The Holy Woman

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  And look what her daughter had done! Thrown a chaudharani out of a room! Fatima shivered. In her day, if a village elder even hinted that he sought your daughter for a relative of his or for other people, one was duty bound to accept, because the elder’s honour, his izzat, depended on it. If he were to place his turban in front of you, refusal was totally out of the question. It was almost tantamount to his laying his honour at your feet.

  Nowadays, apparently, the young people cared for nobody’s izzat. Neither their family’s nor their own. Women were now more independent and more assertive, and wished to shape their own destinies. Parents had to now gracefully bow down and in the process become prisoners of their children’s whims and fancies.

  Fatima stood outside the hawaili gate and let her eyes lovingly scan the tall, majestic, white-washed building, looking at it with pride. It was going to be her daughter’s home. One could spot this hawaili a mile from the village. It was the only one with two storeys. Even Siraj Din’s only had one.

  She rang the bell, then quaking, recalled her own previous visit. If only she could erase it forever from her mind!

  Neesa let her in. She was shown into the guest room, and asked to be seated. The chaudharani and her sister would soon be down from the top floor, she was further informed.

  Fatima looked curiously around the room, noting that it was furnished to the highest taste. The marble-chip floor, the matching marble tables with sturdy gilded legs, the tall fireplace housing a large electric heater – all shone like mirrors. The curtains with beautiful swags and tails, gracefully draped themselves across the large windows, falling softly to the floor. The place reeked of opulence. There was even a plush woven pure silk rug on the floor in the centre of the room. It is just as well I took my shoes off outside, Fatima thought, feeling the delicate silkiness of the carpet with her toes.

  It was a strange experience for Fatima. She was seeing everything from a new angle. Her daughter would soon be living in these surroundings, and one day she would be the mistress of everything. Fatima sighed with pleasure.

  Neesa returned and Fatima looked up at her expectantly. ‘The chaudharani finds it difficult to come downstairs,’ the servant told her. ‘She fell down the steps yesterday evening. She requests, therefore, that you accompany me upstairs to her quarters, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course not,’ Fatima answered, her heart suddenly beginning to beat faster. Was this a deliberate snub on Kaniz’s part? Was she being summoned up like any menial? Then Fatima dismissed the thought as beneath her. Hadn’t Neesa said that Kaniz had fallen? Also, she herself was in no position to pick bones about trivial matters. After all, Kaniz probably still thought of her as a washerwoman. Therefore, in Kaniz’s eye, it was right for Fatima to be beckoned up rather than to come down herself.

  *

  Kaniz was waiting nervously, in her room. She glanced up at her sister sitting next to her, panic in her eyes, and Sabra gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  The sound of steps outside the room made them look at the door. Neesa entered first, followed closely by Fatima. Sabra stood up to greet Fatima, while Kaniz found herself unable to move.

  The sight of her old rival standing in the doorway brought back the memory of their last meeting, and she recalled Fatima’s cruel words with painful clarity; they thumped away in her brain. The smile she had pinned up, for Fatima’s benefit, deserted her and she found herself staring into the other woman’s eyes with a look of pure hatred.

  Seeing her remain seated and sensing the hostility that emanated from her, Fatima’s joy was quenched. Had Kaniz invited her here merely to humiliate her? Was it all a joke? Her confidence faded.

  Sabra quickly put an end to Fatima’s speculations as she warmly embraced her and issued words of greeting. ‘Bismillah, bismillah, my sister.’

  ‘Assalam-Alaikum,’ Fatima greeted her between dry lips.

  ‘Wa Laikum-Salam. Come and sit down on this sofa. My sister has been ill and finds it difficult to move much. Excuse us for calling you up.’

  ‘That is fine, Sister Sabra. How are you, Sister Kaniz?’ Fatima’s eyes now focused warily on the other woman’s face.

  Wrestling with her personal hatred of her rival, Kaniz triumphed by managing to pin back a smile to her lips. ‘I am fine,’ she answered pleasantly enough. ‘How is your family? How is Brother Fiaz doing?’ The words sounded alien on Kaniz’s lips, and both knew it. Previously Kaniz had never enquired or even cared a paisa for Fatima’s family. It was thus a strange new beginning for them both. A new fragile thread being woven into the tapestry of their lives and relationships.

  ‘He is doing well and he sends his good wishes to you. My daughters are fine and Firdaus enquires especially after your health?’ Fatima voiced politely reverting to the subject of her visit. Before her surprised eyes, Kaniz’s face softened and broke into a smile.

  ‘She came to see me, Sister Fatima, and she laid her head in my lap, like this …’ Kaniz gestured to her lap. ‘She touched my feet.’

  ‘I am glad, Sister Kaniz. That is what she should have done. She told me everything.’ Fatima’s glance wavered before Kaniz for a second and then she decided to be honest. It was better to bring everything out in the open now. ‘I was astounded and very hurt at her behaviour. I think she has been a very stupid young woman. I hope you have it in your heart to forgive her, for I still find it difficult to do so.’

  ‘I have. It is because I have that I have asked for her hand for my son.’

  Fatima abruptly dropped her eyes, afraid that they would betray the rush of pleasure that suddenly coursed through her body. So it appeared Kaniz did, indeed, want her daughter as her daughter-in-law.

  ‘I am honoured,’ Fatima replied, taking in a deep, uneven breath. ‘My whole family is honoured, Kaniz Sahiba. Kulsoom brought your message to us. It came as a special surprise, because we didn’t expect it. Especially in the light of our last meeting.’ Fatima scanned Kaniz’s face warily. ‘We often say unkind and cruel things,’ she continued in a low voice. ‘Things which we do not always mean, Chaudharani Sahiba.’

  ‘If you are referring to your words, then, Fatima Jee, I must remind you that you meant every one of them,’ Kaniz interrupted quietly. She wouldn’t let Fatima get away with that comment.

  ‘Then I beg for your forgiveness,’ Fatima replied with a blush. Again her glance dipped in front of Kaniz.

  ‘It is all right, Sister Fatima, I deserved it all, anyway,’ Kaniz replied magnanimously. ‘But do not let us talk about the past; I do not like to dwell on it. Fatima Jee, I have been ill for some time. During my illness, I had the opportunity to think about everything and had to face some painful facts about myself and others. I now want to put the past firmly aside. I eagerly look forward to the future and to your daughter becoming my daughter-in-law, my son’s wife, our next chaudharani.’

  ‘You are very generous, Kaniz Sahiba. You have put us both, mother and daughter, to shame.’ Fatima was overcome by Kaniz’s generosity.

  ‘Please, no more!’ Kaniz held up her hand. ‘Tell me, is it you who are accepting or your daughter? For it is what your daughter says that matters to me. She is a proud girl, just as I used to be. Is she going to do us the honour of stepping into my home as my daughter-in-law? Is she able to swallow her pride?’

  ‘There is no pride, Sister Kaniz, just the foolishness of youth. She has, however, said …’ Fatima paused, remembering her daughter’s words with disgust. Nevertheless, they had to be said.

  ‘What has she said?’ Kaniz asked, feeling her heartbeat accelerate. Sabra noticed the anxiety in her sister’s eyes and gave her hand another reassuring squeeze.

  ‘She says that she accepts, but only if Khawar personally wishes it so. She believes that it is you who now desires the match and not your son. If he personally proposes to her, she will very happily accept.’

  ‘I see.’ Kaniz paused and was momentarily lost in her thoughts before speaking and looking directly at Fatima again
. ‘She is right, of course, right. Khawar should personally propose to her. That is the way of the world now, especially with the young people. But you know that it is the respectable thing for the parents to ask first.’

  ‘Yes, of course. But you know what these young people are like.’

  ‘I certainly do. Tell your daughter that Khawar will personally propose to her, then we will set into motion the engagement ceremony. Are you happy with that?’

  ‘Yes, I am. Thank you, Kaniz Sahiba.’

  They talked for a short time longer, keeping deliberately to safe topics, whilst they sipped iced lemon drinks.

  Her heart singing with joy, Fatima left – a very happy woman. Her mind was buzzing with ideas for the forthcoming wedding preparations.

  In the room upstairs the two sisters sat in silence. It was Sabra who spoke first. ‘What’s on your mind, my dear? Are you perhaps thinking what I am thinking – that you have not yet told your Khawar anything of this?’

  ‘Yes, Sabra Jee. I am wondering what he will say. Will he be very angry, do you think?’ Kaniz’s face was creased with lines of worry; she pulled nervously on the corner of her head shawl.

  ‘No, my darling sister, why should he be angry with you? How dare he? After all, it is for his sake that you have done this. Let him dare to say anything … I will deal with him!’

  Khawar was livid. He couldn’t believe what his mother and aunt had done. For a long time he remained silent, with his head lowered and his hands flat on the dining table. Sabra had told him after he finished his dinner. Kaniz was sitting in the other room.

  ‘Well, my dear nephew, you are very quiet. It is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?’ Sabra demanded.

  ‘It was what I wanted once,’ Khawar told her, trying to keep a grip on himself, ‘but not in the light of what has happened recently, not after what my mother suffered. You had no right to interfere, either of you! Why on earth didn’t you consult me first? Do you think I want to have anything to do with that, that creature after how she treated poor Mummy? I can never forgive her! She is not worth it, Auntie, You don’t honestly think that I would marry her now, do you? No way!’ He glared at his aunt.

  Sabra stood up from the table and, standing behind Khawar, touched him gently on the nape of his neck.

  ‘Well, it seems that young woman of yours would not accept the proposal anyway unless you proposed personally to her.’

  A bitter laugh rang out of Khawar’s full masculine mouth.

  ‘She’ll have a long time to wait, then. You two can hatch whatever plots you like – but I have no intention of marrying her.’ He stood up to leave, towering over his aunt. She restrained him, her hand on his arm and a smile on her face.

  ‘You young people think only of yourselves, never of other people. Now listen to me – and hard. Khawar, you left home for that woman; presumably you wanted her very much. You had quarrels for her sake. Now how can you tell me that she doesn’t mean anything to you! You still want her, my son; do not try to deny it to yourself. Not only that, this marriage means a great deal to your mother. She is overjoyed. I have never seen her this happy before – and she wants to make you happy, too, especially since Firdaus came and asked for her forgiveness.’

  ‘She came!’ he said in a raised voice. ‘Does nobody tell me anything any-more? Why did she come?’

  ‘Well, she came and went on her knees and begged for your mother’s forgiveness. Oh, it was quite an act. You missed a treat, Khawar. Anyway, my sister has forgiven her and is now thrilled and ready to have her here in this home as your wife. Do you know what your mother said? She said that Firdaus was your fate and that she holds your destiny in her hands.’

  ‘I see. It looks as if my mother is indeed a changed woman,’ the young man said thoughtfully. ‘Well then, if she desires it so much, who am I to refuse? If her heart is bent on Firdaus, I will have to start battering on my own, I am afraid.’ He laughed. ‘To wake it up!’ He patted his chest with one hand.

  ‘Huh. Your heart was wide awake already,’ Sabra teased him. ‘What do you take me for? It was all a pretence anyway.’

  ‘No, Auntie. It wasn’t a pretence. My anger allowed me to forget her. I am still angry with her, but if that madam wants a proposal, we’ll see what we can do.’

  There was a sparkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He also looked much more relaxed. Sabra was happy for him. Just as he was about to move away, she pulled his head down and kissed him on his forehead and cheeks.

  ‘We will not let you go until there is a bride in this house, Aunt,’ he vowed and kissed her on the cheeks in return.

  ‘I have no intention of going until then,’ she said tartly. ‘But you had better get a move on. I have already been here for over two months. My own family is getting restless now. Oh Khawar, I cannot wait for your wedding. This home will be happy once again, at long long last.’

  ‘What about Aunt Fatima?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about her. Your mother and she are getting on like a house on fire. You will have no thorns in your flesh from any quarters, I promise you my son,’ she ended, letting him go.

  She immediately went up to see her sister. Kaniz looked up expectantly at her, feeling nervous all of a sudden.

  ‘It is all right – he will propose to her. You can relax.’ Sabra gave her a reassuring smile.

  ‘You are a wonderful sister! I don’t know what I would have done without you. What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about. He is very happy, and he wants to marry very soon.’

  ‘Oh Sabra, I am so happy!’ Kaniz stood up and reached to embrace her sister. They remained locked together for a long time. Tears of joy and relief streamed down Kaniz’s cheeks.

  ‘Thank you for everything, and I thank Allah Pak for giving me this blessing. Do you know what I am going to do before the wedding, Sister Sabra? I am going to hold a big religious gathering, and invite all the village women to it. We will ask Zarri Bano to lead the special prayers.’

  ‘I don’t know if she’ll still be here in the village, Sister, I gather she is getting married herself soon. Have you not heard? She will be marrying her late sister’s husband. I have never seen her closely, but they say that she is very beautiful.’

  ‘Well, my Firdaus is very attractive.’

  ‘Isn’t she short and dark any more?’ Sabra teased her sister, winking at her.

  ‘Don’t you dare say that about her! I was just being catty and vindictive then. Her colouring is good, she is almost as fair as you and me, and her height is that of an average woman. Let anybody comment on that and I will pull out their tongue.’

  They both burst out laughing. Later, Kaniz insisted on Sabra going to their large storeroom and looking in their steel cases. There was so much to do and to buy. At least they could see if they had enough rolls of fabric for the engagement presents to be given to Firdaus and her family.

  Chapter 61

  A WEEK HAD PASSED since Fatima had visited Kaniz in her hawaili. Khawar still had made no effort to get in touch with Firdaus. He kept promising his mother and aunt that he would do it very soon. Firdaus, for her part, waited nervously for news from him every day. By the fifth day she had given up.

  ‘Well, Mother, I told you, didn’t I?’ she said cynically. ‘Chaudharani Kaniz may desire this match, but the groom obviously doesn’t. If he really wanted to marry me he would have contacted me by now. I find it very humiliating. I told you earlier that he has no intention of marrying me. He has still not forgiven me.’ She was rueful.

  ‘I doubt it, my dear. Yet I am a little surprised myself. Never mind, give him another day or two, and then I will intervene.’

  ‘No, Mother. Please – no intervention,’ Firdaus begged.

  ‘Whatever you wish, my daughter.’ Fatima waved her hand in defeat. Her eldest daughter’s rishta had given her more headaches and heartaches than her other two daughters put together. She was sure that she was going to die
of palpitations before ever she saw Firdaus’s hands painted with wedding henna patterns.

  Next morning, much to the delight of Firdaus’s entire family, a young boy from Kaniz’s hawaili came with a message. ‘Master Khawar wishes to talk privately with Madam Firdaus, if that is OK with Auntie Fatima and Uncle Fiaz, of course? Would she be so kind as to meet him by the old well, just outside the village, later this afternoon. The well where they used to play as children,’ the boy elaborated.

  Firdaus’s first instinct was to refuse. ‘Let him sweat it out. Who does he think he is?’ she told her mother heatedly.

  ‘Again, I feel duty bound to drill it into you, my headstrong daughter,’ Fatima snapped back, ‘that you are in no position to let him sweat it out, as you say. On the contrary, he is teaching you a lesson. Letting you sweat it out. He is calling the shots, my dear, not you.’

  As much as she would have liked to call his bluff, Firdaus eventually set out for the old well.

  It was a bright sunny afternoon and the black crows were merrily cackling away in the trees. Firdaus had dressed herself with care; her sisters had excitedly helped her to choose the colour and pattern of her suit. They also insisted on curling the ends of her raven-black hair so that it fell like a heavy bouncy curtain around her shoulders. ‘We want you to sweep Khawar off his feet,’ they teased her.

  Draping a dupatta casually over her hair and shoulders, Firdaus left her home. She walked through the cobbled village lanes, skipping over the pools of water where the stones had gone missing, then she followed the path through the fields towards the old well. She let the dupatta fall to her shoulders as the breeze blew it off.

  Nobody was around in the fields. The serenity of the surroundings, the greenish-yellow carpet of the rape fields brought a smile to her lips. This was what she had missed in the bustling, polluted city of Hyderabad – the clean fresh air and utter tranquillity.