The Holy Woman

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  He couldn’t believe what Habib was telling him. ‘At your age, Habib! You are nearly sixty. Why do you care so much about your wife? You don’t need a wife to live your life.’

  ‘Father, I am not like you. I cannot live alone. I have led a different life from the one you shared with our mother. You kept her at arm’s length, always afraid that she might dominate you. In the process you have never really known a woman’s affection, or what it is to live in mutual harmony, have you? You were always chasing after your land, and bent on showing her who was master in your home. What love she ever harboured for you must have been quenched from the day she married you. I remember it all.’

  ‘You remember my wedding day?’ Siraj Din grunted, unable to prevent the sarcastic rejoinder.

  ‘No, of course not. But I do have childhood memories. I saw both of you well-matched, and yet ill-matched. Your nature demanded obedience and subservience, hers equality and respect. You never gave her that, did you? And she in turn was never subservient to you. She was a strong woman. That was what kept the whole family going. She was our citadel.’

  His eyes now flashing menacingly at his son, Siraj Din made his displeasure apparent. ‘I don’t know what has come over you today, Habib. My son is now abusing me and defending his mother! I think the whole world has gone raving mad. It seems that I have become obsolete, at this stage in my life. I am living in a country where a young chit of a woman was ruling over us. In an Islamic country, too! Why don’t you go and put your head in Shahzada’s lap and let her massage you back in her favours, rather than coming here to insult me about your mother and our marriage, Habib!’ The elderly man was looking seriously annoyed.

  ‘We were a different breed of men, my son,’ he went on heatedly. ‘We knew our parameters, just as we expected our wives to dutifully know theirs. It is true that your mother Zulaikha was a strong woman. Perhaps that was why I married her in the first place – knowing that she could stand up to me, match my temper with hers. In my own way, I too loved your mother, Habib. I wasn’t dominating her all the time, as you put it. A man still needs the affection of a woman in his life. Although you may find it hard to believe, I do miss her.’

  ‘Father, there was no harmony in our childhood lives. Our lives were turbulent. I vowed that when I married, it would be different. I said so to Mother. I think that is why she helped me to choose Shahzada, rather than Gulshan’s mother. She said that Shahzada was better suited to my temperament. Shahzada has been a good wife in every sense.’

  ‘You, I am disgusted to learn, are the epitome of my elder brother! He used to walk behind his wife. He truly was tied to her perandah, obeying each and every command of hers and in the end, he became her shadow and a laughing stock with us. Consequently he didn’t have a say in anything, for his wife married all their children into her clan. I learnt from him that a man can make an utter fool of himself, if he pays too much attention to his wife. Such women are capable of riding roughshod over their husbands. That sister-in-law of mine did! She controlled my brother, just by one tilted eyebrow, and then brazenly flaunted it in all our faces.

  ‘One day I stood up to her, angrily telling her that she shouldn’t treat my brother like that. Do you know what she did, my son? She peered closely into my face and laughed, her own face screwed up into a sneer. She poked at my chest with her fat finger. “Mind your own business! If you want to practise domination, do it on your own wife – that is, when you manage to get one. Not on me, you little upstart!” she snarled.’

  ‘I hated them both. I learnt from him, just as you learnt the contrary from me, that I would never become a slave to a mere woman. No female was going to have a chance to dominate and humiliate me. My misfortune was that I spent all my life doing that to my wife and yet never quite succeeded. Your mother was so different from my sister-in-law; but she had guts and stood up to me!’

  ‘Uncle was probably happier than you in his marriage,’ Habib couldn’t help adding quietly. ‘He probably led a more fulfilling life than you did with our mother. I am the master in my household, Father, just as you taught us to be. But luckily for me, I had no wife whose spirit needed breaking. Shahzada has always been a loving, kind and supportive wife. A wife from whom I have become tragically estranged, because I gave into our desire to keep the land in the family.’

  ‘My son, if you have come here to sing songs of your wife, then you have come to the wrong place. Remember this: you are the master and head of your home – its abiding foundation. If that goes, then the whole building will fall at your feet. Do not become weak, my son! Your wife will forgive you, with time. I agree with you that one good thing your mother did amongst other things was to match you with Shahzada. She is a fine daughter-in-law and always has been. My Zarri Bano is a lovely granddaughter. I am proud of her and I am proud of you too. You are a good son.’ To Siraj Din’s utter horror, he saw tears form in Habib’s eyes. ‘Hey! Don’t cry.’ Leaning forward he patted his eldest son on his shoulders.

  ‘My life is so empty, Father,’ Habib wept, his shoulders doubling over as he gave free rein to his grief. ‘Jafar has gone. Zarri Bano has gone. Ruby doesn’t look at me. Shahzada shuns me. I am not like you, Father. I want and need my family. I cannot live this life. I just wish that Jafar had never died and that I never forced Zarri Bano to become a Holy Woman.’

  ‘Oh, my son, I am so sorry. Forgive me! You are very sad inside. I forget that you are not like me – thick-skinned. You were always the sensitive one of my four children.’ Siraj Din’s earlier irritation now gave way to concern for his son’s anguish. Habib’s words had pierced him.

  Chapter 26

  IBRAHIM MUSA, A young man of twenty-nine years, sat in his study in the family apartment in Cairo, overlooking the River Nile. His hand moving over his closely cropped black beard in a gesture of meditation, he looked through some research papers. Deep in thought, he heard a car door close – their guests had arrived. He stood up and, taking off his reading glasses, rubbed his tired eyes.

  Leaving the study, he looked out of the dining-room window balcony, down at the small courtyard where a car had come to a halt. He saw his parents climb out, followed by his sister, Pakinaz, and then two women dressed in long black veils. His eyebrows raised, he peered further over the balcony railings. He hadn’t expected this. Believing in the veil himself, he was highly pleased.

  Leaving the dining room, he went down a set of stairs to stand in the hallway, to welcome the two guests. His interest now keenly aroused, he was especially curious to meet the young Pakistani woman who had come to study at Cairo’s Al-Azhar University, where he taught. The door held wide open, Ibrahim stood with a smile of welcome on his handsome face and uttered the Arabic words of welcome: ‘Ehlan Sehlan Marhaba!’ First his parents entered, then the two women, followed by Pakinaz.

  ‘This is my son, Ibrahim Musa.’ An indulgent smile played on his father’s face, as he introduced his son to their two guests. ‘I am very proud of him. This is Zarri Bano, my friend Habib Khan’s daughter, and this is her companion, Sister Sakina.’

  ‘Assalam-Alaikum!’ Zarri Bano addressed Musa, taking a quick look at him.

  ‘Wa Laikum-Salam, you are most welcome to our home,’ he replied in English, his dark eyes on her face. Feeling rather shy, she followed Pakinaz into the dining room.

  They all sat down on a sofa suite, generously piled with plump home-made cushions in rich colours.

  ‘Would you like to take off your hijab?’ Pakinaz asked awkwardly, not sure whether she had done the right thing in asking.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Zarri Bano reassured her, noting the girl’s unease. ‘We wear it at home all the time.’ From the corner of her eye, she was still conscious of the young man’s presence. She knew he was surveying her from behind his glasses at the other end of the room. With him hovering nearby, they had no intention of removing their burqas!

  ‘I see,’ Pakinaz replied after a pause, hoping that they didn’t expect her to wear it or to fo
llow suit.

  Then there was an exchange between the mother and daughter in rapid Arabic as Pakinaz’s mother couldn’t speak either English or Urdu.

  ‘I hope you won’t mind us speaking in Arabic,’ Pakinaz apologised, turning towards Zarri Bano. ‘She says that you are welcome to stay as long as you like and hopes that you enjoy your time in Cairo. Are you hungry enough to have dinner?’

  ‘I think we are. We didn’t eat much on the plane. We just fell asleep,’ Zarri Bano laughed.

  Pakinaz’s mother spoke again. This time her son quickly translated for her.

  ‘Our mother hopes and wishes that you will enjoy our Egyptian cooking. Obviously it is different from yours.’ He stood up and politely guided them into the dining room.

  Musa stood aside for the two black-cloaked figures to pass. There weren’t many women, apart from the rural Egyptian peasants, who wore a veil like this. Wishing there were more, he was nevertheless surprised by an inexplicable urge to see what the woman with green eyes looked like in conventional female clothing.

  He didn’t know how it happened, but Musa somehow found himself sitting directly in front of Zarri Bano. As he sat down, Zarri Bano had looked up and then dropped her gaze. Not wanting to have anything to do with any young men, she hadn’t bargained for living in the same house as this one. The feeling of disquiet somehow communicated itself to him, for when he saw his sister enter with a tray full of cooked lamb on a bed of boiled rice, he quickly got up, vacating the seat for her.

  ‘Pakinaz, you sit and eat with our two guests. I’ll eat later.’ He spoke in English for Zarri Bano’s benefit. As he stood up, he caught her grateful glance. Now she smiled at him for the first time, appreciating what he had done. He stared at her face, noting the attractive dimple suddenly peeping in her left cheek.

  Zarri Bano and Sakina saw Ibrahim Musa the next day, just as they returned from a visit to the Giza pyramids with Pakinaz. Back from the university, he decided to join them in the dining room for a cool drink and politely asked the guests whether they had enjoyed their outing. He addressed Zarri Bano, as she was the one who could speak fluent English.

  ‘The pyramids are a tremendous sight, but I found the descent into the tomb very claustrophobic. I don’t think that I will be eagerly rushing down those steps again very soon, Brother Musa!’ she told him, laughing.

  ‘Yes, those passages are very narrow in the pyramids at Giza, I agree, Sister Zarri Bano.’ He, too, laughed. ‘The other tombs in the Valley of the Kings have much wider passages. Perhaps I can arrange for us all to visit the Valley of the Kings and the Queens, as well as Luxor and Karnak. Sadly, I have to go now. I will see you later. Assalam-Alaikum.’

  ‘Wa Laikum-Salam. Thank you for your suggestion, we would like that very much, once we have settled in. My first priority, however, is to enrol at the University and make a start with my academic work.’

  ‘Yes, of course. If you like, Pakinaz and I can take you to the University to show you around, as well as letting you see some of the other sights at the same time.’

  ‘Oh, that is very kind of you, but we do not want to put you to any trouble. We know how busy you both are teaching and preparing for your lectures.’

  ‘Not at all, sister, you are most welcome. But I must go now.’

  ‘Of course,’ Zarri Bano answered politely. She watched him return to his study.

  Three days later Zarri Bano telephoned her parents and sister in Pakistan. She spoke at length with Ruby.

  ‘It is hot here, but quite nice. The apartment that we are living in overlooks the River Nile. Imagine, Ruby, from our balcony we can watch the boats sailing to and fro on this legendary river. I can picture Queen Cleopatra floating in her ship in ancient times. You really must come and visit us in Cairo as soon as you can.’

  ‘I should be so lucky,’ Ruby snorted crossly at the other end of the line. ‘I miss you, Zarri Bano.’

  ‘I miss you too, Ruby, I still cannot come to terms with where I am and what I am doing here, and why I am doing it.’

  ‘I know, sister. Tell me, what kind of people are they?’ she asked, wisely changing the subject.

  ‘Oh, they are really very nice, Ruby. As well as the parents, there are two unmarried children living at home. The rest are married and live either in Cairo or Alexandria. Tomorrow Pakinaz, that is their unmarried daughter, is taking us to visit the oldest University in Cairo, the Al-Azhar, and to meet her sister. I am really looking forward to that.’

  ‘Are there two sisters? You said children.’

  ‘No. One is their son. He is a lecturer at the University where I will be studying.’

  ‘What is he like?’

  ‘Oh, he is OK. I hope that he will be able to assist me a little, once I start on my course. I will be joining his department. He has already passed me a couple of books on how to learn Arabic. It is very handy having him as a resource. I am trying to get my tongue around Arabic.’

  ‘Is he good-looking?’ Ruby’s voice had dipped to a teasing banter.

  ‘Ruby! Yes, he is good-looking, for your information. He has a black beard and a dark wide pool of eyes that you disappear into. Does that satisfy you? To be honest, I wish that he didn’t live with the family. I have to wear the burqa all the time because of him. I only take it off in my room.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing. You must be suffocated. It is supposed to be so hot there. How is Sakina?’

  ‘Sakina is enjoying herself tremendously. She has done a lot of shopping already and has bought at least a dozen beautiful glass perfume phials. I’ll send you some, when Sakina returns in two weeks’ time. Give my love to everyone.’ Zarri Bano ended her first conversation with her sister from Egypt.

  Later that day, Ibrahim drove them all to the old University and showed them around, explaining some of its colourful history to them.

  Zarri Bano glanced up at the papyrus calendar, with a painting of the Egyptian tree of life, pinned on the wall of Ibrahim’s study. Three months had already passed. In that time she had enrolled at the University. The second semester had begun and she was now making headway with her studies. She had chosen as the theme of her thesis The Travels of the Early Arab Historians Ibn Khaldun and Ibn Battuta. Finding it difficult to master classical Arabic, she had learnt enough of modern Arabic to cope with her everyday needs for shopping and for conversing in the streets. Although she had a room of her own, with a desk unit, Ibrahim Musa had given her permission to use his study when he wasn’t using it himself. Zarri Bano marvelled at the wall-to-wall shelves of books on Islam, religion and Islamic history.

  She enlisted Pakinaz’s help for interpretation of words and making sense of Arabic colloquial phrases and idioms. Ibrahim Musa offered to spend some time with her every other day to oversee her study and to help her with her acquisition of classical Arabic.

  After the first few days, Zarri Bano began to relax in his company, addressing and regarding him as a brother. He, for his part, respected and addressed her as ‘sister’. Enjoying her company immensely, he was gratified to share his enthusiasm in his subject with Zarri Bano. Pakinaz and his parents weren’t interested in his studies. Here, however, was an intelligent and vivacious woman from halfway across the world making the most of his learning.

  ‘Sister Zarri Bano, I am most impressed by how much you have mastered in such a short time,’ he said, praising her progress one day, leaning back in his chair and surveying her from behind his glasses, his dark eyes resting on her face. Zarri Bano felt her forehead to check that no strand of hair had escaped from her burqa hood.

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, Brother Musa. I find all the subjects I am studying very interesting. I feel as if I am a sponge. I want to absorb as much knowledge as possible. It is my goal to become a very learned woman on religious matters, and in as short a time as possible. Of course, as you well know, much of my progress is due to you, Brother Musa. If I didn’t have you as my mentor, tutor, or whatever you would like to call yourself, I could
never have progressed to such an extent.’

  ‘You are welcome. It really is a pleasure to have your company, Zarri Bano,’ he replied warmly, leaning forward. She noticed, with a sinking heart, that he had dropped the word ‘sister’. A physical awareness had suddenly crept between them that had not been there before.

  Zarri Bano leaned back and pensively looked down at the book in her lap. Then she stood up, keeping her eyes carefully averted from his. ‘Excuse me, Brother Ibrahim. I think that we are both tired. I will leave you in peace.’

  Taken aback by her abrupt manner he watched her go with a thoughtful look in his eyes.

  Chapter 27

  IT WAS A Friday morning and Ibrahim’s family had gone on holiday to Alexandria, on the Mediterranean coast, to visit their relatives for a week. They had asked Zarri Bano to accompany them. Thanking them for their kind invitation, she had graciously declined, saying that she had so many books to read for her research.

  Having showered for the Juma prayers, Zarri Bano decided to put on a long red cotton Egyptian dress, which she had purchased from Cairo’s central souk market. She sat by the open wooden-shuttered window, in Ibrahim’s study, letting the warm breeze from the River Nile dry her hair, as it framed her face in a riot of natural fiery curls. Eyes closed, she savoured the feel of the warm breeze on her face while she thought about her assignment on twelfth-century Muslim scientists and mathematicians.

  Hearing steps outside the study door, she sat upright, eyes open and very alert. Who could that be? Everyone was supposed to be in Alexandria. Next minute, the study door was thrust wide open. Zarri Bano stared up in shock as Ibrahim Musa entered the room.

  ‘Assalam-Alaikum!’ he greeted her, startled to see a strange woman in his study. It was only for a few seconds, but his eyes behind his spectacles had blinked and quickly clicked the image of her firmly onto his retina. The short sleeves of her dress revealed her arms above her elbows. Her throat and the rest of her feminine beauty was apparent to his gaze in all its glory.