wall. I watched her for a few minutes, and when she closed her eyes, I tiptoed out into the courtyard.
“What’s going on, tell me,” prompted Saima Appi, sitting on the charpai. I nodded and beckoned towards Omer.
We had agreed that Omer would tell the story, a mix of truth and lies. No one would dare question his word; they would believe him. Omer had warned that if Abba even caught a whiff of the fact that I had entered a brothel, he would disown me. The villagers would also punish me. I believed him.
By the time Omer had finished relating the events of how he had lied his way inside the brothel to rescue Tara, Saima Appi was nodding her head. “Before my marriage, I would have said you were making this up, but not now.” She paused, “Tara, is she …?”
“She’s still sleepy,” answered Omer. “They drugged her, but with what or how much, I don’t know. I found her unconscious, but she woke up the next morning.”
“The pills take time to wear off,” said Saima Appi. “My in-laws mixed them in my food. I was confused all the time. Tara’s lucky to have you both.” She was quiet for a few seconds, and then gasped. “But you must be hungry! I’m a fool for not asking you earlier. What would you like?”
“We’re starving,” said Omer instantly. “Chai, if possible?”
“I can do better than that,” said Saima Appi. “How about parathas with cream and gur?” Omer beamed.
“I’ll help,” I offered, following Saima Appi to the kitchen.
“When does Khalid Chacha get up?” I asked as we started to put the meal together. “Soon,” answered Appi, handing me the saucepan and tea leaves. “But, you’re in luck that your Chachi is not here. She would have thrown a fit, declared Tara to be a bad omen.”
I nodded, remembering Chachi’s moods. I filled the saucepan with water, set it on the stove, and added a generous helping of tea leaves, milk, and sugar. “And how are you?”
“I’m better than I was,” said Saima Appi, starting to knead the dough. “But it wasn’t easy. After Abba decided the marriage was over, your Chachi seethed for days. When that didn’t work, she shut herself up for three days and refused to speak or eat. She wore black and declared that only my dead body should have left my husband’s house. Abba had to promise he would find me another husband before she agreed to come out.”
“She’s mad,” I declared. “But where has she gone?”
“She’s visiting my grandparents, along with my brothers. And since there was a wedding in their village, she took Nazia along. Some distant relatives wanted to see her for their son.”
I was quiet, remembering Nazia telling me that she liked some boy. “She’s only thirteen,” I murmured.
“Yes, but your Chachi’s on a rampage. She doesn’t listen to anyone these days. I try to stay out of her way.”
“What about Chacha?” I asked. “Can’t he do something?”
“She blames him for destroying my marriage, so he doesn’t say much any more.” Saima Appi swirled the dough in the air and deftly dropped it on the hot tawa greased with ghee.
“Your in-laws were crazy,” I burst out. “They would have killed you eventually.”
“Maybe,” murmured Saima Appi and sighed. “I was my mother’s angel before I got married. I could do no wrong, but since my divorce, I can’t do anything right. Like I was only worth something while I was married.” She flipped the paratha over. “Here, bring the basket over.”
I looked at Saima Appi. “You must be wondering why we came here.”
“You want your Khalid Chacha to tell your father that Tara’s back, right?” Without waiting for an answer Saima Appi continued, “I know my father, he’ll do it, but you will have to be strong.”
The food was ready. I inhaled the scent of fried dough. Loading everything onto two platters, I followed Appi into the courtyard. Omer lay on the charpai, his eyes closed.
“Is he asleep?” asked Appi.
“Not a chance.” Omer opened his eyes and grinned. “Only a fool would sleep, with the aroma of parathas in the air.” He sat up, and in silence we devoured hot parathas with cream and gur.
A creaking sound from the room made us jump.
“That must be Abba. Don’t worry. Finish your tea. I’ll go talk to him,” said Saima Appi. “And no, I won’t tell him anything,” she added, seeing Omer’s questioning look. “I’ll just let him know you’re here. The talking and explaining you do yourself.”
“I’ll clear up,” I said, as I stacked up the dishes and headed towards the kitchen.
I had started rinsing when the door opened, and Chacha’s voice boomed through the courtyard. “Omer Beta, what a surprise! Come here,” said Chacha. His voice sounded welcoming, but I couldn’t be certain. Omer started talking in a low voice, and I wavered, uncertain if I should join them or let Omer finish the story. I decided to finish rinsing. After a while, with nothing more to do, I walked out. Khalid Chacha sat with Omer on the charpai. “Salam, Chacha,” I mumbled.
“Zara Beti,” Khalid Chacha reached out to pat my head. “I can’t believe you are both here with Tara. It’s a miracle that she’s back.” He glanced from me to Omer.
“Yes,” I murmured.
“But is she all right?” Chacha frowned.
Omer looked away, leaving me to answer. “We don’t know. She sleeps a lot. We think he might have drugged her,” I began.
“That bastard!” exploded Chacha. “Should I call the doctor? He lives close to us.”
“I don’t know. What will we tell him?” I asked. Khalid Chacha opened his mouth to speak, then sat back and nodded.
“Zara, come quickly. Tara’s awake.” Saima Appi’s head bobbed at the door and disappeared.
45
Seeing Khalid Chacha rise, I sprang up. “Maybe I should go alone.”
Khalid Chacha paused, his feet half-thrust into his shoes, then he nodded and sat down. Inside the room, Tara huddled against the wall with knees drawn together. Seeing me in the doorway, she scrambled up and whispered, “I need to use the bathroom.” Ignoring my outstretched arm, she followed me to the tin stall behind the room. When she came out, she had plaited her hair. Her face was pale except for the dark smudges under her eyes.
“Khalid Chacha wants to meet you,” I started.
“No!” whispered Tara. She pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. About to argue, I stopped, seeing Saima Appi walk in with more parathas and three cups of steaming tea.
“Thanks, Appi,” I murmured.
“Thank you,” echoed Tara. We drank our tea in silence. “I’m not the same. I can’t ever be the same,” Tara blurted out. She pushed her half-eaten paratha aside and looked up, her eyes flashing sparks.
“You don’t have to be the same.” I edged closer, but Tara shrank back. “We still love you and want you back,” I whispered.
“Do Amma and Abba?” Tara’s eyes searched mine.
“Yes.” I said, but it came out a split second too late. Tara had turned away.
“I want to lie down,” she murmured. I nodded. Was it the drugs? Holding the cup between my palms, I sipped my tea, hoping it would ease the throbbing ache in my head.
It was late afternoon when I sat down to cook a pot of yellow lentils.
“We’ll have to tell Amma and Abba about Tara,” began Omer, walking inside. He squatted next to me.
I drew the
wooden spoon through the lentils to temper the boil. Why did we still seek their approval? “Yes,” I muttered, “But there’s no hurry, is there?”
“Chacha is leaving now. He’ll reach our village by early evening,” said Omer.
“Now?” My hand stopped moving.
“Yes. He’s saying he can’t keep Tara here without telling Abba. And Chachi returns tomorrow morning. We’ll stick to the same story, all right?”
I nodded, and watched the bubbling blend swell and simmer. There was no space for the truth in my village. I had to tape and pack my thoughts and feelings tightly until there was no space to think and feel.
I shut my eyes. There was no place to escape. Did I want to go back? I didn’t know. But I knew I didn’t want to be caged. I longed to discover the world. Why did my life tie me up, bind me, and hold me back? Why couldn’t it set me free to do what I wanted, whenever I wanted?
46
I heard the tonga wheels rumble outside. When the door rattled, everyone moved at once. I pushed aside the platter of grains, Saima Appi hurried to open the door, and Tara sidled closer to me.
Entering through the doorway, Amma called out for Kulsoom Chachi. She gasped on catching sight of us. “Tara,” she cried out. Before Abba could react, she had leapt towards us. A spasm ripped my gut. What was she going to do?
“It’s you. My daughter. How? You have to forgive me. I didn’t know. Forgive me. Can you forgive me?” I sagged, watchng Amma’s hands move lovingly over Tara’s face, neck and arms. Tara’s eyes stayed shut and her body remained rigid.
“Khalid Bhai,” began Abba, his voice hard. “You told us that Kulsoom Behen was unwell and that it was an emergency.”
“I’m sorry Bhai,” began Khalid Chacha. “I needed to bring you here, but didn’t want to worry you.” Khalid Chacha reached out but Abba moved away. When Khalid Chacha tried to grasp Abba’s shoulder, Abba dodged, and Khalid Chacha sighed. “I thought it would be better to talk once we got here.” Ignoring Chacha’s outstretched hand, Abba fixed his hawk eyes on Tara, who was squirming in Amma’s arms.
I exchanged a quick look with Saima Appi. “Amma, let’s go inside. Tara’s tired.”
“Yes, come,” insisted Saima Appi, pulling at Amma’s hand. “You need to rest as well.” Without protest, Amma followed Saima Appi inside the room.
“Abba’s not happy, is he?” whispered Tara, leaning close to me.
I shook my head. “He’s just shocked. It’s going to be fine.”
“It’s not,” interrupted Tara and pulled away.
Leaving Tara with Saima Appi and Amma, I faltered on the edge of the courtyard. Abba and Khalid Chacha sat on opposite ends of the charpai. Omer stood in the shadows; but seeing me, he stepped forward.
“What’s been going on?” Abba’s voice boomed.
“It’s better if Omer tells you,” murmured Khalid Chacha.
“Omer? What’s he got to do with it? And why isn’t he in school?” growled Abba. His scowl deepened as Omer began to speak. Skipping over the details, Omer related again how he had lied his way inside the brothel to get Tara out while I had waited outside. It was the same slush of truth and lies we had told Khalid Chacha earlier.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.” Abba’s eyes blazed.
“What? I don’t understand.” Omer looked confused.
“What’s not to understand? Tara’s married to that man. She’s his wife, and …” Abba’s face darkened.
Khalid Chacha leapt up. “What are you saying? Didn’t you hear Omer? The marriage was a farce! Do you even have their Nikah Namah?”
“No, but …” started Abba.
“Then we have to accept there was no marriage. It was a sham. Never even registered,” said Khalid Chacha. He looked grim.
“I married her to Kamran in front of my eyes. There was a Moulvi there who filled the papers. That’s enough proof for me.”
“He put her in the brothel, Abba!” protested Omer.
“You say that, and yet you found her in a room alone and sleeping. Do you have proof? Did you see her with any man?” Abba glared at Omer.
Khalid Chacha swore. “This is absurd. Don’t deceive yourself. Her husband was a dangerous man. A monster. She was living in hell and …” he paused, seeing me step out of the shadows.
“Hell or no hell, she’s his wife, and he can do as he pleases with her. It has nothing to do with us,” declared Abba.
Khalid Chacha frowned. “I can’t believe what you’re saying. Our faith doesn’t condone this.”
Not answering Khalid Chacha, Abba glowered at Omer, “And you risked yours and your sister’s lives? You gave no thought to what could happen to Zara while she waited outside. And you pulled her away from a perfectly good job where she was earning money for her dowry.”
“We couldn’t have left Tara there. Not once we knew!” retorted Omer.
“That’s no answer,” said Abba. “Tell me Bhai,” He wheeled towards Khalid Chacha. “How can I take Tara back? What do I do with her?” He paced back and forth, then stopped abruptly. “What will everyone say? And her husband, Kamran, gave us so many gifts. This watch.” He waved his wrist and the gold metal jangled. “And the radio, and the tea set. What if he comes after us? And if the villagers find out, we will be ruined. Isn’t this what you warned me against?”
“Yes, but at that time we thought Tara was going to work as a maid. Later you said you had married her to someone you knew, a decent man. No one thought she …” Khalid Chacha paused, struck by a thought, and his eyes narrowed. “You didn’t suspect Kamran at that time, did you?”
“What? No, no,” said Abba, his face flushing. “You can’t think that.” He stopped as Amma had walked out and now stood by the charpai, swaying.
“Mariam!” started Abba. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m okay, we’re fine.” She took a deep breath and turned to Chacha. “Thank you for helping Zara and Omer when they came to you.”
“You don’t have to thank me,” said Khalid Chacha.
“And you two.” Amma swung her eyes from Omer to me. “Thank you. You’ve returned my life to me.”
“Mariam,” declared Abba. “Nothing’s decided as yet. We have to discuss this.”
“No.” Amma shook her head. “No more discussions and no more listening to others. We listen to our hearts now. We take Tara home.”
“What?” growled Abba.
“We take Tara back home!” repeated Amma.
“We don’t do anything until I say so.” Abba’s voice was hard.
“You can say what you like,” said Amma. “But I won’t go back unless Tara comes back with us.”
I gasped. What had come over Amma? She had never disagreed with Abba.
“Have you lost your mind? You will do as I tell you.” Clenching his fists, Abba moved forward, but Omer stepped between them.
“Bhai, no,” admonished Khalid Chacha, lowering Abba’s fists.
“Lost it? No, I think I’ve finally found it,” murmured Amma and turned to walk away.
47
“I’ve been thinking,” said Amma, opening her sewing basket. “It’s not right that the girls still share a room with us. They need their space.”
Dropping the clothes I had finished rinsing, I crouched to rinse them again.
“You know we don’t have enough rooms,” answered Abba. He set his tea mug down. He hadn’t said a word since our return yesterday afternoon.
“We will, if we clear the sitting room and give it to the girls.” Amma zipped a needle in and out of the cloth.
“You’re bursting with answers today. Tell me then, where will our guests sit, outside with your stray cats?” snapped Abba.
“If they have to, then yes,” Amma bit the thread, tied a knot, and looked up. But Abba had already stalked off.
The following morning Abba emptied the family room, stacked the furniture in one corner of the courtyard, and packed all the plastic mats, plates and cups in a crate. He
hauled in sacks of mud and wheat and piled them to one side. Was he going to build a room for us? Why? What hold did Amma suddenly have over him, I wondered. Tara and I lugged our charpai into the empty room and arranged our few possessions in the cardboard box I had found under my parents’ charpai. Remembering our silver birth bracelets, I pushed the thought away. It wasn’t yet time.
Over the next few days, at fleeting moments, I missed the grand house, the brilliant crystal lights that lit up the evenings, the clean water gushing out of gold taps, and the cool air conditioning and fans. But nothing else. In my village, I walked barefoot on the earth, under the open skies, and breathed in fresh air. I slept as the sky darkened and woke up to see it shimmer pale pink. I thrilled in the rush of wind, the muggy heat and even the sweat on my skin. This was home. This was my place in the world. I was part of a world that was bigger than me.
Busy with one chore or another during the day, I feared the night, filled with dark dreams, with menacing beasts. I would wake up with a jolt, remembering the heavy body smothering my breath and tearing into me. But seeing Tara asleep next to me, I would lie down again, drenched in sweat. Doubts clenched and clawed me from inside. Why had I not run out? Why hadn’t I fought back harder? Why had I even gone inside the brothel?
Abba disappeared each morning and returned after dinner. No one asked where he ate. Amma hovered around Tara like she was a broken doll. Tara became that broken doll. When I tried to talk to her, she looked at me blankly. And even Amma didn’t say much and looked through me most of the time. At times I wondered if she had forgotten I was there. Or was I jealous? How could I be jealous of my twin?
A few days later, I squatted down to sweep the heap of leaves and branches left by a storm while Tara and Amma sorted clothes inside. When the door rattled, Amma called for me to open it. I lifted the latch and was pushed aside by Bari Masi, our neighbour, who shuffled in, carrying a large straw basket. “Salam, Bari Masi,” I muttered. What was she doing here?