A Pair of Jeans and other stories

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  Faiza got up from the floor and moved towards her friend. As she went halfway across the courtyard, she slipped and fell with a thud on the concrete floor, emitting a cry of pain and shock.

  Horrified, Salma moved to her friend’s aid, emitting the word “Allah Pak”, God help them.

  “Are you alright, Faiza?” she asked earnestly, as she helped her to sit on the charpoy in the courtyard. “Oh God, you shouldn’t move so fast in your condition, particularly on a wet floor.”

  “Yes, I know.” Faiza said, her voice low, still in pain.” My mother-in-law is always telling me not to do work like this. I thought that as she was out today to the next village, I would do it today. I don’t know why, but I seem to have a craving to do household chores.”

  “Are you sure, you are alright?”

  “I am just bruised around my thighs. I’ll be alright soon. How are you Salma? You shouldn’t be here, you know. If my mother-in-law sees you here, there will be trouble.”

  “Oh come on, Faiza. You don’t believe all that crap, do you? It’s old wives tales. I am your best friend. I don’t mean you any harm. It is not my fault that I have had three miscarriages. You don’t believe in perchanvah? These superstitions that we’ve inherited from the old Hindu customs? How can an educated modern young woman like you believe in it?”

  “I know, but all women can’t be wrong. They really believe it. What can you do? It’s no use arguing. You can never reason with them. Our pir has been feeding the same ideas to my mother-in-law.”

  “But it’s not fair, Faiza. How would you feel if you were in my shoes? I am discriminated against and victimised. Do you know what it feels like, to be shunned from any contact with young pregnant women? I am being treated as an evil spirit. They think that my mere shadow will harm them. One pregnant woman even refused to eat the pudding that I had prepared the other day. It is as if my perchanvah had infected the pudding. The whole thing is incredible. How can my miscarriages affect another woman? You tell me?”

  “I don’t know Salma. It’s just the way these superstitions have perpetuated themselves over the centuries.”

  “It’s not fair for those women who have miscarried. I feel soiled, tainted and hurt. I cannot begin to describe to you the suffering I have undergone, not only at the loss of my babies, but also the way that some women have treated me. Instead of offering sympathy, they have recoiled from me.”

  “I am sorry, Salma. I suppose that I am just as guilty as my mother-in-law. Anyway, I haven’t seen you for over two months. Was there anything you wanted to see me about, that you risked coming in?”

  “Yes, I have some good news. I don’t know if you know, but I went to Peshawar two days ago to see a lady doctor, a gynaecologist. She told me that the reason I have miscarried is that I have a loose womb of some sort, making it difficult for me to have full term pregnancies. She suggested some sort of drug treatment. She told me that in about six months’ time, everything will be alright for me to have a normal healthy pregnancy.”

  “Oh, I am so glad for you, Salma.” So saying, her natural love for her friend asserted itself, and she grasped Salma by the shoulders, and hugged her in a warm embrace.

  It was at that very moment that Kaniz Bibi entered her home. She stopped dead on seeing her daughter-in-law locked in an embrace with that girl. She was livid. Blood thundered through her veins. The bulging tokerry with the wool fell out of her hands. She couldn’t trust herself as to what she was capable of. She just stood there staring.

  Faiza was the first to spot her. Her face paled, and she jolted away from Salma. Shocked by her friend’s action, Salma too looked towards the door. On seeing Kaniz, Salma’s cheeks suffused with colour, partly from guilt and partly embarrassment. From the darts of anger shooting out of Kaniz’ eyes and the fallen tokerry on the floor, spilling its contents on the wet floor, Salma sensed the tension and danger of the situation and the predicament in which she had placed herself. She truly felt like a criminal.

  Should she apologise? But for what? Her mind rebelled. On seeing her best friend? She had done nothing wrong. The look of horror in Kaniz’s face and eyes distressed Salma. It was almost as if Kaniz Bibi had expected her to murder Faiza. Her mind reeled from a sense of helplessness and distress.

  Not wishing to bring Kaniz’s wrath on herself, she quickly stepped away from Faiza, and side stepping Kaniz, as she stood in the doorway, Salma walked out, feeling damned, soiled, inadequate, belittled and insulted.

  Kaniz remained standing in the same place for a few more seconds, staring at Faiza, who by now had dropped her gaze, feeling awkward and embarrassed, knowing fully well that her mother-in-law was very angry with her.

  She came forward and started to scoop up the balls of wool from the floor.

  Kaniz stared down at Faiza, seeing the blue wool for the first time. At last she broke the silence.

  “That girl is after us. How many times Faiza, have I told you to have nothing to do with her. She has now shed the perchanvah from her recent miscarriage. How could you be so stupid? Don’t you care for your baby? If you don’t, we do. We want this baby badly.”

  “Of course I do, Auntie. It’s just that I couldn’t turn her away from the door. It would have been cruel and inhuman to do so. She hasn’t been here for the last two months. And she is my best friend.”

  “I don’t care whether she’s your best friend or not,” interrupted Kaniz, cutting her short. “Friendship doesn’t come into it. What matters is your health. Until you’ve had the baby, or unless she gets pregnant meanwhile, I want you to have nothing to do with her, or any other woman with the perchanvah. If you don’t care for your child, at least consider our wishes and feelings. I want a grandson. Our pir has said that you will have a son. How’s that?”

  Faiza’s cheeks glowed with delight. Boys were always wanted, especially first time. It would be a great honour indeed to have a son.

  “Now we have got this perchanvah of hers in the house. I’ll have to do something about it.” Her mother-in-law continued, as she moved briskly across her courtyard into the bavarchikhanah, kitchen. There she took out a pinch of red chilies from the container and returning to the courtyard called Faiza to stand in front of her. She ritually circled the air over Faiza’s head and shoulders with the chili powder still between her fingers.

  Then she checked Faiza’s neck to see if she wore the amulet with some holy words written by the pir on it.

  The amulet, tweez, around her neck was to ward off the evil eye.

  “I think that from now on, I had better stay at home, all the time. I don’t trust that girl. If she sets a foot in our house again I’ll…”

  “You’ll what Kaniz Bibi?” Her husband asked, returning from the mosque. He had heard what she’d said. “Nothing” Kaniz said defensively.

  “You women! You were talking about Salma. Why can’t you stop victimising the poor girl? When will you women stop your superstitious ways and customs? Do you think that swirling chili powder over your daughter-in-law’s head will insure her good health? Huh”, he laughed.

  Kaniz kept a tight rein on her anger, as she confronted her husband.

  “You always find it so amusing, don’t you? You delight in belittling our beliefs, don’t you?”

  “I find it utter nonsense. It is shirk, against the teaching of Islam and it is inhuman. How would you feel if Salma was your daughter, and somebody treated her, the way that you treat her?”

  “Bah! You men! You don’t understand anything. Let me tell you what my pir has told me.” She smiled at him.

  “What did your pir tell you this time, Kaniz Bibi?” He silkily asked, loathing the influence that the pir had over his wife and other women.

  Kaniz looked at him gloatingly. “He said that we are going to have a grandson. He had a dream and a premonition.”

  “Oh well, that’s great, if he said that. What will you do if it is a girl? Will you return it to him?” He chuckled.

  Kaniz turned away from him
exasperated. It always ended like this. He managed to nettle her, and she turned away from him, stronger in her beliefs than ever.

  …ooo000ooo…

  The next day, early in the afternoon, a lot of guests arrived unexpectedly in Kaniz’s home. It turned out to be a very busy afternoon for both Kaniz and Faiza, as they fed and entertained the guests including preparing the hookahs, the smoke pipe for the two elder male relatives.

  It was while she was making chapattis, flattened bread, in the kitchen, in the evening, that Faiza felt herself get wet between her thighs.

  Her heart stood still. The chapatti in one hand remained poised in mid-air, while the other on the flat topped pan was almost burning. “Oh Allah Pak”, she moaned under her breath.

  “This is not supposed to happen,” she thought. She was three months pregnant, therefore shouldn’t be menstruating. It could only be one thing! Her mind refused to register how her body was physically functioning.

  Nobody else was in the kitchen. Leaving everything, she got up to go to the ghusl khanah, bathroom. As she walked, she felt her thighs getting wetter and wetter against her linen trousers, shalwar.

  “Oh God help me”, she cried wildly to herself. To get to the bathroom, she had to cross the courtyard. Against the evening breeze, the guests, Kaniz Begum and her husband were sitting on cane chairs.

  She kept a low profile as she crossed the courtyard, drawing her clothes around her body. She let her long linen shawl drape down to her ankles, in an attempt to cover the wetness of her shalwar.

  In the bathroom, her hand trembled as she worked on the string, nallah, holding the shalwar in place around her waist. Once opened, she glanced down at her body, her heart full of dread and expectations.

  She closed her eyes, feeling faint. It was what she had feared. She leaned against the tiled wall and shower head. What did one do in this sort of situation? Go and squat on the toilet bowl or go and lie down. She found the former option distasteful. If she went to lie down, she would draw attention to herself. She didn’t relish that. They would ask as to what was the matter with her. Oh God, above all, she couldn’t let her mother-in-law find out.

  For a few minutes, she stood against the bathroom wall with her eyes closed, and her heartbeat accelerating by the minute. She didn’t want to spell out the words in her mind - that she was losing the baby. It couldn’t be! God couldn’t be so unjust! Then she remembered the guests.

  She washed herself, and changing into different clothes, she returned to the kitchen to finish making the remaining chapattis. She then whispered into Kaniz’s ear that she was tired and wanted to lie down.

  “Of course, my dear, go and lie down. You should have told me earlier, Faiza darling.” Kaniz looked at Faiza indulgently. The look cut Faiza to her soul. Oh God she doesn’t know and she wants the baby so much. Please God help us.

  Quietly Faiza slid away to her room and lay down, not bothering to change. Putting on an old sheet on the bed, and an extra layer of quilt padding in the middle, Faiza lay and waited. She was still getting wet.

  Her husband, Ali, having returned from a visit to the city, came to visit her. She pretended to be asleep. He went away and returned later and lay on the single bed in the room and went to sleep, having switched off the light.

  Through the window she saw the stars in the sky. Three of the guests had wanted to sleep in the courtyard in the open on charpoys, wooden cane beds, especially as it was so warm. One elder gentleman was still puffing away at the hookah, its base still making a gurgling noise in the silence of the night, as he half reclined on the charpoy. The other, in the nearby charpoy, was snoring away.

  Faiza tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. Then at about three o’clock in the night, her abdomen wall seemed to somersault into action as she felt a strong spasm of pain. Before she knew it she had let out a high-pitched scream. It broke through the silence of the night awakening everybody with a start.

  She clamped her hand on her mouth, but it was too late. Lights were switched on everywhere, and the shuffling of feet could be heard. The first person to appear at her bedside was her husband, and then came her mother-in-law, standing near the bed, shock and concern mirrored all over her face. Her father-in-law switched on the light. They stared at her sweat-beaded face and her bent body.

  “Are you alright, my dear? What is the matter?” Kaniz’s voice shook with fear.

  Faiza shook her head and pointed to her lower body.

  Kaniz’s eyes widened in shock and horror, her mouth dropping open. She shook her head from side to side, one hand held against her chest. Then collecting her wits about her, she gestured to her husband and son to leave the room. After they had gone, Kaniz stared pointedly at Faiza’s pain-racked face.

  Gingerly, and with trepidation, Kaniz lifted the quilt off Faiza and glanced down at her body. Then she dropped it as if it had burnt her. She stepped back in horror and shock, with one hand clasping the back of her head and the other at her throat. Then before her eyes, Faiza bent double with pain, and she let out another scream.

  Through clenched teeth, Kaniz called her son to go and call the dhai, the village midwife.

  She perched herself on one corner of the bed and rocked herself back and forth as if in a trance. Then she came to herself. She reached out to Faiza, and gently massaged her head and shoulders to soothe her.

  Rocking Faiza’s body against her own, Kaniz began to cry, as the reality of the situation dawned on her afresh. All her hopes, wishes gone to the clouds. There would be no grandchild. The ache in her heart was devastating and unbearable. Faiza too began to cry. Not so much for the baby and herself, but for her mother-in-law’s sense of loss.

  When the midwife arrived, Faiza lay in Kaniz’s arms, her eyes closed, her body weakened by the contractions of her womb. Birkat Bibi, the midwife, began to work quickly, apologising to Kaniz and expressing her sorrow at this misfortune. Normally she found her role as the local midwife very rewarding, particularly when she delivered healthy, bouncing boys. It meant that her own payment would be topped up by lots of other presents, and she would be personally congratulated on her work. On occasions like this, however, she kept a very low profile, and felt guilty for receiving any payment for the help, care and treatment, that she gave to the woman miscarrying or delivering. She felt very sad for this mishap. Like everybody else in the village, Birkat Bibi knew how important this baby had been for the family.

  Having seen to everything, and with Faiza refreshed, washed, and resting in another bed Birkat Bibi accepted some tea and biscuits. It was then that she asked Kaniz, what had happened and had she any idea why Faiza had lost her baby?

  Kaniz had been hovering in the room, lost in her sorrow. At Birkat Bibi’s words, her head shot up. She was struck by pain, like a bolt of thunder.

  “That charail, that witch, Salma! She’s been after Faiza, since the day she learnt of my Faiza’s pregnancy.”

  “What? Which Salma, Kaniz dear?”

  “Salma, the baker’s daughter, who still lives with her parents”, Kaniz spat out. “She has miscarried three times, as you well know, in the last two years. You have seen to her, haven’t you? She has not left my Faiza alone. Just yesterday she was here and actually embracing Faiza. Can you believe it Birkat Bibi? Everything in this house is soaked in her perchanvah.”

  The midwife tactfully kept silent. She knew what Salma’s problem was. She was the one who had suggested that she see a gynaecologist in the city. At the same time, she knew all about some women’s beliefs and superstitions. She, herself, didn’t believe them. As she had to work with these women and to provide a service for them and was often generously financially rewarded by them, it wasn’t in her interest, therefore, to argue with them. She often found herself irked by her pandering to their whims and superstitious by her silence and geniality. As a midwife and nurse, her creditability would be in question if she started to imbibe and perpetuate some of the women’s beliefs.

  She felt sorry for
Salma, knowing that she had been made the scapegoat for this miscarriage. She had already found out why Faiza had miscarried, by asking her whether she’d fallen. Faiza had told her but had pleaded with her not to tell her mother-in-law. Thus Birkat Bibi maintained her silence. She left soon after saying she would return in the morning to see Faiza.

  For the rest of the night Kaniz sat in vigil near Faiza’s bed. Her eyes full of anger and pathos. When her husband came into the room in the morning, having said his morning prayers in the mosque, she gave him a crooked bitter laugh.

  “You thought I was crazy. That it was only old women’s tales. See what has happened in this house. We’ve lost a grandchild within one day, since that woman has been in our house. You think that I spout nonsense. You ridiculed me and my rituals. I suppose you are going to say it was all a matter of coincidence. Isn’t it strange that our healthy daughter-in-law suddenly miscarries the very next day after embracing a woman with a perchanvah. You think I talk nonsense, Javed-ji.” She raised her voice as she said his name.

  He didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. He was very bemused by the event. There was nothing to ridicule. Just a sense of utter disbelief. He didn’t believe his wife, but on the other hand, it was all so strange. Were these women, after all, right about amulets, tweez and so on. He shook his head sorrowfully and left the room.

  The guests, of course, though they didn’t discuss the matter openly, knew what had happened in the middle of the night. They had come to spend a few pleasant days in Javed Salman’s house. Now a cloud of doom seemed to have enveloped the household. Everybody sat around the courtyard in hushed silence; the only sound audible was that of the black crows from the tree in the courtyard.

  By nine o’clock, after supervising the breakfast prepared by the woman helper for the guests, Kaniz couldn’t wait any longer. She put on her outdoor chador, and left the house. She collected her best friend, Neelum, and made her way straight to Salma’s house.