He waved his hands in frustration. “I’m marrying Shesta, and I’m not divorcing you. You can live alone, and I will live with her. You will stay married to me for your entire life.”
I did not know what to do or say. The only thought running through my mind was that I had to be free of this man. He was not the Erfun I had married. He hated me, and I could not understand why. Taimoor began crying in his crib, so I went and picked him up, cradling him in my arms.
The next day, he asked me what I had decided. I spoke to him in a calm voice, trying to reason with him. But I was set in my heart.
“You have to divorce me first, then you can have Shesta; I will never live with her in the same house.”
He stepped forward and snatched his son from my arms so fast I could not react. “I am taking Taimoor to Shesta. She will raise my son, and you will live here alone.” Before I could muster the strength to pursue him, he was out the front door, and off in his car. When I heard him drive away with Taimoor, I felt my entire life unravel. The baby was only five months old. He needed feeding and changing soon. I went into my room and slumped onto the bed. I wanted a good life for my son, a life with a loving home. Instead, I had no love in my life, no money, no job, and now my son had been taken from me. And there was little I could do about it. I wanted to cry, but my tears would not come. But the ache in my heart felt like a hammer on an anvil, it throbbed and threatened to burst.
CHAPTER 7
Die in Your Husband’s House
ALL I REMEMBER WAS THAT it was a hot summer day, and as it drew closer to the hottest part of the afternoon, my anxiety over my situation began to overwhelm me. I had no money, no job, and no way of leaving Erfun’s parents’ home, and thus had no hope that my situation would change anytime soon. Erfun came in and out as he pleased, abandoning my son and me to live in this hostile home, fending for ourselves. His behavior made me crazy, and I spent hours trying to figure out why he would do this to me. I constantly searched my mind, trying to piece together what I might have done to turn him against me.
I asked him once why he had married me.
His reply surprised me. I had never accepted gifts from him, and I had refused to marry him. “That made me angry. I married you to teach you a lesson.”
My father’s warnings came to mind, his surprise and shock that I would agree to marry a man such as Erfun, so uneducated and worldly. He had never said what he disliked about Erfun. But I always assumed it was our enormous differences in education. But it was more than that. I had been entirely naïve in my estimation of the man’s character.
Now I could see what I had not seen before our marriage—that apart from our education, there existed a vast difference in our interests and passions. Erfun had, for whatever reason I could not fathom, acted as if he admired how hard I had worked to become a medical doctor. Now it seemed that my degree didn’t mean anything to him. All that mattered to him were money, his work, and his relationship with women. Even our son barely got his attention.
That hot day, I went to the kitchen to feed Taimoor, who had been fussy and crying all that morning. Lost in my thoughts, everything felt like it was coming loose inside me. Erfun’s promises of treating me with kindness, respect, and love had held me together during the first two years of our marriage. Now I had lost all hope.
I do not remember why I did it, or even doing it, but I absentmindedly placed my son on the hot roasting floor outside the kitchen, which was an open area, exposed to direct sun. I was arguing with myself over what to do. I felt so stupid to have believed his promises. I heard crying, but it seemed to come from a great distance. Lost in my painful thoughts, I stopped at the kitchen door. I saw a baby crawling toward me across the burning floor, heated by sun like a hell or oven. Obviously in distress and pain, raising his little hand toward me, his other hand was on the floor, then he tried to switch his hands, his face was full of tears. He wanted me to pick him up, and rest him on my shoulder. I watched him struggle, but I could not move. I had no idea what to do as his wailing grew louder. Somehow, his pleas for help resonated with something inside me as if both of us felt the same pain and were crying out for help.
There was no rescue—for either of us. I stood paralyzed in a state of helplessness.
His wailing must have gone on for a while because it finally became intolerable for others, who usually made it their practice to ignore me, and my mother-in-law rushed from her room.
“What’s happening? Why is he crying so hard?” She saw him on the floor, lifting a reddened palm toward her. “My God,” she shouted. “Taimoor is burning.”
Her shrill voice roused out of my torpor. I quickly snatched him off the floor and tried to soothe him. We stared at each other for a hard minute. She knew my agony, and she didn’t have one kind word of solace, and left us without a single word.
I rushed into my bedroom and turned on the air conditioner. Both palms were blistered, his knees were swollen, and his face was flushed red. I applied antibiotic ointment to his blisters and sprinkled heat power on his body, and fed him. Then I spooned some Panadol syrup into his mouth, and he calmed and slept. I still don’t understand why I would do this to my son. Or why I had done this to myself. The pain of that moment is still with me to this day.
I wanted to leave the house, but I had no money and no job, and I knew my father would not allow me to return to his home. So, I moved out of our room and began living separately in another part of the house. We became even more estranged. Nearly every time I saw him, I asked him for a divorce. It was my only plan.
One day he came to me with an admission. One that fit together the pieces of the puzzle that made up Erfun. He told me that I shouldn’t be surprised at the way he lived. Beginning when he was thirteen, a neighbor down the street left the country to work in the Gulf, and his wife was alone for several years. She seduced him, and he began sleeping with that married woman as a teenager. When he came home very early in the morning, Gezala would meet him at the door and let him in. She knew everything. This went on for several years, and they practically lived together. That’s when he lost interest in school. He dropped out before high school, and never went back.
“This is the life I have lived for many years, and you should not be surprised.”
If my heart could fall any farther, it did at that moment.
Soon after that, I confronted his mother in the kitchen.
“What should I do about your son? I will never agree to tolerate his second wife.”
“You know,” she said, “society is very cruel to divorced women.” She thought for a moment. “You and your son’s life will be difficult if you get a divorce. Why don’t you get a boyfriend? It would be much better than living alone. Maybe after a while, Erfun will get fed up with all these other women and return to you.”
This woman was as ignorant and immoral as Erfun. No wonder he turned out the way he had. Despite my shock at her repugnant suggestion, I was polite. “No, I can’t do that. I’m not that type of person.”
“Well then,” she said. “You two should live in your own place, away from Gezala. Maybe he will behave better away from her interference.”
It was the first practical thing I had heard from this woman’s mouth. It was exactly the idea I needed. My hopes suddenly rose—if we lived together alone, away from the menace of his sister, maybe he would be the Erfun I thought I married.
In early 1987, we moved to a lovely apartment in Hoor Palace, a residential district not far from my parents. I was optimistic about our new home, as it was just the three of us and there was no Gezala to taint Erfun’s attitude toward me. I made the apartment comfortable, arranging it so it was warm and inviting, hoping to make it a place Erfun would want to come home to.
But the opposite held true. Without the tiny bit of restraint imposed on him by his parents, Erfun instead went wild. I hardly saw him at all; at times, he did not come home for weeks. One day when he did arrive home, he surprised me with an intriguing sugg
estion.
“Why don’t you go back to work?” he said. “You just sit around here with nothing to do.”
That night, he stayed home. I had seen the signs and symptoms of an STD in him some time ago, and advised him to go for the treatment. I started living in the separate bedroom. He slept in the other room and left early.
The next day, I applied for a position at Fon Hospital. During that week, my interview went so well they invited me to join the medical staff right away. The hospital was close to my apartment and near enough that I could drop Taimoor off at my mother’s before work. She was glad to take care of him, and was relieved that I was able to pursue my profession.
My first day, I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder, wondering if Erfun would have a sudden change of heart, and come storming into the ward where I worked, demanding I return home. It had happened before, and it was a most humiliating experience. After a few days without him barging in, however, I calmed down and settled into the routine of seeing patients and interacting with the staff. This was the position I had imagined myself being in since I was a child. Every day, I came home tired, but euphoric to have finally stepped into the physician’s life.
The only thing missing from my life was a loving husband. Every day, when I reached the front door of our apartment, I prayed he would be there to greet me with a smile and open arms.
Instead, Erfun showed his true colors. As I unlocked the door of my apartment one day, with Taimoor in my arms, a neighbor across the hall opened her door.
“Dr. Raana, may I speak to you, please?” the woman said.
“Yes, of course.” I stepped toward her.
“Dr. Raana, do you know that your husband comes here every day after you leave?”
Why would he do that? I wondered.
“He brought a woman with him.” Her look was disapproving.
Erfun had hurt me so many times; I did not think he could do more to me. But this indignity to our marriage, and humiliation in front of my neighbors, was incalculable. I forced myself to smile as I thanked her, hoping she would think there was a good reason for my husband to do this beside the obvious. Inside, I set Taimoor down and looked around the apartment. The living room, the kitchen, and the bathroom all appeared as I had left them. In the other bedroom, the sloppily made bed told a different story. It had been used and remade. I threw back the blankets and sheets, and several hair clips lay on the pillow and sheet.
I almost threw up. I couldn’t believe that he would bring that woman in here and use my bed. He didn’t care about anyone other than himself.
Almost daily, I found signs that Shesta and Erfun had been in the bedroom. Left behind were her bangles, more hair clips, hairpins, and even some of her clothing. Did she leave here half-dressed? She was taunting me, leaving her things on purpose, like a dog marking her territory.
This went on for weeks. I tried to confront Erfun, but he seldom came home. When he did show up, he only stayed briefly, or he was too drunk to talk reasonably. When I brought up divorce and argued for bringing that horrible woman into my bed, he would fall into a rage, screaming at me that I had to accept him the way he was. He had no intention of changing. I had to allow Shesta into our lives, or I would have to live alone for the rest of my life.
I did not know what to do. He would not give me a divorce, and I would not compromise.
One day, I came home from work, and I was surprised to hear Erfun’s voice in the apartment. He was in my bedroom talking to someone. Maybe he was on the phone, and then I heard a woman’s voice. I slammed the bedroom door open, and the two of them were in bed. Shesta pulled a sheet up to her chin.
“What is she doing here?” I demanded. “This is my room.”
“This is my house, Raana. Not yours.” He laid back on the pillow, hands clasped behind his head. The smirk on his face was telling. He wanted me to accept this situation. There was nothing I could do about it. Shesta had a fearful look on her face. She had no idea what I would do. But she also did not have an iota of embarrassment at intruding into my married life. She was a worthless person, as far as I was concerned.
Broken and despondent over this situation, I went to my parents for help. They both sat on the sofa listening, my mother’s concern etched on her face. Her health wasn’t good, and I hated to bring more distress into her life. My father was resigned. His square jaw set as I detailed the situation with Erfun. He never chided me, as he probably wanted to for marrying a man he did not like. He didn’t say anything.
“Maybe if you two come and speak to him, he might change,” I pleaded with them.
I made arrangements with Erfun and my parents to meet at our apartment. Erfun had agreed to it reluctantly, but he showed up reeking of alcohol. He slouched into a stuffed chair across from the sofa where my parents sat side by side, taking him in.
I served tea, which no one touched. The cups sat steaming on the coffee table. I took a chair beside Erfun. The temperature felt to me as if it had dropped to zero. My father steepled his hands in front of his mouth, and gave Erfun an appraising glare. My mother began.
“Erfun, we wanted to speak to you about Raana. If you understood her better, and you realized how she felt about marriage, you two could get along better.”
Erfun’s eyes smoldered, but he was silent. I had seen that look in him before, a gathering of strength before a storm.
“Raana cannot accept a second wife. We did not raise her to think that way. If you come home early and show her love and care.”
He jumped out of his chair. “She must accept me the way I am. I will not change. I don’t care how she was raised.” He beat his chest with his finger and shouted. “I am the husband. She has to accept me. I will have a second wife. That’s my decision.”
I felt my cheeks burning with shame.
After he stomped out of the apartment, cursing as he slammed the door. The three of us sat in silent disbelief at his behavior. There must have been words of comfort between us, but I do not remember them. When the fuzziness in my brain settled, I knew what I must do for my sanity.
“Father, you must help me get a divorce. You know what to do.”
He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. My father always chose his words carefully from years in the courtroom, and I could see him thinking my situation over.
“If you divorce him, it will bring dishonor to our family and yourself. Your son will have a very difficult life, and you will be a second-class citizen.” He shook his head slowly. “No, I cannot help you.”
“Father, please.” I had never begged anyone for anything, but he was the only person I could beg for help. “I can’t live with this man. I must be free of him.”
He stood to leave.
I rose and faced him. “Please, Father, help me.”
He tightened his lips. “I’m sorry, Baby. I told you the day you married him; you can never return to our house, and never come to me with any complaints. You must stay here.”
“I will die here.”
“Then you must die in your husband’s house.” My father was always serious, and he was never more serious than at this moment. He took Mother’s hand and led her to the door. I had never seen my mother sadder than at that moment. Her heart was breaking for me.
When they left, I was alone. I felt that I would be alone for the rest of my life. Erfun would never return to me. I was barely twenty-eight years old. I could not stomach a future with Erfun’s hate. I went into the bedroom, fell on my face on the bed, and cried. I cried over my naivety, that I had not taken my father’s warning as advice five years before. I cried over my son’s future, that he would have to grow up with no father to guide him. I wept for myself, that all my education, all my hard work studying, and all my intelligence had not kept me from making the biggest blunder of my life. I cried because it was the only thing left in my power to do.
A person can only weep for themselves for so long, and then they have to rise and return
to their situation. I fought my depression by staying busy. As I went about my days, seeing patients, caring for my son, I became painfully aware of the reality of my life. I was alone with a son. A solution to my predicament would only come from me. No one else could rescue me. My son needed me, so suicide was not an option, though some women did take that course of action. Practicing medicine helped my confidence return, so my focus was on my future alone. In Pakistani culture, the only safe option for divorced women is to return to their parents’ house. But my father had been clear; I could never return. Even then, I was not like so many other women in my predicament. I didn’t need a man to support me if I could free myself.
One day at work, I arrived at a solution. The next time I saw Erfun, I gave him an ultimatum.
“Erfun, I have decided what I am going to do.”
He gave me an interested look for the first time in a while. “You will allow me to marry other women?”
“I can never do that. You already know that.”
“I will not divorce you. If you don’t agree to my demands, you can live alone here for the rest of your life.”
I shook my head. “I’ll give you three months to agree to live with me as a loving husband and father.”
He had a silly smirk on his face, which was growing thicker around the jowls. He was not taking care of himself as he used to, and his drinking was catching up to him.
“Three months, and that’s it. You must give them all up for me.”
He laughed. “Then what?”
“You’ll see. I will leave your house.”
He laughed and left, slamming the door like usual.
Every time, I saw him, I asked. “Do you want to live with me as a loving husband and father?”
Courage to Say No Page 9