We stayed in a lavish hotel, and enjoyed blissful days that were free of cares and worries. For eleven days, we were untethered from our busy lives, free to enjoy each other’s company. These were perfect days. I had imagined what married love would be like, but these eleven days were even better than what I had imagined, and this was only the beginning.
Erfun seemed even more relaxed and open, and enjoyed the stay so much he proposed that we move to Murree permanently. Here, he said, we could be free from the pressures of his life, his family, and all the responsibilities on his shoulders. He talked about opening a business for himself and a clinic for me in Murree. Our life together would focus on our happiness.
If he was serious, I needed to consider his proposal carefully. He was the oldest son in his family, and his father needed him to run the family businesses. Moving up here would deprive his family of Erfun’s efforts. As we talked, he seemed earnest in his desire to walk away from his life in the city. What I did not know was why he feared to return home. I thought he wanted to escape the pressure of his long hours and the demands of his business. I did not discover the true nature of his fears until later. But at that moment, I felt that his place was with his family. And my place was to return to Karachi and to take up my life as a physician. Not agreeing to Erfun’s desire to start a fresh new life on our own became one of the biggest blunders of my life. It probably would have saved both of us from what awaited us in Karachi. But it would take time to fully understand just how big a miscalculation I had made.
After eleven days, we left the bliss of Murree, and drove down into the Punjab flatlands, which were wrapped in a hazy cold. We were on our way to the city. I felt convinced that our days in the mountains were only a taste of the bliss to come. How could I think otherwise? He had worked so hard to convince me that he was true.
Upon our return to Karachi, Erfun’s family greeted us with great excitement. We distributed gifts to them. His sister, Gezala, was especially pleased to see us. She was estranged from her husband, so she lived in the family home, surrounded by an accepting family, and with a loving husband, I felt content.
After a few days of settling into the family home, I began working at Nasim Clinic. I had a renewed sense of purpose. The routine was the same. But I was now a married woman, buoyed by love, secure in my new life, confident that my husband would protect me the way Father had taken care of Mother.
Everything I had ever wanted lay right in front of me. After a week Erfun spoke very politely to me. “Quit your job and stay at home for a while. You are a newlywed. You should have time here at home.”
I agreed.
CHAPTER 5
Naïve Wife
I MOVED INTO ERFUN’S PARENTS’ HOUSE full of the euphoria of the closeness that had saturated my life on our honeymoon in Murree. Steeped in my own vision of marriage, I naively believed that the love we experienced and felt for each other would grow deeper, just as my parent’s love and companionship had blossomed and grown fuller over many years. My parents had become best friends, confidants, and, in every respect, partners in a contented life. Their relationship existed in my mind not as an ideal to live up to, but as typical of marriage, the way husbands and wives were with each other. I did not realize how naïve that was.
Erfun’s family welcomed me warmly, including Gezala, Erfun’s only sister. She made an effort to make me feel comfortable. We got along well, and I appreciated her kindness.
Our initial days as a married couple were everything I expected, full of love and satisfaction. His younger brothers and parents were considerate and caring, very respectful of me. Either his family, mine, or his circle of friends invited us to dinner almost every evening. Yet Erfun always wanted me to attend without him, and go instead with his parents and Gezala. When I was asked his whereabouts, I made sure they knew that he shouldered many responsibilities in his family’s business.
Gezala always went with me to the social events. She was young and charming, even though she stuttered when she spoke. However, she was overweight and wore old-fashioned, tight-fitting embroidered dresses with jewelry and heavy makeup that made her look older than her age. When we were together at a gathering women thought I was the daughter of the family. I always wore simple, fashionable cotton dresses, no makeup, and little or no jewelry. I continued the same practice after I married.
After a while, I began to wonder why Gezala didn’t return to her husband. She seemed ashamed of her situation, and I started to feel sorry for her. She walked around with a long face, and looked lost and confused. It became apparent to me that Gezala and Erfun had always been close, and now she took every opportunity to rekindle their bond. She often greeted him at the main gate when he returned from work, the way she had done since he was a little boy. Whenever she saw us together, talking or eating, she came and sat by us. Then she began coming into our room, and she wouldn’t leave. It was very uncomfortable for both of us.
My mother-in-law sensed this uneasy situation, and one day she suggested that we should try to accommodate her. She was very lonely, and our laughing and talking made her feel worse. For the first time, I learned that Gezala was demanding a divorce from her husband and she would now be living with the family permanently.
I believed that in the early days of our married life, we needed privacy to develop and grow our love. But Gezala, with her weeping and tears, began to pull us apart. She took every opportunity to play on Erfun’s emotions, claiming that he didn’t love her anymore because she was now a burden on him.
I believed this was the major reason Erfun began coming home late, to avoid her drama every evening. It didn’t matter how late he arrived, as soon as she heard Erfun’s car, Gezala would run and wait for him at the main gate. She often followed him into our room and began talking to him, complaining about her day, or how lonely she was, or just breaking down in tears. Then she began joining as us at dinner. When she could, she drew him into her room, where they talked for hours.
She was pathetic.
After a few weeks, I told her that Erfun and I needed space as newlyweds to be together alone. As pleasant and gentle as I was, she was adamant that it was her right as a sister to spend time with her brother. She even warned me to stay away from them when they were talking together. In her perverted mind, she believed the order of life should be sisters first and wives second.
She began pushing her way between us at meals and during our time together as if it were a settled matter that I was the interloper intruding on their relationship. Gezala took over our lives, and before I realized the grand mistake which allowed it, I was on the outside looking in.
Gezala had little motivation to improve her situation. She spent her days inside reading romance novels and watching dramas on TV, whiling away the hours as if nothing outside the doors of her home could possibly interest her. Her way of being friendly included her offering me her trashy novels to read and gossiping. I was always gracious to her, thanking her for her offers, but I had other things to do. I had spent years of study and preparation for my life as a doctor. I could not easily idle my mind on the sofa watching soap operas. I had plans for my future.
I began planning for my postdoctoral studies in gynecology. I had all the materials and books I required. Erfun and I had discussed my desire for further research, and he had agreed to support my academic pursuits after we married. So, I spent my free time the way I had always spent it: studying.
This did not sit well with Gezala. She kept coming into my room where I had my books, pleading with me to keep her company. When I told her I was too busy, she was astonished that I could live alone in my room and be happy. I tried to explain to her that I was used to this way of life. I was brought up in a world of books, and study was essential to me. Besides, I informed her, I was a poor conversationalist.
One morning before he left, Erfun chided me for not being more friendly to her. He wanted to know why I couldn’t read her books and spend time with her. I shouldn’t spend
so much time reading my medical books, he told me.
I remember slouching on my bed thinking, this is my husband, and I love him. I need to listen to him. But this is not what we agreed to. Yet it was never in my thoughts to defy him, especially not openly in front of his family. I had worked incredibly hard, studying long hours to pass my classes, to graduate at the top of my class, and finally to sit for my medical exams. Now he was asking me to engage in something frivolous to make his sister happy.
Secretly, I hoped Gezala would reconcile with her husband and move back in with him. But that didn’t happen. Once Erfun suggested I talk to her, and I tried, but it was a disaster—I don’t do well with small talk.
During the week, Erfun always had an excuse for coming home late. I knew he had business meetings. But when he came home late on the weekends, his breath smelled of alcohol. I had never been around anyone who drank regularly. My father never drank, neither did my uncles and brothers, and we never had alcohol around the house.
Then there were Erfun’s moods. Some days he would hardly talk, as if he carried weighty matters around in his mind. I knew his business consumed him, but there seemed other concerns that he hadn’t spoken about to me; not yet anyway.
Despite all this, which I considered minor nuisances at the time, we enjoyed our new unrestrained passions at every opportunity. After he left for work, lying in bed, all I could think about was the sense Erfun and I were growing apart. What could I do to bring us closer? This wasn’t the marriage we had spoken of during our engagement. I wanted to use my years of training and learning to work as a doctor, and here I was stuck in the clutch of a mean-spirited woman’s manipulation.
Gradually, the glow of our honeymoon dimmed. I started developing headaches that I knew would grow into a more profound depression if I didn’t find constructive things to occupy my time. I started helping Erfun’s youngest brother with his studies. He didn’t pay much attention to his school work because he received little encouragement. I worked with him daily on his homework and tried to motivate him to do better. I joined my mother-in-law in the kitchen and took cooking lessons from her, learning about everyone’s favorite dishes. Also, I began volunteering at a local hospital in a drug and rehab unit. After a few weeks, Erfun asked me to discontinue my volunteer work because I needed to be home. I was disappointed, but again did as he asked.
Through all this, I never lost my dream of practicing medicine at the highest level I could.
Gezala refused to give up her campaign to get me to pay attention to her. I thought that if I stayed busy, she would leave me alone, but instead, she complained to my mother-in-law that I wasn’t talking to her.
At my wits’ end, I spoke up to my in-laws. I told them I didn’t mind Gezala living here, but that she must stop interfering with our marriage. I was tired of her complaining to Erfun, provoking him to anger against me. Her behavior was wrong, and it had to stop.
They listened, but they ignored my pleas.
Finally, one day when Erfun was in an unusually bright mood, he asked me why I wasn’t working. “You have so much free time. You can work as a doctor, why not?”
I did not need any coaxing. I applied to the Imam Clinic and flew through the interview process with Dr. Mrs. Imam. Soon I began working with a noted gynecologist, Dr. Nasreen.
My first day in the gynecology ward, my in-laws brought a delicious lunch for the entire staff. After completing my first full shift as a doctor, I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. My dream had arrived.
I hoped that with me out of the house, Gezala would find something or someone else to occupy her attention. Instead, she became standoffish, evidently resenting my independence. When I returned home every evening, beaming with enthusiasm and self-satisfaction, she decided to put her foot down. While I was gone, she made sure that Erfun knew about her dissatisfaction.
Before the completion of my first week at the clinic, Erfun stormed into the ward in the middle of my shift, demanding to see me. When he spotted me across the ward filled with patients, he rushed toward me. His eyes were bloodshot, and he reeked of alcohol. I stood with several doctors and nurses, staring in surprise, trying to figure out why he was gesticulating like a lunatic. Yelling like a madman, he grabbed my arm as if I were a child and began pulling me toward the door.
“What is it?” I demanded to know. “Why are you doing this?”
“You should not be working here.” He pushed me through the door. He turned to the staff and doctor, who all looked shocked, and announced, “She will not come here anymore. She is discontinuing this job.” He was in a rage and nearly dragged me into the parking lot.
“Why are you doing this? If you didn’t want me to work, why can’t we talk about this at home?” He roughly wrestled me into his car, slamming the door. Every part of me felt hot with embarrassment. I was insulted and humiliated in front of my colleagues. I could not understand why he would embarrass me that way. Everyone around me treated me with respect, and this man, who said he loved me, had just disrespected me in the most depraved way.
At home, I rushed into the house past Gezala. Everything was a blur to me, but I couldn’t help but notice that she was smiling. I rushed to my room and threw myself on the bed. I stayed there for the next day, too embarrassed to face his family.
Within a month, I was pregnant. I thought his mother and his sister would be kinder to me now. Surely, Erfun would return to the doting man who had chased me relentlessly. A woman’s pregnancy is a time for celebration in my culture. Woman are cared for and protected because a new family member is on the way. This would be Erfun’s child, and he would be a proud parent, as his father has been.
When I told him I was pregnant, he was strangely quiet. Was he surprised? He looked as if he didn’t quite understand how this could happen to me. I thought the idea of fatherhood might be a shock to him, not the fact that I was pregnant.
After a while, he warmed up to the new reality, and one day offered to take me to the doctor. The gentle, kind Erfun returned. He held my hand in the car, and he talked to me softly as he drove through Karachi. I felt protected again, the way Erfun used to make me feel. I wasn’t paying attention to where we were going until we ended up in an unfamiliar neighborhood, one that didn’t look like where a reputable doctor would have an office. He pulled up in front of the dilapidated looking building.
“What is this place?” I asked.
“This is Karimabad.”
I could not imagine why he would bring me to a place like this.
He opened the door for me, and I said, “There’s no doctor here.”
He said it would be all right, and took my hand and held it warmly as we walked upstairs where he knocked on a door. Something inside me told me that this was not right. I wanted to run, but he had my hand. I thought, This man loves me, he wouldn’t bring me to harm. A woman in a dirty housedress with stringy unwashed hair opened the door. She showed us in, and her helper, also dressed in dirty clothes, lurked in a corner. In the middle of what was actually a dowdy living room, with an old sofa and chair and a threadbare carpet, was an exam table with stirrups. I gasped and turned to Erfun.
“Why are you bringing me here?”
Erfun’s soft brown eyes turned suddenly cruel. He stuck an index finger in my face. “I do not want this baby. You have to get rid of it.”
Everything inside me curled into a ball of fury. I did not want to kill my baby. I had never hit anyone, but I wanted to hit him. Instead, I bolted to the door. He grabbed me and spun me around, forcing me back toward the exam table. He then blocked the door so I could not leave. The two women grabbed each arm and forced me onto the table. I kicked my legs and screamed at the top of my lungs as they tied my hands down so I could not move.
“Quiet, girl,” the old hag said. “This will be over quickly if you hold still.”
“This is my baby,” I yelled repeatedly. “Don’t touch me.”
Someone stripped me below the waist, and a filth
y hand over my mouth stifled my screams. I refused to let the woman touch me, so I kept kicking and squirming until they tied my feet into the stirrups.
This was insane. No anesthesia. No sterile technique. No handwashing. No soap to clean me. No gloves. They were going to kill me along with my baby.
I looked down to see what she was doing, and a wave of terror raced through my entire body when I saw a sharply pointed, rusted wire in her dirty ungloved hand. She intended to shove that unsanitary crude instrument of death into me. It would tear everything inside me apart.
I had to resist this murder. I squirmed, moving my hips to keep it from the cervix.
“Stop moving, or this will perforate your uterus,” the dark woman with stringy hair said. “Then you will never have babies.” I knew that she was telling the truth. The dangers she threatened were real. I wanted to have more children, but if it damaged my uterus, my chances of conceiving again would be over.
With my feet and hands tied, she penetrated me and then pushed the wire inside my cervix, and an intense shooting pain ripped through me. I turned to Erfun, pleading with him with my eyes to stop the cruelty. He refused to look at me. When he finally did, his eyes were cold and uncaring. My husband who claimed to love me and who promised to protect me stood aside, his arms crossed over his chest in utter resolve to see this through. I closed my eyes, tears running down my cheeks. I had to stop resisting. I had no choice.
When the tip of the sharp wire started scraping and detaching my fetus from the endometrium of my uterus, the pain was so intense I thought I was going to die. I imagined it was Erfun’s hate coursing through me, an evil purgative. Why did he hate my child, if he said he loved me?
What kind of man would do this? A shooting pain sprinted through me as if I’d been shot. At the point I thought I would die, everything went black.
When my eyes fluttered open, I thought I was dreaming. I was back in my old bedroom at my parent’s house. Then I heard weeping, and felt the thick cloth between my legs, and throbbing pain in my abdomen, as if someone had attacked me with a knife. I lifted the sheet. The cloth was thick with blood clots. I shook with fever. I could not stop shivering. This was no dream; this was my worst nightmare.
Courage to Say No Page 6