The End of Innocence

by Moni Mohsin

  Tariq then suggested to Kaneez that she spend the night with them at Sabzbagh. But she insisted on returning home.

  ‘What if my girl comes home tonight and finds it empty? What will she think?’ she cried. ‘No, I have to go and wait for her. Your mother is also returning tomorrow, and she will wonder what’s happened if I’m not there.’

  ‘She’ll find out soon enough,’ Tariq remarked dryly. ‘You shouldn’t be alone tonight.’

  ‘I’ve always been alone.’ Kaneez got up and shuffled out into the cold, dark night. But she returned from the front door and, clutching Tariq’s arm in a surprisingly firm grip, rasped, ‘Find my child. For Allah’s sake.’

  Fareeda, Laila and Sara walked past the guava orchard to the convent. A brisk breeze swirled copper-coloured acacia leaves around their ankles.

  ‘Look, Sara, the trees are full of sky,’ said Laila, pointing to the bare branches of shisham and acacia trees bordering the road.

  ‘You’re such a baby,’ Sara huffed, hurrying to keep up with their mother, who had quickened her pace now that they were close to the convent. ‘They’re not full of sky, they’re naked, that’s what.’

  ‘Don’t snap at your little sister,’ Fareeda admonished Sara. ‘She’s right. You can see the sky through them now that the branches are bare.’

  ‘Come on,’ urged Sara. ‘We have to go and find Rani.’

  ‘Yes, we have to find Rani,’ Laila echoed dully.

  When Laila had woken that morning, everything had seemed the same – her toys and books were arranged neatly on their shelves, her amber horse was poised on the sill and she could hear Amanat humming while clipping the creeper outside her window. Laila stretched her toes out to the end of her warm bed, luxuriating in the softness of the sheets and the silken weight of her quilt. She’d been contemplating breakfast – fried egg or omelette, toast or paratha? – when suddenly a huge slab-like heaviness had descended on her chest. She had remembered the events of the night before.

  Despite Bua’s best attempts to put them to sleep, the girls were still awake when Fareeda and Tariq finally retired to their bedroom. Bua pleaded a headache and slipped out. Dressed in their pyjamas, the girls sat on their parents’ bed, a satin coverlet over their legs.

  ‘You’re not asleep yet?’ asked Fareeda.

  ‘Where’s Kaneez? Is she dead?’ Laila wanted to know.

  ‘Why should she be dead?’ Tariq raised his eyebrows.

  ‘She looked so sad, as if she wanted to die,’ mumbled Laila.

  ‘I know what you mean, darling.’ Tariq took his younger daughter’s hand. ‘But she’ll be fine. Right now, Barkat is dropping her back to Kalanpur.’

  Tariq had then told the girls that Rani was missing. No one knew where she had gone, but they were all going to look for her and, before long, find her. Sara had bombarded her parents with questions. Had Rani run away? Had she left a note? Had she taken anything with her? Had she been kidnapped? Then why had she gone? While Fareeda tried to answer, Laila had sat with her head bowed, tracing the coverlet’s pattern with a finger.

  Tariq had got on to the telephone the next morning, and Fareeda had decided to call on the nuns. Eager to help, the girls had tagged along.

  ‘Do you think Rani will be with Sister Clementine, Ammi?’ asked Sara, tugging at her mother’s shawl.

  ‘I don’t think so, but she may know something that could lead us to Rani.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Let’s see.’

  Now that they were within sight of the convent, Laila’s nerve failed her. What if Sister Clementine told her mother that she had been there with Bua when Rani had first come to the church? That would get her into trouble with both Bua and Fareeda. But she couldn’t not have come. Suppose they found Rani at the church? Then Sara would’ve taken all the credit.

  ‘Ammi, I feel like going to the bathroom.’ Laila stopped in the middle of the path.

  ‘Can you hold on for a bit?’ Fareeda asked. ‘You can use the bathroom at the convent. We’re almost there.’

  ‘Or else you can walk home and go there,’ said Sara. ‘I can go on to the convent with Ammi.’

  ‘I’ll hold on. I’ll wait till I get home with you.’ Laila slipped her hand into her cardigan pocket and held Hester’s horse, which she had brought along with her for good luck. It fitted neatly in her cupped palm. Clutching it tight, she said a silent prayer for both Bua and Rani.

  ‘Please, Allah, let Bua not be angry with me, and let Rani be safe, and let us – no, me – find her. Thank you.’ She debated whether to say ‘over and out’ like they did in war films, but then she remembered that the war hadn’t started yet.

  Laila followed her mother and sister through the gate. There were fewer leaves on the trees since Laila’s last visit, and the dahlias had died. A man in a lungi and kurta was sweeping dead leaves off the path. He raised a hand in greeting.

  ‘Is Sister Clementine in?’ Fareeda asked.

  ‘Yes, I’ll go call her.’

  A few moments later, Sister Clementine came hurrying round the hedge that separated the church from the convent. She looked as if she had been disturbed at breakfast. There were breadcrumbs on her habit front.

  ‘Good morning, Sister.’ Fareeda smiled, turning on the charm. ‘I apologize for dropping in without warning. I hope we didn’t disturb you.’

  ‘No, no,’ Sister Clementine reassured her. She’d been anxious when she’d heard of Fareeda’s unannounced arrival, but her reserve melted away under the warmth of her smile. ‘And you’ve brought the girls also. My, how they’ve grown up and all.’ She beamed at her visitors. ‘Just like my dahlias.’

  ‘Thank you, Sister. I hope you are well.’

  ‘Me? Oh, yes. Very much, thank you.’ A breeze lifted the edge of the nun’s wimple. Laila craned her neck for a glimpse of the shaven head that Bua had told her all nuns had. ‘They leave a fringe all around, like reeds around a pond, but shave off the rest. Clean, and holy it becomes then,’ she’d said. The nun smoothed down her wimple and, mistaking Fareeda’s formal enquiry after her health as genuine interest, broke into a stream of delighted chatter.

  ‘My sister, elder by six years, name of Sharmila, she is having three children and her eldest, you know, Padma, is now eighteen, bless her, and is getting married. Imagine! When I last saw her she was a toddler, only. Such big, big eyes she had. Nice Catholic boy she’s marrying. Has a cycle-repair shop. Very respectable and good, my sister writes. Never drinks, never gambles, never does anything,’ she gushed. ‘But best thing is, they’ve invited me for the wedding. Sharmila says it won’t be same without my blessings. Just before Christmas it will be. And then there will be Christmas at home. Mother Superior is returning next week, and I’m going to ask her if I may go. Haven’t been home for fourteen years. Imagine! But I can still smell the banana groves, you know. And taste the sea breezes and the coconut.’

  ‘I do hope you can make it, Sister,’ Fareeda said. ‘It will be nice for you to go home after such a long time and see your family again.’

  ‘It has been a long time, too long.’ Sister Clementine blinked. ‘Only I am knowing how long. When my mummy and daddy died, the Lord bless their souls, I couldn’t go. I was needed here, Mother Superior said. For His work.’ She gulped back the tears. ‘I’m not complaining, Mrs Azeem. The Lord has been kind to me. But I do so long to go home.’ She pressed a handkerchief to her quivering lips.

  ‘I’m sure you will, Sister.’ Fareeda patted her arm. ‘I wonder if I could have a word with you? Preferably somewhere private.’ Fareeda flicked a glance at the sweeper.

  ‘A word? With me? Oh.’ Sister Clementine’s face fell. There was an edge to Fareeda’s voice that made her uneasy. Though Fareeda had couched it as a request, Sister Clementine recognized an order when she heard one. This wasn’t a friendly call, after all. Fareeda hadn’t come to apologize for her high-handedness. Looking at them properly, she saw that Fareeda’s demeanour was grave, and
the girls also looked doleful. Sister Clementine dabbed her forehead with her handkerchief. She noticed the crumbs on her front and brushed them away impatiently. She wished she hadn’t babbled on about her niece’s wedding. Sister Clementine felt disappointed and resentful. Recalling Fareeda’s past rudeness, she had a good mind to tell her to come back and discuss whatever she wanted with Mother Cecilia when she returned. It would serve her right to be thrown out of the convent like she’d been thrown out of Fareeda’s house.

  ‘Sister?’

  ‘Oh? Yes, all right,’ she said wearily. ‘Please to follow me.’ Sister Clementine led the way into her home. She opened the front door and showed them into a large, spotlessly clean room, bare save for a square table with four canvas chairs set around it. A sheet of plastic patterned with poinsettia and pineapples covered the table. Thin nylon curtains hung in another doorway and there was the clatter of crockery beyond. Someone was clearing away breakfast. There was a strong smell of burnt toast.

  Sister Clementine pulled out a chair. It squeaked on the tiled floor.

  ‘Please sit,’ she said.

  ‘Now, Sister,’ began Fareeda, taking the chair opposite Sister Clementine’s. ‘You came to visit me not long ago. I’m afraid I was busy at the time and didn’t hear you out. I’d very much like to know what it was that you came to tell me.’

  Sister Clementine glanced at Fareeda. She looked elegant, assured in her olive-green shalwar kameez and biscuit-coloured shawl embroidered with a green paisley border. Aside from a slender gold watch and a diamond ring, she wore no jewellery. But a vein throbbed at the base of her throat, and Sister Clementine could tell from the rhythmic smack of the plastic tablecloth against her calf that Fareeda was shaking her foot under the table. The older girl chewed on her thumbnail. The younger girl stared at the floor.

  Sister Clementine got the feeling that Laila was nervous and did not want to meet her eyes. Sister Clementine was distinctly uneasy as well. What would Mother Cecilia have done in her place? She wouldn’t offer an apology, that was for sure. Instead she would force one from Fareeda. After all, it was she who had been rude. Pushing her out of her house like that! And in front of Jacob also.

  Fareeda moved her hand, and Sister Clementine noticed the sparkle of the solitaire in her ring as it caught the light. Her shawl looked soft in a silky, woolly, expensive kind of way. Sister Clementine was daunted by their differences. Forcing an apology was out of the question. But she could ask a question. Answer her question with one of her own.

  ‘Mrs Azeem …’ No, that didn’t sound right. Too high-pitched, almost like a squeal. Clearing her throat, Sister Clementine began again. ‘Mrs Azeem, I will answer your questions, but will you tell me something first? Why do you want to know? Has anything happened?’

  Looking Sister Clementine squarely in the face, Fareeda said, ‘Although you mentioned no names that day, I suspect, Sister – but do correct me if I’m wrong – that you came to see me about a particular girl. And the girl in question was Rani? My mother-in-law’s maid’s granddaughter? Am I right?’

  Sister Clementine nodded. Fareeda had assumed the role of interrogator again, but there was something steely in her eyes, which the nun found hard to face down.

  ‘Am I also right in believing that the girl came to you a while before your visit to me and asked you to help her?’

  ‘Um, yes.’

  ‘And you didn’t?’

  ‘How could I?’ Sister Clementine burst out. ‘What the girl wanted … what she asked …’ She glanced helplessly at the girls. Why had Fareeda brought her daughters if she wanted to talk shameless talk? ‘It is against my faith. Human life is sacred to us. Particularly an innocent baby’s.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ Fareeda murmured. ‘But you didn’t refer her to anyone else? You didn’t ask her to come to me, for instance?’

  ‘I tried. But would she listen? Like a mad dog, she was. Howling and shrieking, all sweaty and shivery. Came here in the middle of our service, banging on the door in front of the whole congregation. I told her to go home and tell her mummy, and she’d get her married and then we’d be happy to do her case. Delivery, I mean. But she wouldn’t listen. Just kept repeating that they’d kill her.’

  ‘Who would kill her?’ Fareeda’s voice sharpened. ‘Did she say?’

  ‘How am I supposed to know the comings and goings in other people’s homes? What’s it to me? I mind my own business. Besides, why you don’t ask her who’s going to kill whom? Why are you asking me?’ Sister Clementine crossed her arms over her chest.

  ‘I can’t, Sister. The girl has disappeared. She hasn’t been seen for three days, and we are very worried. That’s why I’ve come to you.’

  ‘Disappeared? Blessed Mother!’ Sister Clementine clutched her throat. ‘Are you sure she hasn’t gone visiting or something? Young girls can be careless, no? Once, I remember, as a young girl, no more than your big child here, I went to see my auntie and didn’t tell my mummy. So worried she was, when I got back that evening, you should have seen …’

  ‘I don’t think she’s gone visiting, Sister,’ Fareeda interrupted. ‘In her condition I doubt if she’d go off on a jaunt. Her grandmother’s made enquiries. She’s not been seen in the neighbouring villages. Which is why I came to you. To see if you could suggest something that we might have missed.’

  Sister Clementine pulled out her hanky again.

  ‘With my hand on the Holy Bible, I can swear to you, she hasn’t been here after that one time. Later, only, your Bua persuaded me to speak to you. She said it was best if I told you. “Let them deal with Rani,” she said to me. “The girl is like family to them. No good for you or I to get mixed up in this. They might be angry at first with us for knowing, but they’ll fix it inside, without anyone knowing on outside.”

  ‘I was not agreeing at first. Head Mother is not here and too much of responsibility is on me. Also, I don’t want to poke my nose in other people’s dirty business. So I said no. But Bua said if it comes out you knew and did nothing, think how much headache it will be then. So I said, “All right, Baba. I’ll go, for the girl’s sake.” So I went to tell you to help the girl, but you were not in listening mood.’ The nun looked accusingly at Fareeda. ‘Instead, you shooed me out without so much as a glass of water. But I did my duty. My conscience is clean.’

  ‘Bua told you to speak to me? She knew about Rani?’ Fareeda’s forehead creased as she tried to digest this information.

  ‘Oh, yes, she was here that Sunday when the girl came.’ The nun nodded at Laila. ‘Ask her, she was here too. She spoke to her.’

  Stunned, Fareeda turned to her crimson-faced daughter.

  ‘Laila, is this true?’

  With her eyes glued to the table, Laila nodded.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Because I promised Bua I wouldn’t tell you that she’d brought me to the church,’ Laila mumbled. ‘I wanted to see the inside of the church and hear the songs on the piano. We didn’t know Rani was going to come here.’

  ‘And Bua? Why didn’t she tell me?’ Fareeda’s voice was harsh.

  Realizing that she had blundered, Sister Clementine now hastened to limit the damage she had caused.

  ‘Bua was wanting very much to tell, with her whole heart,’ she explained. ‘But she was afraid – of your shouting. You would ask why girl hadn’t come to you. Why she had come to us. “How they will take it coming from me, a children’s ayah only?” Bua said. So I told you in her place. We did our best, but it was you who wouldn’t listen. God was watching.’

  ‘Since then you’ve had no contact with Rani?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘And Bua? Has she had any news of her?’

  Sister Clementine stared at the plastic tablecloth. ‘I am not knowing,’ she muttered.

  ‘Sister?’ There was a note of warning in Fareeda’s voice.

  The nun looked up, indignant. ‘I told you, Mrs Azeem, she hasn’t come here and I haven’t been t
here. So how could I be knowing?’

  But Fareeda recalled that Bua had been to Kalanpur since then. She had accompanied Laila there on the day she’d had her last headache. Fareeda asked Laila, ‘Has Bua seen Rani again?’

  Laila was aware of the nun’s discomfiture and Sara’s stare. But, most of all, she was conscious of her mother’s stern eyes boring into her skull. She daren’t look up in case her mother locked eyes with her. She would pull the truth out of her throat then, as easily as reeling in a bucket from a well.

  Fareeda reached across the table to lay a hand on Laila’s arm. ‘Laila, listen to me, darling,’ she said in a gentler voice. ‘It is very, very important for you to tell me the truth now.’ She squeezed Laila’s arm lightly. ‘If you keep anything from me, anything at all, it might mean we will never see Rani again. Do you understand?’

  Laila’s eyes flew to Fareeda’s face. ‘Never see Rani again?’

  ‘Never, never, never,’ shouted Sara, resentful of her younger sister’s critical role in this gripping drama. While she’d been studying and doing gym and homework in Lahore, Laila had not only kidnapped her friendship with Rani but had also been mixing with grown-ups and attending church. ‘And it will be all your fault!’

  ‘Sara, stop it!’ said Fareeda.

  ‘Is it my fault that Rani has gone?’ Laila asked in a small voice. ‘I promise I didn’t tell anyone our secret.’

  ‘What secret, darling?’ Fareeda leaned closer to Laila.

  ‘That she was going to get married,’ Laila whispered. ‘And that she was embroidering her bed sheets with purple roses and planning to buy gold shoes like a bride’s, and a water set, and that he was going to ask Kaneez properly for her …’

  ‘Who was going to ask Kaneez properly?’

  ‘The man Rani was going to marry.’

  ‘Who was she going to marry? Who?’

  Laila looked around the table at the three pairs of eyes trained on her. ‘I don’t know.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘She didn’t tell me. She was about to, but then Bua walked in and so she didn’t say. I asked you to let me go to Kalanpur so I could ask her, but you said I was to play in Sabzbagh,’ Laila wailed. ‘Dadi said when a girl gets married she has to go and live in her husband’s house, no matter how far. Has Rani gone to live with her husband in another country?’