Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor

by Umera Ahmed

  'If I cannot be a doctor, I have no wish to live...I will die,' she had said.

  But she had not died. She continued to live.

  'I will be the country's most renowned eye specialist,' she had declared.

  It had all remained a dream. All that she was so close to achieving had remained so far.

  She had no home.

  She had no family.

  Asjad was not hers.

  She was not going to be a doctor.

  Jalal was not hers.

  In one sweep, she had lost all the comforts of life that she was used to, yet she lived. Imama could never have imagined that she had or could ever have had the courage to live thus of her own will and yet she had proved herself at every moment.

  As time passed, the sense of loss decreased. She was finding in herself strength to bear the tribulations in her life. After God, it was Dr Sibt-e-Ali and his family who did all they could to help her recover. Once a month, she would visit them on a weekend. They regarded her as part of their family. 'What would have happened to me had I not met them?' Imama often wondered.

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  Imama was unable to get Salar out of her mind during her long stay in Multan. She wanted to call him and again ask him to divorce her and, if he still refused, she resolved to reveal all to Dr Sibt-e-Ali. Thus, once her B.Sc. exams were over she went to a Public Call Office (PCO) and rang up Salar.

  It was long since she had stopped using the cell phone Salar had given her; since that was Salar's own number she wondered if he had restarted using it for himself, or whether he was using the new number he had given her to call him those two years ago. With great trepidation, she rang both numbers in turn but got no reply to either. He obviously had a new number for his cell but since she did not have it she could not contact him. Having no choice she called his home number. The bell rang, then somebody picked it up and a woman's voice said, 'Hello.'

  'Hello. I wish to speak to Salar Sikander,' Imama said.

  'Salar Sahib....Who is this calling?'

  Imama realized that whoever was on the other end was suddenly suspicious. The voice was familiar but she could not place it. Before Imama could speak the woman at the other end spoke with great enthusiasm, 'Imama BibL.is that you Imama Bibi?'

  Imama felt a thrill of fear run through her. Inadvertently, she dropped the receiver into the cradle, disconnecting the line. Who could it be who had recognized her so quickly merely by her saying those few words? And that too in Salar's house? She remained rooted to her spot in fear. Her hands were trembling. Sitting in the inner booth of the PCO she tried to reassure herself.

  'I have nothing to fear. I am so far from Islamabad, no one can trace me here. I have nothing to fear.' Gradually she recovered her composure. Having convinced herself that she had nothing to fear she gathered her courage to call again. She asked the owner of the PCO to connect her to the same number again.

  Somebody picked up the phone immediately; a man's voice greeted her. It was not Salar; she would have recognized his voice.

  'I wish to speak to Salar Sikander,' she said.

  'Is this Imama Hashim?' the voice at the other end was gruff and unfriendly.

  'Yes...' Imama remained unruffled this time.

  There was complete silence at the other end.

  'Can I speak to him please?' Imama repeated her request.

  'That is not possible,' the man finally replied.

  'Why not?'

  'He...is no longer alive.'

  'What? Is he...is he dead?' Imama could not stop herself asking.

  'Yes...'

  'When...'

  There was a prolonged silence at the other end. Then the man spoke, 'When was the last time you were in contact with him?'

  'Some years ago...about two and a half years ago.'

  'He died a year ago. You...'

  Imama disconnected the line. There was no need to hear any more. She was free. She knew that it was wrong to rejoice over the death of any human being, but she could not help it. Had Salar divorced her when she had asked him to do so, she would undoubtedly have mourned his death. But now, two years later she felt remarkably light—a sense of relief. The sword of Damocles which had been hanging over her head had been removed. There was no need to broach the subject with Dr Sibt-e-Ali—she was free in the real sense of the word. It was her last day at the hostel and that night she prayed for forgiveness for Salar's soul. As it was, she had forgiven him when she learnt of his death; but she could not mourn his death-she was immeasurably relieved over the turn events had taken.

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  The woman Imama had spoken to was Nasira who worked both at Salar's house as well as at Imama's. She had recognized Imama's voice the minute she spoke. When Imama cut off the phone line, she went to Usman Sikander in a state of great excitement. It was just a quirk of fate that Usman Sikander was home that day. He had been unwell in the morning and had not gone to work.

  'A girl called a little while ago...she wanted to talk to Salar...' the maid said to Usman.

  'Well, tell him.' Usman was indifferent. By yet another twist of fate, Salar was there too—he was visiting from America, and was home at the time.

  The maid was flustered. 'Saab jee, it was Imama Bibi calling,' she said.

  Usman Sikander almost dropped the cup of tea he was holding. 'Imama Hashim? Hashim Mubeen's daughter?'

  Nasira nodded her head in confirmation.

  'So has Salar been lying all this time when he says he has no connection with Imama...' he thought, his mind a whirl.

  Aloud he said, 'Did she say she was Imama calling?'

  'No Saabjee, I recognized her voice. And when I asked her, she put the phone down on me.'

  The phone rang again. Before the maid could pick up the phone, he reached for the extension in his room. The girl on the other end confirmed she was Imama; she also said that she had not been in touch with Salar for over two and a half years. While there was no way he could confirm what she was saying was the truth, his instinct told him the girl was not lying.

  'If only I can keep her away from contacting Salar, we will have rid ourselves forever of a great deal of trouble,' the thought ran through his mind. And so he told her that Salar had died.

  For Usman Sikandar the year Imama had disappeared has been a difficult one. Suspecting Salar in the disappearance of his daughter, Hashim Mubeen had brought all sorts of pressure to bear on Usman Sikandar. The bills for his firms that had always been easily passed through in Government offices were now inexplicably delayed; he began to receive threatening letters and phone calls from anonymous callers; near strangers would talk to him threateningly telling him to assist in the return of Hashim Mubeen's daughter; for a long time Salar had been shadowed and this harassment had not stopped even after he had been sent abroad. Even in America, Salar remained under surveillance until Hashim Mubeen was finally convinced that Imama and Salar were not in contact with each other. With no proof of Salar's involvement in Imama's disappearance the harassment finally ceased. Numerous attempts made by Usman to reestablish good relations with Hashim Mubeen were rebuffed but at least the threat to him and his family had ceased. And now two and a half years on this girl was trying to get in touch with Salar again. He did not want to go through all those hassles again nor did he wish that for Salar.

  Had he himself not been a man of means, just as Hashim Mubeen Ahmed was, the latter could have caused him even more problems than he had faced in the first few months. He was anxious to send Imama a copy of the divorce deed he had prepared on behalf of Salar: that the deed was a forgery and that Salar had no knowledge of it was of no consequence—he just wanted to make it clear to Imama that she had no connection to the family and nor could she expect one. Had there been a connection— however tenuous it may have been—it was now snapped with the news of Salar's death. It was a coincidence that Imama had put down the phone before hearing him out. He tried to trace the call and learnt that it was from
a PCO in Multan.

  There was still a week to go before Salar left for the United States. Usman Sikandar decided to keep a strict eye on all his movements. Without his knowing it, Salar was continuously watched for the last week of his stay in Pakistan. All his phone calls were monitored and the servants were instructed not to let any calls through to him no matter who had called. The maid was strictly warned not to let Salar know that Imama had called. When Salar left for America a week later, Usman Sikandar breathed a sigh of relief. The danger had passed.

  On her return to Lahore, Imama sold the cell phone (since there was no way she could now return this to Salar). To the cash she received she added some more money to cover the costs of the phone bills she would have incurred two and a half years ago, plus the amount Salar must have spent on her, driving her to Lahore and other miscellaneous costs. All this cash she posted to Usman Sikandar in Islamabad along with a short note explaining why she was sending the money; thus she paid off any money she may have owed Salar and put herself out of an obligation to him.

  Usman Sikandar was relieved at receiving the small packet. It convinced him that Imama was cutting off all ties with him and also that she did not doubt his story.

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  On finishing her B.Sc. Imama returned to Lahore from Multan. It was now three years since she had left home. She was convinced that the search for her was now not as intense as it may have been some years previously. At the most her family would still be watching medical colleges. Her assumption was correct. Although more sure of herself now she did not lower her vigilance. She took admission in the Punjab University in the Chemistry Department and registered for her M.Sc. In Multan, she had only worn a chador to and from college, but now she took to wearing a veil which covered her face too. After all, this was Lahore and somebody could recognize her.

  On her return to Lahore she did not take stay with Dr Sibt-e-Ali; instead she started living with Saeeda Amma.

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  Dr Sibt-e-Ali had introduced Imama to Saeeda Amma before she went to Multan. The reason was that Saeeda Amma had many relatives living in Multan and Dr Sibt-e-Ali felt that Imama would be able to contact them in any emergency.

  An extremely garrulous and active woman of about 65 to 70 years of age, Saeeda Amma lived alone in a large house in the inner city of Lahore. She had been widowed some years earlier. Both her sons had gone abroad to study and on completing their education, they had married and opted to live abroad. Numerous attempts to persuade their mother to shift in with them had failed and now the sons took turns to visit her each year and be with her for some time. Saeeda Amma was related to Dr Sibt-e-Ali in that she was a cousin.

  Before bringing Imama over Dr Sibt-e-Ali had told her all about Imama. Saeeda Amma greeted her warmly when she came and proceeded to tell her in great detail about each and every relative present in Multan. And as if that was not enough she even volunteered to accompany Imama to Multan and drop her off at her college—an offer that Dr Sibt-e-Ali refused, gently but firmly.

  'No, sister, that will be too much trouble,' he said.

  'Perhaps a better idea would be for Imama to stay with one of my brothers.' Saeeda Amma was beginning to doubt the advantages of being in a hostel. 'She will be well looked after there and will have all comforts of a home life.' She began to recount the many problems and discomforts Imama would have to face in a hostel. Imama was relieved when Dr Sibt-e-Ali remained firm in his stance regarding the hostel. Imama herself felt that was the best option.

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  Her next meeting with Saeeda Amma was in Multan in the hostel she was staying in. She had been at there for a couple of months when was told a lady had come to see her. Imama went numb with fear. Who could have come to meet her and that too a woman? She was surprised to see Saeeda Amma waiting for her in the meeting area. Saeeda Amma greeted her with the same warmth and kindness she had shown her in Lahore. She was on a fortnight's stay in Multan to catch up with her relatives there; and in those two weeks she often came to see Imama. On one occasion she even took Imama to see her brother and his family at their house.

  This then became the routine. Every few months Saeeda Amma would visit Multan and would come and see Imama in the hostel. When Imama would go to Lahore on her monthly visit she too would pay a visit to Saeeda Amma's. If she was on a longer stay she would, on Saeeda Amma's insistence, sometimes stay overnight at her place. Imama loved the old brick house Saeeda Amma lived in. Without verbalizing it, the two felt at peace with each other because both suffered from the same sense of loneliness although Saeeda Amma, unlike Imama, had friends and neighbors to temporarily alleviate this feeling. Because of her own situation, Saeeda Amma could empathize with Imama. Once Imama confided in her that she planned to do her M.Sc. from Lahore, Saeeda Amma began persuading her to come and live with her when she returned to Lahore.

  It was around this time that Dr Sibt-e-Ali's eldest daughter shifted back to her father's house. Dr Sibt-e-Ali's son-in-law, who was also his nephew, was going abroad to complete his PhD. It was decided that for the time he would be abroad his wife and children were to stay with Dr Sibt-e-Ali. Although Dr Sibt-e-Ali's house was big enough to accommodate all, Imama felt uncomfortable staying on. In any case she was already far too indebted to Dr Sibt-e-Ali for all his kindness and she wanted to stand on her own feet as soon as it was possible. If she continued staying with Dr Sibt-e-Ali, he would insist on paying for her education and would probably also continue supporting her even after she started working. Living with him she would never be able to assert herself. An independent life was the best solution, she felt. And living with Saeeda Amma would suit her perfectly. Once she got a job she would also be able to insist on paying a small rent to Saeeda Amma—a thing Dr Sibt-e-Ali would never agree to if she continued living in his house.

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  For Dr Sibt-e-Ali, her decision to move out came as a shock.

  'Why Amina? Why will you not stay in my house?

  'Saeeda Amma insists I stay with her.'

  'I'll speak to her.'

  'No, that is not it. I wish to stay with her. If I live with her she will not be so lonely'

  'That is no reason. You can visit her every day if you like. Why must you stay there?'

  'Please, let me stay there. I will be happier doing so. I wish to start becoming independent,' Imama pleaded.

  'I do not understand what you mean by that,' Dr Sibt-e-Ali replied.

  'I do not wish to be a burden on you. As it is I owe you so much. I don't wish to be indebted all my life...' Imama's voice trailed away. She realized she had hurt Dr Sibt-e-Ali with her words. She regretted them.

  'I have never thought of you as a burden Amina. Never. Daughters are never a burden and for me you are my daughter...what you say has hurt me very much.'

  'I am sorry Abu. That is not what I meant. I was just expressing my feelings. Being dependent on someone is a painful reality. Living with Saeeda Amma will give me peace of mind. I'll pay for stay. That I cannot ever do with you. I owe you so much that if I were to live ten lifetimes I would not be able to repay you for all you have done for me. But now...for now...I wish to learn how to live life on my own. Please let me do so...'

  Dr Sibt-e-Ali did not insist any further. For this too Imama was grateful to him.

  For Imama living with Saeeda Amma was starting life all over again. This was not the same as living with Dr Sibt-e-Ali and his family; nor was it the same as living in the hostel. She felt a strange sense of happiness and independence for the first time in her life.

  Saeeda Amma lived by herself. She had a maid who would come in the mornings and do the housework and leave by evening. She had a large social circle and was often out meeting friends and relatives and also receiving many visitors of her own. She introduced Imama to everyone as her sister's daughter. As time passed, she began referring to her as her daughter. So while her old acquaintances knew Imama as Saeed
a Amma's niece her newer friends all thought she was her daughter. Nobody gave the relationship much thought. They all knew what a loving heart Saeeda Amma had. Her sons and their families too began to accept Imama as part of the family and every time they called Saeeda Amma they would also talk to Imama. When they would come to Lahore on their annual vacation, they would treat Imama as a sister and Imama too began to feel she was part of the family; she would often feel that she was in reality Saeeda Amma's daughter, a sister to her sons, and an aunt to their children.

  Once she completed her M.Sc. at the Punjab University, Dr Sibt-e-Ali helped get her a job with a pharmaceutical company. It was a good job and for the first time in her life, Imama was financially independent. This was not the life she had lived in her parent's house; nor was this the life she had once envisaged in her dreams; but it was not also the nightmare she had feared her life would become when she had fled her home all those years ago. She could not talk to anybody about it but she felt her life was a series of miracles. To have sought the help of a man like Salar Sikander...to have found sanctuary with Dr Sibt-e-Ali's family...to have found a new family with Saeeda Amma...to have completed her education...and now this job. The only regret in her life was Jalal Ansar. If she could have married him she would have considered herself the luckiest person on earth.

  The eight years that had passed since her flight from home had transformed her completely. On leaving home she was well aware that she was losing the affection and devotion of loved ones; that she should have no expectations from anyone; that when people let her down she should not feel hurt or rejected. She had hardened in these years on her own; she no longer cried at the slightest hurt. She was no longer the Imama Hashim she had been at 20—timid and fearful; she was now more confident, more self assured. But these years of independence had taught her caution; she was now careful in her speech and careful about how she conducted herself.