Until We Meet Again in Jannah

by Laki Khan

  I relished the company of my mother; being around her kept my mind occupied. Whilst the fear of Hamid and his family made me tremble most days and nights, I managed to conceal this from her with difficulty. The water level was now so high that the stream in our back courtyard had become a river after the overnight rain, which only subsided in the morning. It left the ground muddy and wet, making the floors inside our house slippery. Ammu and I loved watching the rain, it was almost cathartic. We waited for the raindrops to subside completely before leaving the house. I had planned to visit one of the pupils that I used to teach, as Ammu had suggested they may require home tuition since the school was closed. That, in turn, would keep me busy. The mudslides in the ground were shiny and wet as the rays of the sun reflected on them. We arrived at the house, which was a short distance away. Ammu knew the mother as a friend and greeted her. But she frowned upon seeing us. I enquired about the tuition, and she walked back into her house, leaving us bewildered. A few minutes later she returned and all we saw were papers and books flying up into the air and then falling to the ground around us. I stared in confusion at this lady’s passive-aggressive behaviour. The commotion attracted other villagers, mainly women, who stared.

  ‘Khala, why are you throwing books at us?’ I asked firmly.

  ‘Saira, because of you, people are pointing fingers at all of our girls. What will you teach any of our children?’ she shouted at the top of her voice. I was angry and wanted to challenge her and ask exactly what she meant, but Ammu held me back by the hand, urging me to remain quiet, and firmly gestured for us both to walk away. The gathered throng stood still and continued to stare at us and the lady. This incident baffled me and on the way home I rebuked Ammu for not allowing me to say anything in our defence.

  Ammu then sat me down to explain. ‘It would have been pointless to engage in an argument as it’s the mentality of the villagers that needs educating, and that can only be done through staying calm.’ She was correct.

  I soon gathered that this cold, angry, passive-aggressive behaviour of the local villagers towards us had been a consequence of my broken alliance with Hamid. I figured that the gossip mongers had succeeded in spreading the latest update regarding my broken marriage. My decision did not at all fit into the cultural and societal norms of my village; neither was it acceptable in their eyes. Although this enraged me, I decided to remain calm as Ammu had advised and began to seek opportunities to talk to my fellow villagers, to get them to understand my decision. Perhaps at the same time I could change their way of thinking.

  Over the next week I assisted Ammuji with her work. I secretly hoped that one of the local women would see past the prejudice and show an interest in working with her again. That did not happen, which came as no surprise.

  Nightfall was fast approaching so we packed away all the different fabrics into separate bags and prepared for dinner. I turned at the sound of a deep male voice saying, ‘Assalamualaikum, Saira,’ coming from our front courtyard.

  ‘Assalamualaikum, Chachu, please come inside.’ I invited him in. He was one of the wise elderly members of our village council, who rarely visited anybody’s house as people often took their minor and major disputes to him. I had always admired him for being fair and just; he had known my Abbuji and praised him at every opportunity. He smiled and asked to speak to my mother in private. I was intrigued by this conversation and attempted to listen in, but was unable to hear anything. I swiftly moved away from the doorway as Chachu bid goodbye to us both and left. Immediately Ammu became occupied with serving dinner, almost as if she did not want to tell me about the conversation, intriguing me even more. She was withdrawn most of the evening and only spoke when necessary. Even though she spoke very little, I was able to read the worry and panic imprinted upon her creased forehead. I sat quietly, analysing her behaviour in silence, wishing that somehow I could magically wave away her worry.

  ‘Ammu, what’s wrong?’ I blurted out.

  ‘Saira, I’m a little tired, that is all,’ she replied, expressionless.

  I persevered. ‘Why did Chachu come to talk you privately?’

  ‘Saira, why do you question everything? Not everything can be explained. I’m just very tired right now,’ she said, seeming more upset than annoyed. That night I lay in bed wondering if perhaps Ammu had been right, and I should really not over think everything that happened. Eventually I surrendered to an unsettled sleep.

  The next day Ammu continued with her sewing at home, as the rain was still very heavy and seemed set to continue. I stood and watched it, thinking of Sumayah; we were both enchanted by the warmth of the monsoon rain and would often put our feet out on the soil in our courtyard just so we could feel the warm water on our toes, and would giggle for ages as if we were enjoying a much-needed spa session.

  ‘Ouch!’ I heard coming from inside, and I ran indoors. Ammu stood leaning over some fabric holding her bleeding finger. I knew this was a consequence of her needing to complete the workload of two individuals. I cleaned her hand and put a cotton bandage around her wounded finger.

  ‘Please, that’s enough for today, you need to rest,’ I declared. She ignored my pleas and continued.

  ‘Saira, I must finish these orders, just in case we have to go away,’ she said. My forehead creased in confusion. I couldn’t recall Ammuji speaking about us travelling anywhere. She knew very well what I was thinking and turned away, so I could no longer see her expression. I followed her and demanded she tell me the truth. Finally she surrendered to my perseverance.

  She said the people of our village had begun to spread gossip about Ammuji and I and that they did not agree with my decision not to return to Hamid. They had now brought this matter to the attention of our village council who initially intended to resolve it in the most amicable way possible. However, due to ongoing and aggressive pressure from the villagers it had become a pressing matter, needing attention immediately. The locals believed that my decision had brought shame and dishonour to our village and that all the unmarried girls would be considered undignified, just like me. Ammu said that yesterday they had again taken the matter to the village council, stating that it would be impossible for them to marry off their daughters as no wealthy or respectable suitor would approach our village for an alliance of marriage as long as Ammu and I continued to reside here. This had been why Chachu had visited our house. We had been offered two solutions: either I must return to Hamid or Ammu and I would be exiled from our village and our home. I was dumbstruck at this awful heart-wrenching truth; my entire body turned cold and my hands trembled with fear like never before. My chastity and dignity was in question, all because I was not following the cultural norms and expectations of my village. I couldn’t understand their attitude. They cared little about the deception I had suffered or the brutal consequences that would await my return.

  ‘Exiled from our home – where is the justice in that?’ I whispered in despair. I sat down and bent over, covering my mouth with my hands, struggling to digest the barbarity of what I had just heard. ‘Ammu, that means when Hamid and his family come looking for me, they will hand me over,’ I cried out in distress.

  She stood up tall and strong, brushed away her tears and looked intently into my eyes. Fiercely she said, ‘You will never ever return to Hamid. Come what may we will face it together because God is with us.’ That night I lay wide awake in bed in contemplation, looking around our house; every corner reminded me of Abbuji. This house was the home of the love between my parents and between the three of us; every single item within the house had a sentimental value. How could I have known that the trust I had placed in the villagers was an illusion? They would happily hand me over to Hamid to live a life of brutality and torture. Either I sacrifice myself or my mother would lose her home; the thought of leaving our home was beyond comprehension.

  The next morning I woke to the sound of muffled voices – three or four males and females – or maybe more. My heart fluttered, worried that the voic
es belonged to Hamid and Amma. The urgency in their tone compelled me to rise out of bed almost immediately in search of my mother and safety. I ran towards our front courtyard and the voices gradually became louder. To my relief a crowd of villagers had gathered in our courtyard along with members of the village council, including Chachu. Much to my astonishment Ammu stood facing them; she appeared to be pleading or attempting to placate them, while they were angry and aggressive. I looked at the faces of everyone in front of us; there was Khala who lived a few houses away, Sumayah’s father who I had known my entire life. I recalled Sumayah and I holding his hand as young children as we walked to the local bazaar. Even the lady who had worked with Ammu was standing against us today, demanding that we be exiled.

  ‘There she is. It’s all because of her that our daughters are being dishonoured and tainted.’

  ‘She’s brought nothing but shame upon us all.’

  ‘What will people say about us keeping her in this village? She has brought us nothing but disrepute.’

  ‘This is why girls should not be allowed to leave home without a guardian.’

  My eyes flicked from face to face amongst the fierce throng. The audacity of these people confused me and broke my heart. This was the village that my father had developed with much love and held in such high esteem yet today those very people were standing against us as if we had committed a treacherous crime.

  Apparently, after much deliberation, the council had decided that in order to maintain the harmony of this village, Ammuji and I would need to leave imminently, which came as no surprise to me. I was unable to look Ammu in the eye as we were ruthlessly instructed to leave by dusk. Silently Ammu began collecting essential items. All I wanted was to be able to offer her a little comfort; however, I failed in that task too. ‘Ammu, I will go back to Hamid today, right now, but please – we can’t leave our home,’ I said.

  ‘Saira, you will do no such thing, do you hear me?’ she protested, holding my hand.

  ‘We can’t lose our home,’ I cried.

  ‘Listen to me. This is for the best – we can go someplace new where Hamid will never be able to find you. Now, get your things together.’

  I packed our belongings, while Ammu glanced around at all the places that Abbuji had touched and where he had sat; she was truly devastated although she did not admit to it. The memories of my childhood were being snatched away cruelly leaving us helpless. I picked up our bags. Ammuji refused to let me carry hers, saying it was delicate so she must keep it with her. She stood quietly staring into the stream that had now become a river in our back courtyard. I knew instinctively she was remembering all the joyful moments we had had here. This spot was important to me, too, because it reminded me particularly of Sumayah. I longed to see her one final time and bid her farewell; no matter what had happened she remained as dear to me as she had always been. As I sobbed silently, I wanted to tell her that I would continue to cherish the moments we had spent together forever in my heart.

  Sunset was fast approaching. Consumed by my own heartache I observed Ammu concealing hers. She held my hand and whispered, ‘We must leave now, Saira – this is for the best.’ We walked through our front courtyard hand in hand, bidding farewell to our beloved home, our memories and our village: the place where even the smallest shapla flower told a story about my beloved father. We took the damp and muddy village pathway leading to the school, Ammuji’s tailoring hut and our village mosque where Mesabji Chacha resided. Our destination was unknown; we had nowhere to go. For the first time I witnessed a look of defeat upon Ammu’s face; her warm smiling eyes now only portrayed sadness. We were stranded and had been made destitute within what seemed to be the blink of an eye. Ironically, the monsoon rain that I adored so much began to fall heavy and strong, washing almost everything along our path, including me and Ammu. We decided to take shelter under the closed mosque doorway until the rain subsided. I stood in my wet kurta clutching my mother’s caring shoulder.

  ‘I am so sorry, Ammu,’ I cried.

  ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, dear, this is for the best,’ she replied, wiping away the tears. The darkness of the night now beckoned and I longed to be back in the comfort of my precious home. Ammu held me close to her almost like a small child in need of protection as we stood together enveloped by the dark canvas above. Some time later, my eyes illuminated with joy at the sight of Mesabji Chacha’s face.

  His initial reaction was shock, when Ammu told him what had happened, followed by disbelief and then disgust at the actions of the villagers, especially the village council. He referred to them as cruel, narrow-minded and heartless. Mesabji Chacha took us into the mosque immediately, offering us warm clothing and food, which he kept for the many travellers that he often accommodated. He advised us to take shelter there for the night and in the morning a solution would be sought. Ammu was visibly tired and needed very little persuasion to rest.

  The next morning, after dawn prayer, Mesabji Chacha was nowhere to be found. He returned a short while later seeming dejected. He told us he had been to visit the village council to discuss the issues regarding Ammu and me. He explained that even after pleading with them they maintained their decision not to allow us residence in the village. Ammu thanked Chacha for all his efforts. He told us kindly that we would always have his support, without reservation, as it was due to Abbuji’s efforts and kindness that today he had this wonderful place of worship.

  We collected our belongings to begin our search for accommodation, but Mesabji Chacha said he had a temporary solution which would require our approval. He knew of a man that was visiting his house in a nearby village who was in search of trustworthy maids to employ whilst he was in the country. Chacha had met with him a number of times as this man had approached him for help to build water wells in the remote villages surrounding ours. Mesabji Chacha emphasised that he was a kind-hearted man. We would have somewhere to live and receive a monthly wage. After a thoughtful pause Ammu nodded in approval.

  ‘I think you are doing the right thing. This is a remote village and you will be safe there, Saira, away from Hamid, and he will not know your whereabouts,’ Chacha said, looking at us both. I smiled politely although deep down I knew Hamid and Amma would not accept defeat without a battle. Ultimately we had nowhere to go, no relatives to call upon for support. So it was decided that we were now going to be employed by somebody who lived abroad and required maids to enable him to enjoy his opulent lifestyle: like Rahim Khan, who I quite detested, back in our village. This was a common occurrence, whenever the wealthier people from our village visited their grand houses from places such as the United Kingdom and America. They employed drivers and many maids to carry out household chores and serve them as if they were royalty. There was once a girl in our village who was employed by Rahim Khan to wash and iron his clothes in a specific way, as he watched and instructed her; Sumayah and I advised this girl to leave many times. However, now I was able to comprehend that she must have been compelled to take this job, as I recalled her telling us that she was paid well.

  Chapter 7 – Exiled

  That very afternoon, the three of us boarded a very small wooden sampan-like boat that was rowed by a young boy who could not have been much older than fourteen. It was common for young boys to undertake a job such as this in the monsoon as they received a small fee for transporting people from one side of the river to the other. This in turn provided an income for the less wealthy families. We sat underneath the small shelter situated in the middle of the flat-bottomed boat ready for transportation from our village to another one across the river. The tide was high and strong, causing waves to sway us from side to side. Ammu sat in the corner holding on tightly, trying to conceal her emotions. I stared back at my beloved village: the mud houses, the tin roofs, the fields, the riverbed I used to walk along almost every day, my school, the many floating shapla flowers scattered across the water; each one told a different story. I continued staring until the vision of my villag
e merged into the greenery surrounding the river as the waves took us further and further away. I wondered if I would ever see my village again. At that moment I took an oath that whether or not I did, I would treasure my memories forever, with every beat of my heart. Unimaginable sadness overwhelmed me, although I knew I needed to stay strong, undefeated and courageous. So I suppressed my internal pain, glancing at Ammuji who I felt responsible for – for causing her the heartache of separation. An internal strength ignited within me; no matter the consequence or how much I was required to suppress my pain, I would remain strong and continually search for ways to bring happiness back to my mother. I took a second oath to live in her servitude, hoping that this would provide me with the opportunity to repent for the unforgivable pain that I had inflicted upon her.

  The boat came to a jolting halt after a journey lasting around forty minutes. Ammuji appeared preoccupied as we stepped onto the damp muddy pathway along the riverbed. I paused to look at her sad face, almost crying myself. In a strong supportive voice, I said, ‘Ammu, don’t be sad, God is with us.’ She nodded in agreement, kissing my hand. It almost felt as if our roles had reversed, giving me new responsibilities that I was more than willing to undertake. Mesabji Chacha, who was a few steps ahead, gestured for us to continue walking as he carried our bags apart from the one Ammu refused to be parted from. The path was narrow and slippery, covering my feet completely in mud. It was about fifteen minutes before the locals of the village appeared. We saw a few mud houses close together and the residents had gathered along the pathway to stare at us suspiciously. I knew from my own village that this was a normal occurrence: whenever somebody unknown visited the village, curiosity and apprehension would result. Fearfully I wondered if they were staring because they knew we had been ousted from our own village and were now seeking shelter in theirs. Anxiety riddled me as the image of Hamid played through my mind and I wondered whether the villagers could read my fear. I vaguely heard the locals and Mesabji Chacha exchanging kind greetings, and attempted to maintain a neutral expression.