SIkander

by M. Salahuddin Khan

  This was in-law territory. There was no way the subject would be easy. Everyone knew the matter would come up sooner or later, but it was upon them now and no one had an adequate response. The silence filling the room demanded Sikander continue.

  “I can’t thank you and your gracious family enough for all you’ve done. You’ve opened my eyes to a world I would never have been aware of. So, Brother Abdul Latif, as you’ve been the one to welcome me into your home, I…I’m requesting your permission and that of Sister Razya for Rabia and myself to take your leave and go to Pakistan.” Sikander heaved a sigh. He had finally opened the discussion.

  Abdul Latif sat deep in thought before answering. “Sikander, I…I don’t know what to say. We’ve been proud to consider you a part of our family and we will—so long as I have breath in my body—always call you a son. I suppose I understand the need for you to return to Peshawar but—”

  “You’ve always been a pleasure to have around, Sikander.” Razya interrupted. “I’ve enjoyed your wise words and your courage to fight for what you believe in. It makes me feel no matter where you’ll be, you…you’ll always be with us. With Rabia by your side, we will always be with you, and we know you’ll be there for her. So please, go with all our blessings for both of you.”

  Rabia directed an anxious stare at Noor while her brothers and Hinna studied her intently.

  Having dropped the first bomb, Sikander had little to lose now in dropping the second. “We’d ideally like to be there in time for the start of Ramadhan.”

  “Ramadhan!?” Multiple voices sprang forth in incredulity.

  “Well, yes,” replied Sikander.

  “That means you’d have to leave…tomorrow!?” said Abdul Latif.

  Noor, whose head had hung low since the start of the conversation, allowed herself to meet Rabia’s pained, apologetic gaze. The swelling body of liquid in Noor’s eyes ran out of space, trickling down her face. Yes, she had given her daughter to this adopted son of Abdul Latif. Yes, one day he would no doubt return to Pakistan. But the victory now being savored by her people was to be the very cause of the departure of her daughter, her baby, from her daily life.

  “Adey,” Rabia uttered, intending quiet reassurance as she watched her mother’s emotions unfold. Rabia understood the expression she was witnessing—it was primal; woven into her mother from the day her mother had been born, activated the day Rabia had been born, but held in reserve for this very moment .

  “Adey!” Rabia broke down sobbing on her mother’s shoulder. It was a down payment for an emotionally expensive departure. Not that she wanted to stay—she was keen to go with Sikander.

  “We’ll take you there,” Abdul Latif said, shifting to the matter of “how” from weightier questions of “if” and “when,” both of which seemed to have been resolved by the look in Sikander’s eyes and, curiously enough, thought Abdul Latif, in Rabia’s. No one could hold it against Sikander to want to return. And Rabia? Well, she was now his wife.

  “We’ll go too,” chimed in Ejaz, “Hinna and I can spend some time with her family.”

  “Very well. We’ll also need you, Saleem. You can drive once we pick up the Pajero.”

  On their return that evening, Abdul Rahman and Abdul Majeed were equally despondent at learning of the imminent departure of their mujahid brother, and they, together with Usman spent much of the night chatting about their experiences and how they would always remain “brothers.”

  With hardly a moment’s sleep behind them, the travelers were ready to leave immediately following fajr the next morning, after more tearfully resigned farewells. The newlyweds, together with Abdul Latif, Ejaz, Hinna, and Saleem set off toward Takhto Kalay, each riding a mule with two more in tow carrying provisions and gifts intended for Hinna and Sikander’s families.

  Given the subdued hostilities, they were able to travel without concern, and were in Takhto before noon. Azam and his family extended the usual welcome, which Abdul Latif repaid by delivering a few gifts of clothing for Azam’s wife from Razya. After lunch, they pressed on, so that by early afternoon the group had already passed Showlghar and Chenar.

  Throughout the afternoon, Hinna visibly displayed her anticipation as she neared her maternal home as much as Rabia, meanwhile, grew anxious at leaving hers behind. This was not lost on either of them as they chatted along the way atop their mules, whenever the terrain was smooth enough to permit conversation.

  “I’ve no idea how I’ll adapt to Sikander’s family. What if I make mistakes or they don’t like my habits?” Rabia asked. “Hinna, didn’t you have the same thoughts when you were first coming to Laghar Juy?”

  “Hah! I did!” Hinna laughed. “Some of the things I’d imagined were truly idiotic, though!” she continued. “I suppose it’s natural when you think about it; a new bride moving to her in-law’s family. But knowing my mother-in-law must have gone through the same experiences, did help.”

  “Yes, but do you think that by the time we enter our new families they still remember when they entered theirs?”

  “Who can say, but why not remind them?”

  “How?”

  “Oh, sometimes I’d see that your mother had a moment to chat and I’d ask her how it felt when she first moved into your grandmother’s home. The answer almost didn’t matter. Once her mind was taken there, she’d usually be willing to see my own situation with more understanding.”

  “Hm… Sounds like a good approach. Did you get that from your mother?” inquired Rabia, wondering how her own mother could have shortchanged her on such advice.

  “Not all of it, Rabia. But you know, there’ll be times when you’ll do things so alien to Sikander’s mother that she’ll want to teach you their family’s way and it might not actually be any better. It probably won’t be something serious or important but somehow, I don’t know, I guess it’s all the little things that make us who we are, and when they have to be different for no apparent reason, well, they’re the hardest to change.”

  “So how did you handle that?” Rabia needed every ounce of value she could extract from her mentor’s evident wisdom.

  “Different ways. I’m sure I haven’t finished. Don’t forget though, it matters to me that you have a warm and loving family. The effort to be a part of it is worth it.”

  “That’s kind of you to say, Hinna.” Rabia continued, impressed by Hinna’s depth. “I had no idea you were so well prepared for this sort of thing!” They laughed.

  As the lightheartedness wore off, Rabia’s thoughts drifted once more to being separated from her family. In an effort to distract herself, she considered how lucky Ejaz had been to have stumbled upon such a treasure as Hinna. Knowing she would spend more of Hinna’s seemingly limitless patience and wearing a mischievous grin, she probed. “Hinna, what about Ejaz? Are you pleased with my big brother?”

  Hinna lowered her gaze—her mule had no need of her vision at this moment—and smiled. It was Rabia’s cue to scale back the questioning.

  The question, however, did launch myriad thoughts in Hinna. She had found a loving, considerate, and courageous person who had stepped up to be the family’s father figure after his own had passed away. He’d been burdened in a very real way by the legacy of his father’s martyrdom and met the challenge in whatever way he could. He’d been sensitive to Noor’s situation as a widow. Hinna admired him for all those things but also for the way he quietly and privately cared for her, his wife of just a year. Though she hadn’t let on as yet and it would be another three weeks before she could be certain, she believed that she might be expecting their first child.

  About an hour before sunset, they were in the approaches to Hinna’s home village. Long mountain shadows painted the plain as the travelers approached her home. Finally, just before dark, they were at Yaqub’s door as the household spilled out in commotion upon learning who had arrived.

  After the usual welcoming hugs, greetings, and light refreshments, gifts were unpacked and presented to the family.
Like many rural families, Yaqub’s maintained a small stock of typically homemade items that could readily be given as gifts in case the need arose with unannounced guests. Abdul Latif and Sikander were each handed a few such items while a one-thousand rupee note was thrust ceremoniously into Rabia’s hand.

  As the travelers began to unwind for the end of the day, Hinna felt beyond happy, her face displaying to Rabia a previously unseen level of contentment. She was back—back among her parents and siblings. The real Hinna, thought Rabia. Directing her attention to Ejaz, she could see more clearly what had assailed her brother’s heart upon first laying eyes on his wife. Rabia couldn’t help drawing comparisons between her situation and Hinna’s and knowing that she and her friend would soon be parting simply amplified her nervousness about settling in with Sikander’s family.

  With their unpacking complete, Ejaz and Hinna had now become hosts for the rest of them. The next morning, Hinna proudly prepared breakfast, serving nihari, paratthha, and a semolina halwa. It was a substantial meal for the four remaining travelers.

  With breakfast behind them, it was time to depart. It would be unwise to allow the day to get ahead of them. If they were lucky enough to arrive with plenty of spare daylight and to find the Pajero at the staging house near the Torkhum Road, they would continue on to Jamrud directly. Although it wasn’t far, the rough going would make nighttime travel unwise and that would force them to spend the night in the staging house, a decidedly less attractive option than Arif’s place.

  The mules were re-packed and the time for farewell salaams was upon them. The girls hugged with heavy hearts. Rabia’s sentiments were all the more acute from losing Hinna’s valued company. She wiped her face with her dupattha before turning finally to Ejaz. A calm force, Ejaz could handle himself as well as many and better than most mujahideen. He was tough and battle hardened, not given to outbursts or displays of emotion. Yet in seeing his little sister now ready to leave, he too was reduced to weeping. Passing the palm of his hand over her head in a fatherly blessing, as she cried, Ejaz buried her head in his chest and arms. He was her brother, her protector, and together with her uncle, was a source of solace as both men had done their best to prevent Rabia from feeling the full pain of losing her father.

  Abdul Latif and Saleem looked on, struggling with their own composure from this foretaste of soon to be leaving behind an only niece and sister. But to Abdul Latif seasoned sensibilities, this was the way of the world. There wasn’t much that anyone could do about it. The charged atmosphere was not lost on Sikander. Completing his own hugging and salaams, it was all he could do to absorb the pangs of guilt from being an agent of such anguish.

  The travelers rode off, making frequent rearward glances and waving to the family standing outside Yaqub’s home. Eventually they made it to the edge of the plain and began climbing up to the northeast, taking the switchback trails over the ridge into the valley leading to the Khyber Pass and the Torkhum Road. By early evening, not saying much of anything on the way, they reached their familiar stopping point. When they arrived, there was a group of mujahideen heading back over the mountains to Khost awaiting any travelers who might be coming in from the west with more mules. Sikander saw the Pajero outside, well worn and as dirty as ever. He warmed to it like an old friend.

  The vehicle took the switchbacks with ease, delivering significantly more comfort to its occupants than the otherwise loyal mules had been able to do. This was Rabia’s first ride in any automobile since her father, a much better driver than Abdul Latif, had taken his family in a fellow mujahideen commander’s captured old GAZ-69. She had been eleven at the time and from what she could remember, there was no comparison with this air-conditioned vehicle, though it did reek of the charss that was so widely smoked in these parts.

  They were at Arif’s place in short order. Abdul Latif stepped out of the vehicle and struck his crusty fist on the metal gate at the back of the house to announce his presence. Abdullah, Arif’s housekeeper, trotted out scraping his flip-flops over the brick patio. He recognized Abdul Latif and duly let the Pajero back into its home, explaining that Arif was away and would be returning shortly. Everyone entered the house.

  This was not an evening for discussions of war or other planning in the basement. Abdullah showed them into Arif’s well-appointed living room. In the middle was the large Persian rug with its striking gumbad design, familiar to Sikander from his past phone calls. Rabia studied its pattern, thinking of Hinna, the accomplished rug weaver, and feeling the emptiness of her absence.

  Abdullah offered light refreshment as the four of them took their seats. Rabia absorbed the visually splendid setting of Arif’s living room. Her head swiveled as she mentally noted the fabric of the drapes, the items of small furniture dotted around the room, and the bookcase against the wall in front of her, flanked by two evocative Gulgees, though of course she knew nothing of their value nor of the fame of their creator.

  Twenty minutes passed before the sounds of another vehicle, its horn, and the grease-hungry gate swinging open were heard. Moments later, as Arif Saiduddin strolled into the room his face brightened upon seeing his unexpected guests.

  “Assalaamu ‘alaykum wa-rahmatullahi wa-barakaatuhu, Brother Abdul Latif! This is a surprise! What brings you here this evening? I had no word you were coming.” Arif’s enthusiastic demeanor abruptly gave way to a frown. He began imagining the failings in procedures that must have been responsible for this unacceptable lapse. Abdul Latif briefly entertained himself with Arif’s boyish nonsense before letting him know the purpose of their visit on this occasion.

  Arif’s beaming eyes danced between Sikander and Rabia as Abdul Latif elaborated. When the explanation was over, a delighted Arif rose up from his seat.

  “First of all, Ramadhan Mubarak to everyone. And to Sikander and Rabia, may you have barakah and inshaAllah, a long and happy life together. Ameen!” he said.

  “JazaakAllah.” Sikander’s replied graciously.

  “All right, you’re here now and we should organize a special welcome under the circumstances, don’t you agree, Sikander?” Sikander made the customary plea for nothing special to be prepared and the customary apology for arriving unannounced.

  “Oh, that’s all right. It’s really nothing,” countered Arif. “So, Sikander, another call home perhaps?”

  “That would be very kind of you,” replied Sikander. “We’d like to prepare our family for our arrival tomorrow, inshaAllah.”

  “Yes, of course! Let’s do that after dinner and isha, shall we? I’m sure your family will have plenty of time tomorrow morning to make all the necessary preparations for their new bahu!” said Arif.

  “Brother Arif, would it be possible to take the Pajero tomorrow?” Abdul Latif inquired. “

  “W’Allahi, brother, you shame me by even asking. The vehicle and a driver will be yours for tomorrow, and let me know when you want me to make mule arrangements for your return home.”

  “You’re a kind man and you’ll be remembered for all you’ve done for our resistance,” responded Abdul Latif, “and inshaAllah, your reward will be in heaven.”

  The travelers ate dinner, prayed isha, and when all the food had been cleared, everyone except Rabia and Sikander went downstairs to Arif’s large meeting room.

  Sikander picked up the phone and dialed. Javed was the one to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Assalaamu ‘alaykum, Abba-jee!”

  “Sikander? Sofie, come here; Sikander’s on the phone. He must be back in Pakistan!”

  “I’m actually not far from home, Abba-jee, and I received your message and all the wonderful gifts and—”

  “Bettha, when are you coming? Did the wedding take place? Is our bahu with you? Is she there?”

  Javed was barely able to contain his questions. Sofie’s footfalls over their marble floor grew more audible and hurried as she approached the phone.

  Javed handed the phone to his wife.

  “Sikander bet
tha?” Sofie ventured, her voice quivering.

  “Yes, Ammee-jan, it’s me. I’m back. I’m coming home. We’re coming home!”

  Sofie struggled. She could neither speak nor hide her condition. Sikander waited, choosing to allow the silence to do its job. Finally, she said, “Sikander, bettha, we’ve waited so long for those words. Where are you? When will you be here? Did you receive what we sent you, and what about Rabia? Where’s my bahu?”

  “Ammee, here…s peak to Rabia.” Sikander motioned to Rabia to approach and and take the handset.

  “Rabia?” came the voice over the line in as gentle and inviting a manner as Sofie could find.

  “Assalaamu ‘alaykum, Adey,” responded Rabia, struggling to acquaint herself with holding a phone.

  Recognizing the cue, Sofie switched to Pashto. “Rabia, n’zhowr! How are you? How is Sikander treating you? Does he look after you? Oh, I’m so impatient to… I’m so—” Unable to continue, she handed the phone back to Javed. Rabia did the same for Sikander.

  “Rabia?” asked Javed.

  “No Abba, it’s me. InshaAllah we plan to be home tomorrow by mid-afternoon.

  “Abba, we did it with the Russians. They’re finally leaving! This was what we talked about at school and now it’s actually happening!”

  “It’s hard to tell you what I feel right now, bettha. Alhamdulillah! Allah guided you to answer his call and you took it. I know your education was important, but it can be resumed. I’m so proud of you. I…I just can’t wait to see—” Javed was overwhelmed.

  Sikander waited before softly saying his salaams and cradling the phone. He turned to Rabia as she stared at the floor.

  “What is it?”

  Making no reply, Rabia merely shook her head, engrossed in recollections of everyone back in Laghar Juy and although taken by the obvious warmth of Sikander’s parents, along with Sikander’s own love, she would soon be losing the last remaining thread of connection to her family with the departure of her uncle and brother. Patiently, Sikander took her to rejoin Abdul Latif, Saleem, and Arif.