by Laki Khan
My attention suddenly diverted to the sound of a very loud ‘clang’ followed by a giggle. Khushi had returned with the washed pots and utensils and dropped them on the tiled kitchen floor; water sprinkled all over my bare feet. Immediately I rushed over to help her collect the shiny utensils and then stacked them on the low shelf across the man-made open stove used for cooking. Khushi continued to giggle some more as I stood in silence.
‘Saira, Saheb asked me to inform you that he may be back very late today, and he sends his apology that he did not have time to meet with you,’ she informed me in between giggles.
‘Saheb has gone out?’ I asked, surprised. Khushi then told me he had left approximately ten minutes before, which meant that he had been absent throughout my heartfelt apology. I decided I needed to wait for his return and then attempt it a second time. I peeped in to check on Ammu, who was resting, and returned to the kitchen to make a start on the chores. I was greeted by a variety of bags filled with bright-coloured clothing but just as I called out to Khushi she got up, saying that she had to leave now. Khushi was leaving, I thought; how would that even work? We had only just arrived. I had no idea what happened in this house. Not even an inkling about the menu, the tasks or the routine.
‘What do you mean, Khushi? You can’t leave, how will we cope?’ I pleaded. Khushi explained her niece’s wedding was taking place in a few weeks’ time and that she had requested a month of annual leave to participate in the customary pre- and post-marriage functions. She giggled again and explained that Saheb had granted her this leave, and then miraculously he had been handed Ammu and me as substitutes.
‘Khushi, I don’t even know what chores Saheb needs doing,’ I continued.
‘Saira, you will be fine. Saheb is not fussy, he is a very kind man,’ she replied. With that, Khushi collected her luggage, bade me farewell and left in a fit of further giggles. I began to feel annoyed, but I was unsure whether it was with Khushi’s sudden departure or with myself. I stood feeling stranded and alone in this great big house; my body felt on high alert and my breathing was shallow. I had no idea what the expectations of a maid were. All I was sure of was that I missed teaching, my school, my amazing children and, most importantly, my home. A part of me wanted Khushi to return, although I knew I would have to go through this trial alone. I sat on the floor, tears streaming down my face, as this moment of weakness began to swallow me whole. Just then I heard the beautiful call to prayer for midday. I closed my eyes to dwell in its tranquillity and, as ever, the melody of it brought forth peace both in my mind and in my heart. Taking a few moments, I collected my thoughts and sat in prayer, pleading with God to provide me with the strength I desperately sought to continue with this unknown journey, regardless of the destination. I truly believed that life’s most meaningful lessons were perhaps, learnt through pain.
The day was hot and sticky with beautiful rays of sunshine beating down on the patio and into the kitchen. I needed to make a start on lunch and dinner, sweep the house and clean the dishes. The last thing I wanted were questions regarding my integrity and commitment to my role as maid. I walked into my mother’s room only to discover her empty bed. I found her sitting on the floor in the corner of the room in silence, and I knew she was thinking of the wonderful place that used to be our home.
‘What’s wrong, Saira?’ she said, looking into my eyes.
‘I was just wondering what you were doing… and if you needed anything,’ I replied, and sat closer to her. I placed my arms gently around her as she cuddled me close. I knew very well the thoughts that were going through her mind, and felt her pain like an arrow through my heart.
‘Don’t worry, Saira, I am just being silly,’ she said, turning towards me.
‘No, Ammu, it’s not silly to miss your home, to miss our village that has Abbuji embedded into every corner,’ I reassured her, wiping away her precious tears.
‘I am grateful that you’re safe here. This is a new start where nobody knows you, and you need to put everything behind you,’ Ammu whispered, holding my face gently. I held on to her as tightly as I could. I knew, ultimately, the bitter truth was that we could never return home. Neither the village council nor the villagers would allow that to happen. I thought of Hamid and his family and whether or not they had accepted I would never return; the very thought of him made me tremble like no other and it was a fear I was unable to suppress. I recalled Mesabji Chacha stating that Saheb was a kind man, although I wondered how he would feel if he discovered the truth behind Ammu and me ending up here in this village and in his house.
Ammu looked at me and said, ‘Come on, let’s make a start with the housework.’
I quickly composed myself and firmly said, ‘No, you will not do anything, I can manage.’ I was quite surprised when she sat herself down without protest. I felt fully responsible and accountable for her misery and sadness, and I was prepared to sacrifice everything to make her feel happy once again.
I dragged myself into the kitchen mentally making a list of chores I needed to complete that day. I was a little hesitant as this house was probably three times larger than what I had been accustomed to. Khushi had left without informing me where anything was kept, such as the sweeping broom, or even what Saheb’s favourite food was. I began with the front courtyard and opened the great white gates to allow fresh air to circulate. I could hear the familiar sounds of water, people chattering, the laughter of children; these sounds brought me a sense of relief as they resonated happiness and joy. I peered into the houses near to ours, which mostly appeared empty apart from maids or lodgers who were safeguarding the properties, it seemed.
I was finally able to locate a broom in the corner of the large kitchen and began sweeping the courtyard; the dust billowed from side to side settling on my clothes. I pulled my hijab tighter around my face to save my hair from the dry dust that was now floating everywhere. The courtyard was large. I carefully swept the corners, and the sunshine felt extremely hot on my head; I searched for a little shade for a moment of relief and noticed that opposite this house stood a very small mud house, so small that in comparison it almost looked like a doll’s house. I walked closer, taking comfort in its shade, and stood there for a moment against the coolness of the mud. My cheeks had turned bright pink as they used to when I returned from school and Ammu would rush to serve me water. I closed my eyes, sitting in the shade, and enjoyed the light breeze upon my face, as fatigue, to which I was not willing to surrender, enveloped my entire body.
I stood up to continue when suddenly I heard a soft meek voice coming from behind me. ‘Would you like some water?’ There stood a young lady holding a glass of water. I sat on the cool muddy ground and devoured the entire glass of cold water, quenching my thirst at once.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said to her, handing back the glass very carefully.
She smiled shyly and said, ‘I saw you sweeping, so I thought you might be feeling hot and thirsty.’ I smiled in appreciation of her kind gesture. She was coy; she had a small frame and a very pretty face, and was probably not much older than I was. She went back into the mud house in response to the sound of an urgent cry, a cry that belonged to an infant, to my surprise. Minutes later she returned with an adorable little baby girl cradled in her arms. I couldn’t help but stare in awe.
‘She is absolutely beautiful,’ I said, enchanted by her baby gurgles. The lady smiled proudly. She introduced herself as Layla, and told me she was temporarily living in this mud house with her husband and brand new baby daughter. She informed me that they both looked after and lived in Saheb’s house when he was in London, as they could not afford to live anywhere else. In return her husband maintained Saheb’s land and looked after the crops. Layla placed her hand on my shoulder and said, ‘He is a generous man, you’re lucky to have found work here.’ I nodded in approval. She welcomed me to the village offering her services should I need anything. I thanked her graciously and returned to my uncompleted task. I watched Layla from the co
urtyard cooing with her baby as she disappeared behind the mud wall. What a lovely encounter, I thought. This strengthened my belief that it was the smallest things in life that provided the most happiness, such as being with your loved ones.
Placing the broom back into its allocated space I thought about my next task of collecting water from the pump outside and taking it to the bathrooms for the day. I found the kholosh located on the kitchen floor and walked into the bathroom, to discover that Khushi had already completed this task. Ammu remained asleep so I decided to make a start with food preparation, only I had no idea what a maid should cook. Was there a menu I needed to refer to? And should I cook just one dish or many dishes? The questions continued to gather in my mind. After much internal deliberation, I decided to cook some of our favourite dishes hoping they would suit Saheb: dahl soup, chopped papaya cooked in herbs and spices with rice and a little fresh coriander salad. I began by collecting sticks that had been left in a pile at the far end of the back courtyard, by Layla’s husband, I presumed. I then carefully placed the sticks deep into the stove, but the fire only increased the heat in the kitchen causing me to feel more fatigued. I walked out onto the patio and took comfort in splashing water all over my face, revelling in its coolness. I served some food on a plate and walked into Ammu’s room; she was sitting up wide eyed. I forced a smile and said, ‘Ammu, do you know there are so many papaya trees here. I will show you tomorrow, they are so juicy and fresh and smell wonderful. And look here – smell this!’ Excitedly I placed the plate in front of her. ‘Look, a little rice, papaya and dahl. I cooked it today, just like you.’
She smiled, inhaling the aroma. ‘Dear, are you all right? You look tired, and what’s happened to your clothes?’ she asked, gesturing me to sit next to her.
‘Nothing, Ammu. I went for a walk so they became a little dusty,’ I replied, and then made an excuse to get her some water to escape any further questions. Ammu knew I was unable to handle the heat and would be devastated to learn I had been outside sweeping. I returned with water, urging her to eat, and then headed off to clean the kitchen and myself before my self-motivation completely disappeared.
It was dusk, and the harmonious sound of the call to prayer echoed through the entire house. Our first day here was now fading into the darkness of the night, as the sky slowly turned from blue to yellow, to red, to faded orange and then finally to black. There was silence throughout the house, in fact throughout the entire village. I listened for the return of Saheb. I found it difficult to comprehend that he had not returned yet, leaving two strangers in charge of this grand property. I noticed Ammu twitching her legs in pain, although she would never willingly admit to this. So I massaged them with the wonderful crushed stems of the shapla flower. The lady who I always saw as being inspirationally strong, was today fighting what seemed to be a losing battle against pain and sadness, and my relentless efforts to make her smile seemed to bear no fruit. The walls of this house were beginning to silently choke me, and I felt constricted by my new role of maid to an upper-class citizen who perhaps knew nothing of hardship. I felt like a bird with its wings clipped. How I longed to be that bird soaring high up in the sky, touching the clouds with not a burden in sight. How I desperately wanted to break free from the restrictions of life and this opulent house.
While my imagination travelled far and beyond, the sound of footsteps brought my mind back to the house. I figured Saheb was back and would need attending to because that was what maids did, and without further procrastination I intended to apologise. I heard a clattering sound from the kitchen and followed it.
‘Assalamualaikum,’ I greeted him as he stood in search of drinking water.
‘Walaikumassalam,’ he replied in a gentle voice. He was a tall man, medium built although quite lean, very smiley faced, and was dressed in casual jeans and a plain T-shirt with an expensive-looking watch around his wrist; this image did not fit with the picture I had created in my mind. I immediately poured some water and handed it to him. ‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘Have you guys settled in all right? I apologise for disappearing like that. I had something urgent to deal with,’ he explained. He appeared somewhat tense.
‘No, please don’t apologise. I owe you an apology for my behaviour this morning. It’s just that I’m…’
Before I was able to complete my sentence, ‘You love your mother very much,’ he concluded.
I stood in silence, and then said, ‘I’m Saira.’
‘I know,’ he replied and walked out of the kitchen. I was puzzled by him to say the least. He made no demands, and, in fact, whether or not we had settled in was more of a concern for him. In comparison I thought of Hamid and his authoritarian mother whom Saheb appeared to be the complete opposite of. I realised that my expectation of Saheb’s character was a little distorted and far from the truth. I had imagined him to be the duplicate of Rahim Khan back in my village, which was my own incorrect stereotypical misconception.
I laid the table for him and served dinner, and as he entered the kitchen, he asked, ‘Are you guys not eating?’
‘Maybe later…’ I replied hesitantly.
‘Did Khushi not explain that we eat together here?’ he asked. I remained quiet, occupied with tidying pots and pans, and when I turned around to answer him he had disappeared. I recalled Khushi stating that Saheb liked everyone to eat together in the evenings as during the day he was busy, engrossed with one task or another. He returned a few minutes later, but this time Ammu was leaning against his arm. I stood staring as he pulled out a chair and supported her as she sat down, and then seated himself right beside her.
‘Saira, this boy is strong headed, just like you. He said that he would only eat if I did,’ Ammu said, looking at him. Pulling my hijab tighter around my face I smiled at her as I served the food.
‘Shall we eat, Saira?’ He pointed towards a chair for me to sit down.
‘What will you have first, Ammu?’ he said to her, to my surprise. The irony was surreal; we were his maids and yet here we were eating a meal together almost like a family. He and Ammu had developed a mutual liking, which fortunately appeared to have a positive impact on her. I watched her smile wholeheartedly as he explained how much he enjoyed papaya cooked in onion and turmeric gravy. I listened to the sound of their chatter as I relished my first meal of the day, and secretly thanked God for giving my mother a reason to smile even if it were only for this evening and through the aid of a complete stranger.
‘Thank you, Saira, for a lovely meal,’ he said in appreciation, to which I nodded and smiled. Ammu appeared tired and wanted to retire to her room. When she stood up she let out an unexpected pained shriek, almost freezing in an awkward standing position.
I scurried over to her immediately. ‘What’s wrong, is it hurting?’ I cried.
‘I’m all right, Saira, it’s just a little twinge,’ she said, reassuring me. I could sense she was in a great deal of pain so I began to rub her feet. Saheb walked over to her, placing one of her arms around his neck, shouldering half her body weight, and walked her to our room.
‘Hold on to me,’ he instructed as I followed behind. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked while supporting her onto the bed. He then carefully straightened out both her feet, placing them on top of two very soft pillows. It saddened me to see her in this plight and the little money that we had was not enough to fund her treatment. I only noticed Saheb had left the room when he returned holding a pain-relief ointment in his hand. He sat next to Ammu and to my surprise began massaging both her feet with this ointment. I immediately tried to intervene, but he paid no heed and continued.
I sat with her for a while afterwards until the pain began to gradually fade, and her eyes surrendered to sleep. My poor mother had spent her entire life working to provide me with a good life and happiness, and today she was living in a state of desperation and suffering, which I was to blame for.
My entire body ached with fatigue; as much as I wanted to retire for the day I knew that an un
completed task still awaited me. I almost dragged my two feet into the kitchen. I was astonished to see that the plates, dishes, glasses and all other utensils had all been cleared away. The table had even been wiped down and the chairs were tucked under neatly. I stood in awe, unable to comprehend what my eyes were witnessing, and even questioned whether or not I had already cleaned up and had forgotten due to fatigue.
‘Sorry, I’m not very good in the kitchen. I hope I’ve done this properly,’ I heard Saheb say.
‘You did all this?’ I asked, bewildered.
‘I figured Ammu needed you more right now,’ he replied.
‘You didn’t have to, really,’ I attempted to convince him as he began to walk away. ‘Saheb,’ I called out from behind, ‘thank you.’
‘Saira,’ he said as I turned away. ‘It’s Omar,’ he added politely and continued down the hallway. My mind and body were in a state of exhaustion: physically, emotionally and mentally. I anxiously reflected on my entire day here, contemplating what tomorrow would bring. All my ideas about Omar’s character and personality appeared to be based on nothing but my own individual bias and prejudice, as he had only portrayed humility and kindness towards us. I felt grateful, more than anything, as it was due to this kindness and humility that I was able to bear the burden of this new journey.