The Holy Woman

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  ‘I don’t know,’ Shahzada said miserably, her head bowed, unable to make sense of either her husband’s antagonism towards Sikander or her father-in-law’s disapproval.

  Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, Shahzada got up, keeping her face averted. ‘I will see if Jafar is back from his horse riding,’ she mumbled and left the room.

  But instead of Jafar, she went to look for her husband.

  Shahzada found Habib in their bedroom. He was standing with his back to her, looking out at their fields of wheat and corn. He heard his wife enter and instinctively knew it was Shahzada. Stopping in the middle of the large bedroom, she waited for him to turn and look at her. He didn’t.

  She aimlessly moved around the room, picking up the large fleecy towel from Habib’s bed. Folding it she placed it on the chair. Next, she straightened the books and Habib’s business ledgers on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Propping up the cushions she placed them at neat angles on the leather sofa. Shahzada stood and surveyed the room – there was nothing further for her to do.

  Habib’s back was still turned to her. Resigning herself to the fact that her husband was neither going to speak to her or acknowledge her presence, Shahzada swallowed her pride.

  ‘Habib Sahib,’ she whispered gently, walking to stand behind him and touching his arm. ‘Isn’t it wonderful that Zarri Bano has agreed to marry Sikander? I am so happy.’ She felt his muscles tense under her hand. ‘Aren’t you happy, Habib Sahib?’ she repeated.

  ‘Happy, Shahzada?’ Habib violently swept round, fuming down at her from his towering height. ‘I told you that I can’t stand that man! Do you think I am going to let him marry my beloved daughter? He is unworthy of her.’ He ignored the look of utter horror on her face.

  ‘Habib, Zarri Bano has just told us that she wants to marry Sikander. Our daughter is in love with him!’ She desperately appealed for his understanding.

  ‘Love!’ Habib spat out the word. ‘Since when did our women start falling in love before marriage?’ he snarled, his eyes now twin green beams of fury.

  Her heart pounding loudly Shahzada raised her distraught face to her husband. ‘You can’t fight something as natural as love, Habib,’ she replied. ‘What disease is eating you up?’ she demanded, her eyes wildly scanning her husband’s face.

  ‘I will tell you what disease is eating me up!’ Habib hissed into her face. ‘If you encourage my daughter to marry this man against my wishes, I will divorce you on the spot, Shahzada – not once, not twice but thrice! You will receive three divorces, three thalaks! And all at one go!’ he ground out cruelly, his eyes boring vindictively into hers.

  Shahzada stepped back in shock, her mouth half open, a look of utter outrage and betrayal in her eyes. Her gentle, kind husband had turned into a warped stranger, threatening her with the cruellest of all punishments a woman could receive from her husband, the three thalaks.

  ‘You! You …’ she stammered in a trembling voice, holding her hand hard against her heaving chest, ‘you would do that to me? You would divorce me? Me, Habib, your wife?’ Her warm brown eyes stared up in wounded amazement. ‘What evil force has possessed you, my beloved husband? What form of madness is this?’ Choking on her words, she stumbled away from him and careered straight into the arms of her housekeeper, Fatima, as she hurriedly entered the room without knocking.

  The two women stared at each other, unable to understand the look on the other’s face. Both wore masks of pain and horror.

  ‘Mistress! It is Jafar,’ Fatima gulped, her face deathly pale. She looked at her master. ‘He – He …’ She stopped, unable to go on. Instead she buried her head on her mistress’s shoulder.

  ‘Jafar?’ Shahzada uttered, her brain reeling, as she saw her husband run out of the room.

  Chapter 5

  THE SMARTLY DRESSED waiter hovered around the table where Sikander and Zarri Bano were dining in a semi-secluded alcove in a prestigious Karachi restaurant. Once he had moved away with the plates, Sikander looked tenderly across at Zarri Bano. Too shy to fathom the look in his eyes, she watched the other people dining in the air-conditioned lounge, beautifully decorated with a Mughal theme.

  ‘You are a very beautiful woman, Zarri Bano,’ Sikander whispered. ‘That waiter couldn’t bear to take his eyes off you.’

  ‘I am finding it very embarrassing, Sikander Sahib,’ Zarri Bano felt compelled to state, knowing for sure that a tide of colour had suffused her cheeks. ‘I have never eaten out alone with a bachelor before.’

  ‘Am I still like a single man, Zarri Bano? Surely not!’ She heard both the indignation and the hurt behind the words.

  ‘You are, Sikander, that is until I step into your home as your wife.’ Her eyes on a seventeenth century Mughal painting of a Maharani taking a walk in her garden, Zarri Bano felt the urge to clarify the situation to him. ‘At the moment, there is nothing between us.’

  ‘I dispute that, Zarri Bano.’ He leaned forward on the tablecloth, his soft gaze warming her face. ‘There is everything between us, and you know it! It was love at first sight, from the moment we saw each other at the mela!’

  She gently contradicted him. ‘There is no blood tie between us, Sikander, you are not my relative or brother.’

  ‘God forbid, Zarri Bano. I could never be your brother! What sort of talk is this? Let’s change the subject. Tell me more about the publishing company you were talking about yesterday and which you plan to set up here in Karachi.’

  Zarri Bano ignored his request and instead found herself asking, ‘Do you often bring women here to dine with you?’ For some reason it had become very important for her to know how many other women had sat across the table from him. Surprised by the question he paused, and then looked down at the napkin in his hand.

  ‘Not very often, but I bring my male friends and colleagues to this place. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered.’ Blushing, she explained, ‘Because the Karachites are supposed to be, let’s say, more “advanced” than us in the countryside. For all I know, you bring a new woman here every evening. They do things here that are not so morally acceptable to us in the countryside, especially the free interaction between men and women.’

  ‘And you, Zarri Bano? Where do you fit into all that?’ Sikander asked, more and more intrigued by the woman sitting in front of him.

  ‘Nowhere, Sikander.’ A serious look entered her eyes. ‘Don’t be fooled by the modern image that confronts you. I may look the part, but on the inside I am very much a product of my clan. Never, ever forget that. I think and behave in a manner consistent with my clan’s traditions. I respect and follow our centuries-old traditions. The essence of my life lies with the well-being of my family.

  ‘Luckily for me I have a loving, indulgent father and grandfather – both of them dote on me and have let me do what I wanted to do. For instance, it was unheard of ten years ago for a woman from my clan to live away from home. I did so. I lived here in Karachi for three years, while I was studying at university for my Master’s degree. Now my father, who I am ashamed to say, according to my sister’s teasing “would sell the world” for me, is helping me to set up a large publishing house. Did you know, by the way, Sikander, that you’ll be marrying a very wealthy woman?’ Zarri Bano said playfully.

  Sikander’s grey eyes glittered. ‘It is not your wealth I care for. I have enough of my own to be able to comfortably compete with your father.’ Leaning across the table he whispered, ‘It is you I want!’

  Colour flooded Zarri Bano’s cheeks, prompting Sikander to sit back in his chair and suggest kindly, ‘Shall we leave?’

  ‘Please!’ Zarri Bano said gratefully. Her mouth very dry, she got out of her chair.

  They passed through the rows of round tables. Noting two men’s appreciative glances at Zarri Bano’s elegant frame dressed in Karachi’s haute couture, the thick waves of her long hair swinging freely around her shoulders, Sikander moved protectively by her side, leading her out of the building.<
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  Sitting in the car, he asked, ‘Would you like to go for a walk in Clifton Park and along the beach, before we return home?’

  ‘Yes, that would be nice,’ Zarri Bano readily agreed.

  The journey was a silent one, as she enjoyed the view of the busy nightlife of Karachi’s teeming shopping promenades and plazas. Stopping at one of the plazas, Sikander told her softly, ‘I want to buy you a gift, Zarri Bano.’

  She shook her head vigorously. ‘Sikander, no gifts, please. Not yet. It is only your ring I want and that at the proper time and via your parents.’

  ‘I see.’ Sikander tried not to show his disappointment by turning to look in the car mirror before moving off again into the traffic.

  Wanting to humour him, Zarri Bano dimpled at him, somehow knowing the effect it would have on him. ‘I will make you stop at this plaza every weekend, Sikander,’ she teased. ‘Then you can buy me all the gifts in the world, including from Singapore while we are on our honeymoon over there.’

  In a companionable silence, as if they had been living together for years, they wandered around the grounds and night funfair at Clifton Park, before climbing down to the beach.

  Across the water of the Indian Ocean, a halo of dusky red light cast a golden glow over the shimmering waves. An old ship etched against the horizon stood abandoned a mile away from the harbour. The warm evening breeze blew Zarri Bano’s hair around her face. Laughing she swept it back.

  A camel with two children on its back trudged along at a leisurely pace, led by its owner. The man selling corncobs cooked over the charcoal fire like the other snack-sellers was still busy, with queues of people eager to buy even the semi-charred ones. Sikander led Zarri Bano away from the other night beach-strollers.

  ‘I come to the beach often at night-time. I find it very relaxing,’ he informed her, picking up a pebble and throwing it in the water.

  ‘For me, because we don’t have any sea or river near us, it is the fields of my grandfather’s land in our village.’

  Sikander squatted down on the beach and picked up three sea shells. She watched him shake off the sand and standing before her, he held up one for her to see. ‘I have loved every minute of this evening, Zarri Bano. I know you have refused to accept gifts from me, but please keep these as a memento of this day,’ he tenderly requested.

  Touched by his words, Zarri Bano opened out her palm and grasped the sea shells tight in her hand. ‘I too have enjoyed myself very much, Sikander, but if my grandfather were to see me now, all alone with you in the night, he would have a fit.’ They both chuckled guiltily.

  ‘Then, my Zarri Bano, marry me very quickly,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Please don’t make me wait for you.’

  Zarri Bano looked beyond him at the shimmering golden waters of the Indian Ocean. Then turning her face to him, instead of words, she offered him her eyes. Simply letting him read the tender message they flashed back at him. ‘I too want the same.’

  Chapter 6

  RETURNING FROM A visit to Sikander’s offices, their laughter ringing in the hallway, Zarri Bano and Sikander entered the drawing room with their faces flushed with happiness. Their laughter sank into the eerie silence of the room. Sikander’s mother, Bilkis, hurriedly wiped tears from her eyes. His father looked away sheepishly from Zarri Bano’s glance.

  ‘What is the matter?’ Zarri Bano asked in alarm. ‘Why are you crying, Auntie Jee?’ Quickly moving to stand by Bilkis’s side she draped an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘I am afraid we have some bad news for you. You must return home immediately, Zarri Bano, my daughter,’ Bilkis gently informed her, mopping her face with her shawl.

  ‘What has happened?’ Zarri Bano asked, trying to stay calm.

  Sikander was alarmed on her behalf. He looked at his parents questioningly.

  ‘Sikander, please make arrangements for Zarri Bano to return home immediately. It … it is her brother. Jafar had an accident last night. He died this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh Allah pak!’ Zarri Bano whispered, shaking her head from side to side, as if trying to rid herself of the image conjured up in her mind by Bilkis’s words. Then she stared into space, as shock overtook her.

  Sikander watched in growing horror, sharing Zarri Bano’s despair and the trauma she was undergoing. How was it possible for a young, handsome man to die, just out of the blue? It was so unfair.

  ‘Father, I’ll take Zarri Bano home myself. She is in no state to travel with her chauffeur. Both of you, I presume, are coming too. Did they telephone?’

  ‘Yes, one of Habib Khan’s servants rang. Jafar fell off his horse, hurting his head. Brain haemorrhage, they said.’

  When they reached her home two hours later Zarri Bano still hadn’t shed a tear. She continued to stare ahead, numbed to her very soul. Sikander kept glancing at her, wanting to comfort her, to put his arms around her and draw her to himself. Social etiquette, however, had kept his arms firmly down. At the moment, in the eyes of the world, they had no legitimate relationship between them. ‘There is nothing between us,’ she had said the other night, he recalled bitterly. Only her husband, father or brother had the honour of comforting her physically.

  With a dread step, Zarri Bano entered her home. The happy house had turned into a mausoleum, a place of mourning. Relatives, friends, neighbours and servants were everywhere – either weeping or chanting. As they caught sight of her, their chorus of chanting grew louder, and they rushed towards her to offer their condolences. Two women flung their arms ceremoniously around her and sobbed heartily on her shoulders. Standing woodenly in their arms, Zarri Bano was unable to either shed a tear or make sense of the scene around her. Sikander and his parents remained by her side.

  Fatima led them into the large drawing room, where Jafar was laid out on a palang in the centre of the room. Fatima and her daughter Firdaus were delegated with the honour of receiving the guests and local mourners alike. They, themselves, had only arrived from the village that afternoon. Abandoning everything, mother and daughter had hurried to offer comfort and support to Shahzada and Habib.

  Milling around the large bed with its walnut headboard, the stream of mourners peered over the body, paying their respects. While some women openly wept, others chanted traditional songs of mourning. Some women even gently beat their breasts in the village tradition. Others preferred to express their grief in more subtle ways: quietly weeping in their chadors and shawls and on the shoulders of their loved ones. Ritually they turned from shoulder to shoulder.

  Still in shock, Zarri Bano walked to her brother’s bier. On seeing her approach, a hushed group of mourners respectfully parted to let her pass. Dry-eyed, she stared down at her handsome young brother, lying there. Why are these stupid people gathered around him and weeping? she thought, gazing wildly around at the crowd of people assembled.

  ‘Wake up, Jafar, my darling! It is past the afternoon! Wake up, Jafar!’ Bending over the bed, she began to tug urgently at her brother’s cold hand.

  At her words, and noticing the state she was in, the hall resounded with fresh chanting and wailing. Even those hitherto dry-eyed were now forced to cry, empathising with Zarri Bano’s agony.

  Shahzada, sitting next to her son’s bed on the floor, got up and gently led Zarri Bano away, cradling her tall frame against her own body. Then she beckoned to Ruby, sitting on the other side of the bed, to take her sister away from the scene. In an emotionally bruised state of mind herself, Shahzada couldn’t bear people watching and witnessing her eldest daughter coming to terms with her raw grief.

  Ruby led Zarri Bano up to her room. The two sisters sat on the sofa, hand in hand. Ruby was talking, but Zarri Bano didn’t respond – just continued to stare into space.

  ‘Please, sister, snap out of it! Cry, because that is all we have left. Our Jafar is no more.’

  ‘He held my hands, Ruby. I think I simply adore him. It has happened to me at last, Ruby. I think I am in …’ Zarri Bano turned with a look of wonder on her face, bre
aking the strange silence between them.

  ‘Who held your hands, Baji Jan?’ Ruby asked, in surprise.

  ‘Sikander Sahib.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I agreed to be his wife.’

  ‘Oh, I am so pleased for you, sister,’ Ruby replied, heartened to hear Zarri Bano talking once again.

  ‘I must tell everyone that I have, at last, found the man I want to marry. Where is Mother? I must tell her!’ A glazed look still in her eye, she stood up to leave.

  ‘Sister, please wait!’ Ruby pulled Zarri Bano back in alarm. ‘This is not the time to tell them or anyone else. Please remember we have just lost Jafar.’

  ‘Where have you lost him? He’ll be in the stables. I’ll tell him first.’

  ‘No, listen!’ Ruby cried, with desperation. ‘He is dead! Please try to understand. He is not going to be able to hear you. He has gone for ever. He won’t be at your wedding.’ A cry of utter anguish rang around the room, as Ruby broke down and wept.

  Zarri Bano stared dumbfounded at her sister’s bowed head, trying to make sense of what she had said. Then, the words ‘he is dead’ pounded in her head.

  ‘No! No! No! My darling brother!’ Her mouth trembling, she let out a piercing scream. Running out of the room she dashed along the corridor of bedrooms, down the curved staircase, straight into the large drawing room. She wasn’t aware that she wore no dupatta, nor shoes on her feet. Going up to her brother’s bed, she fell on the ground before it and wept. Touching her brother’s face lovingly, she stared in mute agony at the faces around her. The sound of wailing and mournful chanting arose again, punctuated by Zarri Bano’s anguished cries.

  Sikander sat with the other men on one side of the hall helplessly watching Zarri Bano. Angry with fate. Why did life have to be so cruel? Just last night he had been one of the happiest of men on earth – now this! They had been planning their wedding in the restaurant. Talking about the places he would show her in Singapore on their honeymoon.