‘Mother!’ Zarri Bano stared at Shahzada as if she had taken leave of her senses.
The ceiling fan purred away above them, the only audible sound in the room. Leaning back against on the soft cushions of the sofa, Shahzada calmly watched her daughter. Zarri Bano was sitting on an armchair, opposite her mother.
Shahzada leaned forward, her eyes steady on Zarri Bano’s face. ‘To Sikander!’ she added in a low, even voice.
Zarri Bano gaped, speechless. Surely she had misunderstood? Her mouth opened and then closed.
‘For Haris’s sake, my daughter,’ Shahzada quickly explained, dismayed at her reaction.
The notebook lying on Zarri Bano’s black burqa-clad lap also fell to the floor as she stood up. So she hadn’t misheard!
‘Mother, how can you say this?’ Her body was shaking, and her eyes glazed with pain. ‘I am a Holy Woman. Marry my dead sister’s husband, you say? Have you no feelings or respect?’ Zarri Bano clamped one hand to her mouth and the other on her stomach, as nausea spiralled up to her throat and her abdominal muscles heaved.
Before Shahzada’s bewildered eyes, Zarri Bano ran out of the room and out into the open courtyard, where she stood gulping fresh air into her lungs. She was trembling like a leaf.
Back in the house, Shahzada slumped wearily in defeat. If that was her daughter’s reaction to her suggestion, it didn’t seem likely that Zarri Bano would ever marry Sikander. Who, then, would become stepmother to her beloved grandson? Sadness overwhelmed Shahzada, shattering all her hopes at one go.
Looking ahead at the clear blue horizon, Zarri Bano walked alone on the narrow, tuft-lined path through her grandfather’s fields. The wind teased and billowed her black burqa around her body. The words burned themselves into her mind. ‘Marriage! To Sikander!’
The vision of herself, Ruby and Sikander, set her stomach churning again. This time, she couldn’t hold back the waves of nausea. Wiping the beads of sweat from her forehead with her handkerchief, she walked on.
She reached the village well, where Khawar, Firdaus and she used to play together as children and throw small stones down into the water. Sitting on the brick ledge of the well, she shouted, ‘Never! Never!’ down into the dark pool of water. The words echoed against the damp brick-lined wall of the well. ‘I smothered and killed the wanton woman that you drew out of me, Sikander. She bled for you. Never again!’ Getting off the well ledge, Zarri Bano walked towards her grandfather’s farm. Listlessly she walked around the hen pens, watching the milk buffaloes tied to their iron posts, munching away at the green fodder placed before them in purpose-built wooden troughs.
When she returned to the hawaili much later, she saw her mother sitting and chatting to her grandfather. Shahzada quickly inspected her daughter’s face, noting her closed expression and refusal to return her mother’s smile.
Wordlessly, Zarri Bano went to the bathroom to cleanse herself for the afternoon prayers. Even during her prayer sequence, she couldn’t keep her mother’s words at bay, or the unwelcome images they conjured up.
Later Shahzada joined her daughter and, with her heart tripping over, she got ready to try again. I have to, for everyone’s sake, Shahzada told herself vehemently. Reaching forward to take hold of Zarri Bano’s hand, she rubbed the back of it gently with her own. She looked at her daughter’s soft skin with pleasure and pride – they had never known the kitchen sink.
‘Is it so bad, such a sacrifice, to become a mother to your orphaned nephew that the mere mention of it leads you to flee from the hawaili?’ Shahzada gently reprimanded.
‘Mother, not again!’ Zarri Bano appealed, closing her eyes tightly. ‘Please do not say anything more.’
‘Why not?’ Shahzada queried incredulous.
‘Have you forgotten?’ Zarri Bano hissed. ‘I am a pakeeza woman. How can you thus suggest marriage to me? And with my own sister’s husband!’ Anger danced in her emerald-green eyes.
‘Remember that your father has released you from that oath.’
‘How convenient of you to remind me now, Mother. Now that it suits all of you, I am asked to marry. Do you think I am a wax doll, a phutley, that you can mould to dance to your tune when and however it suits you? I am a human being! A woman who can never contemplate wedlock!
‘Now you are requesting that I should forget all of that and marry who? A man who has had a physical relationship with my sister for four years. Am I a vegetable, on a market stall, then, that Sikander can swap for another? Have you no sensitivity, Mother, no inkling of what you are suggesting? I cannot marry any man. And above all not Sikander! Never, Mother, never!’ she hurled at Shahzada, her cheeks throbbing with red-hot colour.
‘I understand how you are feeling, my darling, but you will change, you’ll see. We are thinking mainly of Haris.’
‘Yes, I can see you are thinking mainly of Haris. I will never change, Mother, I can assure you. You, Father and Grandfather transformed me the day you made me into a Holy Woman. There is no turning back for me now. I can live no other life. If you want me to be blunt, I will be, as long as you understand that the topic is closed and never to be opened again. I am a religious woman, therefore I could never, I’ll be immodest and say it, sleep with any man! Let alone one who has already had an intimate relationship with my sister. That you expect me to slot into Ruby’s place fills me with horror and revulsion. You must never again use Haris to blackmail me.’
Agitated, Zarri Bano withdrew her hand out of her mother’s grasp. Rising to her full height, she left the room, her black burqa swishing angrily around her body. Shahzada remained huddled on the prayer-mat, a forlorn figure. Going by the intensity of Zarri Bano’s feelings and words, there appeared to be no chance of her ever marrying Sikander.
Her daughter was right, of course. They could no longer force her to do anything. As a mature adult, she knew what was right for her. ‘Except she doesn’t,’ Shahzada sighed. ‘How does she know what marriage and life is like with children and a partner? She has never experienced it, or tasted that life, but she has conditioned her mind against it.’
Shahzada sadly accepted the fact that her daughter had indeed become a real Shahzadi Ibadat. And in the process had truly bartered away her womanhood. The role she had recoiled from in horror five years ago, she had now taken to whole-heartedly and with a lifelong commitment.
That evening, Fatima came to visit her Chaudharani Shahzada. Both were very pleased to see each other, and hugged warmly.
‘How is your family, Fatima? I’ll come to visit them soon. How is Fiaz?’
‘He is fine, Chaudharani Sahiba.’
‘And what about Salma’s rishta? How far have you got with that?’
‘Well, Kulsoom our village matchmaker and I have been to see the boy and met his family. They are really nice people, Chaudharani Sahiba. They have come to meet Salma. We are all pleased with each other. They came again and placed a segan for her hand in marriage. My Salma and the boy have been introduced and apparently got on very well. As you can see, I am going to be very busy with Salma’s forthcoming wedding. I’ll definitely need to pick your brain.’
‘I am delighted for you, Fatima. Of course I will help you. If only my Zarri Bano were to get married to Sikander.’
‘Have you mentioned it to her?’
‘Yes I have, but she is totally against the idea.’
‘Shall I have a word with her, Chaudharani Sahiba?’
‘You can try. But she is like a heavy rock that will not be moved. Do you know, Fatima, she actually found the suggestion nauseous. It is not so strange, is it? It is not the first time that men have married the sister of their dead wife. It is mainly for the children’s sake, of course.’
‘Of course, it is so convenient for everyone,’ Fatima quickly agreed. ‘Especially for the husband and the children. The husband, because he has peace of mind, knowing that his children’s stepmother will look after them well, by virtue of her being an aunt. The children, because they can relate to an aunt,
who is like a second mother. So all round, it would be so beneficial for Zarri Bano to marry Sikander. But it is not just for Haris’s sake. I personally believe they were fated for one another. I have always wanted my princess to marry Sikander, just as I always wanted Firdaus to marry Khawar. Do you know, Chaudharani Sahiba? I have still not been able to forgive Habib Sahib for what he did. Even though he is dead …’ Fatima abruptly stopped, feeling embarrassed.
‘It is all right, Fatima,’ Shahzada said sadly. ‘I have only just learned to forgive him myself. But you must also realise that he wasn’t the only one to be blamed. The other person behind it was my father-in-law, Siraj Din. He was the one who started the whole affair.’
‘If that is the case, why don’t you have a word with him, Chaudharani Sahiba? See if he can persuade Zarri Bano. I will try to talk with her myself.’
After dinner, Fatima left. Zarri Bano didn’t dine with them as she had eaten earlier with her grandfather and nephew.
Fatima chose her moment with care. It was two days since her chat with Shahzada. Zarri Bano was sitting with her nephew in her lap, smoothing with loving strokes his hair from his forehead, as she watched a TV drama serial in the lounge.
‘Beautiful, isn’t he?’ Fatima sat down next to Zarri Bano.
‘Yes, he’s like our Ruby.’ Sorrow flitted across Zarri Bano’s features.
‘He could easily pass as your son, my dear. You two girls were so alike. However, he is like his father too and Sikander is very good-looking. It takes two to make a child’s looks. I don’t know what will become of Haris once his father remarries …’ Fatima waited for a response from Zarri Bano. When none was forthcoming, she bantered on. ‘Sikander is bound to remarry. It is very difficult for men to stay widowed for long. My mother always said that most men remarried even before their wives were cold in their grave. It’s been a year since Ruby died. If not for themselves, men end up marrying for their children’s sakes. That is the excuse they always give, of course, although we know otherwise. So my mother told me. Celibacy is a problem for all of them.’ Fatima stopped in embarrassment. She could have bitten out her tongue for carrying on in such a vulgar vein. This was Zarri Bano, the pure one – the Holy Woman, she was talking to.
‘Why are you talking about Brother Sikander, Fatima?’ Zarri Bano ventured to ask.
‘I just wondered what will happen to Haris when he marries again,’ the other woman offered lamely.
‘Haris can stay with us, as he is doing now. Goodnight, Fatima.’ And Zarri Bano neatly ended their conversation, having astutely surmised the direction it would take.
Chapter 51
OFTEN, AT NIGHT-TIME, a group of five older village men came to visit and pay their respects to Siraj Din. Carrying their hookahs in their hands, they strolled into the hawaili courtyard and stayed long into the night chatting away. With their hookah topped up with fresh tobacco by Siraj Din’s servants, and with delicious sweetmeats to eat and nuts to chew with their old teeth, the village elders peppered the marble courtyard with the pistachio shells, studiously ignoring the plates placed near them. Why bother with plates, when the floor was going to be swept and washed early in the morning? They enjoyed the friendly banter amongst themselves and listening to Baba Siraj Din’s ideologies and tales of old India. How, for instance, Siraj Din and his family had fled to Sind in Pakistan and started a new life after Partition.
Under the cool breeze of the ceiling fan Shahzada sat at a discreet distance on a charpoy away from the men, hidden in the shadows of the tall potted plants on the verandah. She listened unobtrusively to their lively conversation. When she saw them leave, strolling out of the courtyard with their hookahs held in front of them, Shahzada dutifully went up to Siraj Din, to ask if he needed anything before she went to sleep.
‘Aba Jan, shall I bring you a fresh hookah? I’ll prepare it for you myself.’ She volunteered her service, although the servants usually performed this task. Standing next to his portable bed in the courtyard, she drew her cashmere woollen shawl tightly around her shoulders and head as a sign of respect to the old man. Siraj Din had never seen her bare-headed – a fact he acknowledged to himself and boasted about to others with much delight.
‘No, my daughter. What I do desire, however, is your company. Sit down, my dear – here, near me.’ Siraj Din curled his long legs up beneath him and made space on his palang for Shahzada to sit.
‘It is so nice to have you all here, Shahzada. I wish you and Zarri Bano could stay here for all time. It reminds me of the old days, when you used to live here and this place was alive with people and children. There was so much going on – your mother-in-law Zulaikha was still alive then. Do you know, I can still remember Zarri Bano and Ruby, may she reside in Jennat, fighting together, pulling each other’s hair, in this very courtyard. Zarri Bano always had a problem covering her head,’ he chuckled. ‘Ah well. It is five years since I have seen her hair now. How things have changed!’ His mood altered. ‘Sometimes, Shahzada, I feel so sad that I am still alive. It is almost like a punishment. It is not fair to lose young grandchildren and a son – all gone. I feel so sorry for you, my daughter. You have lost them all. Husband, son and daughter.’
‘Yes, I have lost them all,’ Shahzada agreed quietly.
‘You looked very sad today. I note everything, Shahzada, my daughter. I may be getting old but nothing misses these eyes. Is everything all right?’ She was touched by the marked concern in his voice. He leaned forward, pulling the long hookah pipe to his mouth and puffing on it, but his eyes were on his daughter-in-law’s face – carefully surveying her. She looked down.
‘I am all right,’ she finally offered, with a sigh.
Dissatisfied with her answer, Siraj Din reckoned that it was an appropriate time to refer to the matter that had cut his family adrift.
‘You never forgave my son Habib for making Zarri Bano a Holy Woman, did you? He died a sad and a lonely man. Therefore, how can you forgive me, your father-in-law, the one who encouraged and supported him.’
Shahzada pretended ignorance. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about, Aba Jan,’ she replied.
‘Shahzada, my dearest of daughter-in-laws. Why do you dissemble? If you hate me for making Zarri Bano a Holy Woman, then have the courage to show your hatred. Shout at me, if that is what you want to do! But do not dam it up inside you! I have committed a crime against you. Don’t make it worse for me by being too nice. This battered old heart still has space and the strength to hear your screams and curses, if that is what your heart and lips crave to utter.’ Siraj Din’s eyes gazed tenderly down on Shahzada’s shawled bent head. Waiting patiently for her to say something, he pulled the hookah pipe to his mouth again.
‘I am over fifty years old, Aba Jan,’ Shahzada uttered in a clear voice, raising her dull eyes to him. ‘A grandmother, but still I have had the training, the upbringing to know that I must respect you for all time. Therefore, how can I scream and curse even if I wanted to? I have been a dutiful and dumb prisoner of female etiquette for so long, how can I now open my mouth to you, Aba Jan?
‘I placed a heavy padlock and chain on my mouth and heart and sealed both for good, when Habib Sahib and you decided upon and held my daughter’s fate in your powerful, masculine hands. You didn’t think to consult me then. I was, of course, of no consequence. Instead I received chastisement from you for letting Zarri Bano stay in Sikander’s home. Neither of you considered a mother’s feelings of any importance, let alone my daughter’s feelings. You see, we women are just dumb servants to grace your household – obedient vessels. So how can I now confide my feelings to you?’
It was the longest and most heartfelt speech she had ever made in front of her father-in-law. Siraj Din’s hollow laugh rang eerily in the semi-darkness of the courtyard, silencing the sound of the night crickets momentarily. ‘No, my dumb daughter-in-law is not so dumb. On the contrary, she is blessed with an agile brain. She doesn’t scream or curse, but she knows how to sharpen her words, an
d how to prick with them where they wound the most.’
Blushing, Shahzada looked up and decided to be honest with him as he had requested. ‘You asked me to speak and thus I have spoken. Today this dumb vessel has spoken out of bitterness. You must forgive me because, Aba Jan, you have touched me on a sore point in my life – my daughter, Zarri Bano. It is true what you say. I changed the day you all imprisoned my daughter in this holy role. I lost and buried a daughter that day, Aba Jan, the Zarri Bano I knew and loved. I have never recovered from that loss – I am faced with a stranger. I feel sad today because I want my daughter to marry Sikander. I consulted you on this and you gave us your blessing. But the truth of the matter is that none of us bargained on what Zarri Bano has become. She truly is a Holy Woman. She is adamant that now she will never marry Sikander or any man! It is for this reason I am so sad. I do not know how to persuade my daughter. I want her to revert to being a normal woman again – to have a husband and a family. I want Haris to have Zarri Bano as his new mother, not some strange stepmother that his father may happen to marry. I know Sikander has always loved Zarri Bano. She, however, recoils from the very idea of getting married to him.’
Overcome by emotion Shahzada stopped. The anguish in her voice wounded Siraj Din. Reaching out his arm, he gently patted her shawled head. It was too much for Shahzada. She fell on his shoulders and burst into tears.
‘Hush, my daughter. Don’t cry, or you’ll make me cry too. I will try to sort something out with Zarri Bano. Unfortunately, I cannot turn back time, Shahzada. If only I could. I don’t know if you’ll ever forgive me. Sometimes I wish you were like Gulshan’s mother – petulant, disobedient and wilful. For if you had been like that, you would have fought for your daughter by tooth and nail. But you are too good a daughter-in-law, too perfect, too submissive to ever think of rocking our patriarchal boat. For this you have a very special place in my heart. My daughter, I cannot make amends for the past, but let me try by asking for your forgiveness.’
The Holy Woman Page 35