Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor

by Umera Ahmed

  She sat motionless with the mobile to her ear, listening to Jalal. 'Did you not try to make him agree?'

  After a long pause, Jalal said 'I tried my best. He said that if your people were willing then he would also consent, regardless of your family's faith, but without their consent our marriage is just not acceptable to him.'

  'And what what do you say?'

  'Imama, I'm unable to think,' Jalal said plaintively.

  'Jalal, my parents will never agree to my marrying you. If I were to marry you, our entire community would boycott my parents and they would not be able to bear this. And then there is my engagement to Asjad.'

  When Jalal insisted she try again, Imama said, 'I've already been slapped by my father just for disclosing that I am interested in someone else. If he should discover that you're not from the same faith as ours, he'll kill me.' She begged Jalal to try again to persuade his father.

  Jalal relented but he was very upset. Imama was in despair after her conversation with Jalal: she had never thought that his parents would object to their getting married. Cell phone in her hand, she sat lost in thought.

  -------------------------

  'Your father has already spoken to me about this and he's absolutely right: you have no business putting yourself into peril.' Jalal's mother spoke with finality when he approached her.

  'I can't see what's so perilous—you're needlessly anxious,' he protested.

  'Jalal, you're naive to the point of stupidity! Your father knows Imama's family and their background. What do you think—that they'll leave you alone once you get married or that they'll not hound us?'

  Jalal persisted. 'We'll keep the marriage secret—no one will get to know. I'll leave for my specialization and then call Imama over after some time.'

  'I see no reason why we should take such a risk for Imama's sake. And you should know that we do not marry outside the family—there are plenty of eligible girls. Had I known your inclination, I'd have fixed you up elsewhere,' she said angrily. 'It makes no difference that you like her: what matters is what we think, and your father and I do not like Imama or her family.'

  He tried his best to convince his mother—that she had seen Imama up close as she was Zainab's friend, that Imama had taken a major step in changing her faith and needed support and sympathy...

  'Well then, her taking a major decision doesn't mean that she should put others in a risky situation. I respect her decision, she did the right thing, but we have our own concerns,' she continued in a gentler tone. 'Think rationally: you have to go abroad to establish yourself professionally, set up your own hospital one day. Getting married into a good family will help you achieve your aims—you have no idea how many offers there have been for you.'

  'What can you hope to get by marrying Imama? Her family will boycott her and it'll be a social stigma for all. Have you thought of the future—what will you say when your own children question you?'

  Jalal's mother spoke somberly and he listened without interruption or protest, impassive. It was hard to gauge from his expression if her words had had any impact.

  -------------------------

  Imama called Jalal again the next night: he received the call. His words plunged her into despair when he disclosed that he'd spoken to his mother and she was more opposed to this match than his father was.

  'When I told her about your decision, she said it was your problem, not ours.' Jalal's bluntness pierced Imama.

  'I've tried my best, Imama, but there's no way my mother will agree,' Jalal conceded quietly.

  'Can't you marry me without their approval?' she asked plaintively.

  'No, I cannot—I love them too much to hurt them, to take this step without their good wishes.'

  She begged and pleaded with him to rescue her from this situation, to save her life, but he was firm in his reply. 'I cannot disobey my parents. Don't pressurize me so.'

  Imama's nerves were shattered. She had never abased herself so. She entreated him to have the nikah read secretly and said he could also then marry anyone else of his parents' choice—that she'd have no objection.

  'Imama, stop being so childish! You should know what it'll mean if my parents get to know: they'll throw me out of the house. What are we supposed to do then?'

  'We'll work hard, we'll do something, we'll survive.'

  'Will this "something" finance my studies abroad?' His tone was sharp, sarcastic. She had no answer.

  'No, Imama, I can't sacrifice my dreams, my ambitions for you or for anyone else. I love you, yes, but I cannot display such sentimentality like you. Do not call me again because I am putting this whole affair behind me. I feel sorry for you but you have to solve your problems yourself—I can't help you. Khuda hafiz.'

  Jalal hung up. It was 10.50 p.m. Imama felt as if her world had gone up in smoke around her. Who knew better than her, at this moment, the agony of losing everything that was once within her grasp? He mind was numb, her very being torn: she sat on her bed like a lifeless statue.

  'I should tell Baba everything...what other option do I have? Perhaps, he'll throw me out—at least, I'll be free of this place.'

  -------------------------

  'I do not want to marry Asjad so the question of shopping for the wedding does not arise,' Imama told her mother in a determined tone.

  'First you were opposed to the idea of getting married; now you are opposed to marrying Asjad—what on earth do you want to do?' her mother was exasperated.

  'I don't want to marry Asjad.'

  'Then who do you want to marry?' Hashim Mubeen was standing in the door. He must have certainly heard the conversation between Imama and her mother when he was in the corridor. He could not control his temper. Imama was silent.

  'Tell me, who is it that you want to marry? Have you lost your tongue? Why don't you want to marry Asjad? What's your problem? Answer me!' He was screaming furiously.

  Imama composed herself and spoke courageously. 'Baba, marriage is a lifetime commitment. I want to marry of my own choice.'

  Till yesterday, Asjad was your choice,' he reminded her bitterly.

  That was yesterday, not today,' she replied.

  'Why not now? Tell me, why not now?' he asked in a raised voice.

  For a few moments, Imama looked at him without a word. Then she said, 'Baba, I want to marry a Muslim.'

  The heavens seemed to fall on Hashim Mubeen. 'What did you say?' he asked uncertainly.

  'I do not want to marry a non-Muslim because I have changed my faith to Islam.'

  There was absolute silence in the room for the next few minutes. Salma was in a state of shock and Hashim Mubeen...he seemed to have turned into stone. He stared speechlessly at Imama, as though he had forgotten how to breathe. He had never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he would have to face such a situation in his own home, and that too at the hands of his most loved child. His life was being sucked onto a vortex.

  'What the hell do you mean?' Rage rose up in him like a wave.

  'You know what I mean, Baba. You know very well.'

  'You're out of your mind!' he hollered. Imama shook her head silently; she knew the state of his mind. 'Was this why we brought you into the world...that you should... you...' He searched for words. 'You're doing all this just so that your marriage to Asjad should be called off, that you can marry the man of your choice!'

  'No, it's not that.'

  'It is...do you take me to be stupid?' Hashim Mubeen was frothing at the mouth.

  'You can arrange my wedding with anyone you like. I have no complaint as long as he is not from your community. At least, then you cannot say that I did all this for a particular person.'

  Her father's anger knew no bounds: just a chit of a girl and telling him what to do. What did she know?

  'I know a lot, Baba. I'm twenty years old; I don't have to be led by you. I know that your faith has brought a great deal of prosperity to our family.' She spoke with composure in a steady voice.

  'You will n
ot be forgiven for your sins!' He admonished her. Imama felt sorry for him—he was standing in Hell and warning her of its horrors. She felt sorry for the man whose eyes were blindfolded, whose heart was sealed. She felt sorry for him whose soul had been crushed, who stood at the topmost level of waywardness and error.

  'You have been led astray...just reading a few books has...' he began to say, but Imama interrupted him.

  'You will not be able to debate with me on this issue. I know everything— I have researched and confirmed it. What can you tell me or explain? You have chosen your path and I have chosen mine. You are doing what you think is right and I do what I believe to be right. Your faith is your personal matter and mine is my personal matter. Isn't it better that you accept my decision as a conscious deliberate act rather than as an emotional step?' Imama spoke with dignity and clarity, but her attitude further provoked her father.

  'Allowing you to change your faith... do you know the repercussions? The community will boycott me and I'll be reduced to nothing. We'll be brought to the streets. No, Imama, this cannot be! You may have lost your mind but I haven't lost mine. You can follow whatever faith you wish, but you will marry Asjad and be part of their family. Leave this house and go live with them—perhaps, you will then know what to do with your life.'

  Hashim Mubeen stormed out of the room. As soon as he left, Salma turned on Imama, seething. 'If I'd known what shame you were going to bring on us, I'd have strangled you at birth. You seem determined to humiliate us in public'

  Imama looked at her without a word. Salma went on ranting and raving, and then walked out. About an hour after Salma left, there was a knock on the door—it was Asjad. Imama did not expect to see him here. Worry was written all across his face. Apparently, Hashim Mubeen had called him over and disclosed everything to him.

  'What's going on, Imama? Why are you doing this?' he asked as he entered.

  'Asjad, if you've been told what I have done, then you must also know why I've done it.'

  'You do not realize what you've done,' he said, pulling up a chair. 'One makes such decisions in a fit of sentimentality...'

  'I'm aware of my actions.' Imama cut across his words. 'What do you mean by sentimentality? Does one change one's faith out of sentiment? I have been studying Islam for the last four years, and that's not a short period.'

  'You must have been swayed by others' views. You...'

  'No, I was not swayed by anyone. I discarded what I thought was wrong and took up what is right, that's all.'

  Asjad had no grounds for argument. He shook his head and said, 'Very well—your faith is your concern, but why are you against our getting married? Let the wedding take place.'

  'You and I cannot get married. It will not be valid.'

  Asjad was shocked. 'Why? Am I not a Muslim?'

  When she replied in the affirmative, he blurted out, 'Uncle was right— you've been brainwashed!'

  'Then why should you want to marry such a girl? It's better that you find someone else for yourself,' she retorted.

  'I don't want you to ruin your life.'

  'Ruin my life?' she laughed. 'What life? The life I am living with people who have sold their souls for worldly wealth?'

  'Behave yourself! You seem to have forgotten your manners the way you speak so carelessly—saying what you like about anyone,' Asjad rebuked her.

  'I cannot respect a person who's leading others astray,' she said curtly.

  'At your age, people do become confused about their identity. When you're older, you'll understand whether we're on the right path or the wrong one.' Asjad calmed down and tried to pacify her.

  'If you people think I'm in the wrong, then why don't you leave me alone, let me go free? Why am I a prisoner here? If you believe that your faith is true, let me find out for myself...'

  'If someone so close is bent on self-destruction, and that too a girl, we can't just leave her to destroy herself. Imama try to understand the sensitivity of this situation—your family and all they have is at stake because of you.'

  'Nothing is at stake because of me...even so, why should I care? Why should I go to hell for their beliefs or cast aside my faith for their sake? Asjad, I cannot tread this misguided path with you all—let me go where I choose.' Imama's voice was firm.

  'And even if you forced me to marry you, it will be of no use to you: I will not be your wife in the real sense. I will not be faithful to you. I'll escape whenever I get the chance...how long will you imprison me or guard me? And I'll take your children away too—you'll never see them again.' She tried to paint a horrifying picture of their future. 'If I were you, I'd never marry a girl like Imama Hashim: it would be a total loss, the limit of foolishness. You still have the opportunity to refuse—your future is at stake. Why don't you marry a nice girl of your community and live a happy life? Not me—I'll prove to be the worst nightmare. Asjad, just say no to this match; tell Uncle Azam you don't want to marry me. Or go away somewhere and come back when this matter blows over.'

  'Stop giving me this silly advice: I'm not going to give you up—never. Nor am I going to pull out of this relationship or run away from home. You're the only one I will marry. Now it's a question of our family's honor and name. If you had any idea of the losses we'll have to face should this wedding be called off, you would not come up with such crazy notions. As far as being a bad wife or running away is concerned, that is a later issue. I know your temperament well—you're not inclined to harass people unnecessarily— least of all me who you love,' Asjad concluded complacently.

  'You're mistaken, Asjad, I've never been in love with you and, especially since I accepted Islam, I have severed my relationship with you. You're nowhere in my life now. If I can be a problem for my family, you should know what problems will follow for you and your family—so don't fool yourself. We cannot be together: I cannot be a part of your family.' She paused, and then went on. 'There's a vast gulf between us, Asjad—we're so far apart that I cannot even see you. And I will not bridge this gulf. I'm just not prepared to marry you.'

  Asjad's color changed as he watched and heard Imama.

  -------------------------

  'Can you do me a favor?'

  'What do you think I've been doing all along?' asked Salar.

  There was silence at the other end; then she said, 'Can you go to Lahore and meet Jalal?'

  Salar closed his eyes momentarily. 'Why?' Imama's voice was low, heavy with tears.

  To request him on my behalf—to marry me. If not forever, then temporarily—I want to leave this house and cannot do so without his help. Tell him to just have the nikah finalized.'

  'You're in touch with him on the phone, why don't you tell him yourself?' Salar said while munching on potato crisps.

  'I did' she replied more tearfully. 'He refused.'

  'Very sad,' said Salar. 'So it's a one-sided love affair.'

  'No.'

  'Then why did he refuse?'

  'What's it to you?' She was peeved.

  'What is the point of my going all the way to talk to him—you can call him again.'

  'But he does not speak to me; he doesn't receive the phone nor will he take any calls at the hospital. He's pointedly avoiding me.'

  'Then why are you chasing him? Obviously, he doesn't love you.'

  'You can't understand this—just help me out. Go there and tell him about my situation—he can't do this to me.'

  'And if he should refuse to entertain me—then?'

  'You can still try—at least once. Perhaps, a way can be found out of this mess.'

  A smile arose on Salar's lips. He found Imama's predicament amusing. He switched off the phone and thought about her problem as he popped crisps into his mouth. He was getting more deeply involved in Imama's situation—it was the biggest adventure of his life, it seemed: first smuggling the cell phone to Imama, now contacting her boyfriend, Jalal. Imama had told Salar in detail about Jalal's home and the hospital. He was now thinking of what he'd say to Jalal.
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  Salar took a good look at the man before him. He was disappointed—an ordinary face and build, and medium height; perhaps he would have looked better without that beard. Salar's good looks, tall frame and athletic physique made him very attractive to the opposite sex, but this person was bereft of such advantages. Salar wondered what it was that had drawn Imama to this man. He thought she was more foolish than he believed.

  'I am Jalal Ansar. You wanted to meet me?'

  'Salar Sikandar,' Salar extended his hand.

  'Sorry, I didn't recognize you.'

  'Naturally, we're meeting for the first time.' Salar had come to the hospital, looking for Jalal. With a little help, he found him and was now with him in front of the duty room.

  'Can we sit down somewhere and talk?' asked Salar.

  'Talk about what?' Jalal looked somewhat concerned.

  'About Imama.'

  'Who are you?' Jalal's expression changed.

  'I'm her friend.' Jalal looked at Salar without a word and they began to walk.

  'My car's in the parking lot—let's go there,' suggested Salar. They did not exchange a word till they reached the car.

  'I've come from Islamabad,' began Salar. 'Imama wanted me to speak to you.'

  'Imama never mentioned you to me,' Jalal said rather oddly. 'Since when do you know her?'

  'Almost since childhood...our houses are adjacent. We're very good friends.' Salar didn't know why he made the last statement. Maybe he was enjoying the spectrum of expressions crossing Jalal's face—he had noticed his look of displeasure.

  'I've spoken to Imama in detail. I cannot see what's left to talk about after that,' Jalal said in a flat tone.

  'Imama wants you to marry her.' Salar's voice was equally expressionless, like a newsreader's.