Marrying Ameera

by Rosanne Hawke

  I stared at Nazreen. She was Pakistani, a Muslim and educated. She understood everything I was feeling.

  ‘When I was with Shaukat, I could believe a forced marriage was wrong, that God didn’t will it,’ I said.

  ‘But now?’

  ‘Now I’m thinking about how I’ve made everyone else feel.’

  Nazreen nodded. There was no glib answer for what I had thrown away. Then she said, ‘What have you gained?’

  I thought. ‘My mother.’ I smiled. ‘My brother, my grandparents. A life in the place where I grew up. Study, friends, a career.’

  ‘You are fortunate—we have rescued brides whose mothers and brothers have sided with the father.’

  ‘To have no one—how brave were they?’

  ‘Yes, they were brave.’

  ‘Stupid, perhaps, selfish—’

  Nazreen cut in. ‘So far, only Western girls like you have the strength or resources to leave a forced marriage.’

  I thought of Nargis. ‘The girls living here may not realise they can leave.’

  ‘We are raising awareness here and in the West that forced marriages are domestic abuse. But there is a long road ahead of us, and many don’t like what we are doing. Our lives have been threatened.’

  ‘Frank too?’

  ‘Yes, though mainly it is we Pakistanis who should know better.’ She half-laughed.

  ‘Can you help someone else?’ I asked. ‘There’s a girl called Nargis in Muzaffarabad, a teacher. She’s too frightened to do anything—her husband beats her.’

  ‘Normally a call for help has to come from her or a family member.’

  ‘Can’t you treat this as a call for help? One day he’ll kill her.’

  She nodded. ‘We’ll look into it.’ She took my hand then. ‘Ameera, the road ahead will not be easy. You may suffer some depression. It is possible your father will never see you again.’

  I gasped. That possibility had never entered my mind. Would Papa be that cruel?

  ‘But may I say this,’ Nazreen continued. ‘You have not compromised your faith by standing up for what is right. People need to acknowledge where there is abuse, even when those perpetuating it don’t realise that’s what it is. You have made a worthy stand for women’s freedom in Pakistan.’

  Her words only made me cry for I couldn’t think on such a vast level. Two things filled my mind: the fear of never seeing Papa again, and the look on Shaukat’s face when I was asked if I’d given my permission and I said ‘no’. He couldn’t have looked more stricken if I’d sunk a knife in his chest.

  I wanted to thank Tariq for coming and being a support to Riaz, but he wasn’t allowed in my room. I was confined and protected yet again, but this time I didn’t mind.

  Frank came to see me with Nazreen. ‘The police need to know if you want to press charges. If what you said about your husband is true, he’ll be free from suspicion, but your uncle faces three years in gaol here. In Australia, your father could get up to twenty-five years.’

  I was horrified. ‘No, I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Look what they did to you.’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Okay. But your uncle will be told of his narrow escape. I don’t think he’ll give you any trouble.’

  It wasn’t Uncle Rasheed I was worried about. Haider, with his disproportionate sense of honour, was the problem.

  ‘Will my father be told about it?’ I asked.

  ‘An official report will be sent to him, along with the length of sentence he could face.’

  ‘But he won’t be arrested?’

  ‘No, but I don’t think it hurts to warn him of what could happen if at any time you do decide to press charges.’ Frank stared at his hands for a moment, then he leaned forward. ‘If at any time you feel unsafe, go to the police. There will be a plainclothes policeman assigned to you for a time. But I doubt you’ll have any trouble with the Pakistani Women’s Bill protecting you.’

  I glanced at Nazreen and she met my eyes. Was she thinking as I was that laws couldn’t change centuries of customs? My family in Pakistan was Pushtun, an ancient culture based on a complicated code of honour. Modern education hadn’t diluted that code in Haider.

  ‘Your flight is fixed for tomorrow,’ Frank went on. ‘The airport run can be tricky. I’m afraid we’ll have to put you in a burqa and you mustn’t wear any clothes, shoes or jewellery anyone may recognise. Understand?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Nazreen has some clothes you can use.’ Frank glanced at my backpack. ‘Not that bag either, or your handbag. We’ll give you a different one. Nazreen will be with you. She’ll bring one of her children and you’ll pretend the child is yours. A bodyguard will accompany you through the gates. He will appear to be your husband. He and Nazreen have a special pass to go with you; he has a licence to carry a gun.’

  I stiffened but Frank didn’t notice.

  ‘I will be behind you, but don’t look for me. And, of course, you have an escort on the plane with your brother and Tariq.’ He smiled at me and then looked away. When he looked back, his eyes glistened. ‘For a while there, when we didn’t hear from you, I thought you’d decided to go along with it.’

  ‘It was difficult,’ I said. ‘My father will be inconsolable. And my…my husband is not an evil man.’ My chin wobbled. Tears were never far away lately.

  ‘I understand some of it,’ Frank said, ‘but girls forced into marriages they didn’t choose just isn’t on in my book. No culture should condone that.’

  ‘No.’ But my voice was quiet. How could people like Frank affect centuries of culture? Only the moon can change the tide.

  36

  Frank was tense the next day as he put Nazreen and me into an unmarked car. We wore black burqas and Frank insisted that we lower the chiffon veils immediately. This time I welcomed the anonymity. The bodyguard, in a shalwar qameez, eased himself into the driver’s seat. Saleem, Nazreen’s little boy, was talking to me in English, but I was watching Tariq. He stood beside Riaz, both of them solemn. We would meet up on the plane. Any of my relatives would recognise Riaz; he looked so like Papa. In my borrowed purse was my emergency passport and ticket: my ticket to freedom. Yet I didn’t feel elated. Not until I was on that plane would I be able to relax. What if Uncle Rasheed got all the relatives to stake out the airport? It sounded preposterous, but something was making Frank wound up.

  He poked his head through the window. ‘We’ll be there, looking out for you. There shouldn’t be a problem.’ He smiled, but it did nothing to reassure me.

  Saleem chattered all the way to the airport; I supposed it was helpful to keep me from fretting. Outside the airport, there were hundreds of people, mostly men. I kept my gaze on the footpath even though no one could see my eyes. We checked in—Gate 2—so far so good. Security was tight: everywhere we went we had to go through X-ray machines. I couldn’t see Tariq or Riaz. I half-turned and the bodyguard growled at me in Urdu, ‘Look to the boy.’ He must have had eyes in the back of his head. He glanced around a lot, but men often did that.

  Then Saleem clutched the front of his shalwar. ‘Ummie, I need to pee.’

  ‘Hold his hand,’ Nazreen said to me. ‘We’ll take him to the toilet.’

  The bodyguard came with us and stood outside. It was when I opened the door to come out that I saw Haider. He swung out of the men’s toilet in a security guard’s uniform, carrying a gun. I backed up, breathing hard.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Nazreen’s eyes screwed up in concern.

  ‘I saw my cousin, Haider. He’s in a uniform and he has a gun.’

  ‘The one from Muzaffarabad? Are you sure?’

  I nodded.

  Nazreen flipped open her mobile. ‘Frank, the cousin, Haider, is in the airport. He’s armed. He must have jumped a security guard…No, we don’t know who’s with him.’ She raised her eyebrows at me and I shook my head. ‘Okay,’ she said and shut the phone. ‘Come.’

  She went out the door first and told the bodyguard
what was going on. I followed, but it was difficult to force myself not to look around, not to walk too fast. Was Haider nearby, was he buying a newspaper, was he behind us, how would we know? He’d vowed to kill me if I dishonoured the family. Maybe Papa would agree I deserved it, but I didn’t think it a good enough reason to die.

  Nazreen had a hand under my arm. I held Saleem’s hand with my other, but he wanted to walk next to his mother so I switched hands. As I brought him in front of me, my burqa caught under his arm and there was a moment when my shalwar and ankles were exposed. I quickly pulled the cloth down and brought Saleem in between us.

  ‘Oh no,’ I said.

  Nazreen glanced at me. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I forgot to take off my ankle bracelet.’

  I made a movement and Nazreen tightened her grip on me.

  ‘Leave it—you’ll only draw attention to yourself.’

  I was thinking how Haider would recognise those wooden and ceramic beads. When had he heard that I’d left the marriage? It had been days now, almost a week. Had he been camping in the airport, waiting? Were he and Uncle Rasheed taking turns? Would Riaz know what Haider looked like? Haider would have seen photos of Riaz. Not Tariq though. Haider wouldn’t know Tariq.

  I forced myself to breathe slower. We were making for the gate, but all Haider would have to do was look for a flight to Australia. How many gates would he have to watch? Not many. There was still half an hour before the plane left. We would be boarding soon; I could hear a man’s voice calling passengers on the intercom.

  Then I felt something hard pressed into my back, and heard a voice, low, ‘Did you think I would not remember the way you walk, my beautiful whore?’

  Haider. Fear made my scream freeze in my throat.

  The bodyguard was a step in front of me. He turned. ‘Let her go,’ he said in Urdu and produced a gun.

  ‘So this is Tariq,’ Haider sneered. ‘You passed up our dignified cousin for this scum.’

  Suddenly he pushed me away and the hard thing that had been pressed against me was firing at the bodyguard. Nazreen grabbed Saleem, pulled me towards her and ran with us towards the gate.

  ‘Ameera, you can’t escape,’ Haider shouted.

  I looked back to see the bodyguard on the floor in a dark, spreading pool, people scattering, and Haider raising the gun, aiming it at me. Then a man jumped him and the gun skittered across the floor. I saw Frank and Riaz running towards the two men now wrestling together. Frank and Riaz—that meant it was Tariq fighting Haider.

  ‘Tariq!’ I screamed.

  Nazreen yanked my arm. ‘Come on.’ Security guards were swarming from all directions. ‘There is nothing we can do. You must get on that plane.’

  As she pulled me again I saw Haider knock Tariq to the ground. How could I leave without knowing if he was all right? The intercom was calling a flight for boarding.

  ‘That’s you,’ Nazreen said. She dragged me and Saleem along with her. ‘Even if your cousin overpowers them, he can’t get past the gate.’

  At the gate stood two security guards with guns. One was speaking on a walkie-talkie. I stepped aside.

  ‘What’s wrong now?’ Nazreen asked.

  My breath came in gasps. ‘I can’t do it—can’t go through. Not without knowing what happened—that’s my brother and my—’ I stopped. What was Tariq? Nothing to me now, and best no one knew how much I loved him.

  Nazreen put an arm around me. ‘We will go through the gate, but then we’ll wait on the other side. If your cousin comes, you run onto the plane. But we can only wait a few minutes.’

  A few minutes—the longest of my life. What if they didn’t come? They could be arrested, hurt, anything. What would I say to Mum? That I’d left while Riaz was fighting a maniac? And Tariq—what if he was killed? Nazreen tightened her arm around me; I was trembling.

  There was a commotion at the end of the line and a few people moved out of the way. I strained to see and let out a breath. It was them. Riaz had his arm around Tariq’s shoulders. They were grinning, but Tariq had blood on his face and was holding his side.

  When they reached the gate I heard Riaz say in his schoolboy Urdu, ‘My cousin did not want us to go. He said he will miss us too much.’

  The man on the gate wasn’t impressed but the security guards motioned them through. They must have been warned. I lifted the veil and took a step forward. I didn’t run; that just happens in Bollywood movies. Besides, I didn’t know if Tariq would welcome me. When they reached me, I said thank you to both of them. I wanted to touch Tariq’s face but I had to let my eyes do the touching. He looked weary and I was in no doubt he had saved my life. Haider would have pulled that trigger.

  ‘I’ll hand her over to you now,’ Nazreen said to Riaz. ‘You both look like you had a battle.’

  ‘He was clever to get past security, but he’s a dirty fighter.’ Riaz’s voice was a growl. ‘He tried to get Tariq with a steak knife.’

  ‘Where?’ My eyes flew to Tariq’s side.

  Tariq managed a grin. ‘Don’t worry, he only nicked me.’ His eyes flowed over me, began to fill my empty spaces, but I looked away.

  ‘And your cousin?’ Nazreen asked.

  Riaz answered her. ‘Frank and the police have him. Stupid—he’d come by himself.’

  There was a message on the intercom and Nazreen glanced behind her. ‘Last call—you have to board now,’ she said quickly.

  I hugged her. ‘Thank you for everything,’ and I touched Saleem’s head. ‘Thank you, Saleem. You are very brave.’

  He grinned. ‘It was a good game.’

  On the plane, Riaz and I made Tariq more comfortable. He had bruises on his face and chest. The ‘nick’ in his side bled more than a nick should have, but fortunately there was a steward on board with first-aid training and he bandaged it up. Tariq’s nose looked broken but the steward knew what to do about that too: he straightened it in one movement while Tariq clenched hold of the armrests. ‘Saw lots of those in soccer training,’ the steward said. Now Tariq would have a nose like a Pushtun.

  After that we all slept. My dreams were mottled black and grey. One moment I was in Tariq’s arms; the next, Shaukat was dragging me back towards him. A man with an assault rifle stood in a corner, his shadow enveloping me wherever I went. I woke in the darkened cabin with Tariq watching me, his head against the seat.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly.

  I nodded. ‘Just a dream.’

  ‘You’re safe now.’

  My eyes rested on him. The plaster on his nose looked almost funny, but there was nothing amusing about near death by Haider’s hand.

  ‘Thank you for coming, for helping Riaz…’ I paused. ‘For saving my life.’

  ‘It was worth it.’

  ‘Sorry about your nose…’

  ‘It’s a small price to pay.’

  I wondered what he meant. A small price compared to what I’d been through, or a small price compared to having me back? Surely not the latter?

  ‘For my freedom?’ I asked.

  ‘No—for your love.’

  ‘You can’t mean that.’ I felt stricken. How could I tell him? ‘I was married. You know what that means.’

  He regarded me steadily. Those brown eyes never flickered. ‘I know what it means,’ he said gently.

  Papa had taught me that virginity was everything. Without it I’d have no chance of marrying. ‘But how can you overlook…I feel like I’ve sinned. How can you forgive—’

  Tariq laid a hand over mine. The shock of it stilled me. He leaned closer. ‘Ameera, firstly, you did not sin.’ His voice was firm. ‘You were sinned against. And secondly, even if you had consented I would still want you. My faith commands me to forgive. Who is without anything to forgive? No one. Why do you think I said “whatever happens”? I said it so you wouldn’t worry.’

  ‘I thought you were releasing me.’

  ‘Never; not unless you want it.’

  He pulled a wallet from his
jeans pocket and I saw a flash of gold, a filigree gold heart on a fine chain, before he fastened the clasp around my neck. He kissed the top of my head and I heard his words above me, whispered against my hair. ‘When you’ve recovered from this, when you’re older and happy again, my parents will come to your house and ask for you in the proper way. I bought this in the bazaar yesterday—it’s to remind you to never,’ his voice finally broke, ‘to never doubt my love for you.’

  Epilogue

  May 2008

  Dear Ameera,

  I hope life in Australia is good to you. Here are the annulment papers. Your marriage has been annulled on the grounds that you didn’t willingly give your permission.

  Your Cousin Haider will serve only two years in prison as he testified that his action was an honour killing. That he killed the wrong man seems to have been overlooked. Please do not return to Pakistan to reconcile with your family, even if your father or uncle says it is safe to do so.

  Your Cousin Shaukat gave a statement and seems to regret that he didn’t terminate the marriage as soon as you told him of your circumstances.

  I am sorry this has happened to you and I hope you will find the strength to live the rest of your life fully.

  Please don’t hesitate to contact us if you are concerned about anything. Nazreen sends her best wishes.

  Kind regards,

  Frank

  It has taken me a long time to recover, as Nazreen warned. There were days at first when I stayed in bed and Mum read me stories. When I first saw her at the airport it was such a relief that I ran to her like a child and couldn’t stop crying. She cried too. On the way to the car she kept thanking and hugging Riaz and Tariq. Even they cried. Riaz pretended it was the wind but Tariq was unashamed.

  Mum and I live in a three-bedroom unit not far from Grandpa and Gran. When I first arrived I saw Haider in every crowd and refused to go outside. I have never spotted the plainclothes policeman who is supposed to be looking out for me. From the corner of my eye sometimes I see a man with an assault rifle standing watching me, but when I look again he is gone.