Shafique Like survivor guilt. I’ve felt it too. When I was a teen I didn’t like going back, I got picked on for having money in my pocket and the beggars drove me crazy. No one thought I could understand their life. But now I’m in uni I can see things a bit clearer. People want respect whatever situation they are in. Nor do they always want a handout. I can think of things to do now that don’t offend so much.
Sabha I cannot return to where my parents were born as it is too dangerous, but my mother misses the beauty of it before the war started. It is hard for me to imagine. They have no photos.
CHAPTER
10
Once started the wedding machine can’t be stopped. Once you’re strapped in there’s no hope of disentanglement.
So much to plan: food, the ceremony, music, clothes, and not just for the bride and groom. And the pace heightens the closer the wedding looms, like a barrel rolling down a steep hill.
Everyone, young and old, talks about the food. Guests judge the success of a wedding by the dishes chosen and how much is laid out on the long tables. Is there chicken masalah and sweet coloured rice? Is the naan hot? In our village, food for weddings was still cooked the old way, in degs, by the barber and any man he could rope in to help stir the huge steel pots.
Many of the wedding customs were developed before Islam or Christianity came to this country, and we follow them, adding our Christian customs to the mix.
One of my jobs was keeping the younger cousins out of everyone’s way. They always wanted stories and songs, so I helped look after Sammy’s brother and sisters, Akeel, Marya and Noori, while Aunty Rakel sewed. I picked up Sammy’s tabla and beat out a rhythm for us to sing until they ran off to play.
Amid the flurry I finally managed to talk to Hadassah alone. It had been difficult as she didn’t go to the well anymore, or visit us. I hadn’t even seen her at the village shop. But I caught her at home after school when her mother went with Ammi to a cloth shop in town. I wondered at first why she hadn’t gone with them.
‘I missed you.’ I sat on the charpai, the string bed beside her.
I was surprised at how little she spoke. She used to be so full of life and I thought more seriously about what had happened to her. It still obviously affected her.
‘Did I ever say how sorry I was that day when . . . when it happened?’
Her eyelids flew up and she looked directly at me. ‘It could not have been avoided – they were lying in wait. If it wasn’t me, it would have been you.’
I frowned. I hadn’t thought of it like that. And that was the moment when I finally did my arithmetic. I wasn’t a little child anymore. She wouldn’t just have been beaten – there was blood on her shalwar – and suddenly I understood it all.
‘I’m really sorry, I didn’t understand—’ I paused. ‘But the wedding is good, isn’t it?’
Hadassah still hadn’t smiled. ‘It’s what I must do, to make a life for myself. Maybe I’ll have other children.’
The room spun around me and stopped so suddenly I thought I’d slip off the charpai. There was so much I hadn’t been told – probably to save her honour and that of her family as much as to protect my innocence.
A year away – of course – why hadn’t I thought of it before?
‘So you never knew?’ She sighed as I shook my head.
We were quiet awhile until I asked, ‘Did you enjoy the tailoring course?’
She nodded mechanically. ‘It’s what I always wanted to do. I can even make my own patterns. And when I graduated with a diploma, I got a sewing machine of my own.’ She spoke as if she was reciting her times tables and pointed to the corner. The machine was still in its case.
‘Nay, I don’t feel like marrying,’ she said then as if I had just asked. ‘But Ammi says it is the best thing.’
I stared at her as a tear rolled down her cheek.
‘They made me give him away. No one would have married me with a child.’
There were no words I could say. Abba always said when we’re tested by fire our faith would be refined, but what did I know of suffering? Nothing compared with Hadassah’s pain.
I took her hand. ‘How can I help?’
‘Pray for me. I never knew how hard it would be, but I had to do it for his sake. No one but my family would believe I was forced. And in this country it doesn’t matter which religion you are – in an instance like this, the girl is at fault, she has broken the law.’
Her words were hollow and dark, like her eyes.
‘Can I come with you to shop for the wedding? Will that help a little?’
She tilted her head.
‘We’ll go to the bazaar tomorrow after school?’
It would be difficult for her, I knew, but she looked bravely at me. If only I could cheer her up, help her be the bright and bubbly girl she had been.
‘Does your fiancée know about the baby?’
A tiny shake. ‘I shouldn’t think so. He is older. His wife died recently and he needs a mother for his children.’
‘You’ll be good at that.’
‘I don’t feel like it. Not yet. But my parents want me married before rumours start or anything else happens.’
‘That can’t be true.’ Was she joking? I held my breath at this glimmer of levity.
She gave a small smile. ‘This opportunity came up. Not many girls’ families would take it.’ Then she added, ‘Would they have offered if they knew?’
I was silent, wondering if Hadassah would ever tell him.
Rabia came to the bazaar with us. She chattered away – one of the reasons I’d asked her along, as I couldn’t bring myself to talk about mundane things after what Hadassah had just told me. Our task was to buy cloth and bangles for the younger cousins’ new outfits, and to get dupattas dyed to match.
We visited the new emporium first. Everything was too expensive but it was lovely fingering the silks. I was glad I didn’t have to worry about a new outfit; I had Juli Rafique’s shalwar qameez to wear. We ventured down to the usual bazaar, covering our heads when we heard the azan, the call to prayer.
At cloth shop after cloth shop the men spread out samples for us to view. One young man threw cloth in the air so it would settle right in front of us like silk birds, colour after flying colour. He’d guessed one of us was a bride when Rabia picked up a red wedding dupatta. We liked his cloth the best, and bought ten pieces along with enough gauzy material for the dupattas.
He held up a red wedding outfit. ‘Very beautiful.’
His gaze brushed us all; he hadn’t decided who was the bride.
Hadassah made an effort but Rabia noticed her reticence. ‘You are a perfect bride, Hadassah, not wanting to leave your family.’
A quick flush of annoyance spread across Hadassah’s face but Rabia obviously thought it was a blush.
‘How exciting this all is for you. I won’t be able to get married for years yet.’ She held the red wedding dupatta over Hadassah’s head and the gold fringe framed her face.
‘Ji, this is suiting you too much.’ The young man tipped his head from side to side in happiness.
Hadassah’s eyes were startled as if she were a gazelle, unsure which way to run to escape the hunter.
Reaching up I gently removed the dupatta. ‘Aunty Feebi and Ammi will come with Hadassah to buy her clothes.’
‘And the groom’s too?’ Rabia asked.
‘Ji.’ I stuffed the cloth into two bags and handed one to Hadassah.
‘Is he tall, handsome? Rich?’ That was Rabia.
It was then I wondered at the sense of inviting her and changed the subject.
‘How is your English study, Rabia? Are you practising with your sister, reading to her?’
Rabia made a face. ‘She laughs at me, and my brother says why bother as I’ll get married anyway. What will I need English for then?’
‘To teach your children.’ This came from Hadassah, the first thing she’d said all day other than a greeting, forced out of her by poli
teness.
Rabia and I stared at her.
‘Mothers are the best teachers. That’s why girls need to go to school.’ Hadassah’s voice sounded choked, as if she would cry, and I jumped in with a comment of my own.
‘I think it would be good to work after marriage anyway. Why do we have to stop? Hadassah, you will work once you’re married, won’t you?’ I couldn’t imagine her not sewing.
Hadassah looked at me blankly. ‘You’ll sew clothes when you’re married?’ I prompted.
‘Ji, I believe that was mentioned,’ but her voice was flat again.
Rabia was gazing at Hadassah with interest and, too late, I realised I’d led the conversation down the marriage path again.
‘What about your study for your exams, Rabia?’ I moved to another stall so they would follow me.
‘I should be fine.’ Then she had her revenge on me. ‘Are you practising your Arabic and verses? You have to pass that to reach the next level.’
‘I’m trying my best.’
I thought of the Colonel. The first tutoring session was easier than lessons at school. If only he could come to school to teach us all Arabic, we’d be proficient in no time.
We pored over the rows and rows of circles in the bangle shop. Hadassah’s parents would buy her gold ones if they could afford it, but we bought glass ones for the children, sets of two dozen to match each piece of cloth. Shoes would have to wait until their mothers could bring them to the bazaar.
Down by the river the dyer pinned swatches of cloth to each piece of dupatta. ‘Three days,’ he said.
Rabia gave us chai and biscuits after we walked to her house while I rang Abba to collect Hadassah and me. We squeezed into the back of the rickshaw and were quiet on the way to the village.
Hadassah had appeared tired and listless, and now I understood why. It was her excessive sadness. My mind turned to Rabia’s words about exams. What if I didn’t do well enough to continue? What if Abba decided my education wasn’t worth the money spent?
I knew then, regardless of Islamiyat and Arabic, I wanted very much to study, to be a teacher and an independent woman. Like Maryam.
MESSAGES
Peacock Blue Salaam, Afia. Are you coming to the wedding?
Afia Yunis Ji, just received invitation. Bahut pretty.
Peacock Blue Accha. Did you know our cousin Maryam in Australia has a blog? If you have any ideas for her to write about she will be happy.
Afia Yunis Wah, it will be good to practise my English. It’s not in Urdu?
Peacock Blue Nay, she’s proper Australian. She calls herself Aussie. The website’s called Step by Step. You can google it.
Afia Yunis Teik hai, I’ll look at it.
Peacock Blue Say salaam to Aunty Assia and Uncle Yunis and all your family.
Step by Step
To see a world where freedom,
peace and justice reign
Changing the World One Girl at a Time
I heard from my cousin that girls’ schools are being destroyed in the mountains of Pakistan but I haven’t seen it on our news. Our news is full of reports that presumably relate to us – the new boy on next season’s football team, political arguments that everyone is sick of, which schools have the best reading scores, maybe a terrorist attack in Syria – but no news of little schools in an unknown part of the Himalayas.
I believe our neighbours don’t just live next door. If you think of the earth as part of a huge universe, then all people on earth are our neighbours. Imagine your local school being bombed. Okay, some get graffitied or burned over summer when delinquents get bored, but imagine if it was destroyed because there were girls studying in it. We Australians wouldn’t stand for that. Those girls in Swat are our neighbours – they live on this planet with us. So what can we do?
I have found a blog of such a girl who urges the world to not turn away. She believes girls deserve an education too. Her school was destroyed but she is not giving up – she is studying at home and writing a blog. But she doesn’t give her real name. She calls herself Gul Makai, Cornflower, the heroine of many Pakhtun folktales.
COMMENTS
Amir A society is healthy if all people have equal rights to education, freedom and services.
Peacock Blue I am the first girl in my village to go to high school and I am thankful for the opportunity. Girls need to be educated to pass knowledge to their children.
Tamsin What about the 280 Nigerian girls who can’t have an education now? Boko Haram militants don’t care about girls’ education.
Shafique Isn’t that more to do with war and gaining a territory?
Habib It makes too much change in poor countries if girls get educated like boys.
Fozia Don’t we want that change?
Habib What if culture is damaged?
Fozia What are you worried about? I know many educated women who still follow their culture and faith.
Abdulla Girls should not be educated. They are not as intelligent as boys and will become proud, make wrong decisions, and be difficult to handle. Those Nigerian girls will be better off away from their kafir parents.
Fozia I’m not going to comment on the lack of intelligence of your views, Abdulla – shame.
CHAPTER
11
Rabia and I continued to help each other with our homework and I studied with the Colonel on Thursday afternoons. My primary school teacher, Miss Saima, visited to find out how my studies were going – she even checked my English essay on To Kill a Mockingbird. I wrote about racism and how we mustn’t fear or disregard those different from ourselves. I must admit I had a vested interest, being the unpopular girl in class, but this had been happening since the beginning of time. Cain killed Abel because Abel was different and received more favour than him. How much bullying of others is born of fear and the desire for power? I was glad Mrs Abdul would not be reading my English essay.
‘Learn it by heart,’ Miss Saima advised. ‘It is a good essay.’
Learning by rote is what we always do – it was how I was going to pass the Arabic and Islamiyat exams. I could imagine Miss Rehmat saying, ‘No need to learn by heart if you understand what you are doing.’
Mrs Abdul believed Arabic would miraculously become clear to me as soon as I became Muslim, that I would have an ‘open window’ into a new way of thinking. It was her constant hope.
It was difficult to study when Aunty Feebi was in the house in the evening to discuss wedding menus with Ammi, and clothes designs with Abba. He was sewing everyone’s new clothes. Other men who could sew were commissioned to help. If Ijaz were alive he would be sewing too.
Hadassah offered to help with the children’s clothes but they only let her do a few.
I hadn’t managed to tempt Hadassah to the bazaar again. Soon she wouldn’t be able to leave the house even if she wanted to. A week before the wedding she’d have to wear old clothes and stay inside as a symbol of moving from an old life to the new. But these days staying at home wasn’t difficult for Hadassah.
Time was running out if I wanted to help her recover. Even Ammi said to Abba they should have waited a year – then Hadassah could have enjoyed her wedding.
I visited Hadassah every day after school during her lonely week. On the last day I brought nail polish and gave her a massage and a pedicure. When I turned to leave Hadassah grabbed my hand.
‘Aster, can you stay longer?’
‘Zarur, certainly.’
‘I just want to thank you for all you’ve done for me.’
‘This is what we do at weddings.’
‘Nay, not just that. The way you care.’
If only I could do more. ‘It’s only a little.’
‘I appreciate it. It’s just that I can’t stop thinking about the baby. They let me name him. I called him Shahbaz.’
I felt a prickle at the back of my eyes. Many Christian babies were called Shahbaz after the minister for minorities, Shahbaz Bhatti, but it was also the name of our great-gr
andfather, the first person of our family to convert from Hinduism to Christianity during the Raj. This country was India then. Even Maryam in Australia shares our great-grandfather.
‘That’s a beautiful thing to do, Hadassah. Maybe you’ll see him one day, when he’s grown. You’ll see a young man walking down the bazaar who looks like your father—’
‘And I’ll always wonder if that is him.’ She burst into sobs. ‘I’ll never see him again. The couple adopting him are from Australia, but I was told they’d keep his name.’
I sat on the charpai beside her and held her until she stopped shaking. After she blew her nose, she said, ‘The nurse told me the couple had waited seven years for a baby. The husband grew up here. They were so happy to have Shahbaz.’
I thought at least she knew where he was, and that he was well looked after. ‘We’ll be able to pray for him every day. You’ll still be his birth mother.’
Strangely, Hadassah smiled. ‘Ammi said I needed to cry. I couldn’t – it had to be such a secret that I shut myself up to keep the secret safe.’ Then she said, ‘That couple saved my life.’
I frowned at her.
‘You know what could happen if anyone in town heard I had a child alone? I’d be jailed for being with a man who wasn’t my husband. I’d be accused of zina.’
Zina. Even rape came under the category of zina if you couldn’t find four male witnesses. It wasn’t fair, but that was the way things were.
‘It’s been good to tell you.’
I gave her a squeeze. ‘You are my big sister. I can come to stay with you in the holidays.’
The Truth About Peacock Blue Page 5