Shahzada cast another helpless look at her husband, desperate for his support, hoping that he would say something in her defence. However, Habib, his eyes as cold as his father’s, remained self-righteously silent by her side.
All of a sudden Shahzada again experienced the urge to escape from that oppressive atmosphere. She rose, but Siraj Din’s words rooted her to the sofa again.
‘Shahzada, I know that I am an old man and am fast becoming obsolete in this rapidly changing world. Day by day we are being invaded by Western values, via the satellite dishes and television programmes. But I must be allowed to say that my clan hasn’t yet had the misfortune to become so outrageously “advanced”, so morally corrupt that we let our beautiful young unmarried daughters stay in strange people’s houses unchaperoned. Alongside our land, our wives and daughters, our izzat – our honour – is the most precious thing in our lives. We never ever compromise on the issue of our women and our izzat! No matter what age we live in; no matter what the world outside dictates; no matter what evil lies outside our door. Even if you sacrifice, forget, or part with all the other etiquettes of our land-owning class of feudal landlords, we will never let you sully our izzat or our women’s honour, Shahzada.’
Chastised thus, Shahzada didn’t dare to raise her eyes, let alone speak. She sank into a stupor of humiliation as her father-in-law, in a calculated gesture of insult and a demonstration of his displeasure, neatly dismissed her by turning his back on her and lying down on the chaise longue.
Biting her quivering lower lip, Shahzada shot a look of pained betrayal at her husband. With an awkward movement and making sure her chador hadn’t by chance slipped off her head, she quietly walked out of the room, leaving behind the two males.
Chapter 4
SIKANDER AND ZARRI BANO were taking a walk alone around the orange orchard of Sikander’s home, in a leafy suburb of Karachi. The afternoon sun was shining brightly above them.
As they walked side by side, an air of expectancy and excitement hung about them. Making small talk, both were happy to skirt around the main topic on their minds by indulging and humouring the other.
This was their third meeting. Zarri Bano, especially invited to visit Sikander’s home, had accepted graciously. Sikander did in fact, as predicted by Zarri Bano, return to Tanda Adam for a second visit. This time they had an opportunity to spend a whole day in each other’s company. And she didn’t turn him down, as Ruby learned later.
After dinner, Sikander had volunteered to show Zarri Bano around his family orchard. This time there were no parents to chaperone them. There was no need. They were two mature adults, needing and wanting to communicate and explore with each other their feelings for one another, before sealing their fate together.
They had walked away from the large house. Strolling amongst the orange trees, Zarri Bano had reached forward to pluck a ripe satsuma from the branch.
‘Here, let me help you, Zarri Bano.’
It was the first time he had used her full name instead of the polite term of ‘Sahiba’. The name rippled like music to Zarri Bano’s ears.
Sikander reached forward and pulled the satsuma off the branch, touching Zarri Bano’s hand accidentally in the process. She went still, a strange, potent awareness entering her body. She waited for him to remove his hand.
He didn’t.
It was Zarri Bano who eventually jerked her hand away, deeply offended. Confronting Sikander directly, her hand still smarting from the touch of his fingers, she said in a low, passionate voice: ‘Sikander Sahib, we are all alone in this orchard and talking together. However, let me make it clear to you that I never allow anyone the liberty of being too familiar with me. No man has ever touched me or dared to do so, no matter how innocently.’
Sikander steadily held her gaze. A humorous glint dancing in his eyes, he looked pointedly down at her hand again. He understood her perfectly!
‘What liberty have I taken, Zarri Bano?’ he asked softly. ‘If an unfortunate and accidental contact of my hand has deserved this harsh rebuke from you, then perhaps we have both misunderstood the nature of this situation, of why we are here in the first place – walking alone, as you say, a man and a woman with no ties between us. I had hoped that there was a purpose in this walk of ours – a purpose to your stay in my home, in fact. That is why your mother and brother left you here, isn’t it?’
Colour rushed to Zarri Bano’s cheeks. She had come to the orchard to give him her answer personally that she would marry him, but now, perverse delight overtook her in wanting to hold it back, to teach him a lesson – to punish him for his audacity.
‘You presume wrong, Sikander Sahib. There is no purpose in our walk together. I am just a guest in your house and I wanted a stroll around your gardens. You volunteered to accompany me, that’s all.’ She smiled politely back at him.
‘Well, if you think that I am too familiar, Sahiba, and there is no purpose to our walk together, I will leave you in peace. I, for my part, do not make a habit of taking unmarried women around our orchard. I’ll see you later in the house,’ he threw back at her before striding away, leaving a stunned Zarri Bano behind.
‘Sikander Sahib!’ she called after him, collecting her wits about her, deflated by his action. He had neatly turned the tables on her. ‘You do treat your guests shabbily. I thought there was a handani, a Sindi code of chivalry and etiquette.’
He swept round to look back at her. She was standing next to the orange tree, her arms held behind as if she were embracing it – almost moulded against it. The warm breeze played with her clothes and the long wavy strands of her hair as it fell around her face and shoulders.
Sikander caught his breath. She was looking at him with the same wistful expression of innocent abandonment that she had worn under the tree at the mela. This time she was dressed in dark green and looked exquisite. As if drawn by a magnet, Sikander retraced his steps and came to stand in front of her.
Zarri Bano watched and waited, a wave of sudden excitement coursing through her veins. Unable to make sense of her feelings when Sikander had angrily marched away from her, she had panicked. With a thud, the realisation dawned on her that she cared deeply for him, and that his opinion of her mattered to her.
Her eyes, unbeknown to her, thus spelt out and whispered to him what her heart and mind had refused to recognise and to signal.
She was a tall woman, but he was still a few inches taller. She looked up at his face, her eyes lingering on the deep cleft in his chin. Then they lifted – locked with his.
Unable to help himself, Sikander reached forward and took her hand in his own. This time she didn’t draw it back. Sikander marvelled at its shape, suppleness and its colouring, with its well-manicured nails. He let his fingers tentatively trail over the soft skin.
‘Such a beautiful hand,’ he murmured, his eyes challenging her to remove it from his grasp. Then before her shocked gaze, he turned her hand over and his fingers began to move over her palm.
Zarri Bano watched in stunned surprise, her heart beating fast, before snatching her hand back, horrified both at his action and her own reaction to it. She had liked the feel of his fingers against her palm. Commonsense and female etiquette demanded that she remove her hand from his.
She went into further shock when he drew forward her other hand and did the same. She tried to draw it back, but he wouldn’t let go. Her colour heightened, she looked away in embarrassment, seeing the raw passion in his eyes. She floundered. He was invading the very perimeters of her intimate world.
By his action, both recognised that they were being drawn into a new bond. There was to be no retreat for either of them. They knew too much about each other.
Sikander was satisfied. Horrified she had been, but she hadn’t removed her hand, the second time, from his grasp. Her eyes had eloquently betrayed her as nothing else could have done and whispered volumes for her heart.
‘I am afraid I have now committed a further crime in your book. It appea
rs I am destined to sink fast in your estimation,’ his seductive tone teased. He smiled gently down at her. ‘I have been even more familiar. Is Shahzadi Zarri Bano now lost for words?’
Zarri Bano’s face spread into a smile, revealing an attractive dimple in her left cheek.
‘I wouldn’t have allowed you to become so familiar if I had not wanted you to,’ she answered softly.
‘Then I am honoured.’
‘So you should be. It is the first time that I have let a strange man touch my hand.’
‘But I wouldn’t be touching and holding these beautiful hands of yours in mine if I didn’t think that I had some right to do so. I, too, know the parameters of social proprieties.’
‘And what right is that, may I ask?’ she prompted, now ready to play with fire. ‘You are too presumptuous, Sikander Sahib.’
‘The right of your future husband, have I not, Zarri Bano?’ he coaxed, his eyes still caressing her with their dark warm glow.
There it was – the proposal in plain words. No more fencing around the subject. He now waited tensely for a response from her.
This was the moment that Zarri Bano had both dreaded and anticipated with delight. Instead, she was overcome by the utter solemnity of the occasion. The smile and dimple receded and she stared at him in awe, unable to look away.
Sikander watched and waited. Was she or was she not going to accept his proposal? Gently he dropped her hand. Not wishing to swamp her with his physical presence he moved to stand at a decent distance from her.
Zarri Bano watched his retreat with a sense of loss. She had, by now, long recognised the charismatic power of attraction this man held over her. Totally lost to him she gloried in that realisation. There was to be no regret.
He was the first man who had managed to arouse anything in her. In fact, she was beginning to be terribly afraid of the feelings he was arousing in her. She wanted to share her life with him. Be with him, touch him and to feel his touch. Without him life loomed like a void – empty, colourless and without meaning. She allowed herself to be swept into his magnetic field, knowing instinctively that he was her ultimate fulfilment in life.
On impulse, she walked up to him; reaching forward, she placed her hand in his. He grasped it tightly, his shoulders relaxed. It was a most pleasant surprise, but he still sought a verbal response from her. He turned to look at her, his eyes again coaxing hers, endeavouring to demolish any relics of female reserve she still harboured.
She immediately responded. First with a smile and then she leaned forward, so that her shoulder was almost touching his.
‘You have every right, Sikander Sahib. I wouldn’t allow my hands to be touched if I didn’t think it was right.’ Honesty of thought and feeling were of paramount importance at this moment in time. ‘I am most honoured by your proposal and I hope you are in turn honoured by my acceptance.’
Sikander’s eyes closed. She had accepted.
‘Zarri Bano, I’ll never let you regret this. I’ll make you the happiest woman on earth,’ he proclaimed both to himself and to her in a voice rich with promise.
‘I hope so, for you see, I have turned down many, many suitors. I was almost tempted to turn you down too.’ She dimpled at him. ‘But you are the only one who has finally caught me, as my sister would say. However, I do cherish my freedom. Above all, I will not be moulded in any way. You must understand and remember that always, Sikander Sahib.’
‘I will be honest with you too. You are the first woman who has “caught me in her net”. I want you as you are. That is what I most like about you – your unconventional behaviour, your wit and sparkle. Let’s now go inside and tell my family the good news. They will be delighted, particularly my father, who dreams of grandchildren with your eyes. You can phone your parents.’ His eyes again roamed over her face, noting the blush that had spread over her cheeks, before he pulled her along with him.
They walked a few yards together, side by side, in silence. Both were lost in thought and the magic spell that their walk had woven. As they approached the villa, Zarri Bano stepped away from him.
‘It’s going to be hard keeping my distance from you, especially when you are in the same building,’ Sikander whispered in her ear, an impish smile playing tenderly on his lips.
Shahzada entered the guest room unobtrusively, holding the hookah smoke pipe and base in her hand. She placed it down gently next to her father-in-law and then sat on the sofa. Habib and his father had finished their meal and were now enjoying drinking their pink shabz tea. They were engrossed in a keen discussion on the subject of the brick factory, the bhatta that had opened near their village, and didn’t pay any attention to Shahzada.
‘We have always prided ourselves on the beautiful green landscape of our estate. Now with the brick-making business leaving huge ugly craters in the ground, the land is unbecomingly scarred. Habib, we will need to do something about it soon. I will not allow another of these smoke-belching kilns to be built in the vicinity of our village, never mind the heat from them. In the countryside we take pride in the fresh air.’
Siraj Din cast a look at his daughter-in-law as she stood up and picked up the hookah again. She, thinking that a change of position might be more convenient for him, placed it near his legs. Leaning over, he pulled the pipe towards him and took a long powerful puff, making the water in the shiny round aluminium base gurgle.
As he puffed he glanced up at Shahzada, seeing the smile etched on her face and the radiant glow beaming from her cheeks. Unable to help himself, he smiled back at her, his own eyes softening with fatherly love and fondness. Shahzada would always remain his favourite daughter-in-law, even if she had had the misfortune of displeasing him. The truth of the matter was that he had a soft spot for Shahzada. He just wished that all his other daughters-in-law were like her. Magnanimously, Siraj Din decided that he was going to forgive her. ‘She is a human being, after all, and all human beings make mistakes sometimes.’
Siraj Din’s green eyes narrowed in thought as he noted the stern lines on his son’s face. Siraj Din was unable to fathom Habib’s mood and the present tempo of his relationship with his wife. Earlier in the afternoon there had been a distinct coldness between them, almost as if they were two strangers. No words or look of warmth had passed between them. On the contrary, Habib had been almost malicious towards his wife denying her any support. ‘What is going on between them?’ Siraj Din wondered, intrigued yet disquieted by the chasm that had opened up between his two loved ones.
Siraj Din swept a questioning look at his daughter-in-law.
Blushing red under his gaze, Shahzada announced with quiet confidence: ‘Aba Jan, Zarri Bano has just phoned from Karachi. She tells me that she has decided to marry Sikander and that she is very happy.’ Shahzada scanned both their faces expectantly.
She waited, switching from one face to the other, but only total silence greeted her words. Confronted with the grim look on her father-in-law’s face, Shahzada faltered nervously, her two fingers kept tapping on the gold rim of her china cup. When she turned to her husband, a steely glare greeted her. ‘Why are they treating me so coldly?’ Shahzada asked herself in pained bewilderment. ‘Aren’t they happy at the news?’
From the natural well of her maternal instinct, both outrage and defiance reared their ugly heads. She decided to address her Aba Jan directly.
‘Aren’t you both happy that at last we’ve succeeded in arranging a match for our Zarri Bano, and to our satisfaction?’ she asked, and was unable to mask either the accusing tone, or the look of resentment in her eyes.
Shocked by the audacity of his ‘beloved’ daughter-in-law, Siraj Din ruthlessly turned on her.
‘Arranging, Shahzada? We have done no arranging. You and your daughter have had the impudence to arrange it all. You didn’t even have the courtesy to tell us that Zarri Bano was going to Karachi or indeed consult us on whether she ought to be allowed to go, without your presence as chaperone. It appears, my Shahzada, we have n
o say in this matter. Amazingly, you have by-passed both Habib and myself. I hadn’t realised what an industrious daughter-in-law I had. In fact, I am beginning to wonder who actually rules this home. Who is master in this house? You or my son, Habib …?’ Siraj Din stopped as he watched his son stiffly get up and leave the room.
Shahzada watched with hurt bewilderment. Habib hadn’t said a word. Was he not happy for his daughter? What was the matter with him? Her mouth now very dry, she turned to her father-in-law’s equally hostile stare. He pulled his legs up on the sofa and took another puff on his long smoke pipe.
‘Aba Jan, you knew those people were interested in our Zarri Bano,’ Shahzada felt obliged to explain. ‘Jafar introduced us to them. Habib Sahib has kept you informed of everything. You know we never do anything without your authority or your blessing. Please forgive me if we gave you any other impression. Habib Sahib is the master of this household, how could you ever doubt that? And how could I, a mere woman, take such a step as arranging my daughter’s marriage without involving you two? You insult both me and yourself by such a preposterous assumption. I am not guilty of any crime, Aba Jan. I have not done anything wrong. If love for my eldest daughter and concern for her future happiness in marriage to the right person are crimes in your book, then I am guilty indeed,’ Shahzada ended quietly, holding herself with dignity.
‘Then tell me, Shahzada, why is my son behaving so oddly towards you?’ Siraj Din rasped, leaving aside the smoke pipe. ‘I have not lived for over seventy years to remain blind to the signals that my son has been shooting forth at you all this afternoon. He offers no blessing to this match to this rich tycoon, that you and your daughter appear to be so keen on. Tell me, Shahzada, why is this so?’ Siraj Din’s eyes bored accusingly into hers. He had never, ever stared at her with such disapproval before.
The Holy Woman Page 4