Beneath My Mother's Feet

by Amjed Qamar

  “I’m warning you, Rashid. Don’t disgrace me in front of my servants. They’ll never listen to me if I don’t keep them in line.”

  “Right. Always trying to keep everyone in your line,” Rashid said with a sigh. “Well, I guess you never learned that kindness creates more loyalty. Not even with your children. You do remember we have children, don’t you?”

  Seema’s face turned a dangerous shade of red. “They didn’t leave because of me!” She looked at Sherzad and Nazia. “Give them all of it,” she sputtered. “Our money grows on trees, doesn’t it? You can pick more notes from the branches and give those away too while you’re at it.” A stream of insults spewed continuously as she huffed out of the kitchen and walked away.

  Rashid rested his cane against the cabinet and picked up the serving spoon. “Bring me your plate.”

  Sherzad looked at Nazia, but she shrugged and motioned for him to go to the sahib. It was the first time Nazia had ever run into the sahib since they’d started working at his house. She watched him as he ladled the beef onto Sherzad’s plate. Peppery hair, closely clipped, encircled the back of his balding head like a crescent moon. His trousers were belted high at the waist, and his white shirt was dusty and wet across the back. She wondered where he spent his day, dressed so finely yet still grimy and sweaty.

  After Sherzad left the room, the sahib reached for his cane and turned to Nazia. “I have two business associates in the drawing room. I need three cups of chai right away. And send in some cold water. The streets are boiling out there.”

  With Seema sulking in her room and Amma sweeping the walkway outside, Nazia had no choice but to brew and serve the tea herself. She carried the mopping rag and bucket to the outdoor basin and washed her hands under the faucet, then hurried back inside. She wanted to go check on Sherzad to make sure he was okay, but there was no time.

  She spent the next half hour serving drinks and biscuits to aging men in suits and dusty shoes. They talked loudly and laughed suddenly, never acknowledging her presence.

  Just before leaving, the sahib stopped Nazia in the kitchen. “Shukriya, beta. You did a fine job.” He filled a steel bowl with gosht salan and handed it to her. “Share this with your family.”

  Nazia flushed with pride at the unexpected kindness and gratefully took the beef stew. When the cleaning was finished, she sat with her family in a tight circle on the veranda. As they scooped the food out, Nazia told her mother how Seema had struck Sherzad.

  Amma merely grunted between bites, her indifference infuriating Nazia.

  “He’s no bigger than Isha. How can she do that to him?”

  “How can she not? He’s her servant. He should have known by now not to complain about his food.”

  “But the sahib scolded baji. He gave Sherzad the gosht even when baji wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t for one minute think that the sahib wouldn’t have lifted a hand at the boy. Make no mistake about that. And just because you call the memsahib ‘baji’ doesn’t make her care about you like a big sister would. Sahibs, memsahibs . . . they are all the same. We are nothing more than servants to them and never will be. Now be quiet and finish up.”

  “Well, I’m going to see if Sherzad is okay. Baji hit him pretty hard.” Nazia began to stand, but Amma grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to the ground. Isha stopped eating and stared at her mother.

  “Sit down and eat,” Amma said crossly.

  “But—”

  “If you don’t eat it, then feed it to Mateen or Isha.” Her eyes softened. “It’s gosht, beta. How often do we get meat, child?”

  Nazia tore off a small piece of roti. Mateen was already at her side, and she shoved the morsel into his open mouth. She fed half the gosht to Mateen and ate the rest herself. When they were done, she rinsed the plates outside and set them on the ledge to dry while Amma told the memsahib that they were leaving for the day, then headed for the gate.

  “Carry me,” Mateen complained.

  “You have feet,” Nazia snapped. “Walk.”

  Isha looked crossly at Nazia before taking her brother’s hand in hers, leading him to the gate. Nazia snatched their belongings and stomped after her mother. She didn’t know if she was irritated at her mother for not caring more about Sherzad, or if she was mad at herself for eating the meat and enjoying every bite. Passing Sherzad’s room, she could hear him sniffling inside. She edged closer to the door, but Amma stopped her.

  “Stay out of it, Nazia. It’s not your business.”

  “How can you walk past him, Amma, and not do anything? He’s just a kid.”

  “He got what he wanted, didn’t he? More food? Meat?”

  Nazia couldn’t understand why her mother was being so callous. She was always so tender with Mateen and Isha. “But baji hit him. Hard. What if he was Isha? Or Mateen?”

  “But he’s not, is he?” Amma asked, her voice tired. She draped her dupatta over her head, tucking the edges behind her ears to keep it from blowing off. “Let his own mother worry about him, beta. I have enough on my mind worrying about Bilal and what could be happening to him.” Amma gave the gate a hard push and walked through without looking back.

  When they returned home late in the afternoon, the door was open and Abbu was nowhere in sight. Puzzled, Nazia stepped inside. Before she could stop her, Amma pushed past her, out of the blazing rays of the sun.

  The house was in shambles. Nazia’s heart hammered in her ears as she looked at the mess, and Amma began to wail.

  “Ya Allah! Ya Allah!”

  The mattress was overturned and the pillows stripped of their covers. Clothes and sheets were scattered across the floor, and every cupboard in the kitchen was open, the contents strewn across the counter, toppled over, and some on the floor. Amma staggered to the small closet in the corner of the house, and Nazia hurried after her when she realized what Amma was doing. When Nazia reached down to help pull the heavy suitcase out of the closet, she nearly fell backward as it sailed out of the closet, weightless.

  Amma whimpered as she yanked at the zipper of the oversized bag. Nazia watched her mother fumble with the metal teeth. Who would bother to zip up a suitcase after stealing everything inside it? Still, when Amma flung the lid open, the emptiness hit her with unexpected force. Amma collapsed over the empty bag, her body heaving as she sobbed. Nazia laid a hand over her mother’s shaking back. All of her dowry was gone. The gold bangles, the necklaces, the earrings, a lifetime’s worth of savings. Even the intricately beaded garments, designed to be worn only after her wedding, were missing.

  Mateen jumped into the suitcase and pressed himself against his mother and began crying too. Nazia motioned to Isha to help calm the boy. Isha remained by the door, her eyes wide with fear as she shook her head and refused to move.

  “Amma.” Nazia wanted to say, Don’t worry; it was only clothes and jewelry. But they both knew it was more than that. Nazia held Mateen on her lap while he cried. Vivid memories flashed through her mind as she recalled the times her mother had come home with velvet boxes filled with gold and precious stones. Every year Amma added a necklace or a pair of earrings to the dowry. Small but precious offerings for a daughter’s security.

  Nazia tried to soothe Amma’s pain, but it was no use. Years of hard work were wiped out in a single blow, and she realized that it would take Amma a long time to recover. She tended to her siblings, comforting them with a few soft words, then began the arduous task of cleaning. As she picked up the debris and replaced the sheets, she couldn’t help wondering where her father had gone. He should have been here. This never would have happened if he had been home. When Amma’s moans subsided to sniffles, Nazia pulled her mother to her feet and helped her to the bed. Amma crumpled onto the mattress and buried her face in the pillow.

  Even though the stolen jewelry was hers, Nazia felt no attachment to it, at least not in the way Amma did. Amma was the one who had skimmed money Abbu had given her for food and clothes, tucking it away year after year. The thief had
robbed Amma, not her.

  But as Nazia smoothed her mother’s hair, a new thought crept into her head. After only a few weeks of cleaning houses Nazia had begun wondering if life would be easier when she married her cousin and moved back to their village. It was a daydream that made the cleaning jobs go by faster. But with no dowry, there was a real possibility that the wedding would be postponed. No girl she’d ever known had gotten married without a dowry.

  Nazia turned on the TV for her brother and sister, then sat outside to wait for Abbu. Within minutes Maleeha came out of her house and rushed over.

  “Did he take everything?” Maleeha asked, her voice cautious.

  Nazia stared at her. “How did you know we were robbed?”

  “Just tell me, what did he take?”

  “The only thing taken was the jewelry and some of the clothes for my dowry. It was all in a suitcase.” She peered at Maleeha. “Why would they take my clothes?”

  “It wasn’t a they,” Maleeha said fervently. “It was a him. And he’s probably going to sell them to a shopkeeper.”

  Nazia gaped at her friend in sudden realization. “You saw him? You know who did this?”

  Maleeha nodded. “I came over thinking you were home. I knocked on the door because I could hear noises from inside, but the door was already open. So I gave it a little push and called you. Only you weren’t there.” Maleeha grabbed her hand and squeezed. “But your brother Bilal was.”

  Nazia curled her fingers around Maleeha’s hand, not trusting herself to speak.

  “I saw him with my own eyes.” Maleeha peeked inside the doorway before speaking again, her voice hushed. “He tore everything apart. Like he was looking for something. I guess he knew your mother must have kept the jewelry in the house. He had everything in a shoulder bag, like a backpack, and he left on his motorcycle.”

  Nazia pulled her hands away and hugged herself. When she finally spoke, her voice shook. “Did you see Abbu?”

  “No.” Maleeha’s brows knitted together. “Are you going to be okay?”

  Nazia sighed. “Just don’t tell Amma it was Bilal. The news will kill her.”

  “I won’t. Are you sure you don’t need anything? I can ask my mother to send some food, if you want. I didn’t tell her about seeing Bilal, though.” Maleeha rolled her eyes. “You know how she is. The whole neighborhood will know by nightfall if she finds out.”

  “No. It’ll get back to Amma somehow if you tell her.” Nazia stood and shook the dust from her shalwar. “I’ll see if there are any leftovers. If not, I’ll cook some rice or something.” She gave Maleeha a fierce hug. “Thank you.”

  Maleeha’s smile faltered. “I guess this means you really aren’t coming back to school anytime soon, huh? Ms. Haroon keeps asking about you.”

  Nazia was surprised at how quickly the tears sprang up.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Maleeha grabbed her dupatta and wiped Nazia’s face before she could back away. “I didn’t mean to do that, it’s just that I . . . we miss you, that’s all.”

  Nazia nodded. “It’s okay. I’m fine.” She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled loudly. “I’ll do whatever I must to help Amma. I just don’t understand why he would steal from us. He must know that Amma misses him.” She looked off into the distance, at the diehard cricket players indifferent to the relentless heat.

  Maleeha shook her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t look good, though — he seemed thinner and meaner, I guess. I should know, remember? I always thought he was cute.” A startled look crossed her face. “But he doesn’t know I saw him, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t see me, so if he comes back, don’t tell him I ratted on him.”

  “I won’t.”

  After Maleeha left, Nazia stood for a few more minutes watching the cricketers play. Why couldn’t her brother have been like one of them? Even if these boys were considered lazy for spending every minute after school playing cricket, at least their mothers could stand outside their doorways and holler for them to come home. At least they were there when their families needed them. Now she knew for certain that Bilal would never come to their rescue the way Amma believed.

  Even though Amma deserved to know the truth, Nazia vowed that she wouldn’t be the one to shatter her faith. She would carry the secret of his betrayal for as long as she could, until the weight of the knowledge dragged her down and she could no longer climb up the hill to clean houses with Amma.

  At Fatima’s house the next morning Nazia swept the veranda in slow arcs. She was lost in thought, still shocked by Bilal’s betrayal, and didn’t notice Fatima baji watching her curiously from inside. The creak of the screen door barely registered in her brain, and it wasn’t until the memsahib shook her arm that she broke out of her reverie.

  “What’s wrong, beta?” Fatima asked.

  Nazia looked up at her, then away when she saw that her concern was genuine. “Nothing,” she mumbled.

  “There must be something. You and your mother look so sad, and the younger ones aren’t here today. Are they sick?”

  “No. Abbu kept them with him today.”

  Fatima crossed her arms, waiting. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  The screen door creaked and Amma joined them on the veranda. “We were robbed last night, baji. Nazia’s jahez is gone.”

  Fatima clucked her tongue. “They took her dowry?”

  Amma nodded.

  “But wasn’t your husband home? I thought he broke his leg?”

  “Nahi.” Amma snorted. “He’s fine. He’s just decided that he doesn’t need to work. All our men are like that, you know. I thought he would be different. It just took him longer, that’s all.”

  Nazia stopped sweeping. How could Amma speak so harshly about Abbu? Maybe he wasn’t looking for work as quickly as he should be, but that was no reason to be disloyal to him.

  “Well, do you think he stole it?” Fatima asked.

  Nazia dropped the broom. “Of course not! You don’t even know him!”

  “Now, Nazia, I thought he might have.” Amma sat down on the veranda steps, wiping sweat off her face with the bottom of her kameeze. “When he came home last night, he seemed just as upset as me, so I can’t be sure. I don’t know. I’m too tired to speculate.”

  “Well, I can’t offer you much else but to pay you early, so here it is.” Fatima reached inside her kameeze and pulled out the folded rupees. She started to walk back into the house, then stopped. “I have some extra things you can take with you when you leave today. Vegetables with rice. Some biscuits for the children. I’ll pack it up for you.”

  Amma only nodded.

  So there it was. Fatima’s hidden good side. Nazia knew she should be grateful for baji’s kindness, but she couldn’t help feeling shamed by the pity she saw in the woman’s eyes. And the betrayal she’d just heard from her mother’s lips.

  She watched her mother and tried to understand what she was going through. Which was worse for Amma? Believing your husband robbed you or knowing it was your son? Amma already believed that Abbu was faking the seriousness of his injuries and intentionally dragging out his recovery. But did she really think so little of him that she could believe so quickly that he was the one who stole her jahez?

  Nazia picked up the broom to continue sweeping the veranda, her brow furrowed as she wondered how Amma could believe Abbu to be so heartless. He was always there to care for them even when her brother wasn’t. She would keep silent about Bilal, but she needed her mother to be more faithful.

  Nazia stopped sweeping and sat down beside her mother. She pressed her hands to Amma’s knees and forced her to look at her. “Abbu didn’t take my jahez. I know it.”

  Amma sighed. “You are practically a woman, and yet you still see everything through the eyes of a child.”

  Nazia shook her mother’s knees in frustration. “I’m not blind, Amma, but I know he didn’t take it. I cannot tell you how I know, but I know it.”

  “I worry about your thoughts
, beta.” Amma cupped Nazia’s face with both hands. “They are clouded, willful, and not suited for a girl so close to marriage. I am awake late into the night because I worry for you.”

  “Amma, you should sleep instead,” Nazia replied lightly. “Then maybe you wouldn’t be so tired.”

  “Who knows when Allah plans to grant you wisdom? For your sake I pray it is soon.”

  Amma dropped her hands and closed her eyes. Nazia stared at her mother’s sparse eyelashes and realized that she had to convince Abbu that he needed to go back to work. It was the only way Amma would believe in him again.

  Amma kept some of the money and gave the rest to Abbu when they went home that evening. “Now, don’t you stop anywhere,” she warned. “Take that straight to Iqbal for the rent, and tell him from now on we won’t fall behind.”

  “Mateen and Isha have been making me crazy the whole day. I need to get some air. Don’t worry. I’ll pay Iqbal sahib and be home by the last prayer.” Abbu stuffed the money into his kurta pocket and slipped on his worn leather sandals before heading out the door. “Go ahead and eat dinner without me,” he called behind him. “I’ll grab something along the way.”

  Amma moved quickly to the doorway. “You’d better not spend the rent on your fat belly!” She turned back and muttered, “I should have taken the money to Iqbal myself.”

  Abbu had insisted on taking the rent to the landlord, admitting he was well enough to take the bus. Nazia hoped that his admission of health meant that his spirits were improving. Once the rent was paid, it would be one less thing for her parents to worry about. Tomorrow she would nudge him about finding work. Maybe even offer to walk with him to Gizri and share a cold glass of yogurt lassi.

  “He’ll take care of it,” Nazia said. “I guess he’s trying, isn’t he?” She wasn’t so sure anymore, but there was no point in letting Amma know her doubts. “He watched Isha and Mateen all day, and he even told us he was feeling better. He’ll find a job soon, Amma. Just be patient.”