I started crying. “It’s Taimoor. I need medicine and milk for him. With the continuous curfew since yesterday, how else can I get him some food?”
“Please go home. I will try to arrange what you need.” I gave him some money and trudged home. An hour or so later, he returned with milk, some food for me and Panadol syrup. Meanwhile, Taimoor had fainted. I feared the worst. All I could do was pray to God to preserve his life. When the milk arrived, I fed him with a spoon and he began to revive. His big eyelashes fluttered. “Mom,” he said in a weak voice.
“Yes, my sweetheart, I am here.”
One day, returning from picking Taimoor up after school, we strolled down the sidewalk. We weren’t too far from the school, the sky was bright and clear, and we were enjoying taking some fresh air. We spent so much time inside; I wanted to soak up a few moments of sunshine.
In one instant, I felt safe, and in the next, I sensed activity behind me. I glanced around. A man clutching a Kalashnikov, his face and head wrapped in a scarf with only a slit for his eyes, rode on the hood of a car that slowly rolled down the street after me. I thought I recognized him despite his disguise. He was often on the roof of the apartment house across from me. Once the car came closer, he jumped off the hood. Someone said to him, “Yes, Bhai! That is her.”
I scooped up Taimoor and suddenly changed my route, instead of walking straight; I hid, mingled in with some people who were crossing the street after picking up their children from school. I crossed over without any panic.
“Where is she?” I heard the voice of the man with the scarf.
“She was just here a few seconds ago. Search for her!”
I ducked into a small restaurant, pushing past the curtain that served as a door. I selected a small table at the rear. The electricity was still off, so it was completely dark.
“It’s time for a treat,” I announced to Taimoor. “Order whatever you like.”
He started clapping. Men stomped into the restaurant.
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” They looked through the curtain, but didn’t come inside. They stood outside talking.
After a while, I could no longer hear them outside. I let Taimoor finish his food. When he was full, I rose. “Let’s go.”
With Taimoor in my arms and his heavy school bag on my shoulder, I hustled toward the hospital’s back gate. We were less than twenty feet from the door when I spotted the same scarf man with his Kalashnikov waiting near the gate. I was terrified. I turned and started running toward the front gate. After rounding the building, we reached the front door, but it was locked. The scarf man caught up with me. He pointed his Kalashnikov at my head and said very calmly through his scarf.
“Be ready to die.”
It was useless to run. He would callously shoot us down. I held my head high and stared into his eyes. “Give me one minute, please.”
He nodded.
I patted my son on his head, and I spoke to him in a comforting voice. “Close your eyes, sweet one, and lay your head on my shoulder and sleep.”
After he stilled, I said to the terrorist, “Okay, I am ready to die. Now you can kill me.”
I stood up as tall as I could, and looked right into his eyes. He placed the barrel of the gun at my temple.
“I thought you’d cry and beg for your life.”
“Never. I will never beg. Go ahead, shoot.”
He closed one eye and pushed the barrel hard into my head.
I said in my heart, God, please save my child.
He then raised his gun over my head and fired into the air.
“I could kill you in a second. I tried to kidnap you a few times, but you always dodge me. I have never seen such a brave woman. Go.”
I did not believe what he was saying. These men had no heart. They never showed mercy to anyone. I stood paralyzed in uncertainty.
“Go, before I change my mind.” He stepped back.
I clutched Taimoor tightly, ran to the hospital back doors, and pushed my way inside. A few minutes later, we were upstairs in our apartment. I set Taimoor down, and he just stared up at me, a question already forming on his lips. He was on the verge of tears; he was so afraid.
“Why was he going to kill us? What did we do? Why were we running?”
I took both his hands in mine and swung him around once, trying my best to calm him. “No, no, he was not going to kill us. He just wanted to test us, to see how brave we are. And you are the bravest boy in the entire city.” I touched his nose. “You didn’t even cry. You are so brave. Let’s dance.”
I swung him around, singing an old ditty I learned as a child. We bounced on the carpet, kicking our feet, and swirling away our troubles. “You are the bravest boy ever…” I sang repeatedly. And so, we danced on, our fears passing from us like a black rain cloud blown away by a fresh wind, and we twirled and sang until the sunshine of my boy’s smile returned.
CHAPTER 9
Who is at Your Back?
I LIVED AND WORKED FOR TWO years in Naseerabad Hospital before I began looking for another job in a safer neighborhood, and one opportunity stood out: the Gas Company, a semi-government-owned operation, needed a physician in one of their company clinics. The interview went well, but the interviewer was clear that they’d had over 350 applicants, and it would take a couple of months to make a proper decision.
Any job at a government-run or -affiliated organization usually was given to people with political ties, which I had none of. So I hoped that this time they would make a decision based on merit alone. I knew miracles still happened. After two months and no word from the Gas Company, I called one of the General Managers among the three who had interviewed me.
He was kind, but noncommittal. He assured me I was still being considered for the position since I had achieved high scores in the interview. He promised an answer in two weeks. When I didn’t hear from him, I showed up at his office in person. He was surprised to see me, but invited me into his office.
“Sir, you said it would take two months to make a decision. I’ve been counting the days to hear your decision. We need this job.”
“We?”
“Yes, my four-year-old son and I. I’ve been praying every day for this job.”
“I am very sorry to disappoint you, but we have given this job to Dr. Sheela, who has worked at a company clinic in Balochistan for many years. Now she wants a job in Karachi.”
I couldn’t believe they hadn’t told me sooner. “Sir, I need this job. We have to leave the hospital where I’m living, because it’s near Nine Zero and not safe for us.”
He pursed his lips, reached into a drawer, pulled out a file folder, and opened it on his desk. He then perused my paperwork.
“You received the highest marks among all candidates in the interview and in medical college. You do deserve a position with us. We have one more opening in Unit C, where you will see our executive team and their families.” He thought for a few moments. “Dr. Mrs. Moien will retire in one month. You can start then.”
My heart lifted. “Thank you, sir. This makes me very happy.”
“I will prepare an appointment letter. Please wait.”
Within an hour, I had a letter appointing me to a staff medical doctor position in Unit C, to begin in one month. I was to report to Dr. Uqali, the medical director for Unit C, to introduce myself.
On the taxi ride back to the hospital, I felt some of the darkness of the past few years began to lift. It would be a new start for both of us. I would be entirely self-supporting and free of Erfun. I had one month to prepare for the move. My new office would be in one of the most beautiful neighborhoods in Karachi, near my parents’ house.
I immediately turned in my resignation to Dr. Soofia. She was sad to see me move on, but she understood. It would be bittersweet to leave the hospital, but it was time. Taimoor would be starting first grade soon, and I wanted him to get the best education I could afford and to provide him a safer neighborhood.
> In my free time, I began searching for a room to rent near my new workplace. One day I had Taimoor with me when a landlady told me that she could not rent to me since I was a young single woman. I told her I was not that young, and that I had a child and a job as a medical doctor. I could take care of myself.
Nevertheless, one door after another closed to me when I said I was not married. I had every right to rent an apartment in my name alone. I was divorced, a mother, and employed. The law was clearly in my favor. But the landlords I spoke with didn’t care about that. All of them said the same thing: I would have to be married to rent an apartment.
I realized that unless I purchased my own home, I would never be truly independent. I was not able to return to my parent’s home. I hated being excluded from decent housing just because of some archaic tradition.
When I was trying to figure out where to find housing, since I could not live in my hospital apartment after my employment ended, Taimoor, without prompting, mentioned to my mother that no one would rent to us. He had overheard a conversation with one of the property owners. Unbeknownst to me, she pleaded with my father to let us live at home for a time, so that I could save enough for a down payment on my own house. Owning my own home would be the only way I could be safe as a divorced woman in this society.
The Pakistani practice of treating single women like children who must be continuously chaperoned is one of the driving forces behind why married women in abusive marriages refuse to strike out on their own. It is also why divorced women seek out men to support them, even if those men are already married. Erfun used this fact in rationalizing taking Shesta as a second wife. If he didn’t marry her, Shesta would be destitute, with nowhere to live. Since she couldn’t rent a place on her own due to lack of education, and she had no skills to support herself, she had to find someone who would pose as her husband merely to be safely sheltered. She had even resorted to using black magic to get Erfun to break up our marriage. In one of her phone calls to me, pleading with me to let her marry Erfun, she had claimed she’d put a curse on me so Erfun would hate me. But I thought little of the power of black magic. Pakistanis used it to get what they wanted. But I never gave it any consideration as a reason for Erfun’s behavior.
One day, my mother called me to say that my father had acquiesced to her requests. He would allow both of us to move into the family home for a set time. I knew my staunchly principled father had bent to the reality of my situation, and I was grateful. This arrangement would be the safest place for Taimoor and me. I set the date to move and my younger brothers Rehan and Rafhan helped me to move my belongings into my parent’s house.
On the day set to meet Dr. Uqali in the Head Office, I waited outside his office seated across from his assistant, Razzak, as he flipped slowly through my file and scanned it with a sigh. He had a deep frown on his brow. I didn’t understand why he appeared so troubled.
“You are Punjabi, correct?”
I nodded.
“Be careful, Dr. Raana, Dr. Uqali is Sindhi. He may not like you since you are Punjabi.”
I took a breath. I had fought hard for this job. I had received the highest marks out of 350 applicants. I had earned this position, and I had no intention of giving in to fear at this moment. I smiled at Razzak confidently. “Thank you, but I am not worried.”
A few moments later, he ushered me into the medical director’s office. He was an imposing tall man, with thick white hair, well dressed, with a severe look on his face, as if he had made up his mind about me already. I handed him my appointment letter, and he motioned for me to be seated. He leaned back in his leather chair with a look of uncertainty and studied the document.
He spoke to me sharply. “How were you selected without my knowledge?”
Sir, I applied and appeared for an interview for Units A and B, but for some reason Mr. Khursheed transferred me here to Unit C.”
He was watching me quietly.
“I scored the highest on all the interviews and exams. I was the most qualified for the position.”
He rubbed his lips and set my letter down on the desk in front of him. He folded his arms. “Tell me, who is at your back? What is your political background?”
“I was selected based on my merits, Dr. Uqali. That is all I know.”
“Who is at your back?” he asked.
After he asked the same question again, “Sir, God is at my back.” I replied confidently.
He smiled for the first time. “Of course.” His mood lightened. “There is no doubt; God must be at your back. But tell me truthfully: Who is at your back? What political party? What minister.”
I remained quiet. That was the best I could do.
He called for my file. Razzak must have been at the door because he entered immediately and handed him the folder. Dr. Uqali perused it, page by page. “This is going to be difficult. You have no political affiliations. You are divorced, so you have no husband to protect you. You have no one at your back. That is a problem for you.” He set the file down and leaned over his desk. “You are such a sweet little girl, how will you do your job here? You have no one to protect you.”
“Sir, I am not afraid. You are here.”
He smiled again, considering my words. Finally, he called Javed Khan, the manager of the medical department and had a conversation with him and Razzak. I was waiting outside, when Razzak came and told me to wait for about a half an hour, and that there would be a meeting in his office with the union leaders and some others.
When everyone gathered in his office, about ten or fifteen men, he spoke authoritatively to them.
He introduced me as the new physician that would work in Unit C, treating them and their families. “She is like my daughter. I don’t want anyone bothering her or saying anything to her.” Everyone nodded and greeted me kindly. I could not help smiling. God and Dr. Uqali, the medical director, were now at my back.
Later, after everyone left, and it was just the medical director and me, he asked about my divorce. I told him the sad tale of abuse, of Erfun’s fixation on marrying Shesta; his threats and intimidation until I relented; and how I refused to give in to Erfun’s demands and mistreatment.
“You are a child. You aren’t even aware that in our culture it is common for women to use black magic on married women and then grab their husband.”
This was the first time I had ever heard an educated and sophisticated person like Dr. Uqali speak of black magic as if it were true, a force to be reckoned with. I was still skeptical, but something or someone had turned my loving husband against me. Whether it was Gezala and her selfishness and ignorance, or Shesta and her wiles, I couldn’t say. But Erfun had become a demon to me. But did that mean magic was real? I didn’t know that for sure.
I began my career at the Gas Company working in three clinics. One day a week, I worked at the Head Office, three days at Karachi Terminal (KT), and one day at Rimpa Plaza, a modern office building in central Karachi. My clinic was on the tenth floor, and we had a small team of three: a male clerk, my male helper, and myself.
The clinic for the Units A and B was located on the first floor of Rimpa Plaza. It was a large and busy operation, with a sizable staff of doctors and helpers who treated the company’s clerical and technical staff and their families, Dr. Sheela joined that office.
In the headquarters, I had an office where the Managing Director, Mr. Javeed ul Hasan, Dr. Uqali, and the other executives had their offices. During my three days job at KT, I examined and treated the female family members of the executives, who lived at the residential colony in the vicinity of the KT.
The work pace was leisurely, as I only treated executives and their families. Everyone was respectful and pleasant. I was excited about my new job.
When my son turned five, I took him to one of the finest schools in the city, St. Paul’s School, which had an excellent reputation for providing a high-quality education. Before I could enroll Taimoor, he needed to take an entrance exam. Unfortunately,
Taimoor did not pass the entrance exam. When I received the letter informing me, I was heartbroken, but determined to find a way to reverse that decision.
I met with the principal, Father Max, and explained to him that my son is very intelligent and that he didn’t pass the exam because I didn’t have time to prepare him adequately as I should have. I impressed on the principal of how important a quality education was to my son and myself, and that I would appreciate another opportunity to have him tested. He appreciated my enthusiasm and agreed to give me an additional two weeks to prepare him. This time, after receiving back the new test results, Taimoor passed, and he was enrolled in first grade.
When school began, I arranged a school bus for him. But I had to drop him off at the bus stop each morning before my scheduled shift, and my mother or one of my siblings picked him up each day from the bus stop while I was at work. My family’s help enabled me to save my money. For one year, I scrimped every penny, saving for a down payment.
When I had enough saved, I searched and selected a new housing development project, that was under construction not far from my parent’s home. I asked my father to accompany me for his blessings, and I signed the papers for a new home, similar to what is called a condominium in America. They had just begun building it so it would take a while to complete. The complex was called Chapal House.
I had to pay installments every three months. I wanted to pay it off quickly by myself, so I didn’t take out a mortgage. Soon, I would be truly independent.
During the time I lived at my parent’s home, Furqan visited my mother. He said he wanted to marry me. I told him I was in no mood to begin a new life. I had no feelings for him the first day I met him, and nothing had changed since then. I told him about my terrifying experience with Erfun, and I didn’t know if I could ever trust a man again. No, I did not plan to marry again for a long time—if ever.
Before he left, Furqan told me he had used black magic to break up my marriage, and that was why I was so angry. If Furqan’s magic had caused even a fraction of the pain I’d experienced the last six years, how could I love this man who would use evil to win my heart? I asked Furqan to leave. He was not to think I would ever marry him, so he should stop bothering me. We each needed to go live our own lives and hope for a peaceful future.
Courage to Say No Page 11