by Aisha Saeed
I sank onto a bench and tried to steady my breathing.
Nabila was wrong. She had to be.
But if she wasn’t, did this mean I would never be free?
My chest burned with the unjustness of it all. Until that moment I didn’t know heartbreak was a real and physical breaking.
“It gets easier with time,” she said. “Look at me. Look at Fatima.”
“Fatima has her father,” I said.
“Hamid isn’t her father.”
“What?” I looked at her. “What happened to her? Why is she here?”
“The youngest of seven girls is what happened to her,” Nabila said. “Dumped her here when she was six years old. Still remember the day,” Nabila said. “She curled up in a corner of the servants’ quarters. I think Hamid must have looked like her father, because out of all of us, she went running straight into his arms and clutched him tight. Called him Baba. Never saw him crack any real emotion until then. He’s watched over her like she’s his own since then.”
It wasn’t fair, I wanted to say.
But didn’t my father always say life wasn’t fair?
Now I understood just how right he was.
Chapter 25
I stepped into the garden as the sun was rising. Flecks of pink and violet streaked across the sky. I’d spent another night pressing Nasreen Baji’s head. She was finally asleep when I slipped out, the dark eye mask covering her face. My own eyes burned from exhaustion. Nabila’s words kept playing in a loop in my mind since yesterday.
A gray sparrow landed steps from my feet. Safa used to chase any bird that dared to land near our house. Omar teased her with a reward if she ever caught one. Until now, I didn’t realize how memories clumped together. Remembering one unlocked another and then another until you were drowning in a tidal wave threatening to sweep you away.
I thought as time passed my memories would hurt less, but grief was a funny thing. One minute I thought I’d made my peace, and the next I remembered my house so clearly I could almost touch it.
The longing threatened to claw my insides raw.
Tears slipped down my cheek.
Why did I do it? Why did I let my temper get the better of me that day outside the market? Regret, I was learning, was the sharpest knife there was.
The sparrow pecked the ground a moment longer before she fluttered her wings and flew above the tree line, over the brick walls, and out of sight.
I felt someone else’s presence. Looking back, I tensed. It was Nabila.
“It’s hard, but it gets easier with time,” she said.
“That’s impossible.” I said.
“What I do is keep my family, my friends, my old life, all in a separate part of my heart and try not to go there too often. The more parts you keep closed, the less it can hurt you.”
But I couldn’t forget my family and friends. It did hurt to think about them, but I was not going to forget them just because I was bound to this estate. If I stopped remembering my life before this, what reason would I have to go on?
“It helps to look forward to things,” she said. “I’m visiting my family in a few months. I’ll get to see my brothers and sisters. My cousins, too.”
She smiled. It was the first time she smiled at me. Without the harshness of her downturned lips, she was beautiful. Maybe Mumtaz’s words had settled in. Maybe she finally understood my circumstances were the same as hers. Whatever the reason, I appreciated the truce.
“I also like spending time in the garden,” she continued. “I look forward to feeding Chotu every day. It’s not much, but having things to be happy about, even little things, helps. Sometimes I go to the marketplace down the street from here. They have all kinds of things there—even books sometimes.”
“There’s a market?” I asked her.
“Yes, just about a five-minute walk from here,” she said. “I don’t have any money to buy anything, but I like browsing the snack stall and looking at the different fabrics for sale.”
“We can go to the market all by ourselves?”
“If we finish our work and no one needs us, why not?”
I looked at the brick walls surrounding the property. Who knew when I’d have enough free time to actually see the market for myself, but the thought of walking past the gates and being away from this house—even for just a few hours—eased a little of the ache settling into my chest.
Chapter 26
How’s your headache, Nasreen Baji?” I asked her the next morning.
“Thanks to you spending the last two nights massaging my head, much better. I’m heading out to meet a friend for a little while.”
“I’m glad. What should I do while you’re gone?”
“You deserve some rest.” She finished applying her lipstick. “Just finish tidying up the room and you can have the rest of the time to yourself until I return.”
I thought it would be days, weeks maybe, until I could venture beyond this estate. My head was foggy from another sleepless night, but when would I have this chance again? I quickly straightened her room after she left and slipped on my satchel.
“Where are you off to?” Mumtaz asked when she found me in the foyer.
“Just a walk. Nasreen Baji said I could have the afternoon to myself while she was gone.”
I hurried down the foyer and out the door.
Sliding my shawl over my head to shield my eyes from the bright sun, I approached the gate and the stocky guard holding a rifle. I had forgotten about him. I edged closer to explain myself, but before I could even say a word, he wordlessly swung the gate open. All this time I thought he was here to trap me inside, but it was I who had decided I could not leave.
I walked until the lush grounds of the estate melted into the main road. For a brief second I considered turning right, toward home. But it took so long to drive here. I could never walk home and back in one afternoon.
I craned my neck. A smattering of buildings dotted the horizon. I followed a few winding roads until I reached the market. I paused. From a distance it had looked like my own open-air market. There were even signs for the butcher, sweet maker, and milk store. But the buildings were boarded up. There was no one here.
The sun blazed down as a wave of heaviness settled over me. Even if the market had been a perfectly fine one, it wouldn’t have been my market. It wouldn’t have been Shaukat selling fruit. There would be no Seema. No Hafsa. No Safa.
I walked past a block of brown and gray slab homes. No children played outside. No women sifted lentils or dusted rugs. A faded newspaper lay crumpled next to a front stoop. I edged over and read the date. It was two years old.
I remembered the rumors about Hazarabad, the village Fozia had said Jawad Sahib had personally destroyed. I hadn’t fully believed them. Until now.
I tried to hurry back the way I came, but the road I took ended at a blackened field. Skeletal orange groves filled the landscape.
By the time I found my way out of the maze of streets and alleyways, perspiration soaked my clothing and tears blurred my eyes.
It was the strangest thing to see the Khan estate and feel relief.
* * *
• • •
Stepping into the foyer, I felt the welcome blast of cooled air. Then I heard Jawad yelling. His voice echoed down the hallway.
This was the first time I’d ever heard him yell. His quiet penetrating glare was intimidating enough, which is why hearing his voice echo off the marble now made me cringe. Poor Bilal. Working for such a man couldn’t be easy.
Then I heard a high-pitched sound, like an injured kitten. Inching closer, I saw Nabila. She was in the dining room, and Jawad Sahib towered over her.
“You helped her run away.”
Run away?
“I had nothing to do with it. I swear!”
Jawad Sahib lifted
his hand.
He was going to hit her. He was going to hit her because of me.
“Wait,” I cried out. “Don’t!”
Jawad Sahib’s eyes widened when he saw me.
“Where were you?” He walked toward me.
“The market,” I managed to say. “I got lost coming back.”
“What market? There is no market. You dare lie to my face?” he shouted.
“I know that now.” I trembled. “I came back as soon as I could. I wasn’t running away.”
“Are you a guest in my home?”
His voice vibrated through my body as the realization dawned on me—Nabila had played me again. She spun me a tale, and I believed every word. I needed to explain to him exactly what happened this time.
But before I could respond, Jawad Sahib did.
Until that moment, I never knew a slap had a taste.
A metallic taste in your mouth, like blood.
Someone gripped my elbow. They pulled me toward them. Nasreen Baji.
“Jawad!”
“I’m not letting this go unaddressed.”
“It’s addressed. You’ve made your point. Don’t lay another hand on her.”
“She was running away!”
“Running away? What is she doing here, then?”
He leaned toward me.
“Changing your mind doesn’t buy you penance. I’ll decide your punishment, but you will never disrespect me again.”
He walked away without another word.
Didn’t he understand?
Wasn’t this—my being here—punishment enough?
Chapter 27
Nasreen Baji insisted I not leave the confines of our rooms the rest of the day. What more did she think Jawad Sahib would do? The numbness of the initial assault now faded, the bruise deepened into my skin, along with an anger so hot, it threatened to burn me alive.
Why did I take Nabila at her word? Why couldn’t I have at least mentioned it to Mumtaz before I dashed off at the first opportunity?
There was no leaving this place.
There never would be.
“You weren’t really running away, were you?” Nasreen Baji asked that evening.
“No, Baji.”
“There are only so many times my son will let things pass. You must remember: You can’t forget your place.”
Forget my place? Every day I woke up without the scent of my mother’s breakfast wafting through the air. Every day I woke to deafening silence instead of my sisters’ laughter and shrieks. Every day I remembered everything I lost. I realized now that as kind as Nasreen Baji could be to me, she could never understand my position.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It will never happen again.”
“Let me take a look at you.” She motioned me toward her. “It will take a few days, but it will fade. I spoke with Jawad. He agrees you’ve been punished enough.”
When she left to watch television in the living room that night, I returned to my room. No sooner did I sit down than the door creaked open. Fatima stepped inside. She carried a wooden tray with a bowl of lentils.
“Baba sent this for you.” She set the tray down on my bed.
“Tell him I said thank you.”
I saw a scrap of paper balled up in her fist.
“What’s that?”
She handed the paper over shyly. I unfolded it. Line after line, an entire page was filled with the letter alif.
“Good work, Fatima! See how fast you learned?” I pulled out a pencil from my satchel and turned the paper over. I drew the next letter. “It’s curved like a cooking pot with a floating dot. You call it bey.”
“Bey,” she repeated.
I’d handed her the pencil to try it herself when the door opened again. Nabila and Mumtaz walked in.
“Nabila wants to say something to you,” Mumtaz said. Nabila stood by the door, her arms limp at her sides.
“I’m sorry.” Nabila glanced at Mumtaz and then back at me.
“It’s done now,” I said.
“It’s just that everything was fine until you came here.” Her lower lip quivered. “I served Baji loyally for years. I never complained. And now? She looks past me as if I don’t exist.”
“And the same will happen to me, too, one day, won’t it?” I snapped. “I can’t control it any more than you could.”
“Amal’s right. Nasreen chose to do what she did. It wasn’t Amal’s doing,” Mumtaz said. “Nabila, jealousy will only hurt you. And, Amal, holding on to anger is useless. You both could be here forever, and the sooner you stop fighting and realize you are in the same situation, the easier your lives will be.”
“You’re right,” Nabila said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
“My head hurts,” I said. “I’d like to rest.”
Nabila searched my face before she followed Mumtaz and Fatima out of the room.
Forever.
Mumtaz said I could be here forever. I used to say the walk to the market took forever when the weather was especially hot. And that summers felt endless because I missed school. Only now that I was trapped did I understand the heaviness of forever.
If this was to be my life now, if this really was where I’d be stuck, then I did have to let go of what happened with Nabila. This was what my mother would tell me to do. She would tell me the only one I hurt by holding a grudge was myself. But how could I let it go? The thought seemed as impossible as leaving this gated estate behind me for good.
Chapter 28
I ironed and sorted Nasreen Baji’s clothing the next day while she was out with her son visiting a prospective bride. Even though I knew Jawad Sahib wasn’t here, stepping foot into the open foyer that afternoon left me feeling exposed.
Thankfully, the halls were empty right now.
I was walking down the hallway toward the main verandah to gather fresh flowers to replace the ones in her vases when I heard a knock on the front door.
Bilal hurried down the hallway and looked out the window.
“It’s them again.” He paled.
“Who?” I asked him.
“The p-police,” he stammered. “But Jawad Sahib—he’s gone. What do we do?”
The knocking resumed. Louder now.
Bilal glanced at me and bit his lip before he reached up and unlatched the door. Two police officers in dark green uniforms with brown batons and steel guns holstered at their waists sauntered into the marble foyer.
“Where is he?” the taller one asked Bilal.
“Jawad Sahib?” Bilal asked.
“Well, I’m not here to see you, am I?” the other officer retorted. His mustache was thick like bicycle handles. “Of course Jawad Sahib. Where is he?”
“He’s not here.” Bilal studied the ground. “He is out with his mother.”
“When will they be back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Good timing.” The taller officer smiled at the other one.
“I have a knack for these things.” The mustached office grinned.
“No harm in taking a look around,” the taller one said. “Might find some fun surprises along the way.”
“We’ll find what we need faster without him breathing down our neck, anyway,” the other one said, and smirked.
How could they openly discuss wandering around and disrupting Jawad Sahib’s property? As if Bilal and I didn’t exist?
These officers didn’t care because it wouldn’t be them Jawad Sahib would blame.
I expected Bilal to stop these men, whose muddy feet were already tracking footprints onto the marble floor, but he stood frozen to the side.
The officers wandered toward the hallway to the left of the spiral staircase, the one with the cream carpet, so difficult to clean.
No.
I wa
s not going to let these police officers get us in trouble.
“Jawad Sahib will not be pleased if you walk around his house while he’s not here,” I called out.
“And who will tell him?” The taller one turned around and studied my face. “You’d be smart to remember he’s not the only one who can leave bruises.”
“If you have a message for him, I can relay it.”
“My message is for you to mind your business. The guards understand this, and the boy over there definitely does. You’d be wise to follow their lead.”
“Yes, go sweep the stairs, little girl. This doesn’t concern you,” the mustached one said.
“It does concern me.” I pointed to their shoes. “You’ve tracked mud into the foyer, and once it gets to the carpet, I can’t imagine anyone, especially Jawad Sahib, will be happy to see your footprints.”
“She’s right.”
Jawad Sahib stood at the front door; Nasreen Baji clutched his arm.
“The girl misunderstood us,” the tall one sputtered. “We were only inquiring where you were.”
“And since when do you arrive unannounced?”
“Forgive us, but the orders came from above; our boss told us to get word to you immediately.”
Jawad Sahib stared at them. “You’d be smart to remember you have more than one boss,” he said.
“Yes, Jawad Sahib, you are right,” the taller officer said.
The vein at the base of Jawad Sahib’s neck throbbed. He strode to the backyard. The officers hurried after him.
“Well done, Amal,” Nasreen Baji said. “That couldn’t have been easy.”
None of this is easy, I wanted to tell her.
My new life was simply about making choices, none of which I actually wished to make.
Chapter 29
I walked into the kitchen with Nasreen Baji’s empty lunch tray that afternoon. When I stepped through the double doors, Hamid was patting down balls of dough while Fatima and Nabila were setting the servant plates and bowls onto the counter.