Ummath

by Sharmila Seyyid

  ‘Akka!’ shouted Kala. ‘Akka what are you doing?’

  As Kala rushed towards her, Yoga, who was trying to hoist herself into the well using a banana tree to support her, staggered and fell.

  ‘Don’t, Akka! What are you doing?’

  ‘I don’t want to live, Kala. I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. Please let me go.’ She tried to wrest herself out of Kala’s grip.

  ‘God will not give up on you … have faith, Akka! How can you do something like this? If you are going to do it anyway, I too will die with you. Come, let us both die together.’

  ‘Why should you die? What do you lack? I’m the cursed one.’ She repeatedly banged her forehead on the ground and wept.

  Kala ran into the house to fetch Yoga’s crutch. ‘Take this, Akka. Get up. Leave your burdens upon God. He will not let you down.’ She helped her up.

  Senthooran and Vathsala ignored them and returned to their routines. Pathma sat at the threshold of the house, weeping and wiping her tears with the edge of her sari.

  ‘You have suffered a lot, Akka,’ consoled Kala. ‘But your life will not continue like this for ever, I assure you. You’ll be happy one day and that day will come soon.’ Kala dusted the mud off Yoga’s head.

  ‘That day will come,’ thought Yoga to herself, ‘on the day that Sathuriyan comes!’

  3

  ‘Is Thawakkul at home?’

  The woman who stood outside looked like a poster for privation. Her withered body was wrapped in an old sari. A modestly clad, beautiful young girl stood beside her. From their faint resemblance to each other, it was obvious that they were mother and daughter.

  ‘Who are you? Won’t you come in?’ said Gulfer, who had been on the verge of stepping out to go to town to shop. For all her sewing supplies Sun Fancy House or Fauzia’s were her usual haunts. She had been given a large order to make outfits for the Annual Day at the Imagine Tomorrow English School.

  ‘Someone’s here to see Thawakkul,’ she called over her shoulder.

  Gulfer, who was at the door again was stopped by Umma’s call, ‘Thawakkul must be up, I heard some sounds in the bathroom. Just check!’ The previous day’s rain had made the morning pleasantly cool. Although it was perfect weather to lie in bed, the members of this household were up and about as usual. Vappahad gone straight for his morning prayers after fetching Thawakkul from the station. He would be back only after sun down. Jana had left for work and Sano had also left for university.

  Thawakkul emerged from the interior of the house, looking tired after her long journey. She was still in her night clothes, light-blue pyjamas with little fish printed all over it. She pushed back her thick hair with her fingers and smiled.

  ‘Tell me, how can I help you?’

  Her eyes were red and her face slightly puffed. Seeing that they were looking at her face, Thawakkul said, ‘I just got back this morning from Colombo. That is why I look like this…You go ahead…tell me…

  The visitors smiled back at her shyly.

  ‘This is my daughter,’ said the emaciated woman. ‘We’re in trouble. We live in Michnagar. Her father was kidnapped by the LTTE when she was a little girl. We’ve not been given his mayyith – his dead body. We used to be prosperous people at one time and owned several acres of land in Sungawil and Pallithidal. Because of the atrocities done by those people, we’re now on the streets, struggling for survival. My husband’s lands have been usurped by his relatives.’

  The woman narrated her story as briefly as possible. The daughter sat with her head bowed. She was draped in a black purdah and a black head scarf which obscured her hair and body. Her face, the only part of her that was visible, was beautiful. She had very long, curved lashes that veiled large, expressive eyes. She had thin long fingers with short nails; she was nervously scraping the edge of the chair’s armrest with her nails.

  ‘We made aapams to make a living. I have given her an education and although she has passed the ‘A’ level examinations, she failed to get the required grades for entrance into the university. If she gets a job somewhere, I think our money troubles will be over. I’ve been running from pillar to post in vain. My daughter has heard that you help the people of our community; that is why we thought we’d come and see you.

  ‘I can no longer stand by the hot stove and make aapams. I’ve got a heart problem. Furthermore, recently I started vomiting blood and the doctors say its cancer. On a monthly basis, we need to visit the clinic in Maharagama. Where will the money come from for all this treatment? Diseases don’t necessarily target the affluent, you know. If you could help find her a job, I would be ever so grateful. She has had a good education, ma, and she is very intelligent.’

  When the mother talked about her intelligence the girl looked up and smiled. Nisha brought in tea for them.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Siyama,’ she replied softly. She had a sweet voice as well. She looked beautiful when she smiled showing her teeth.

  Thawakkul sat with her brow furrowed in thought. She didn’t believe in platitudes or making empty promises. She knew that what seems possible at the moment could become impossible at another time.

  ‘I understand your problem completely. If you wanted to set up your own little business, I could help. But a job would mean having to go to government departments and meeting politicians.’

  Thawakkul spoke slowly and without conviction. The young girl, who was sipping her tea, replied, ‘Politicians? One would need money or influence to approach them. We have neither.’

  ‘I have to say that as far as government jobs go, I cannot help. However, I have some good contacts with some non-governmental organizations. We could try them. If she gets a job, would you send your daughter to Batticaloa?’

  ‘To town … what’s wrong with that? What difference does it make where one goes? One should work with honour and self-respect, fear Allah and mind one’s own business, that is all.’ Thawakkul judged the woman’s words to be the result of a life-long struggle. But Thawakkul also realized that her lone voice would not be able to make any kind of change in society. Of the many girls who went from Eravur to Batticaloa for work, the number who worked in NGOs was very low. Not just in Eravur, the situation was the same in Kattankudi, Ottamavadi, Valaichenai and all other Muslim areas.

  Not long ago there were rumours that NGOs corrupted women, eroded their respect for culture and tradition and the girls became steeped in western culture; hence Muslim women had stopped working in NGOs. It was obvious to Thawakkul that this woman had not heard about all that.

  The objective of such rumours was to prevent women from coming forward and taking their rightful place in society. It was only after the 2004 tsunami that the existence of Non-Governmental Organizations became common knowledge among local people. The eastern regions had been badly affected by the tsunami and the contributions of NGOs became very relevant to the recovery process. These organizations that mushroomed everywhere became a boon for women, the poor and even for some of the rich. NGOs set up shop in a world that had never heard of them before. When they entered the world of NGOs, many women considered it a step towards emancipation, gaining the freedom and the ability to decide their own futures. Women began to earn on par or more than the men. Men who feared challenge to their ‘male superiority’ began to try all sorts of ploys. They said that a particular girl who was working in an NGO was a porn star. They hounded her until she committed suicide. However, on the whole, women were successful in quelling this attempt to stop them from working in NGOs.

  Would Siyama have heard about the incident in Kattankudi which was an obvious case of violation of women’s rights? Two girl students were brought out in a procession to the mosque because they had visited an internet café. The allegation was that they had watched a blue film at the internet café; some men in the crowd proceeded to beat one of the girls with broomsticks. No one was prepared to listen to the girls who said that someone else had watched a blue film and that their in
tention was not that. The mob had already decided that the girls had brought dishonour to the village and had broken all the bounds of Islamic society. Human rights organizations and law courts had to intervene to advocate the girls’ viewpoint and save them.

  Nevertheless, the suspicion which the society harboured towards those girls did not vanish. They were forced to live their lives as outcasts.

  Thawakkul felt that the girls were punished without justification and that those who punished them knew full well that they had not watched any pornography. Thawakkul guessed that the blue film was not the real issue; what the self-appointed protectors of society had been shocked at was the fact that two young girls had had the temerity to consider themselves free enough to go to an internet café on their own. Thawakkul believed that they had been condemned so severely as an example to discourage other young girls from venturing beyond the boundaries stipulated by the men.

  In such a society, it is men who define women’s freedom and a woman is always on the backfoot. Their basic argument is that a woman’s beauty, that is her ‘zeenat’, exists purely for the enjoyment and satisfaction of men. Women are shackled by stringent rules and regulations. Although the period of Jahilliya (ignorance of the divine) is considered a thing of the past, men continue to hold on to barbaric ideas and exercise their authority from generation to generation. During the pre-Islamic or Jahilliya days, girl babies were strangled at birth. Now that female infanticide is banned, women are tortured slowly. Each and every nerve of hers is strangulated. She is bound by invisible chains throughout her life. She is fettered by unseen chains as she sees, talks and laughs.

  The two women sat there expectantly waiting for Thawakkul, who was deep in thought, to speak. Thawakkul did not say anything for a very long time. Noticing that Thawakkul was deep in thought, the woman cleared her throat to break the silence.

  Thawakkul had forgotten their presence totally and smiled guiltily when she realized they were sitting there quietly, watching her. She felt that she had to do something for the young girl who now bore the onus of having to support both herself and her mother. Thawakkul felt duty-bound to tell her that she needed to face the challenges that she would encounter when embarking on this new phase in her life. With that view she asked Siyama, ‘What subjects did you study in your ‘A’ and ‘O’ levels? Have you brought your CV?’

  Whenever Thawakkul was worried and had to do a lot of thinking, she would become agitated and talk very fast and she asked all those questions at one go. But Siyama calmly answered the questions without feeling the least flustered. It was evident from her behaviour that she was very intelligent just as her Umma had said. However, she hadn’t brought her CV.

  ‘Working in an NGO is a problem for the women in our village because the people deprecate women who do so,’ said Thawakkul. ‘Siyama is a young girl and we must think things through carefully without being too precipitate. Send your CV to me, Siyama, today if possible. I’ll circulate it in my network and see what can be done. I’ll need some time to work something out, but you don’t have to come back all the way. If a good opportunity comes up, I promise to call you.’

  Siyama’s mother said immediately, ‘Our people are like that, ma. They won’t let us live and they won’t let us die. I’ve never seen or heard of you until my daughter mentioned you. When I spoke of you to two or three people who came to buy my aapams, I was taken aback by their nasty remarks. On our way here, when we asked directions to your house, they asked us why we sought you and said derogatory things about you.

  ‘They wanted to know whether you were a politician. They accused you of hanging out with Sinhalese and foreign men. Apparently they feel it is very wrong that you sleep in hotels claiming to be attending “training” sessions.

  ‘I decided to meet you anyway and judge for myself. I now see your respectable home and your good face. It is very natural that when a fruit ripens on the tree, people want to stone it to bring it down. I can see that these people are envious because you’re doing so much good work. I’m not flattering you into getting my daughter a job. The goodness of the soul is reflected on the face; beauty is as beauty does. You listened to our problems and responded only after giving it a lot of thought; not everyone has such patience and understanding.’

  Thawakkul realized that for a woman who earned her living selling aapams, this woman had great clarity of thought and extraordinary powers of perception of human nature and human behaviour. That she should have so much sensitivity and awareness amazed Thawakkul. Even after they had left, she left an indelible impression of her pragmatic wisdom on Thawakkul’s mind.

  She went into the dining room immersed in her thoughts and noticed Umma and Gulfer looking at her worriedly.

  Normally whenever strangers came to meet Thawakkul at home, Nisha would come out to welcome them, especially if they were women. However, on that day she served tea and then had retreated into the inner rooms of the house without bothering to play the gracious hostess.

  ‘Why, ma, why didn’t you come to talk that woman? Did you hear what she said, Gulfer?’ asked Thawakkul. Gulfer, who had been all set to go into town, had stayed on perhaps because she had been impressed by what the woman had said or because she wanted to listen to the conversation between Umma and Thawakkul that was bound to ensue.

  ‘Thawakkul, why do you want to get involved in this business?’ asked Umma. ‘I’m always asking Allah to get you out of such situations, but you don’t seem to be worried about it at all. Haven’t you suffered enough? Don’t you remember what happened when you got jobs for women before?’

  Some time ago, Thawakkul had sent two women to a Christian school for the physically handicapped. Their training over, they began happily working and earning a decent salary. One day, four or five men came to the house and asked for Vappa. They stood by the gate talking to him. Assuming that it had to do with Vappa’s business matters, no one paid much attention at first. However, as their tones slowly increased in volume and became so loud that it attracted the attention of the neighbours.

  ‘It’s a sin to send our children to work in Christian institutions. They exploit people’s poverty and convert them. To send our purdah-clad girls to work for them is a blot on our culture,’ raged the man.

  No one seemed to question which culture permitted the rudeness he displayed.

  Thawakkul stayed indoors in accordance with her Umma’s orders.

  ‘We’re leaving now only in deference to your age, but please warn your daughter to take care.’

  Umma and Vappa had a hard time explaining to the neighbours what it had all been about. Thawakkul had been mortified for having brought such opprobrium upon her parents.

  ‘What have I done wrong, Vappa? Those young people had no means even for a meal despite being educated. They were ready to go abroad to work as domestic servants. I felt sorry for them and sent them to the school. Those fellows were saying that they go to work in purdah. If they had removed their purdah after going there, that could justify their anger. When have we not had conversions? The Christians believe firmly in their own faith and when people convert, they feel just as happy as we do when people from other religions come into our faith. If people are clear in their faith and believe in Allah, why would they convert? The girls have been working there for more than ten months now and they just mind their own business, go to work and come back and collect their salaries. How does it bother those men?’

  Although they could see the justice in what she said, they remained silent because they were reluctant to continue to encourage or support her in her endeavours.

  ‘Leave it, ma. Didn’t you hear what that woman said? Such people will not let us live and will not let us die, that is the truth.’

  Thawakkul walked into her room and shut the door.

  With Umma’s reminder of the incident of the angry men at their gate, the scene kept replaying in a loop in Thawakkul’s mind. Today it caused more mental stress than it had on that day. To this day she did
n’t know the identities of those four men.

  Some misogynists make it their sole purpose in life to defame women who do well. Why do such people, who claim to care so much for society, stand by submissively when girls are sent off to Arab countries as domestic workers and do nothing to stop it? Do they deny that the women who go there to work are used as sex workers? Those who go on open visas as maids in houses are burdened with heavy work and also sexual harassment, forced to be rented wives and share the rooms of men. Don’t these ‘guardians of culture’ know that? Do these idiots deny that spinsters return as unwed mothers with children? The women are made to dance in sleazy luxury hotels and serve liquor to customers. And all that happens in countries that supposedly strictly adhere to Islamic codes.

  If a concrete house, clothes and jewellery are the only things that will help a woman get married, do these things come of their own accord? Some girls are lucky. They are born into wealth, or someone in the family makes it for them. But the majority of girls are unlucky and have to procure these so-called necessities for themselves. How many girls have built a house, bought jewellery and other household items and saved up for a dowry to pay for the bridegroom’s expenses? If these girls had not got jobs then, they would now be in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Abu Dhabi, Qatar, Dubai or some other place like that, where, for some Arab employer or some other rich man, she would be whittled down like a sandal-wood stick that is rubbed to make paste and would be washing out the dried white semen from their underwear.

  However, our ‘guardians of society’ are peeved only when the girls are employed in this country by someone from another religion. Who are these men?

  Her heart smouldered and her anger grew when she realized that she hadn’t caught even a glimpse of these men’s faces.

  ‘Why was I so forbearing and tolerant instead of challenging the hypocrites immediately?’ she asked herself, before giving herself a shake and getting up.

  Who cares who those donkeys are, she thought in disdain and chided herself for doing nothing and started her day.