by Laki Khan
‘Would you like anything, Ammu?’ I asked, bringing myself back to reality. Every so often I took a glance around, wondering if Omar had returned; my mind was heavy with the burden of my undeclared apology.
I returned to the kitchen to serve Ammu some soup, thinking she would require sustenance by now. When I reached the stove I heard the chatter of voices, sounding like Ammu and Omar. I peeped through the small window directly above the stove and saw them sitting side by side sucking on cherry-flavoured cooling ice popsicles, which were taken round on a cart almost every day and sold to villagers, mostly children, to combat the scorching heat. I served two portions of soup and walked over to join them. With part of me too guilty to even make eye contact with Omar, I placed the tray beside them and began to walk away.
‘Saira, here’s one for you,’ he called out, handing me a popsicle whilst pulling out a chair for me to sit next to them. I accepted, sitting close by, although I felt slightly uncomfortable at first. I desperately needed a window of opportunity to apologise, and needed to do this in the absence of my mother. The three of us sat there a little while immersed in the signature heat of our native land. I listened to Omar telling Ammu about his day, and how he had had an appointment with a lawyer. He was preoccupied and lines of worry and tension were clearly visible across his forehead. I had no experience of meeting with lawyers, although I knew they were consulted to unravel both minor and major disputes through a court of law. I hoped that it was nothing major and prayed for it to be resolved soon.
Ammu chose to rest for some time, so I took the opportunity to apologise. I walked back into the kitchen where Omar appeared to be searching for something. ‘Saira, I need some hot water,’ he said looking around. I handed it to him, unable to make eye contact.
‘Omar,’ I said. He stopped momentarily, allowing me to speak. ‘I am extremely sorry about my behaviour yesterday. I had no right to shout and be rude and obnoxious like that. I want you to know that I deeply appreciate what you have done and the way you make Ammu happy just by being around her. I am so grateful for that, so thank you.’
‘Saira, you’re most welcome, and no apology is needed,’ he replied as if nothing had happened, which baffled me.
‘If there’s anything I can do to make up for my horrid behaviour…’ I asked hopefully.
‘There is one thing. I am a great fan of flatbread – if one day you could prepare some with curried papaya then that would be lovely,’ he replied with humour. This was the very first time he had asked anything of me, or Ammu for that matter.
I smiled, nodded, and said, ‘Consider it done.’ I began to feel a light relief and was glad I’d had the opportunity to apologise.
‘Saira,’ he said, ‘please continue smiling,’ and then walked towards his room. A part of me agreed with him; I had stopped laughing or smiling and surrendered to a life of sadness.
The afternoon was fast approaching so I took out the leftover papayas from the other day that I had kept in the vegetable storage area and began to peel them in preparation for dinner. I began by kneading the chapatti dough ensuring the consistency was soft and stringy just the way Ammu did. I cooked the papaya with turmeric and green chillies and rolled out the chapattis ensuring they were as round as I could roll them. Just like every other day, Omar and Ammu walked into the kitchen, chatting together. They sat at the table as I served them and walked over to the stove to collect water. All of a sudden I heard a ferocious roar of laughter and it seemed both Ammu and Omar were laughing hysterically, holding up a chapatti. I looked up in confusion, only to realise that the chapatti was almost octagonal shaped, hence the laughter. I inspected all of them to discover that not one was circular. How I had remained oblivious to this while I was rolling them, I could not fathom. Just then both Ammu and Omar became silent, staring at my serious face. In retaliation I stared back at them and burst into laughter, which they soon joined in.
‘Saira, I wonder if Omar knows that you could never master the art of rolling flatbread,’ Ammu said, smiling.
‘He does now,’ I said, holding one up. That night had been memorable; laughter echoed throughout dinner and onto the patio where we drank warm ginger tea. I felt a glimpse of happiness return after what had felt like being stuck in a dark space, without a ray of light, for an eternity. I stared out into the darkness of the night taking a moment to contemplate, reflect and evaluate. I contemplated the journey I had taken to be here today. Then I reflected on life since our arrival in this village and I suddenly came to a realisation. How long could we live on Omar’s hospitality and humility? I went to bed that night with a new-found hope, and a new perseverance that had awakened within me, leading me to believe that I needed to find the strength and passion to pursue a life that was based on happiness of the heart. What is happiness? I questioned, although I knew that I had been happy back in my Jahed Pur home. However, meeting Omar had taught me that perhaps the definition of true happiness is being content and thankful for whatever you have, be it little or large in amount.
The next day I woke up with a feeling of great purpose, a determination that, no matter what, I would think positive. No matter how much the past continued to haunt me, I would not succumb to it. No matter how strong the fear, I would replace it with courage and strength. It seemed Omar’s infectious smile and optimism were truly contagious. I served them both breakfast and to my surprise Omar had not left early this morning; they were both walking along the dusty courtyard of the front patio deep in conversation and banter. Together they devoured mid-morning snacks and drank warm tea. I collected all the laundry, took it down to the pond and washed it thoroughly, mentally ticking off each task as I completed it. I returned to the house carrying the heavy bucket of wet clean clothes and climbed up to the rooftop balcony almost out of breath. When I reached the top and stopped to catch my breath, I was surprised to find Omar standing directly opposite me engrossed in a conversation on his mobile phone. As I moved closer, there was evident tension in his tone of voice. He spoke in English and I could hear him saying that he would never agree to sell his ancestral land and that he was willing to take this dispute to a court of law to resolve it. Abruptly he ended the conversation, walking swiftly past me, completely oblivious to the fact that I was standing there. I heard his angry footsteps descending the staircase and wondered who he was having this dispute with. Bewildered, I looked out towards the front of the house and could see Jamal still splashing in the water. I was beginning to convince myself that perhaps he was secretly a mermaid, the amount of time he spent in water each day; his angelic face always brought a smile to my lips. Just then I saw a gentleman walking fast towards the path beyond the pond; when I looked a second time I realised it was Omar and he was carrying a folder. I wondered where he was going and if something sinister had occurred, especially after the conversation I had unintentionally overheard.
I returned downstairs to give Ammu her medication, which was doing wonders for her, and lately I had even noticed she seemed happier, which I knew deep down was because of Omar’s benevolent influence. I swept all the back rooms while Ammu sat out in the courtyard picking through spinach leaves for me to prepare for dinner. I found myself preoccupied and unsettled almost the entire day, mostly out of concern for Omar. I decided that upon his return I would ensure that he was well, just the way that he ensured we were; I felt an inexplicable obligation towards him and responsibility for his well-being.
Dusk was approaching and still there was no sign of him. Ammu and I ate dinner together and I sat with her for a while until she fell asleep. In anticipation, I laid out dinner for Omar and decided to take a walk to the rooftop balcony as sleep was a rather distant notion for my unsettled mind. I stepped out quietly into the dark back courtyard; the night felt warm and humid with a little soft breeze. I climbed the stairs slowly up to the rooftop and walked all the way to the front, looking out on the sleeping village under a perfectly aligned heavenly beacon of a thousand stars or more. I could hear Layla’s b
aby crying, the sound of the waves in the pond crashing into each other, and the breeze blowing leaves from side to side. I heard the hum of the mosquitoes as they whizzed back and forth. You rarely heard cattle at this time, or people for that matter, as the entire village lay still, serene and composed; the irony was that this was the exact opposite of the chaos in my mind. I closed my eyes, momentarily surrendering to peace and harmony, and indulged in the gentle breeze that blew across my face.
‘It’s beautiful at this time, isn’t it?’ A voice startled me to the point that I jerked in rapid response. ‘I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ said Omar looking out onto the same view I had been admiring only a few seconds before.
I wrapped my hijab tightly around my face, composed myself and said, ‘Oh, I just didn’t expect to find you, or anyone, up here.’ I was astounded to find him here and my initial thought was to ask him about his conversation earlier; however, something was holding me back. ‘It is very beautiful here,’ I agreed, and then said, ‘We thought you were out.’
‘Sorry, I should have let you guys know,’ he replied with a deep intensity in his eyes. He appeared upset and I could not help but wonder why, although I felt unable to ask him.
‘Do you come up here often?’ I asked in an attempt to break down the barrier that was preventing me from asking him anything more.
‘I come up here mostly when I need space and time to reflect and think,’ he said.
‘Good thinking spot,’ I confirmed. He appeared detached and not his usual self, and the infectious smile was nowhere to be seen. We stood in awkward silence, lost deep in thought. ‘Is everything all right, Omar?’ I blurted out. ‘It’s just you have been gone for the entire day so me and Ammu were wondering if you were okay,’ I continued.
‘Sorry, I have actually been sitting up here for the last few hours just trying to resolve something,’ he said. Every crevice within me was shocked to learn he had been sitting here in isolation and despair. I wondered why he hadn’t just come to speak to me or Ammu about his difficulties, why was he choosing to face them alone when he had shouldered our troubles; surely today we had a responsibility towards him.
‘Please don’t do it,’ I said to him with urgency in my voice. I felt relieved that the night was now dark enough to conceal the expression on his face, as I dreaded that he may warn me not to interfere in his personal matters.
‘Don’t do what, Saira,’ he questioned. I was quiet, speechless, unsure of how to answer his question. ‘Saira,’ he said again.
Hesitantly I said, ‘What I meant is please don’t give up your ancestral land, it’s your last and only connection to your parents. Don’t part with it.’ Silence ensued for a moment and then Omar sighed deeply. ‘I am sorry, I never meant to interfere, it’s your personal matter,’ I said dejectedly.
‘No, you’re absolutely correct, I have no intention of parting with that land,’ he said, much to my relief. He informed me that the paternal uncle who had raised him after the demise of his parents was now forcefully demanding that he hand over a piece of land that had been lovingly nurtured by his parents. The most unfathomable aspect was that this was a direct consequence of his uncle developing a personal vendetta against him, only Omar did not disclose the reasons behind the vendetta. His parents had planted many trees on that land which today held invaluable importance. I sensed the pain in his voice and was able to completely empathise with him; thinking of my father, this was a pain I knew, recognised and felt all too well. He walked right to the back of the balcony, looking out. ‘Saira, do you know which piece of land it is?’ he asked, as I followed behind. He pointed towards the meadow of greenery that surrounded the magnificent papaya and jackfruit trees. Now I understood why he held that particular place in such high esteem. I left him standing there absorbed in thoughts of his parents and wished him goodnight.
Just as I began to climb back down the stairs I heard him call out, ‘Saira.’ I stopped and he asked, ‘How did you know about the land?’ I stood still, trapped by his question as I feared he would think I was purposefully eavesdropping on him and his life. He repeated the question, only adding to my stress. I decided to live on the edge and confess the truth. Hesitantly I explained that earlier that day I had been on the rooftop with laundry and had accidently overheard his conversation whilst he had been talking on the phone. Immediately I apologised, attempting to convince him that it was truly accidental. However, he appeared dismayed by my confession. ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ he said, ‘I had that conversation in English, so how did you…’ he continued and then paused. The conversation had now begun to unravel many untold mysteries. ‘So you can understand English,’ he said in disbelief. I was quiet as the question deepened the pain in my unhealed wounds.
‘I can speak and understand English,’ I revealed. To say he appeared shocked would be an understatement and I was able to predict his next question without him even having to vocalise it. I informed him that I used to teach basic English to pre-schoolers and that my long-term plan was to continue pursuing my teaching career.
‘That’s amazing,’ he said in awe. I sensed that this truth had exceeded his expectations in more ways than one. ‘Wait, so how come you’re here as a maid?’ he asked, mystified. I became silent at once, as the answer to his question was the bitter truth full of memories I wanted to conceal and forget. I took in a deep breath. I figured he must have felt he had crossed a line, a line that for me only caused pain that was suppressed deep within my heart. Without a pause Omar wished me goodnight and retired to bed. It was late and the village was enveloped in darkness. It had been a night filled with revelation after revelation on both sides. It was ironic, but the three of us had almost been made captive in a bond consisting of unresolved pain, a deep passion for life and concern for one another. It made me question how sometimes the bond of humanity was perhaps just as strong and resilient as the bond of blood. Every inch of my physical being ached with fatigue and exhaustion. Whilst Omar’s question continued to echo around me, I could not bear to reveal the truth to him, and I felt guilty for this. It was an expectation of his I could not uphold; it was too painful and raw to resolve with spoken words, so I deemed it best to keep it locked away from him as an undiscovered treasure, deep amidst the depths of the ocean.
I turned towards the spiral staircase and headed back down to the house, where the aroma of a sweet mixture resembling amber and sandalwood tickled the tip of my nose. I took a deep breath, inhaling the familiar fragrance of lavender mixed with the scent of the ocean. This aroma captured me right away. I’d recognised that it was in fact Omar’s scent which I had become accustomed to by now. I recalled cleaning his room and seeing the Cool Water perfumed aftershave sitting on his bedside cabinet. I had smelt this umpteen times before without taking much notice. I was unsure why, but the darkness of this night seemed to illuminate the fragrance, causing myriad memories to resurface. I climbed down the stairs, struggling to understand the messages being sent from my mind to my body. I suddenly felt an untold inclination towards this fragrance as if I knew and recognised it from somewhere, as if I held a deep connection to it somehow. I continued walking into the house, puzzled, as I attempted to decode this maze I found myself trapped in. What was it that my subconscious mind wanted to reveal to my conscious mind, and why? The internal debate continued as I lay next to Ammu, watching her sleep peacefully. That night I tried so hard to close my eyes only my mind refused to shut down. I got out of bed and began to pace the room, thinking back to my beloved village. Perhaps I had recognised it from someone else, I questioned, but my subconscious mind denied all recollection. In haste I opened my closet and began to randomly pick out items just to sniff and investigate this aroma further, but my frustration gave way to anger as nothing seemed to fit.
Chapter 13 – The Discovery
I picked up a carrier bag that I had purposefully brought along with me to this village. Today I felt a strong inclination to open this bag once again, as if
an unknown force was connecting the pieces of my fragmented mind.
I took out the beige-coloured shawl I had packed away so neatly, pulling it close to my nose and inhaling the aroma ascending from it. With a deep breath I let out a gasp, dropping the shawl to the floor. I felt a mixture of emotions rush through my veins: shock, horror, disbelief, anxiety and then panic. In need of reassurance I picked up the shawl one more time and sniffed it again. There it was: the sweet mixture of lavender, sea salt, sandalwood and amber so heavily imprinted into this shawl. This was the very shawl given to me to wear by the gentleman I had met the night I had stood stranded on the bamboo bridge, emotionally scattered into a thousand pieces. The night I had decided to finally escape the barbarity inflicted upon me by Hamid and his despicable family. The night that Kamla had so assiduously executed her carefully laid plan, in turn sacrificing herself to give me freedom. The night I vowed to bring back the part of me that had been lost. This had been the shawl that had kept me warm as I was shaking in the night fog. The shawl I had kept with gratitude as I never had the opportunity to thank the gentleman who had saved me, from myself more than anything, on that wretched night. The fact that the gentleman who had enabled me to reach home safely was in fact none other than Omar was far beyond my comprehension. This was why I had found the familiarity of his scent so overwhelming, almost as if standing on the rooftop with him in the dark had re-enacted the events of that night all over again. I sat down on the bed holding the shawl, completely overwhelmed by this discovery. How strange that my head and heart had made this connection. Perhaps I was destined to thank Omar; I contemplated that perhaps this was why fate had caused the two of us crossing paths again.