by Umera Ahmed
His words hit Salar like a whiplash.
'Virtuous? I'm not a virtuous man, Dr Ali! I ... I am the most despicable of the despised. Had you known me, you would not have used this word to describe me, nor would you have selected me to marry this girl who's like a daughter to you.'
'In our lives, we've all passed through this 'Age of Ignorance' at some stage. Some of us go through it while some are stuck in it all their lives. You have passed through it—your regret and remorse indicate that. I will not stop you from regretting your actions nor from seeking forgiveness—it is incumbent upon you to do so all your life—but also be grateful that you have been rid of a diseased ego.
'If the material world no longer attracts you, if the fear of Allah brings tears to your eyes, and the vision of hell frightens you, if you worship Allah as you should, if goodness draws you towards it and you repel evil, then you are virtuous. Some are born virtuous, some become virtuous. To be good by nature is indeed fortunate but to become good is like walking on a double-edged sword; it takes a longer time and is more painful.
'I still hold that you are a virtuous man because you have worked towards it, and Allah has destined greater deeds for you.'
Salar's eyes had moistened. Dr Ali had again neither said anything about Imama nor questioned him. Did it mean that she was out of his life forever? Did it mean that she would never, in the future, be a part of his life? Would he have to spend his life with Amina? His heart seemed to sink at the thought. He wanted to hear from Dr Ali some consoling words, something to give him hope.
Dr Ali was quiet. Salar looked at him in silence.
'I'll pray deeply for you and Amina. In fact, I have prayed earnestly at the Kaaba and at the tomb of our dear Prophet (PBUH).' On his way back from London, Dr Ali had gone to perform the Umra. Salar lowered his head. From a distance, the call for prayer could be heard. A servant was laying out the iftar. With a heavy heart, he broke his fast with Dr Ali, and then accompanied him for the maghrib prayer, to a nearby mosque. On his return, he had dinner with Dr Ali and then drove back to his flat.
'Can you come with me to Saeeda Amma's tomorrow?' Salar called up Furqan on his return from Dr Ali's place. It was about 10:00 p.m. Furqan was on night duty.
'Yes, why not—anything special?'
'I need to talk to Amina about some things.'
Furqan was unable to respond: Salar's tone was very even, with no hint of bitterness in his voice.
'What sort of things?'
'Nothing to worry about,' Salar tried to calm his fears.
'But all the same,' Furqan persisted. 'Do you want to tell her about
Imama?'
'First, answer my question: will you come with me?' asked Salar, instead of replying to his query.
'Yes, I will.'
'Then I'll tell you tomorrow what I have to say to her.' Before Furqan could say anything, Salar had hung up.
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'You want to talk to her about Imama?' Furqan asked as he was driving.
'No, not just about Imama, but many other things too.'
'For God's sake, Salar, don't try to rake up issues that are dead and buried!' Furqan was visibly annoyed.
'She should know my priorities and my aims in life, if she has to spend the rest of it with me,' Salar said, taking no notice of Furqan's agitation.
'She'll get to know—she's a sensible girl and she'll understand once she comes and lives with you. You can tell her then instead of going there and opening a Pandora's Box.'
'What's the point in telling her after she comes to my place, and has no path of return? I want her to listen to what I have to say, to understand it, think over it, and then take a decision.'
'She can't take any decision now, she's already married to you.'
'Yes, but the marriage has not been consummated.'
'What difference does that make?'
'Why not? If she has any objection to what I have to say, she can review this relationship.' Salar replied very seriously.
Furqan fixed a piercing gaze on him. 'And what sort of facts and justifications do you propose presenting her with for this review?'
'Just a few things, knowing which is necessary for her,' Salar brusquely replied. 'They are Dr Ali's relatives and, as such, I hold them in high regard. If he had not told me, this relationship would not have been established either. But I ....'
Furqan intervened without letting him complete. 'Fine, say whatever you have to, but just tone down the Imama bit, because if anything will hurt her, this is it. Maybe, she won't mind about the other things, but it is not easy to be, and be known as, the second wife.' He tried to make Salar understand.
'And I want her to feel and think about this. You say she's beautiful, well-educated, from a good family, etc....'
Furqan cut across again. 'Quit it, Salar! Go and tell her whatever you want to...'
'I want to speak to her in privacy.'
'I'll tell Saeeda Amma. She'll arrange it for you to meet Amina alone.' Furqan shook his head in frustration.
Half an hour later, they were at Saeeda Amma's. She opened the door and was beside herself with joy at seeing Salar and Furqan at her doorstep. She took them to the sitting room.
'Saeeda Amma, Salar wants to speak to Amina in privacy,' Furqan announced as they entered the room.
Saeeda Amma looked a little flustered. 'Speak about what?' She now looked at Salar, who was standing with Furqan.
'There are some things that he wants to tell her himself. It's nothing to worry about,' Furqan tried to allay her fears. She looked at Salar again: he looked away.
'Very well... come with me, Amina is indoors. You can meet her there.' Saeeda Amma went in, and giving Furqan a look, Salar followed her.
The sitting room was to the left of the entrance and to the right was a staircase going up. Ahead of them, raised by few steps was a big, old-fashioned wooden door that was ajar. Beyond that, a spacious red-tiled courtyard could be seen. Saeeda Amma was moving towards that door. Salar was a few steps behind her. As she entered the courtyard, Salar was on the stairs, a little hesitant.
There were flower beds along the boundary wall of the courtyard: the greenery of the shrubs and creepers on the red-brick wall looked beautiful. Sunshine filled part of the courtyard, making the red of the bricks and tiles, even more brilliant. Salar suddenly stopped in his tracks. There was a charpai in the sunlit portion of the yard and a girl, who must have been sitting there, now stood with her back to them. She was dressed in a white kurta and a black shalwar, and must have just showered as her hair hung in wet locks down to her waist. Her white dupatta lay across the charpai. Rolling up her sleeves to her elbows, she turned to face Salar.
Salar stood still, his breath taken away. Never in his life had he seen a more beautiful girl, or perhaps no one had ever appeared as beautiful to him as this girl. Certainly, this must be Amina. Who else could it be—there was no one else in this house except her? He stood rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes off her. Someone had his heart in her grip and he could not say if its beat had stopped or raced on.
There was much distance between him and Amina. As she had turned, her glance first fell on Saeeda Amma.
'Salar is here.' Saeeda Amma was close to Amina, who craned her neck to look beyond at the entrance to the courtyard. Salar noticed her surprise; then she turned again, her back to Salar. He saw her bend and pick up her dupatta from the bed and wrap herself up in it, covering her head too. He could no longer see her hair spread out on her back. However, he was surprised by her composure—there was no anxiety, no haste, no amazement in her mien.
Saeeda Amma turned towards Salar, and finding him still standing in the doorway, said, 'Come in, son! Why are you still standing there? This too is your home.'
Amina, having covered herself with her dupatta, looked at him again. He was still staring, at her, without batting an eye, motionless, as though turned to stone. A look crossed Amina's face: Salar had moved forward.
This is Amina, my daughter,' Saeeda Amma introduced her.
'Assalaam Alaikum,' Salar heard Amina say. But he was unable to respond. She was a few feet away and it was hard to keep looking at her. He was getting nervous; Amina sensed his anxiety.
'Salar wants to talk to you,' Saeeda Amma informed Amina.
Amina looked at Salar again. Their eyes met and they looked away. Amina looked at Saeeda Amma and Salar looked at Amina's hands, covered with hennaed patterns to her wrists. He felt he could not bring himself to say anything to this girl.
'Salar, let's go into the room, son. You can sit there and talk to Amina.' Saeeda Amma was addressing him now. She moved towards the veranda and Salar saw Amina follow her, head lowered. He stood where he was, seeing them go ahead. Saeeda Amma opened the door and went in. Standing in the door, Amina turned to look at Salar. He swiftly lowered his gaze. Amina looked at him again, perhaps surprised—why wasn't he coming into the room? Without looking at her, Salar moved forward, and relieved, as it were, Amina went in.
Saeeda Amma was already seated there when Salar came in. Amina switched on the light. Stepping from the sun, Salar could feel the coolness in the room.
'Sit down, son,' gestured Saeeda Amma. Salar took a seat on a chair and further way, Amina sat across him on a couch.
Salar was waiting for Saeeda Amma to leave in a while. Furqan had told her quite clearly that Salar wanted to be alone when speaking to Amina. But after a while, Salar realised it was futile to expect her to leave them alone. Either she had forgotten that they needed privacy or she had thought that it meant simply that Furqan would stay away, or perhaps, she did not yet trust Salar alone with her daughter. Salar was inclined to agree with the last possibility. Whatever he had wanted to tell Amina could not be said in her mother's presence. He tried to search his mind for something to say—after all he had to say something! But his mind was blank. In the semi-dark and cool room, there was complete silence. His fingers intertwined, Salar kept looking at the floor.
Amina switched on a decorative light in the room. Perhaps this high-ceilinged room, crammed with furniture, was once a sitting room. It had many doors, all of which were shut, and the solitary window in the room, opening into the veranda, had curtains over it. The floor was covered by an elaborately patterned maroon carpet and that fancy light fixture failed to light up the room.
Salar found the room dark—or perhaps, it was his sentiments.'I should go and see my optician today. My distance vision seems to be getting weaker along with my nearer vision,' he thought, wistfully. He was unable to clearly see Amina who was seated across the centre table. He fixed his gaze on the carpet, again. Then he saw Amina get up and switch on another light. In the white glare of the tube light, the room suddenly brightened up. Why had she not done that before, he wondered, as the fancy lamp was turned off—perhaps, she was nervous too. She came back and sat down, but not opposite him: this time she took a chair near Saeeda Amma. Salar didn't try to look at her this time—he focused his attention on the carpet. Saeeda Amma's patience finally gave way. She cleared her throat to attract Salar's attention.
'Son, say what it was that you wanted to discuss with Amina,' she reminded him very affectionately. 'You've been quiet so long that I'm getting really worried.'
Salar took a long, deep breath and looked at Amina and then Saeeda Amma. 'Nothing more—I just wanted to see her.'
He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. Saeeda Amma's face lit up.
'So that's all, is it? Furqan scared me to the core. Yes, of course, you may look at her—after all, she's your wife.'
He stood up. 'Please ask her to pack her things. I'll be waiting outside,' he told Saeeda Amma as he moved towards the door. Startled, Amina looked at him and so did Saeeda Amma.
'But, son, you came here just to talk to her, and now you want to take her along...I wanted to give her a proper send-off...'
Salar interrupted her gently. 'Consider this the send-off...that I have come to take her home.'
Saeeda Amma looked at him intently, and then said, 'Very well. If this is how you want it, then this is how it will be, but at least wait till iftar. It's a matter of a few hours—you can have dinner and then leave.'
'No, thank you. Furqan and I have some work to do. I had asked him to give me an hour to come here—I won't be able to stay too long.'
'But, Amma, it will take me quite some time to pack my things.' Imama spoke up, joining the conversation for the first time. She was still seated on the chair. Without looking at Amina, Salar addressed Saeeda Amma.
'Please tell her to do her packing comfortably—as long as it takes. I'll be waiting.'
He left the room.
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Furqan looked at Salar in surprise as he entered the sitting room. 'You're back so soon? I thought you'd take more time.'
Instead of replying, Salar just sat down. Furqan watched his face intently.
'All okay?'
'Yes.'
'Did you meet Amina?'
'Yes.'
'Then?'
'Then what?'
'Let's go?'
'No.'
'Why"
'I'm taking Amina with me.'
'What!' Furqan was stunned. 'But you had come to talk to her. What made you change your mind all of a sudden?'
Salar gave him a strange look. 'I simply thought I should.'
Furqan gave him a troubled look.
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When they reached Salar's apartment two hours later, there wasn't much time left to the iftar. Salar had bought some eatables for iftar on their way home. Furqan wanted to take them home to break the fast with him, but Salar did not agree. Furqan asked his wife to come over to Salar's.
She set the table for iftar. Amina tried to help but Furqan and his wife declined the offer. Salar did not intervene—he went to the balcony, cell phone in hand. Sitting in the lounge, Amina saw him through the window panes, pacing up and down, in serious conversation with someone.
All the way from Saeeda Amma's house to his own apartment, he had not spoken to Amina even once. From time to time, Furqan had tried to make small talk. The same was happening now. Salar did not break his silence even at the iftar table. Furqan and his wife served Amina with different snacks. She keenly felt Salar's cold attitude and his silence.
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After breaking the fast, he came out with Furqan for the maghrib prayers. Furqan had to go back to the hospital after the prayers. As they left the mosque and walked towards the car park, Furqan said, 'You are very quiet.'
Salar glanced at him, but walked on without a word.
'Don't you want to say something?' Furqan was trying hard to break this spell of silence. Salar looked up at the sky. After sunset, a fog seemed to be descending towards the ground. He sighed deeply, then looked at Furqan.
'No, I have nothing to say.' As they walked along, Furqan heard him mumble, 'I am not up to saying anything today.'
Furqan felt a rush of pity for him. He patted Salar's shoulder in sympathy.
'I can understand your feelings, but such things happen in life all along. Whatever you could do for Imama, you did. You waited for her as long as you could—eight or nine years is no joke. If this girl is the one destined for you, then we can do nothing about it.'
Salar looked at him with expressionless eyes.
'It was not Imama's fate to come into this house. It was Amina's fate and she did. It has been just seven days since you married her and she's in your home on the eighth day. It's been nine years since you married Imama and she has not been able to come to here as yet. Can't you understand that Imama is not your destiny?'
He tried his best to convince Salar.
'We have many wishes, many desires—Allah fulfils some and He does not fulfill others. It's possible that not getting Imama is in your best interest. Possibly, you were marked for Amina. Maybe a few years down the road, you'll never tire of
thanking Allah for the same thing.' They had now reached the parking lot. Furqan's car was in the front row.
'I have yet to see a person whose every wish in life has come true—so why should one complain? Try to make your life with Amina a good one.'
Furqan unlocked the car door, but before getting in, he placed his hands on Salar's shoulders and gently pecked him on both cheeks. 'You should remember this: that you have done a good deed, and you will surely be rewarded, if not in this life, then in the next.'
He was still holding Salar's face. Salar tilted his head slightly and smiled a little. Furqan sighed with relief—it was the first smile he had seen on Salar's face that day. He smiled in return and warmly patted him on the back. Then he got in and switched on the ignition. As he was about to move, he heard Salar tapping on the car window. Furqan rolled it down.
'You were saying that you had never seen a man whose wishes had been granted,' Salar said with a certain calm in his voice as bent down to the window. He looked very peaceful and content.
'Then look at me... because I am that person who has been blessed with whatever I asked for to this day.'
Furqan thought his mind had been affected by his despair and distress.
'What you call my "good deed" is actually my recompense. It is my reward, in this life; I shall not have to wait for the hereafter and my fate is the same as it was nine years ago.' He was speaking slowly, in a deep voice.
'I have been granted the same woman for whom I had prayed—Imama Hashim is in my home now. Khuda Hafiz.'
In stunned silence, Furqan watched his back as he walked away. He could not fathom what he had said. 'Perhaps, I did not hear him right.. .or perhaps he has lost his mind, or perhaps he has reconciled himself with the situation...'
Salar was now a distant figure.
END OF CHAPTER EIGHT
Chapter 9
Having reached Lahore, the next step was to seek help—but from whom? She could not return to the hostel nor could she contact Javeria or her other friends since they were the ones her family would first suspect. It would not be long before her family would be in Lahore, conducting a search. For all she knew, perhaps the search had already been initiated. Going to a friend's house would only mean putting herself in danger. The only option open to her was Sabiha. But she was not sure if Sabiha had yet returned from Peshawar.