Until We Meet Again in Jannah

by Laki Khan

  I walked warily, concerned that Hamid would see us, and hid my face with my shawl. It was chilly, and grey areas of fog were beginning to appear; Kamla joined her hand with mine, both of us smiling as if we had escaped from long captivity. ‘Are we nearly there yet, Kamla?’ I enquired. We had almost reached the end of the village and I could hear the sound of water and the crashing of waves. It seemed we had also left the villagers behind as there was no one else around.

  ‘Nearly, Saira,’ she said. I was intrigued. It seemed as if we were walking to an empty space and I wondered where this doctor’s hut was situated. I was perplexed at the sensation of grass and muddy ground as opposed to dust beneath my feet. I continued to follow her lead in the darkness as quietly as possible. Kamla halted abruptly. ‘Here we are,’ she said. She stood pointing to the long bamboo bridge, the only link between this village and my own, and told me to go and never return, bidding me a tearful goodbye.

  Shock took over my entire body. ‘Kamla, what do you mean?’ I asked her, trembling.

  ‘Go, Saira, go. You will never get another opportunity like this,’ she insisted, grasping my hand.

  ‘Kamla – go where? I can’t leave you here like this, I won’t go,’ I shouted.

  ‘Saira, please, they won’t allow you to live in peace. Go back to your mother and never return here – go before someone sees you,’ she pleaded.

  ‘No, Kamla. I can’t leave you here, they will blame you,’ I cried.

  ‘Don’t worry about me. I will tell them that you ran off. Now go,’ she repeated.

  ‘No, Kamla, please,’ I protested.

  ‘Saira, you’re not like the others. You’re strong and clever and beautiful and you deserve a better life than this. Now please, for my sake, just go,’ she begged. I held Kamla as we both cried together. It seemed she had planned this and wanted my freedom even more than I. ‘Now go, Saira, before anyone sees us,’ she told me firmly.

  ‘Kamla, thank you so much, I will never forget you,’ I said as she let go of my trembling hand.

  I looked at her innocent face one final time as she hurried me to leave, saying fearfully, ‘Be careful, Saira. Amma will never give up looking for you.’

  With my heart beating wildly, I stepped towards the bridge as Kamla vanished into the darkness of the night. Beneath the bridge lay a river, deep and wide. I began to follow Kamla’s instructions; I knew I had to escape this abhorrence that circumstances had led me to. Barefoot I stepped onto the bridge, which had been made by the people of the local villages. It was about sixty feet in length and four feet wide. This was a bridge I would never have even contemplated crossing had my mind been clear – the fear of falling into the river sent shivers deep into my spine. I took a step forward and shrieked as the bamboo stick beneath my foot rolled over, causing me to lose my balance and let go of my shawl, which fell into the river beneath. The night was cold and black and I was surrounded by a thick fog preventing me from seeing anything in front or around. The only thing I could hear was the roaring sound of the waves beneath me, crashing into each other. I trembled with fear, feeling disgusted and ashamed – with myself, mainly – as I continued taking faltering steps until I was standing right in the middle of the bridge, shell-shocked. I closed my eyes as my breathing shuddered, but I knew I needed to cross this bridge and honour Kamla’s sacrifice; I knew all too well the consequences that would be awaiting her.

  Just then I was startled by a light which shone directly into my face, causing me to scream in fear. The cloudy grey fog shaded all visibility, so I could see only the shadow of a man holding what appeared to be a torch; I continued to tremble. Then suddenly I heard a soft, reassuring voice. ‘Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you.’ I stared at the bright light in astonishment, breathing so heavily that my pounding heart began to hurt. My initial thought was that perhaps it was Hamid, only this man was at the opposite end of the bridge. He then held out his hand. ‘Take my hand, you’re shaking, and the wind is strong,’ he said.

  ‘I just want to stay here,’ I shouted, breathing raggedly.

  ‘You’re going to fall into the water. Take my hand – it’s going to be all right,’ he said, coming closer to me holding out his hand. There was something alluring about his words, encouraging me to put my trust in him and to take hold of his hand. He spoke with an integrity that was hypnotising. The grip of his hand on mine felt warm, momentarily allowing me to feel safe and secure. ‘I’m going to help you walk slowly off this bridge. I promise I won’t hurt you,’ he said. I shrieked as the bamboo beneath my feet rolled over once more, causing me to stumble, and in response the grip of his hand on mine tightened.

  Keeping me close he began taking small steps. ‘The wind is causing the sticks to sway so tread carefully. I’ve got you, and I won’t let you go,’ he said softly. The wind was howling and blew stronger as I continued to follow his lead one step at a time until we reached the ground beyond the bridge. I began shivering uncontrollably. ‘Here, take this.’ He wrapped a woolly shawl securely around my shoulders shielding me from the gust of cold wind. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I stuttered.

  ‘Where’s your house?’ he asked. I pointed in the direction of the village entrance and he began to walk beside me. We walked side by side in silence; I was still unable to see his face. All I gathered was that he was tall, softly spoken – and a complete stranger who had been sent as my saviour on this frightening night. We reached the village entrance and after a pause he asked again, ‘Which way is your house?’ I pointed in the direction of the distant lights that were just visible. ‘Don’t be afraid, I’m going to watch you just to make sure you’re safe. You keep walking until you reach home,’ he instructed. I held out the billowing shawl towards him. ‘You keep that,’ he said, wrapping me up again tightly.

  I took a step forward just as he had instructed and began walking; the echo of his presence surrounded me with a force almost as strong as the storm. I glanced back and to my surprise the light from his torch was still visible. A surreal feeling overtook me and I suddenly felt a sense of clarity run through every crevice of my body and mind. I had always believed in Tawakkul: having reliance, trust and faith in God. Once again this trust had been confirmed and I felt stronger, strong enough to deal with the consequences of my actions that were yet to come. It was almost as if this bewildering encounter had revived an innate strength to enable me to overcome the conflict I was going to have to face. I was thankful firstly to Kamla and then to this unknown gentleman. That was the deciding moment: I vowed not to become the definition of myself that society wanted for me, but the definition of myself that I wanted to be, although I knew that this would have many consequences. I would remain strong. I would never give up and I would never submit.

  I reached our courtyard, and on the other side of the doorway was my beloved mother. I was fearful – firstly about what explanation I would give her about why I had returned home alone in this manner in the middle of the night. How would I explain the reality of my short-lived marriage to Hamid, while I myself was still struggling to comprehend how I had fallen prey to such abuse? I was hurt and brutalised by this cruel deception. But I felt honoured by Kamla’s sacrifice and pitied Hamid for enacting this cruel charade, and hoped that one day he would finally accept his situation. I also knew very well that his mother was a cunning, stubborn lady who would go to any extreme to preserve her honour and dignity. A part of me felt guilty, knowing that I had left Kamla all alone to face this wrath, while another part felt relieved at the thought that I had been rescued from the fate of his previous wives. ‘They were stoned,’ I whispered in despair, and I wondered where and how they were now or even if they were alive; it did not bear thinking about. Those poor women had been subjected to this very same deception and much more. I was grateful to have escaped. I knew that my journey was far from over and that it would be a path filled with many roses, but picking out each thorn would prove to be more painful than ever.

  W
ith enormous fear in my heart I knocked on the door. ‘Ammu, are you there,’ I called out. The door swung wide open and my beloved mother stood in the dark with half-open eyes. She looked startled to find me here at this time of night, and then I guess her maternal instincts took over and she figured out that something was wrong; something terrible and untoward had happened.

  ‘Saira, my baby! What are you doing here at this time of night?’ she asked, ushering me indoors and wrapping me up in blanket after blanket to warm my freezing body.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ammu, please forgive me,’ I said hysterically as my face flooded with tears. Ammu frantically began to comfort me, pulling me close to her chest and stroking my hair.

  ‘Whatever it is we will deal with it together,’ she reassured me, ‘everything is going to be okay, I promise.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ammuji, I have made a mess out of everything,’ I said, looking at her worried face.

  ‘Oh, Saira, dear, you’re not making any sense, and you haven’t made a mess out of anything,’ she assured me.

  ‘Ammu, you will be so disappointed with me. I’m sorry, I never meant to hurt you, please believe me,’ I continued to plead with her.

  ‘Saira, it’s all right, tell me what’s happened,’ she urged.

  ‘Ammu, we need to lock all the doors – they will come after me,’ I cried out in panic.

  She pulled me close into her chest, clearly shocked at my plight, and reassured me. ‘It’s okay, you’re safe here.’

  I decided it was time to control my emotions and reveal the whole truth. So I took my beloved mother’s hand in mine and told her that I loved her very much; she looked at me in anguish. I first told her the reason behind Sumayah’s absence from me and that it was a result of the rumours that had been spreading amongst the villagers. I admitted that I only agreed to marry Hamid under duress, although my intention had been to make this marriage work. I then told her that fate had other plans for me, plans I had no control over. Feeling overwhelmed, I said, ‘Please believe me, Ammu, all I wanted was to make you happy, and I tried to make things work, but they deceived me so badly.’ I began crying hysterically, as Ammu held me close. Finally I divulged the bitter truth about Hamid, his family and the reasons behind this alliance, and how the family had behaved towards me. I watched the look of horror that spread across my mother’s face, and then felt guilty as the horror turned into pain and utter devastation.

  ‘You kept this all to yourself, my poor child – you did not think to share this with me once? Saira, I am so sorry, please forgive me, my child.’

  ‘No, Ammu, none of this is your fault,’ I cried back.

  ‘I promise I will not let anything happen to you – you’re safe now,’ she said, holding me tightly. ‘How dare he hurt you like this!’ she cried out in anger, stroking my cold arms.

  ‘Ammu, I hope Kamla is okay. If it weren’t for her help then I would never have been able to escape,’ I said, snuggling up into her chest.

  ‘You’re safe now,’ she consoled me.

  That night I lay next to my beloved mother, holding on tight in fear of Hamid or Amma turning up. She held me close.

  The next morning I felt a great relief, an emotion I had not felt for a long while. The darkness of the night had begun to fade, making way for the light of a new day – almost a reflection of my current state of mind. Ammu brewed ginger tea for us both as I sat mute, overwhelmed by the many emotions I had endured the previous night and was still in battle with. My amazing mother seemed strong and determined; this was a side to her that I had never experienced. She was like a shield, ready to protect me should the need arise.

  ‘I will speak with Hamid’s family today. Don’t you worry about a thing – you will never return to that house, no matter what the consequences,’ she said sternly. She held my face gently and said, ‘Saira, me and your Abbuji believed that one should always follow the heart and do the right thing, and today I’m immensely proud of you for doing that, but remember that the road ahead may be rocky and I need you to stay strong. Can you do that?’

  ‘Of course, Ammu,’ I replied.

  ‘You’re home now and you’re safe here. I want you to gradually put all of this behind you,’ she added with a look of determination in her eyes. ‘Will you be all right for a short while? I need to pop out for something urgent,’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, Ammu,’ I replied wearily.

  ‘You’re safe here and I won’t be long,’ she assured me, and left. I immediately locked the door and watched through the open window as Ammu disappeared into the winding valley leading out of our village. Just then I noticed the shawl I had been wearing the previous night. I picked it up and thought about the stranger who had so kindly helped me in my time of greatest need, and smiled, wishing I had been able to express my gratitude to him. I then carefully placed the shawl into my closet for safe keeping. It felt good to be home, although memories of Hamid and the time spent with his family continued to haunt me throughout the day.

  When Ammu came home she seemed exhausted, but immediately began preparing dinner for me. After much persuasion I finally managed to convince her to sit and take a rest. I served dinner whilst she informed me she had made contact with Hamid’s father through Mesabji Chacha and that she had ended the marriage alliance between our families. ‘Did they take the news well, Ammu?’ I enquired.

  ‘Let’s just say that they were more concerned about how to preserve their dignity and status,’ she said, caressing my hair.

  ‘You don’t know them, Ammu, they will come looking for me and take me back,’ I cried out.

  She held me close and said, ‘Saira, you’re safe here. You have me and everybody else in the village to protect you – just let them try.’ I nodded, comforted by the safety of her arms.

  Chapter 6 – Devastation of Barsha

  I spent the next few weeks with Ammu, anxiety-ridden at the thought of Hamid and his mother coming after me. Most days I would check the door and surrounding area a dozen times and startle at the slightest sound. I avoided the villagers as much as possible in fear of being asked that unavoidable question, although I knew that naturally they would want to enquire about Hamid; and putting everything behind me seemed impossible. The monsoon season was fast approaching, bringing with it hope. I looked forward to watching the villagers grow and cultivate jute as my father had done. I was enthralled by the heavy rainfall, the humidity of the heat, the shapla flowers that would be floating almost everywhere in the village. All the while Ammu was right beside me, constantly reassuring me of my safety.

  It was a hot and sticky afternoon, so I decided to take a walk as I had spent all my time indoors since my return. My mother had advised me that I needed to stop living in constant fear, and I stepped out of the house for the first time. Warily I began to walk down the muddy path, taking the route that I used to take to school. I recalled how much I had enjoyed greeting everybody I saw on the way; being a close community, mutual understanding and friendship was a feature of village life. That evening I wondered why the group of ladies I had greeted had completely ignored me. I sat near the stream in our back courtyard and brushed it off, thinking I was paranoid. After all, these were people I had known all my life; what issue would they have developed with me so suddenly? I stared into the shallows of the stream, which reminded me of Sumayah; I had not met with her since my return and missed her terribly. I missed our daily banter, our chats, the laughter, and I longed for the next time I would see her and wished for it to be soon.

  That evening Ammu reached home carrying a heavy load of carrier bags containing a variety of different fabrics. I enquired about them, expecting that she must have received a large order. To my astonishment she said she needed to put in extra hours of sewing in order to keep up with the orders, as the lady who had been her partner for many years had suddenly decided to quit. ‘What, Ammu, did you ask her why? How will you do all this by yourself?’ I asked, annoyed. Ammu avoided my question and ended the conversation th
ere without allowing me to explore it any further. I knew she was tired, so I decided my long list of questions could wait for another time. The next few weeks I witnessed how hard she worked, until she was physically exhausted and her mood subdued. She would leave very early in the morning and return late, and after dinner would continue cutting out the designs she had brought home with her. She hardly ate and only slept minimally. I once asked why she could not employ another lady from the village and her response was that nobody expressed an interest in sewing anymore, which did not fit in with her behaviour.

  Although thoughts of Hamid and his family were gradually becoming a distant memory, my internal battle remained of the same magnitude and the fear strong. Most nights I lay awake terrified at the thought of them bursting through the door to summon me, and I would end up hyperventilating.

  Barsha had finally arrived and the heavy rain brought great apprehension and anticipation to the villagers; the low-lying, fertile land around our village would be immersed in water for days or even months without respite. At times the water level would rise to such an extent that our school would need to stay closed and boats would be the only form of transport around our village. Although Barsha brought mainly devastation, with some villagers losing parts of their homes, there were some things that I treasured about the season. I loved how the almost extinct plants and greenery had a new lease of life after immersion in water. Ammuji loved the hilsha fish that swam in the Barsha waters, waiting to be captured by the fishermen.