After crossing the Nile, they walked towards the Karnak complex. When they reached it, Ibrahim told his sister. ‘I will show Zarri Bano around, Pakinaz, as I know the history of this place so well.’ He then switched from English to Arabic and Pakinaz listened and nodded. Zarri Bano stood nearby, feeling helpless and trapped. She had no wish to see the ancient complex alone with Ibrahim.
‘This way, Zarri Bano,’ he beckoned, walking on and not giving her time to refuse.
She noted with dismay that it was the third time he had dropped the word ‘sister’ when addressing her.
Silently she followed him along the passage between the majestic pillars reaching high into the sky, their ancient surfaces scarred with forgotten inscriptions. Animal shapes of Egyptian gods lined the entrance to the complex.
With the rest of the tourists from all over the world, Ibrahim walked slowly, letting Zarri Bano absorb the splendour of the place, and mull over the atmosphere of the remains of Egypt’s glorious past. She imagined what it must have been like in the time of Queen Hatshepsut and King Ramses, who had built this huge complex. A cool breeze wafted through the tall pillars, soothing her heated blood, billowing the dark folds of her burqa against her body.
Ibrahim led her to one of the secluded rooms, away from the crowds, and sat down on a boulder, fallen from one of the pillars.
‘Would you like to take a rest, Zarri Bano?’
Seating herself on a similar-shaped boulder a few feet away from Ibrahim, Zarri Bano looked around the stone chamber, taking in the symbols and the half-animal shapes.
‘Would it be very impertinent of me to ask what your answer is to my earlier question?’ Ibrahim said quietly. ‘I gather you were shocked by it, as it resulted in your rapid flight from my side.’
Zarri Bano’s heart sank. The peace of the afternoon was shattered and she felt hedged in. She debated with herself how best to respond to him.
‘I am very honoured by your proposal,’ she began cautiously, ‘but I am also very surprised. I hadn’t suspected, you see, Brother Musa.’
‘No?’ His voice caressed her in its softness. ‘I thought I was quite transparent in some ways. My family have known for a long time but you, the woman that I want to marry, unfortunately have not.’
At his words ‘want to marry’, Zarri Bano shuddered inwardly.
‘You are a very pleasant, attractive woman,’ he continued huskily, seeing the image of her in the red dress in his mind. ‘You are intelligent and have a sunny personality. Over the last few months I have got to know you well. You are just the type of woman I admire, need, and wish to have by my side for all time. We have so much in common. We share the same passion in books and religious history, Zarri Bano,’ he said earnestly.
‘Please stop, Brother Ibrahim,’ she appealed to him.
‘Oh don’t call me Brother, Zarri Bano, I beg of you. For I harbour no brotherly feelings towards you – particularly I am ashamed to say, since that day I saw you without your veil.’ He let his black eyes now openly spell out his feelings for her.
Colour crept into Zarri Bano’s face as she realised the deep waters she had fallen in. How on earth could she retrieve the situation without hurting herself or him in the process?
‘I am very sorry, Brother Ibrahim, but that is how I will always regard you,’ she said in a low voice and looked down at her feet once more.
Unable to believe that she had refused him, Ibrahim stood up. With his fists balled in his trouser pockets, he closed the distance between them, and peered down at her bowed head.
‘May I presume to ask why you cannot see me in any other light than as a brother? Do I lack anything, Zarri Bano? Have I done something wrong?’ There was a trace of anger in his voice.
‘No!’ Zarri Bano too stood up. Opting for honesty, she looked him directly in the eye. ‘No, Ibrahim Musa, you lack nothing.’ Her eyes appraised his face and body, seeing him for the first time with a woman’s eyes. ‘Another woman would give anything to be courted by a man like you. You are very good-looking, very caring, highly intelligent and fun to be with.’
‘Another woman – but not you!’ he said dryly. ‘What requirements do you have? May I know how I fail to measure up to those?’
‘I don’t have any requirements, Brother Musa. You are everything a woman could dream of – but I cannot be that woman, ever.’
‘Why not?’ A frown marred his high forehead, his hand moved thoughtfully on his beard.
‘Because I have renounced marriage.’ She spoke so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her. The subject of her marital status was a painful one and a closed book to everyone. It took a few seconds for her comment to register in his mind.
‘I don’t believe it, Zarri Bano! What are you saying? Is it that you cannot marry – or won’t?’ His frown intensified.
‘Both.’
‘Are you by any chance teasing me, Zarri Bano?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No, Ibrahim, I could not and would not tease you on a subject like this.’ She winced. ‘I find it difficult to explain. All I can say to you is that I have decided to devote my life totally to religious studies and to teaching. I have no wish to marry—’
‘But that is nonsensical,’ he interrupted. ‘You can marry as well as devote yourself to religious studies. I can think of nothing better than having my wife share the same Department in the University, as well as my home and life. You already do that, to some extent,’ he pointed out.
‘It can never be! Please believe me, Brother Musa. I came to Egypt with that purpose, to become a learned woman. Perhaps if we had met at another time and in another place or another life, it might have been possible. I am honoured by your proposal, but what about Selima? She will make you a wonderful wife. She is Egyptian and shares your language and culture. I don’t even do that.’
‘That is immaterial. You have learned the language anyway. You are a Muslim, that is all that matters, and a woman whom I would like very much to marry.’
‘Please, Ibrahim, do not say any more.’ Zarri Bano was reaching the end of her tether. ‘I can never marry you, and if you want me to be very plain, I will be, just to make you understand. Even if I hadn’t renounced marriage, I would still not have married you, because in the end I would have chosen someone from my own country, culture, background and class. It is true we share a common culture of Islam, but I would never anticipate, nor would my family, my marrying someone who lives thousands of miles away from my home and country. If you don’t mind me saying so, at the end we are still strangers.’
‘I do not accept your reasoning, Zarri Bano. You are not giving us a chance. Many mixed marriages have taken place. The world is a small place now. The differences you mention can easily be overcome. The main affinity between us is our faith, which is supposed to unite all races, all nationalities. I am surprised at you. I know many people who have married Western women, from a totally different culture. Think of your own countryman, Imran Khan, married to Jemima Goldsmith, a Western woman from a different religious background, and they are happy. Their marriage is successful. Our union would have much to support it.’
‘Those marriages you speak of are between people who fell deeply in love and were prepared to surmount any barriers to be together. You are talking about a different situation, Ibrahim.’
‘I suppose love plays no part in your life,’ he muttered.
Fearing she had wounded his ego, Zarri Bano felt compelled to bare her soul in order to offer salve to his.
‘What can I say, Brother Ibrahim? If I had been another woman at another time, I would have said yes. Yes! But I have no feelings for you, apart from friendship and respect. Nor will I have feelings for any other man. You see, I have become a Holy Woman – and part of the equation of being a Holy Woman is that I can never marry any man. I have no wish to marry anyway. You are right – love plays no part in my life. At the moment I harbour no feelings towards the opposite sex, save those of friendship.’ Her voice sank to a whisper.
‘I did love someone once – but I had to give him up. It was so hard, Brother Ibrahim, but I managed to do it. Now I have begun to think of him as a brother. Therefore, what feelings could I have for you? None, I am afraid. For I have trained both my mind and heart towards a life of total devotion – ibadah. I have learned to divorce my life from things like marriage and men. I am truly sorry. I just don’t know what more to say,’ she ended, her eyes beseeching him to understand.
Ibrahim was silent for a long time. Zarri Bano watched a group of Japanese tourists pass by, thinking that her companion was never going to speak to her again.
‘Then there is definitely no hope for me, ever?’ he ventured at last.
‘No, never. My life has been charted out for me, Brother Ibrahim. I could never be any man’s wife. I am married to my faith,’ she stated, her voice devoid of any feelings.
They started to walk silently together through the temple complex, both locked in their own thoughts. The day was spoiled for both of them.
‘You will understand, Ibrahim,’ Zarri Bano began, turning to face him once more, ‘why I cannot stay in your family’s home after this. With this subject on our mind, it would not be right for me to remain in your house – for you no longer regard me as a sister.’
‘That is true, but I do not want you moving out of our home, Zarri Bano. Surely we can be friends?’ He dreaded the thought of her leaving.
‘In the present circumstances that can never be, for the only friendship we should have is that of a brother towards a sister. As we do not share that, according to you, therefore it is wrong – haram – for me to be under the same roof. I am very grateful to you and your family for your hospitality, but when we return to Cairo, I will find another apartment. Of course, I will still liaise with you on the subject of my studies, if that is all right with you?’
He inclined his head politely then, on seeing a smiling Pakinaz approach them, he just said one word: ‘lay’. No. His sister’s face fell. Hastening her pace, Zarri Bano walked ahead of them, letting Ibrahim explain to Pakinaz why she had turned him down.
The man who bounded into her mind, all of a sudden, was thousands of miles away on the other side of the world. The mortal ache she had suppressed months ago on her sister’s wedding day now came back to haunt her. It is a strange world, Zarri Bano mused. Here I am, standing on the ancient remains of Egypt’s glorious past, proposed to by an Egyptian man, when the person I have given up is happily married to my own sister. Why have I thought of him today? Does he ever think of me?
Zarri Bano brushed away the water in her eyes. ‘Sikander, where are you?’ she called out in silent anguish, staring down into the green depths of the Nile as they returned to Karnak, a sadder, more subdued trio than when they had set out that morning.
Chapter 39
IT WAS A hot, humid night in Karachi. The man in Zarri Bano’s thoughts couldn’t sleep. Getting up from his bed Sikander went to the en-suite bathroom for a drink of water then returning to his room, he walked over to the window and gazed out at the shining stars in the night sky and the lightspeckled city in slumber.
Sikander turned to look at his bed. In the semi-darkness, he saw his wife’s profile and her dark hair spread out on the pillow. Squeezing his eyes shut, he blocked out the image of another woman’s face on his silk pillow.
He hadn’t thought of her for two whole weeks. Zarri Bano’s name was taboo – never uttered by anyone in his presence.
In the last few months he had concentrated hard on making his marriage a success. Ruby was a delightful woman, sweet and caring, always seeing to his every need. An ideal partner, in short. He craved two things in life. To perfect this relationship with his wife and bury the image of the woman who had stolen his heart and then cruelly jilted him. Yet still she continued to haunt him!
Ruby stirred. Her hand automatically crept to the empty space beside her. She opened her eyes and raised her head to peer in the darkness, seeking her husband. Seeing Sikander watching her from the window, she smiled, feeling shy all of a sudden under his intense scrutiny.
Sikander came over and sat beside her on the bed. His eyes flickered tenderly over the face of the woman he had married, grown to love, and had shared his life with for the last six months.
His fingertips lightly caressed the planes of her cheekbones. An answering smile lighting her face, Ruby reached up and tentatively began to trace the outline of her beloved husband’s face with her fingers.
‘I hope I am not going to be sick again in the morning. It is terrible!’ she confided, jokingly.
‘You won’t.’ She revelled in the warmth of his deep voice.
‘Should I tell Zarri Bano when she phones next time from Egypt?’ Ruby then asked, and instantly felt her husband’s mood change. When he answered her, the tenderness had gone.
‘Not yet,’ he said harshly. ‘It is too soon. You are only three months’ gone – wait for another few weeks.’
‘Oh, but I am so excited. I can’t wait to tell her the news. After all, she is my sister you know.’
‘Yes I know,’ came the bitter response. Sikander climbed into bed, laid his head on the pillow and turned the other way.
Discomfited, Ruby slid down under the cotton sheet. Was her imagination running away with her again? She and Sikander were happily married and expecting their first child. Zarri Bano had nothing to do with her husband. She was literally in another country now. Why then do I still feel jealous of my own sister? Ruby miserably questioned herself.
She moved her hand slowly over her lower abdomen. ‘I would like to call him Haris, if it is a boy,’ she whispered into her husband’s shoulder-blades, trying to reach out to him.
‘That’s a nice name. I like it,’ he responded. Behind his closed eyelids there loomed and beckoned a smiling tantalising woman with sparkling emerald-green eyes.
How will she take the news? he wondered sadly. Will she be delighted, as Ruby innocently assumes? Or will she ache with longing for a child of her own?
His advice not to tell Zarri Bano for another month or so had sprung from his innate sensitivity about other people’s feelings. He hated his ex-fiancée for jilting him and becoming a Holy Woman, but he still felt strongly for her – enough to want to shield her from any emotional pain.
His love for her was a constant torture. He longed to rid himself totally of Zarri Bano’s shadow. At times he forgot her totally, absorbed and happy in his new life. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, her face would beam through his mind, leaving an ache in him – an ache for what could never be.
Does she ever remember me? he wondered now. Or is she truly lost to her holiness and rosary beads? Allah forbid! Sikander shouted to himself in his mind. She is my sister-in-law! How can I think of her like this? The hunger for her, however, wouldn’t go away. He could still recall the feel of her fingertips tracing his lips in the courtyard of her home …
He opened his eyes to feel the warmth of Ruby’s breath on his neck.
‘Do you love me, Sikander?’ The scared whisper signalled to him that she knew instinctively the times she lost him completely.
Sikander melted in a cauldron of guilt. ‘Of course, my darling Ruby.’ Tenderly he pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her hair.
‘Damn you, Zarri Bano! May you rot in a similar hell to the one you have thrown me in,’ he cursed silently, into the night, hours after his pregnant young wife had fallen asleep in his arms.
Chapter 40
IT WAS THREE months since Fatima had visited Khawar in the neighbouring village. Khawar had finally decided to return to his mother’s home in Chiragpur as Fatima had advised. Kulsoom had already informed him that Firdaus had left for the city, to take up a post as Vice Principal in a women’s college.
Having sent his belongings ahead in a steel trunk in his jeep, Khawar rode on his white horse through the green fields of Chiragpur. There was no joy in this homecoming. The farmers were busy ploughing their fields on their tractors. Sardara’s m
ilk buffaloes were enjoying their afternoon wallow in the village pond. The cowherd was keeping a close eye on the new beast which had a habit of running back home to its previous owner in the neighbouring village. Chiragpur lay in a quiet slumber in the warm afternoon of early spring.
Once outside the gates of his father’s hawaili, Khawar’s face set into a grim expression. Heading first for the rear courtyard annexed to the stable, he tied his horse to a tree. The young man who had been hired to milk and look after their two buffaloes was sluicing down the redbrick-lined compound with buckets of water, after slopping away the cow dung in a separate aluminium bucket to be collected by a couple of women who used cow-dung cakes as fuel for their cooking. On seeing Khawar, the servant jumped to his feet, bidding his master, ‘Salam.’
With firm steps, Khawar strode through the large wrought-iron gates and into the main central courtyard of the hawaili. Here he found Neesa on her haunches, washing the marble-chip floor of the veranda with a plastic hose. Hearing his distinct booted footsteps, her wrinkled face split into a smile as she sprang up to her full height to pat him on his shoulders. He hadn’t been home for over a year.
‘Welcome home, Master Sahib! I am so happy to see you.’
Khawar nodded, trying to relax enough so that he could smile at their housekeeper, who had raised him up in her loving arms since he was a baby.
‘I’ll tell the Chaudharani Sahiba. Oh, she’ll be so pleased!’ Neesa scurried up the stairs, unable to contain her joy.
At the mention of his mother’s name, Khawar’s face once more became forbidding. Climbing slowly up the stairs after Neesa, he followed her into his mother’s bedroom.
*
Kaniz was combing out the waves of her long, thick hair with a hairbrush, when Neesa charged into the room without knocking. ‘Khawar Sahib is here, Chaudharani Sahiba,’ she gabbled. ‘Isn’t it great?’
The Holy Woman Page 27