It was all so worrying. Yet Nasir continued to sit at the kitchen table and drink his chai and read his newspaper as if the fates of their grandchildren were not at stake.
“The seniors’ social circle meets at the mosque in an hour. I must speak with Sister Joanne. Hurry up, jaan,” Nani said to Nana. Sister Jo was on the executive board, and she volunteered at the mosque almost every day. If anyone knew what was going on, it would be her.
Nana stood and neatly folded his paper. “Laikunissa Begum,” he said, calling his wife by her full name. “What are you up to?”
“I made a promise to Ayesha to get to the bottom of Hafsa’s engagement, and I intend to keep it,” Nani said in the determined tone her husband knew so well. He swallowed the dregs of his tea and went to change.
The seniors’ social circle was a weekly meeting of all the older aunties and uncles in the neighbourhood. Today the men were gathered in the cafeteria while a small group of women attended yoga class in the gym. Nani nodded at the women as she made her way through the group. Her friend Maryam signalled to her and made room on her purple yoga mat.
“Have you heard of yoga?” Maryam said. “It’s the latest thing, Laik. So good for posture and breathing.” Maryam was a cheerful woman from Sudan in her early sixties, the matriarch of a large family. She was usually busy babysitting her grandchildren; Nani had not seen her in months.
“I think I may have heard about this yoga,” Nani said. “Is Sister Jo here today?”
“She’s our teacher. She’s running late, but this will give us a chance to catch up.”
Nani settled next to her friend, and they chatted about their grandchildren. Maryam was halfway through a long-winded anecdote about her youngest grandson when Sister Jo walked into the gymnasium, unbuckling a bicycle helmet and apologizing profusely. She was a long-faced white woman in her late fifties, dressed today in a tailored white hijab tied close to her face, a white turtleneck with long sleeves, its hem brushing her knees, and black yoga pants. After a quick greeting, the class began.
Nani followed along as best she could, moving stiffly from child pose to warrior stance. “I hear Sister Farzana is on the mosque executive board now,” she whispered to Maryam when they stretched into cat pose.
Maryam wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like that woman. So bossy and old-fashioned. She told me I should wear a black abaya and slippers when I come to the mosque. What is wrong with track pants and Nike shoes?”
Nani nodded in sympathy. “I hear she has only one son.”
Maryam clucked. “Yes, poor thing. That’s the problem. She doesn’t have anything else to occupy her time. No job, her husband died last year and her daughter lives somewhere else.”
“What is her son like?”
Maryam shrugged. “Rasool sees him at prayers.” Rasool was Maryam’s husband. “Khalid is quiet but close to the imam. I think he is helping with that conference.”
They were in boat pose now, and Maryam leaned close to Nani. “Farzana was boasting to me only last week that her son would marry a girl of her choosing.” She giggled. “When I tried to introduce my children to suitable spouses, they laughed in my face. They are all married now. Children must be allowed to lead their own lives, Laik.”
After the class, Nani approached Joanne, who was rolling up her yoga mat.
“Sister Laik, I know that look on your face,” Sister Jo said, smiling. “What are you up to?”
“You sound like Nasir,” Nani grumbled. “What do you think of Farzana?”
Sister Jo’s smile dimmed slightly. “I don’t really know her. She invited me to her house for an impromptu party. I think she is trying to make friends and find her place.”
Nani kept her tone casual. “Was there any particular reason for the party?”
Sister Jo looked uncomfortable and reached down to pick up her bicycle helmet, fiddling with the chin strap. “I don’t like to gossip, Laik, but it was very strange. I thought it was just a dinner party, and I brought chickpea salad. When I arrived, all the women were dressed up in fancy outfits and putting henna on their hands. Around ten, her son, Khalid, came home.” She paused, uncertain how to continue. “I found out the party was actually Khalid’s engagement celebration.”
Nani nodded, thinking. “Was Khalid happy?”
Sister Jo shifted her weight to her other leg. “He seemed shocked by the news. I don’t think he knew about it at all. I must admit, his reaction concerned me. When my daughter asked us to help her look for a husband two years ago, I made sure she was comfortable with every introduction we arranged. After all, she was the one getting married, not me.” Sister Jo lowered her eyes, thinking. “Every family is different, of course.”
Nani remained silent at this diplomatic answer. “Did Khalid know who he was engaged to?”
Sister Jo shook her head. “Not at first, but Aliyah told him. I was so relieved to see him smiling. It makes me so happy to see the young people in our community settling down. I hope they will bring their children to the mosque one day.”
“Inshallah. Love is a powerful force,” Nani said.
Sister Jo reached down for her bag, and when she straightened up, her troubled expression was replaced with a smile. “Hafsa is your son Sulaiman’s daughter! Now your questions make sense. Brother Khalid is a kind and respectful young man.” She hesitated, choosing her words. “I would only be concerned about Sister Farzana. Some of the other women at the mosque are uncomfortable with her conservative beliefs.” Jo fixed the bike helmet to her head and smiled wryly. “At the party, Farzana held a halaqa study circle just before dinner. She talked about the importance of modesty. She made sure to mention that a pious Muslim woman should never ride a bicycle, as it draws too much attention to her legs.” Sister Jo sighed, her amusement replaced by worry. “Such rigid thinking has no place in our community, Laik.”
In the car ride home Nana asked, “How is your investigation progressing? Have you found a suspect yet?”
Nani shifted irritably. “Make fun if you like. Ayesha is heartbroken, and I fear Hafsa has made a mistake.”
“Jaan, sometimes it is better to let things work out on their own.”
Nani’s eyes softened as she looked at his lined, well-loved face. “Of course, Nasir,” she answered. “You are so right.”
Nana smiled. He knew that it was not in his wife’s nature to let matters rest, not until she was satisfied. “Laik, why did you not join the RCMP? They always get their man.”
Because this time I am after a woman. Laik closed her eyes and organized her thoughts.
After lunch, Nani told Nana she was going for a walk, and she left before he could offer to accompany her. She brought the cane she kept to nudge objects off the top shelf in the kitchen and set off in the direction of the park.
She slowed in front of a large house with a double-car garage and looked around; the coast was clear. Leaning heavily on her cane, she dragged her foot painfully, her face screwed up in feigned agony. She shuffled to the front of the house and rang the doorbell.
A few moments passed before the door opened. A woman in her early fifties, wearing an ugly orange cotton shalwar kameez, opened the door. She had a bright-purple scarf wrapped around her head, which clashed painfully with her clothes.
“Assalamu Alaikum, Farzana,” Nani said, making her voice sound old and querulous. “I am Hafsa’s Nani. Samira told us the good news about the engagement yesterday and I decided to visit you. I’m afraid the walk was too much for me.” She tried her best to look weak and helpless, and Farzana, after a moment’s hesitation, led Nani into the family room and offered her water or tea.
Nani requested tea because it would take longer to prepare. She was instantly on her feet and poking around when Farzana retreated to the kitchen to boil water.
The room looked as if it had been decorated by a toddler obsessed with primary colours—bright-blue curtains, a vibrant green carpet and a yellow blanket on the brown leather couch. There were no pictures
on the walls, and the TV looked as if it was not used much; a stack of newspapers was piled in front of it.
Farzana returned with a small cup of tea, and Nani noted the absence of the usual cookies or snacks. She clearly wanted to give her no reason to dawdle.
“You have a lovely house,” Nani said, trying to sound breathless. She took a sip of the tea—it was weak and lukewarm. “Delicious chai,” she lied.
Farzana smiled at Nani, but her eyes weren’t friendly. “I’m surprised Samira didn’t accompany you. We need to finalize the guest list for the engagement party.”
Nani ignored her. “This is quite a large house for only you and your son. I heard your daughter lives in India. Does she visit often? I hope she will join us for the engagement on Sunday.”
Farzana flinched at the mention of her daughter. “Zareena is quite busy. I doubt she will be able to make it back for the ceremony. A girl belongs to her husband’s family after she marries. I’m sure you agree.”
Nani watched Farzana over the rim of her cup. Underneath her words and bluster, Farzana was clearly afraid. She masked it with anger, but the fear was just below the surface, and Nani pitied her for it.
“Every family has its own problems,” Nani said mildly. “I’m sure the issues with your daughter will resolve with time.”
Farzana gripped the arm of her chair and attempted to smile again. “There is no problem. Why would you say that?”
“Hafsa is very young,” Nani said, ignoring the question. “She has been sheltered from many things. I hope Khalid will make her happy.”
Farzana shook her head. “Your granddaughter comes from a good family, and girls should be married young, otherwise they become stubborn and set in their ways.”
Nani put her cup down. “You remind me of my sister-in-law. She has eight children who live all over the world, but she is very lonely. None of her children visit much. She was too controlling when they were younger and didn’t let them make their own decisions when they grew.”
Farzana bristled. “Khalid is a good boy. He will do as I say.”
Nani leaned forward. “But will he forgive you?”
Farzana froze. “What do you mean?”
“You know that Ayesha and Hafsa are two different people. Your son trusts you to do the right thing. How will he feel when he discovers that you purposely arranged his marriage to the wrong Hafsa?” Nani had no proof that Farzana knew about the identity mix-up and nothing but her intuition guiding her. She only hoped that she was wrong.
“Ayesha is too old for him. She is not suitable!” Farzana stood up, eyes bright with anger. “She is fatherless, and she does not know how to speak to her elders. My son deserves better.”
Nani felt a deep well of sadness open inside her. So it was true: This blustering, angry woman had arranged the marriage of her only son to a woman he didn’t know, instead of allowing him to follow his heart.
She put a hand on the armchair and made a big show of slowly standing up, her arms shaking for added emphasis. Farzana sighed and leaned over to help; Nani grabbed her hand in a viselike grip. “Ayesha is the best person I know,” she said to Farzana, her voice cold and resolute. “Khalid would be lucky to marry her.”
A look of alarm crossed Farzana’s face. “What will you do?” she asked.
Nani stood up straight, all trace of the frail old woman gone now, and Farzana shrunk under her gaze.
“Aunty, will you tell my Khalid? Will you tell Ayesha?” Farzana asked again.
“No,” Nani said. She walked to the door and slipped on her shoes. “I did not come here to threaten or blackmail, only to warn you. Your plan will not work. Please do the right thing. Break off Khalid’s engagement to the wrong Hafsa. Let your son go, before you lose him forever.”
Nani walked back to her house, shaken. She was reasonably certain Farzana would not listen to her advice, but she wanted to give her a chance anyway. Everyone was capable of change, though she doubted Farzana would take the opportunity.
Nana was right—she must let events run their course. Things would work out on their own. Inshallah.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ayesha was grateful for the superhero movie the ninth-grade math teacher had left for her class. She was distracted, and could not stop running through the events of last night: Hafsa’s happiness, the giddy smiles on her aunt’s and uncle’s faces . . .
Her own crushing pain.
Nani would know what to do. Her grandparents had never let her down before. Her grandmother would make her inquiries and find out what was really going on. Perhaps there had been a mistake. Perhaps Hafsa’s fiancé wasn’t Khalid after all. He would still be single and everything could go back to normal.
Whatever her “normal” turned out to be.
NANI waited for Ayesha after school in the basement suite she shared with Nana. It was small and poorly lit, with thin beige carpet and faux-oak-panelled walls. There was a small bedroom behind a larger living room area, and a tiny bathroom with a standing shower. Despite the dim lighting and cramped dimensions, the space felt warm and inviting, the furniture outdated but comfortable. The walls of the living room were lined with Ikea bookshelves bought second-hand and filled with Nana’s new collection, carefully built up since his move to the country seventeen years ago.
When her granddaughter appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Nani motioned for her to take a seat on the large floral-cushioned rattan sofa. Ayesha was pale, with shadows under her eyes. Nana sat on his usual armchair, reading a biography of Shakespeare.
“Did you find out anything? Did you talk to anyone, to his mother or Khalid or—” Ayesha’s voice broke, and Nani looked at Nana, who quietly left the room.
Nani stroked Ayesha’s hair, just as she used to do when Ayesha was a child missing her father. “I spoke to some people about Farzana, and then I spoke to Farzana herself.”
“Was it all a misunderstanding? Has there been some mistake?” Ayesha looked at her grandmother with eyes filled with hope, and Nani’s heart contracted.
She shook her head. “No, jaanu, there was no mistake. Khalid is engaged to our Hafsa.”
Ayesha took a shaky breath. “Was he using me?”
“I don’t know,” Nani said. She wiped the tears leaking from Ayesha’s eyes. “You have always been so capable and strong, even as a child. This is painful news and there is no clear solution. For my part, I think you should follow your heart.”
“What does that mean?” Ayesha’s voice was a whisper.
Nani looked down at her hands. “It is difficult to know what to do, and I cannot help you decide,” she said, hating herself. “I am sorry.”
NANA tiptoed into the living room after Ayesha left. He settled down with his book, glancing surreptitiously at his wife. “I hope you know what you are doing, Laik,” he said.
Nani was lost in thought. “This morning you said I didn’t want Saleha to marry Syed because they’d known each other for too long. That’s not the reason why.”
Nana said nothing, only turned a page of his book.
“It wasn’t because he wanted to be a journalist, or because he was poor,” Nani continued.
“It was so long ago. What is meant to be has already happened,” Nana said.
“I knew they weren’t right for each other from the beginning. Saleha loved him too much. Syed loved her as well, but not as she loved him.”
“What does that have to do with Ayesha? She was crying when she left. I saw her tears.”
Nani stood, her shoulders set back. “Nasir, you were right. We must let the young people sort things out on their own. If I say anything about what I have learned, I will be stepping between Sulaiman and Saleha, between Ayesha and Hafsa, and no good can come of that. Also, Ayesha needs to be sure of her feelings for Khalid, and this will help her decide. I know Khalid has already made his decision about her. I saw it on his face clearly, when they cooked together. Farzana’s wishes are already irrelevant. Nothing will change his mind now
.”
“‘Love sought is good, but given unsought better,’” Nana quoted. “What if you are wrong?”
Nani didn’t answer. She was confident, but she also knew that nothing was certain. Right now, all she had was faith.
FOLLOW your heart. Ayesha expected that sort of romantic drivel from Nana, not her sensible Nani. She wiped her eyes, but the tears kept falling.
She had spent so long fighting against what she felt for Khalid. Now that it was too late, she could finally admit it: She liked Khalid. A lot. She’d thought he liked her too . . . but clearly not enough to defy his mother.
Follow your heart.
Ayesha looked out the upstairs living room window at the neighbourhood children playing basketball and skipping rope, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding a few houses away. She grabbed her purse and car keys.
Five minutes later, she rang the doorbell of the Taj Mahal. Hafsa answered with a big smile.
“I was just thinking about you! Come help me pick out my engagement dress. I have it narrowed down to a long red shalwar kameez with gold embroidery and mirror work, or a white lengha skirt with lace and beadwork on the tunic. I’m getting a dress for you too—in pink!” Hafsa’s cheeks were rosy, her eyes shining with the excitement of a big purchase.
Ayesha didn’t move, and Hafsa’s face filled with concern. “What’s wrong?”
“Why are you marrying Khalid?” Ayesha asked.
Hafsa’s eyes darted away from her cousin’s face and back. “I . . . He sent me a rishta and I accepted. Why, what did you hear?” Her cheeks flushed an even deeper red.
“You don’t even know him. Why are you doing this? What about Haris?” Ayesha stepped into the house, one foot in front of the other. Blood was thumping in her veins so loudly, she could hardly hear her cousin’s answer.
Ayesha At Last Page 17