A Pair of Jeans and other stories

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  “It was Aunt Jamila. She wanted to know whether Rubiya would sew a Shalwar Kameez suit for her..”

  “What did you say?” Suriya interrupted her daughter quickly.

  “I told her that Rubiya was out, visiting a friend of hers. Therefore she could not say whether she was able to or not. She then added that she would drop in later this evening or tomorrow afternoon with the suit.”

  Nadia exchanged a significant glance with her mother.

  Suriya’s heart sank. Oh God, Jamila on top of everything else. She feared this sister-in-law as she did no other person, excepting her husband. Jamila, with her eagle eyes and her sharp mind she was sure to find out the truth. They could not lie to her — not to her. She was sure the horrible truth was written on their faces. Jamila would sense immediately that something was amiss. In fact everything was amiss. They were not the same, their thoughts and actions weren’t the same. It seemed that since yesterday afternoon they had entered another world, a theatre in which they themselves were strangers, puppets in fact, with Rubiya as the puppeteer.

  She still marvelled at the fact that her husband had not found out. It was a sheer miracle that Haji Farook Din did not know that his elder daughter, Rubiya, had not been seen in the house since yesterday morning. He had no idea that she had left home and eloped with a young man, God knew where to. A two minute telephone call from a phone box yesterday evening gave them the most hateful, the most shocking and shameful information. She was going away with this man, and that was all they needed to know. Suriya Qureshi and her two daughters had reeled with shock.

  When the phone call had come, Haji Farook was not in. Nor was he in when Farina had rushed in with the unbelievable news that she had seen Rubiya getting into a car with a strange man and drive off without saying anything. Farina omitted to say that she had seen the man with Rubiya before. At breakfast time, Haji Farook had not commented on his daughter’s absence. He probably thought that she was upstairs somewhere or still asleep. It would not have occurred to him in a thousand years that his eldest daughter was missing — that she had not slept in her bed, but was out there in the night with some young man, God knew where. Her mind revolted from the picture of this man.

  Why the news would kill her husband. He would never recover from the shock. What had happened to the father of that disgraceful affair they had heard about last year. The father, long after the affair was over, was in and out of hospital. Haji Farook would never be able to hold his head upright in public, in their community, amongst their relatives and friends.

  Had she herself not died a thousand deaths since yesterday afternoon? She still could not believe that this was happening to her, to them. It could not be. What had they done to deserve this? It was an unreal world she had entered since Farina came with the damning news. It was a long nightmare, from which she must wake up. Oh, Allah Pak, she must. It had to be a nightmare. In a few seconds her complacent, happy and respectable — oh so respectable world had toppled: to be replaced by this shame and nightmare. Her daughter, surely, could not do this to them. She could not be so cruel and so shameful. They did not deserve this treatment. Her father a Haji too! Shame on her!

  They had heard of such an incident some time ago. But they had shuffled it aside in their minds. It had no relevance for them. Shame and filth was attached to this incident. Theirs was a respectable family. And both the parents could not conceive any of their daughters committing that shameful crime. They’d felt sorry for the parents who had to suffer the consequences of their daughter’s crime. Suriya recalled with bitterness the twist of fate. Once they had pitied those parents, now they were to be pitied. She couldn’t bear the thought. How would she show her face amongst her friends? What had Rubiya done?

  Suriya closed her eyes in anguish, breathing heavily, her body was rocked by silent sobs. She drew her dupatta over her face, in order to hide it from her two daughters watching each and every movement of hers. Rubiya had thrown it all away. Her reputation, her parents’, her honour, her izzat and theirs, all at one go. What had she done? Again Suriya found it hard to believe that her daughter had left home, perhaps for good and committed that heinous crime. The images it conjured up in her mind left her feeling nauseous. Again the injustice of it all struck her. Every fibre, every cell of her being loathed her daughter. She had no right to cause such suffering in their household, to cause such havoc in their lives.

  At the moment only she and her two daughters knew about this. She daren’t think what would happen if her husband found out or any of their relatives, especially Jamila, who would never allow them to recover from the incident. On the contrary she would gloatingly force her point home; that this was what happened if you gave your daughters too much freedom and let them become too Westernised. Suriya closed her eyes tightly — wanting to shut out the picture of the world outside. She’d never be ready to confront the world outside.

  For how long could the three of them hide the truth from her husband and other people. Jamila said she was coming and she was bound to find out that Rubiya was not to be seen anywhere. Already one day had passed. This afternoon had given her a taste of what her ordeal was going to be like if Rubiya did not return. The sudden appearance of one of Rubiya’s friends had thrown the three into jitters, so that they had to resort to excuses and lies. All the time they’d felt guilty at guarding their shameful secret. It was the most trying moment of their lives. They fidgeted with their rings, their hair, their bangles and their clothes, hardly paying any attention to what Rubiya’s friend, Neelum was saying. Their thoughts were with Rubiya and the telephone. Their monosyllabic replies were very stilted. The girls were sure that their own nervousness would arouse suspicion. They wished their visitor gone and the time to pass quickly.

  Even amongst themselves the subject of Rubiya’s elopement was a taboo. It was too terrible to discuss openly. Farina and Nadia were unable to voice their thoughts openly. Both of them condemned their sister’s action. “How could she do it?” they queried. “Had she taken leave of her senses? Did she feel no sharm?” They shuddered at the thought of their sister being in close proximity with a strange man. They tried to put themselves in her place and imagine what she felt and what must have compelled her to do what she did. Their minds, however, shied away from the situation. They knew the man Rubiya was infatuated with. There was no other term to describe this relationship. While Rubiya might have described it as ‘love’, they would have labelled it as infatuation and sheer madness. Although younger than Rubiya they knew their limits. They despised their sister’s action in wanting to ape their English girlfriends by having a boyfriend too. It would never work, they were sure. Rubiya was just infatuated and she would return. They would tire of each other soon enough, especially when they couldn’t survive in a social vacuum, surrounded by shame and rejection.

  Nadia cursed herself over and over again. She was the one to be blamed. She knew what was going on but had done nothing about it. She ought to have warned her mother about it. Now Rubiya was lost forever. Even if she came back, she would carry the stigma, the stain of her action forever. The shameful deed would be labelled on her for eternity. But worst of all she had let her family down. The disgraceful deed would shroud all of them for the rest of their lives. Rubiya and their chances of marriages — well that was another story…

  Rubiya had not only slammed the door on her future, but theirs too. Rubiya’s elopement would definitely mean that their own freedom to go when and where they pleased would be curtailed. They would be made Rubiya’s scapegoats — in fact, made to suffer for her crime. Already their mother had lost her trust in them. It was almost as if she expected both of them to do a disappearing act — as if they too would elope any minute. Thinking back, neither of the two sisters had been out of doors since yesterday afternoon.

  Worse still, there was going to be social repercussions too. Friends and relatives would be pointing accusing fingers at them - referring to them as sisters of the girl who had committed t
hat horrible crime. They would be in the limelight and each and every action of theirs scrutinised and criticised. If their father found out…

  Both of them shuddered at the thought. Why he would never allow them out of their front room door. What had too much freedom brought them? Nothing but shame and disgrace. They would always be the butt of his anger. They felt sorry for their father. He would never be able to lift his head in public. Always he would be surrounded by shame. From a very respectable member of their community he would become the victim of the community’s gossip; of their pity for fathering such daughters.

  Their mother too was a bag of nerves. She had not eaten or slept since yesterday night. At night she paced the house, keeping her eyes glued to the window pane in case Rubiya turned up. She did not. From nine o’clock this morning she had not left her seat by the window. Her eyes often wandered out, hungry for Rubiya’s appearance. If the telephone rang she jumped up in her seat. She did not have the nerve, however, to go and answer it herself. They understood. She would not know what to say to Rubiya, if it was her again. Although her mind and heart cursed Rubiya for what she’d done, every time the phone rang she shrank inwards. She did not want to speak to her. Her mind had already cast her out as her daughter. No love remained in her heart for this daughter. Only a loathing and burning shame, which made her want to curl and shrink in the sofa.

  Since yesterday afternoon their house was a shambles. The everyday routine of washing and tidying up was lost. The girls still marvelled at themselves. Despite what they were going through, they managed to cook the evening meal, although in silence, and to act as normal as possible when their father came home for dinner yesterday afternoon and last night. It was not too difficult. After staying with their parents for what they felt was an adequate time so as not to arouse their father’s attention, Farina and Nadia escaped to their rooms. At some time or another they had dropped the hint that Rubiya was upstairs in her room. During the rest of the evening they waited nervously in their rooms, expecting any minute for their father to blow his top. Flicking through some paperbacks they waited with their beating hearts until ten o’clock. Everything however appeared normal downstairs. They’d even heard their father laughing at something. They’d felt sorry for their mother’s predicament.

  When their father actually came upstairs and went to bed, their hearts stood still. They couldn’t believe their luck. They sighed with relief. Their father did not know! They marvelled furthermore when their father did not notice Rubiya’s absence at breakfast time too, the next morning.

  Tonight, however, was going to be different. Their father was bound to notice Rubiya’s absence. What if he took it into his head to go and see Rubiya — see how she was doing. They’d earlier dropped a hint about her having a headache or something. Then they would have to tell him the truth. They dreaded that time.

  At six o’clock when their father came home, the girls felt very edgy. They did not know what to do with themselves; how to behave; what to say. All they seemed to be doing was exchanging silent glances with one another.

  Mother and daughters dreaded the time when their father would mention Rubiya. In Nadia’s head, a plan was already forming. If her father wanted to visit Rubiya in her bedroom, then she’d sleep in Rubiya’s bed, and pretend to be her and hope for the best that he wouldn’t wake her up if he saw her fast asleep. They’d toyed with their meal not feeling very hungry, but were very much aware of the tension mounting up in the dining room. It was almost tangible; they were sure they could slice their way through it with a knife.

  Back in the living room, after the meal and the clearing up in the kitchen, television held no interest for them. Usually Thursday evening found themselves glued to their TV set, especially for ‘Top of the Pops’. Today, however when their father switched onto another channel, the girls did not bat an eyelid. They’d hardly noticed the prancing figures on the pop stage. Their thoughts were elsewhere. They were busy devising ways of creeping out of the room without arousing their father’s interest. Haji Farook, an intelligent and perceptive man, couldn’t help but notice their fidgety movements. At one stage in the evening he commented on their noncommittal remarks and monosyllabic rejoinders.

  At about nine o’clock he got up and went out of the room. The girls relaxed. When they heard him climb the stairs, they looked at their mother. Fear was etched on her features. They too were afraid. What if he took it into his head to look at Rubiya, they asked themselves.

  Nadia got up resolutely. She knew what she was going to do. Her father was in the bathroom. They could tell by the treading of his feet above. Perhaps she still had time to carry out her plan. She went out of the room.

  Suriya heard the backdoor open and then click shut. What was Nadia up to she asked herself. It was not the day for the dustbins to be placed outside. She waited for her to return so that she could ask her this. At the same time she was listening to her husband’s footsteps upstairs. Her heart had begun to beat a tattoo again. Her husband’s footsteps were now in Rubiya’s room.

  This was the moment. This was the time they all dreaded. Now the whole world would explode. Suriya shrank inwards — she could not cope with this!

  Farina was listening to her father’s footsteps too, her eyes staring above at the ceiling.

  Neither the mother nor the daughter noticed the living room open and a young woman dressed in outdoor clothes enter the room When Suriya caught sight of her, she almost leapt out of her seat. Farina’s mouth stood open, unable to believe her eyes. It was almost as if they were watching a Shakespearian play at the Royal Exchange Theatre. “Rubiya,” she whispered the magical word. Surely her eyes were playing tricks on her. For there stood Rubiya, looking worn out and dishevelled. She was apparently struggling to stick a brave and confident expression on her face, but without much success.

  Not daring to look at her mother, she addressed her sister.

  “I came the back way”, she said quietly as if in explanation of how she got inside the house. She held the key to her sister. As the steps thudded down the stairs, three pairs of eyes turned to the door. Rubiya swivelled a desperate look at her mother. Suriya stared back, her face expressionless. Her mind was already thinking ahead. She’d loathed her daughter, but she was in control once again. She was the puppeteer now, not Rubiya her daughter.

  Haji Farook on entering the room, noticed his eldest daughter standing in the middle of the room. A baffled expression settled on his face. He looked at his wife and his youngest daughter, Farina. He returned to look at Rubiya.

  “I thought you had a headache. Nadia just told me you were asleep”.

  He noticed for the first time the outdoor summer jacket that Rubiya was wearing and the handbag she was clutching to her side. Haji Farook looked at his wife for an answer. Suriya had already decided upon her answer two minutes ago.

  “Rubiya went to Jamila’s house just before you returned home. Jamila wanted her to sew a kameez for her. Nadia did not know about this. Jamila has just dropped her off….”

  “Go to bed child. You look tired. You should not have gone with Jamila if you had a headache”

  With a wave of his hand, Haji Farook dismissed his daughter. Unaware of the charade-like nature of the situation, he settled in his seat to await the Nine o’clock News on BBC1. Rubiya could not believe her luck. He did not know!

  Damn the man! Damn him! her mind cursed. She would never be the same again. She was a fool.

  Thankfully she made her exit. Her head held high, she muttered her “Goodnight” to no-one in particular. As she left the room she felt her mother’s and sister’s eyes boring into her back.

  THE CITY DWELLERS

  Sher Khan got on the bus from his village, heading for the city of Lahore. Almost the entire village had come to see him off, out of respect - the men, women and children. He was a busurgh, one of the two remaining village elders. The children ran alongside him and offered salaam. The young women, whom he treated as his own daughters, duc
ked their covered head in front of him out of respect, so that he could pat them on the head, as was the custom for an elder busurgh.

  As he sat on the bus, his self-respect and dignity was never higher. The young men had helped him with his ghitries, his three parcels, onto the bus. The three parcels were presents, mainly home grown vegetables and pastries for his two lifelong friends, who were now settled in Lahore, a large teeming city, once the capital city of Pakistan and the home of the Mughal emperors.

  Sher Khan was looking forward to meeting his two friends. He had spent his childhood, youth and most of his adult life with these two friends in the village. This was the first time he was going to visit them, since they had left almost a decade ago. The friends had often visited him in the village. He always offered his home and his warm hospitality whenever they visited.

  He was dressed in his best, crisply starched clothes which his daughter-in-law had prepared for him. He donned his pagh, his special turban, on his head and had dyed his white hair and beard with henna and trimmed his moustache.

  The journey on the bus was a lonely one. He wished that he had brought his wife with him. The coach reached Lahore on time. It was almost evening. Sher Khan, struggling to hold his three parcels, got off the coach. He hadn’t realised how heavy they were. There was always someone to carry things for him, so had never carried anything before. The village lads had carried them for him. Now he stood on the pavement with two of them on the ground near to his feet, and one in his arm. The hustle and bustle of the city disconcerted him - the traffic, the people, the buildings, and anonymity of it all. Nobody knew him, and nobody was going to rush to help him with his parcels. He anxiously rummaged through the pocket of his jacket to find the paper with the addresses of his two friends. The paper was still there and he felt himself sigh with relief.