Peacock Blue Salaam, guess who this is?
Sammy Ibrahim You gave me a fright. I thought it was Ijaz haunting me. Is that you, Aster?
Peacock Blue Ji, but call me Peacock Blue on the wall.
I searched for Hadassah; I was sure she’d had a profile, but it was gone.
Then I found the doctor’s page. Yes, we were already friends. There were so many video clips, not only of his songs, but of other bands too. I found the one called ‘Umeed’ that he sang at our church. There he was, standing at his keyboard singing. I clicked it to play.
In times of hopelessness
You are my living hope
In the darkness, You are my vibrant light
My faith, hope and destination is You,
O Yesu Masih, only You.
MESSAGES
Maryam Yusef Hi, Peacock Blue. Is that you, Aster? Isn’t this Ijaz’s profile?
Peacock Blue Salaam, Maryam. Ji, it’s Aster. I wasn’t sure how to set one up of my own since Ijaz always let me send messages on his – just easier for me this way. I wanted to see some music videos of a friend of his so I’ll share them with you.
Maryam Yusef It’s wonderful to hear from you at last. Are you feeling better?
Peacock Blue Better than when you saw me last. I’m going to high school now. Middle school, really, I’m in Year 8.
Maryam Yusef That’s great. I started uni this year in February. I’m studying teaching. The first few months have been good so far.
Peacock Blue That’s what I’d like to study. I have 3 years of school, 2 years of college. Then I’ll be able to teach. Though school is not as good as Abba thinks it is.
Maryam Yusef Why do you say that?
Peacock Blue Some of the girls see me as Christian scum, I think, but the worst is the Islamiyat teacher. She gets angry with me very easily.
Maryam Yusef Why don’t you tell the principal?
Peacock Blue I think the teacher would be worse.
Maryam Yusef She shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.
Peacock Blue Thanks for caring. What else is new?
Maryam Yusef I’ll be 18 soon and I’ll have my Ps, my driving licence.
Peacock Blue Wah, I can’t imagine that. Just to have a career and help my family is a big thing for me. Is all your family well?
Maryam Yusef Ji, all are well. Abu is still working as a dentist. Lovely autumn weather here in Adelaide. You must come to visit.
Peacock Blue How I wish.
Maryam Yusef Nothing is impossible.
Peacock Blue So Abba says. Give my salaam to Uncle Yusef and Aunty Noori and all your family. Khuda Hafiz, God keep you safe.
Maryam Yusef Khuda Hafiz.
CHAPTER
6
On Friday afternoon, our chutti from school, I went with Ammi to Mrs Rafique’s house. I loved going there when I was younger. Mrs Rafique gave me embroidery threads and paints. It was there that I first developed my obsession for peacocks. Mrs Rafique raised them and sold the chicks, usually to other rich people so they could have peacocks gracing their mowed lawns. At dusk she shut the hens and chicks in a huge cage she called an aviary and the peacocks roosted in the trees.
Mrs Rafique had an English-style garden with a high wall and during the day the birds strutted under the trees. Her gardener looked so old he must have tended the garden during the Raj. Mr Rafique had been a colonel in the Pakistani army and they were both fond of my mother. She did their washing, ironing, mending and cooking.
Abba even made any clothes they needed, though Mrs Rafique bought her best clothes in fancy emporiums in Islamabad. I’d never seen such a shop, though I’d heard one was being built in town. It was Mrs Rafique who paid for Ijaz’s medicine. Even though they were Muslims they gave Ijaz and me new clothes each Christmas, and at Eid after Ramadan they gave us food and gifts.
When I was born Mrs Rafique brought food into the hospital for Ammi and a whole box of clothes for me. At Ijaz’s funeral you’d have thought they were his grandparents.
‘Aster, how lovely to see you.’
‘Salaam, Aunty-ji.’
‘How is school?’
She was so interested that I wondered if they paid part of the fees. I made an effort and told her I had a friend called Rabia (possibly not true) and that I enjoyed all my studies (definitely not true).
How could I tell her about the discrimination I felt? She’d probably think I’d imagined it. Someone like her would never have felt any discrimination in her life.
I took my sketchbook and sat in the garden to draw the birds. I was always looking for ideas to embroider. I had made Mrs Rafique peacock cushion covers for her lounge room, using colours she liked, maroon and green, but I sewed peacock blue in as well. I couldn’t help it, since it’s my favourite colour. It was a wrench giving them away so I made a replica for myself.
One bird called Neelum (not very imaginative, since neela means blue) swished his tail past my legs.
‘You never open your fan when I want you to, Neelum.’
He turned about and showed me his brown and white back feathers. A fossicking hen pecked the ground nearby, taking no notice of either of us. He saw the hen and gave his haunting cry. Then he raised his tail but he wouldn’t face me. Every time I stood up to sketch him from the front, he turned the other way and shook his back feathers at me.
‘Neelum, behave. Don’t you know by now that the hen doesn’t think you’re amazing at all? Only I do, so show me your fan.’
And just then he did – he faced me and gave me the full benefit of his raised tail. I would never grow used to his display. What a perfect circle of blue and green, and hundreds of eyes like teardrops. Some people think the eyes on the tail are a sign of evil and won’t take the feathers inside, but I didn’t think there was anything evil about Neelum.
Just then one of Mrs Rafique’s grandchildren, Rahul, ran up to me. He was a polite boy with fair skin, who always wore clean, expensive clothes. This time he didn’t clamour for a story.
‘Nana-ji wants to see you, Asti.’
I smiled at his baby name for me. He had always called me that, just like my little cousins.
Rahul escorted me to the Colonel’s reading room. He was sitting in his favourite chair by the window and I realised he would have seen me in the garden.
‘Assalamu Alaikum, Uncle-ji,’ I said when he looked up from his book.
‘Wa Alaikum Assalam, Aster. Come in.’
‘Has she been naughty?’ Rahul asked hopefully.
The Colonel smiled at him. ‘Quite the contrary. Have you been nice to the peacocks today?’
‘Certainly, Nana-ji.’ He turned to me. ‘Haven’t I, Asti?’
I nodded at him as he climbed onto the Colonel’s knee. The Colonel still held himself like a soldier. He spent much of his time in this room reading books in many languages.
‘Aster, I hear you have won a place in the Government Girls High School,’ he said, his gaze appraising.
‘Ji.’ I ducked my head in embarrassment.
‘It is a step in the right direction for your family. Girls should be educated as far as possible. Educate a girl like you and you educate a whole village.’
I looked up at him – what an interesting thing to say.
‘Are you enjoying it?’
I hesitated. He wouldn’t be fooled if I lied.
‘Most of the subjects are easy,’ I offered.
He regarded me before speaking again and I shifted my feet nervously. ‘If you need extra tuition in any of them, come to me. But I suggest you knuckle down and work hard. Nothing worthwhile is achieved without pain – hmm?’
‘I will. Thank you, Uncle-ji.’
How could he have guessed it was difficult for me? It was as if he knew, and here was my chance to ask his advice. Yet I didn’t dare mention the attitude of the other girls or of Mrs Abdul. A man like him would shrug it off. ‘Get on with it,’ I could imagine him saying, and I firmly shut my mouth.
I nodded again. ‘Shukriya.’
‘Now, go and see if you can tire out this little devil while I attend prayers at the mosque.’
Rahul grinned at him and held up his hand for a high five. Then he ran out of the room in front of me. The Colonel was very kind but I doubted he could help me with Mrs Abdul. If she was reported wouldn’t she hate me more?
We were passing the kitchen when the Colonel’s daughter, Juli, called to me. ‘Aster, wait a moment.’ She had a package.
Rahul was pulling on my hand but I managed to stop.
‘This is a shalwar qameez I have grown out of.’ Juli patted her stomach to show how round she’d grown – she was pregnant again. ‘But you may be tall enough for it now.’
‘Thank you.’ Her clothes always looked expensive. It would be lovely to have a new outfit for church and weddings.
‘I’ll leave it with your mother.’ She frowned at Rahul tugging at me. ‘Don’t let him get away with anything, Aster. He’s old enough to toe the line.’
I laughed as Rahul opened the door and burst out, pulling me behind him.
CHAPTER
7
It was Rabia’s turn to be reprimanded, not by Mrs Abdul, though she watched Rabia closely, but by Miss Saed-Ulla, after she asked Rabia to read a page from To Kill a Mockingbird.
‘Rabia, you will not pass well in your exams if you do not read the novel.’
The reprimand was gentle, unlike Mrs Abdul’s, but Rabia’s face paled as she hung her head.
At lunch she asked me about my maths and English. ‘You can’t put a foot wrong in maths class.’
I finally told her about Ijaz. ‘I had a brother – older than me – there were only two of us so I wasn’t as busy as my cousins with little kids to always look after. I did my homework with him and he helped me.’
Rabia stared at me. ‘You sounded close. What happened?’
It took me a moment but I said it. ‘He died.’
Her eyes watered. ‘I’m sorry. I’d hate for my sister or brother to die.’
‘He was always physically weak because of his lungs. My mother had to sit up with him a lot at night. Have a pot of water boiling to make steam. It meant he was often inside with his books.’
I was quiet, not sure what to say next, then remembered her question included English. ‘English is my third language after Urdu. We have cousins in Australia who don’t know how to write Urdu so we write in English to them. Or maybe they don’t have Urdu script on their computers.’ I grinned.
‘Your brother also helped with English?’
I nodded.
Mrs Rafique did too; she had many English books I’d borrowed over the years, but if I told Rabia about the Rafiques then she’d know my mother was a servant. So I told her about church instead.
‘But also from our fellowship – some of our religious books and songs are in English.’
I glanced at her. Now would be when I lost her interest. But what was the point of hiding who I was?
Then Rabia did something strange. She stuck her bottom lip between her teeth and shifted closer though no one was nearby. ‘My father wasn’t always Muslim,’ she said. ‘He was Masihi like you, but he couldn’t get a good job. He was offered land, and money to build a house if he said the Kalimah.’
When she had finished I had no words to say; I just stared at her. Was my father capable of something like that?
‘You mightn’t understand,’ she sat back a little, ‘but he converted for us, his family. My brother is in university now. My father works in an office instead of some menial job. My sister and I will have good marriages.’ Then she narrowed her gaze at me. ‘You don’t hate me?’
I shook my head. ‘Thank you,’ I managed to say. She was the first girl in the class to talk to me, let alone entrust me with her family background. I also suspected she wasn’t as well accepted as it first appeared. No wonder Mrs Abdul watched her like a crane at a fishpond.
‘I have an idea,’ Rabia said then. ‘What say you help me with English and maths and I’ll help you with Arabic and Islamiyat?’
Rabia did well in Mrs Abdul’s classes. ‘How do you know Arabic so well?’
‘We were given special classes. Plus, it’s been a few years now – since the change.’
I nodded, thinking. ‘Teik hai, okay. When shall we do it? Lunchtimes?’
‘And after school? I don’t think my father will let me go to your village. He’s tried to put his old life behind him.’
I was sure Abba wouldn’t mind fetching me later. Often we had to wait for Sammy.
‘Teik hai, on the same days my cousin has soccer practice.’ We gave each other high fives. We agreed to become Facebook friends and talk further there.
After that, Rabia helped me during breaks. Arabic was more difficult even though there were many Arabic words in Urdu. They were difficult to spell and I just had to try to remember them by rote. A dot in the wrong place could change the meaning entirely and earn a cuff over the head from Mrs Abdul.
But I was beginning to improve. Even Mrs Abdul noticed. She praised Rabia, not me, and that made other girls want to help me as well.
MESSAGES
Maryam Yusef Hey, Aster, check out my blog. It’s all about what interests me – you might like it too. You can give me some ideas. There are pics from the last time we visited the land of the pure. Sorry, how insensitive of me, that was Ijaz’s funeral. It’s called Step by Step, just google it.
Peacock Blue Teik hai. I’ll look at it. Sorry I wasn’t good company when you came. It was such a shocking time.
Maryam Yusef No worries. That’s Australian for everything’s okay. We were so sorry about Ijaz. He was my favourite boy cousin.
Peacock Blue My favourite brother too. Khuda Hafiz, God keep you safe.
Maryam Yusef Khuda Hafiz.
Step by Step
To see a world where freedom,
peace and justice reign
About Maryam Yusef Masih
I was born in Australia but my parents were born in Pakistan, the land of the pure. My mother was raised near the Azad Kashmir border and my father in a village on the outskirts of Lahore. He was very intelligent and won a scholarship to a university in London. Now he is a specialist dentist in Australia. This doesn’t happen often for children born in obscure rural villages in developing countries. What would my life be like if he hadn’t had that opportunity, I wonder?
Since I am Australian but Pakistani too I call myself Australian Born Pakistani, ABP. I keep in contact with my cousins in Pakistan and because I go there on holidays, I have seen the best of Pakistan – its beautiful scenery and kind hospitality. I’ve been to Lahore – my father says you haven’t lived if you haven’t been to Lahore – and to my mother’s village in the north of Pakistan, in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa where some of my cousins live, and beautiful Swat. Since we look like Pakistanis and not Australians we were allowed over the border into Azad Kashmir but we couldn’t see the blue lake at the top of the world because of the Line of Control and the intermittent conflict. My mother was sad about that; she hasn’t seen the lake since she was young.
We go to a church in Australia – the customs are different but my parents are used to them. Men and women and children all sit together in family groups; women don’t have to wear scarves and men don’t wear hats inside. My brother and I don’t wish for anything different.
I like Australian culture – people do as they please and don’t stick to rules about how to dress, how to serve food, what to say. Many are atheists and don’t feel beholden to any power more important than themselves, which can make them less respectful than they could be. But I have great friends – Anglo-Australian as well as Pakistani-Australian.
Other Australians are surprised to find we are not Muslim, and that they have more in common with us than they imagine when they first see us. Only a few patients who se
e Dad’s face decide not to sit in his dentist’s chair. We understand racial intolerance. In places like Afghanistan and Africa, ethnic cleansing is still practised just like Hitler did in World War Two. We need to stand against such abuses. Maybe I shouldn’t be training as a teacher but as a lawyer. But I love learning about the world and I want kids to appreciate it and the people around them. It’s the peaceful way to change the things we don’t need in our world, step by step.
And one person can start.
COMMENTS
Peacock Blue Accha blog, Maryam. I haven’t even been to Azad Kashmir and yet you have and you live in Australia. We have been to Swat though – that is a bahut beautiful place, with rivers, mountains, wildflowers and green meadows you can play in.
Amir It sounds like a very beautiful place, wish I could see it. Pakistan is a newly formed nation but it is an ancient land with a rich history. I am an exile but I enjoy my life in Canada too. It also is a beautiful country. According to your code, Maryam, I am a CBP.
Fatima I was born in London but I know what you mean about second-generation exile. I miss the deserts of my parents’ homeland too. I am a BBA.
CHAPTER
8
I couldn’t wait for Friday morning school to be over. I just had to get through Mrs Abdul’s classes. Dr Amal was coming to our village to give a talk about hygiene and to inoculate the kids. He called it a medical camp. A few relatives were coming from villages further south. Barakat told Sammy on Facebook he was travelling up with his family. I never contacted Ijaz’s friends on Facebook but I could see what they were doing on the newsfeed.
Saleema and her friends approached me as I came through the gate into school, and walked with me past the office. She apologised for her recent behaviour and wanted to see my homework. I’d been taught to give people second chances, yet still I hesitated, even though other girls had also offered to help.
‘Just so I can see you’re being advised properly.’
Saleema was the most intelligent girl in the class and the others all tipped their heads, their eyes wide and helpful. I pulled my homework book from my backpack. Saleema pored over the pages and made marks with her pencil.
The Truth About Peacock Blue Page 3