Beneath My Mother's Feet

by Amjed Qamar

“Hmph,” Amma snorted. “He’s just sitting around to see how much we will do when he does nothing.”

  “Well, I don’t believe that,” Nazia said firmly. “Abbu has always taken care of us, and there’s no reason for him to stop now.” She looked into her mother’s amber-colored eyes. “And just forget about what baji said. Abbu would never steal my dowry or destroy our house. Someone else did it, so just forget about it.”

  Nazia could almost hear her mother tallying up the years that had gone into putting the dowry together. No one in their neighborhood would risk putting such precious valuables in a bank for safekeeping, but then no one would ever have expected their own son to steal from them.

  “Cheer up.” She waved the sack of food Fatima had given them. “We don’t have to cook dinner tonight. But first we’ll have a nice cup of tea and some biscuits.”

  Amma caressed Nazia’s cheek, her tone suddenly somber. “You are the light of my life, beta. You know that, don’t you?”

  Nazia smiled. “I know, Amma.”

  “Whatever I do, it is only to ensure your happiness, your future.”

  “Amma, please, I know all that.”

  “It pains me to have you clean with me, but I have no choice. You see that, don’t you?” Amma pulled her daughter close. “I see how hard you work. You are my strength, beta. With the jahez gone, I need your help for just a little longer.”

  “I’ll always do whatever you want, Amma. You know that.” Nazia pressed her face in the crook of Amma’s neck, breathing in the scent of jasmine, tangy sweat, and mustard oil.

  Amma pulled away and looked at Nazia worriedly. “Sometimes I wonder. You are the perfect daughter, but your will is strong. Sometimes, I think, stronger than mine.”

  “Amma, stop worrying. You know I will always do whatever must be done.”

  “That is what I love about you, beta. But that is also what I’m afraid of.”

  Nazia wiped away the tear that slipped from the corner of Amma’s eye. She knew that her mother was just upset about the lost dowry, but why did she get the strange feeling that there was something else? That Amma was trying to warn her about something? She shook off the feeling and gave her mother a hug. There was money for rent and they had food for the night. For once let there be joy, she thought. “Go sit down, Amma, and stop your worrying. I’ll make the tea.”

  Nazia prepared the tea while her mother went outside, where a neighbor hovered near their doorway, eager to chat. Nazia poured an extra cup and set it on a tray with half of the biscuits.

  She carried the tray outside and distributed the tea and biscuits. She grinned at Mateen and Isha as she watched them devour the first biscuit, then nibble slowly on the next one, savoring every crumb. Nazia took her cup and settled in beside them to watch the field teeming with kids, the murmur of her mother and neighbor chatting behind them. Older boys had taken over the cricket pitch, and a serious competition was in progress. Nazia spotted Maleeha and Saira on the edge of the pitch, feigning boredom. Nazia squinted. Was Maleeha wearing that pink material from the cloth market? It was far too fancy for ordinary use, and Nazia wondered if Maleeha’s mother had just sewn it for her and she was showing off in front of the cricketers.

  She dipped her cumin biscuit into the tea and let the shortbread melt on her tongue. She never used to drink tea, but ever since she’d started working, Nazia found that tea contained some miracle concoction that soothed away her aches and calmed her nerves.

  She touched a corner of her shirt, the colors faded, the cotton thinning. She wondered whether, if she went and stood with Saira and Maleeha, any of the cricket players would notice her. Her hair had turned coppery under the daily glare of the sweltering sun, and her skin had browned, with freckles popping up everywhere. Blue veins strained against the backs of her hands, and her feet had grown flatter with tough calluses from rubbing against the concrete and marble floors as she worked barefoot throughout the houses. But what bothered her the most were the dark circles under her eyes. They were like half-moons dented into her skin, a bluish hue that cast a shadow over her cheeks, just like Amma’s.

  Would her cousin Salman think her even passably pretty? Would he still insist on marrying her, or would he cringe when he laid eyes on her? They needed to start rebuilding the dowry, for Amma’s sake. Nazia knew that her mother would not be able to rest until there was enough to ensure her daughter’s marriage. How long would that take? How could years of savings be replaced in just a few short months? Abbu had to find work. He just had to!

  It was almost midnight when Abbu slipped into the house. The lights were off, but the glow of the television was enough for Nazia to see by his limp shoulders that they were about to be visited by more bad news. She remained lying on the floor, squeezed next to Isha and Mateen, and waited for him to speak. Amma was on him like ants on cake, asking if he’d paid the rent.

  He held up a hand to silence her. “The money is gone.”

  Amma moaned as she flung herself upon her husband and thrashed him with her fists, landing punches wherever she could. Nazia stood and tried to stop her, but Abbu had already pushed Amma back against the bulky cushions on the floor.

  “Listen to me!” Abbu growled, pulling on the cord of the hanging bulb. Nazia blinked rapidly at the naked light.

  “I was on my way to Iqbal’s house after I ate.”

  “Lies!” Amma wailed, and lunged at him again.

  Nazia yelled at her mother to stop, but Abbu already had his hands clamped over Amma’s wrists.

  “I was attacked by two men on a motorbike. They had a gun and took everything I had. I didn’t even have bus fare to get home.”

  Amma continued to curse and kick at him with her stumpy legs until he released her. Nazia stared at him for a moment before returning to Isha and Mateen, who scooted closer as soon as she lay down. Her parents continued to scream at each other.

  “What’s going to happen now?” Isha whispered, her voice quivering.

  Nazia rubbed her sister’s stomach. “Go to sleep. We’ll figure it out in the morning.” She knew that the voices carried down the street, and by midday everyone would know that Abbu had lost the rent. When Amma accused Abbu of stealing the dowry, the sudden sound of a hand against flesh reverberated within her, leaving her immobile. She wanted to jump up and shout, Stop! It was Bilal who took it — not Abbu! But she was too afraid to move. Nazia feigned sleep when Abbu came close to the bed and pulled the light switch. She welcomed the darkness as it hid her tears that slid easily onto the packed-cotton pillow.

  The next day Nazia stood in Seema’s kitchen washing the lunch dishes. She rubbed the yellow cake of soap with the rag to build up lather and wiped the cloth over the glasses and plates. Seema baji had made beef and potato stew and sent Sherzad out earlier for the naan from the bazaar. The bowl of leftovers sat uncovered on the center table, and Nazia eyed it longingly. Today’s lunch had been stale bread and lentils that had gone bad. Amma had taken one whiff and thrown it in the dirt.

  Seema baji had given them lunch before Amma and Nazia had started the cleaning, since they’d arrived much later than usual. Earlier that morning Nazia had stayed home to watch her siblings while Amma took the bus with Abbu to Tariq Road to speak to the landlord, but Iqbal would hear none of it. There were plenty of people willing to take their place in the cramped quarters where they lived, and Amma and Abbu’s pleading made no difference. Amma had said that when Abbu told the story about being robbed last night, Iqbal threw his head back and laughed. It was the same story he heard every week from other renters who squandered their money. The landlord said they had until tomorrow night to get out.

  Nazia pushed away her thoughts when Sherzad entered the kitchen. He set his empty plate on the table, and before she could stop him, he stuck his fingers into the stew and popped a piece of beef into his mouth. He pressed a finger to his lips as he gulped down the food. He ran to the door of the kitchen and peeked into the lounge.

  “Baji is taking a nap,” N
azia whispered.

  Sherzad scooped another spoonful of stew onto his plate and grabbed a piece of naan from the counter.

  She stopped washing. “You want another beating?”

  He shrugged and took the plate of food outside. He was such a small thing for a ten-year-old. She’d seen the way he put all his energy into whatever he was doing, whether it was sweeping the driveway or cleaning the yard or doing the laundry. She couldn’t imagine Isha having to take on such work and still be starving. Nazia poured a glass of water into the stew and stirred the mixture so the bowl still looked full. At least one of them wouldn’t go hungry today.

  Amma came in as Nazia was drying her hands on her dupatta. “Where’s baji?”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  “Are you finished here?”

  Nazia nodded.

  “Let’s go back to Fatima’s house. Maybe she can offer us a place to stay. Abbu is looking, but I don’t think he’ll have any luck. If she says no, then we’ll come back and ask Seema baji tomorrow.”

  “What about the memsahib from the second house? Her house is not far from Seema’s place.”

  “I’ve already thought of that. We only clean the bathrooms and sweep the floor there. I don’t think the memsahib at that house will make room for us, since we do so little for her. Besides, her quarters are already taken by her live-in servants.”

  Nazia pulled the edge of her dupatta over her head and stepped outside into her slippers. Mateen and Isha had fallen asleep under the shade of the veranda, and reluctantly she shook them. “Wake up. We’re leaving.”

  Mateen whined to be carried and she obliged, pulling Isha along by the hand as they followed Amma to the gate and back onto the dusty road. The sun was hazy, and Nazia’s feet burned inside the slippers. She passed Sherzad’s quarters and stopped when he called out to her.

  “You won’t tell, will you?” He sat on his charpai, his empty plate beside him.

  She shook her head. “Can’t you go to the market and buy a kebab roll or something?”

  He spread out his hands. “No money.”

  “What happens to your money?”

  “Amma comes and takes it. She leaves me some, but I usually spend it on the first day.” He cocked his head. “She doesn’t leave me much, only ten or twenty rupees.”

  “That’s it for the whole month?” Nazia asked in surprise.

  “Well, Amma knows that baji is supposed to give me food and clothes, but it’s not enough. Sometimes—”

  “Hurry up, Nazia,” Amma interrupted. “We don’t have all day.”

  “Gotta go.” She looked at Sherzad apologetically. “If I had the money, I’d give it to you. Maybe tomorrow I can bring you leftovers. I’ll see what I can do.” Nazia waved and caught up with her mother, but with Mateen in her arms and Isha hanging on to her kameeze, she struggled.

  “Amma, slow down!”

  Her mother didn’t slow, and by the time they reached Fatima’s house, Nazia was panting. She put Mateen down and bent over to catch her breath while they waited for the gate to open.

  Amma laughed nervously when Fatima herself opened it. “Baji, what happened to your chowkidar?”

  Fatima sighed. “He left this afternoon to help harvest the fields back home. He always does that at this time of year, but there is never anyone to take his place. My guard left too, to visit his family, but they both promised to come back in a few weeks. We’ll see. What are you doing here? Did you forget something?”

  “Nahi, nahi,” Amma said. “Can we come in?”

  Fatima’s eyes narrowed slightly before she answered. “Is everything okay? Did you find out who robbed you?” She widened the gate for them.

  “Nahi, baji. How will we ever find out? It’s gone — that’s all that matters now.”

  Fatima motioned for them to sit on the lawn, while she perched herself on the ledge that boxed in the jasmine shrubs. “So, tell me. What’s going on?”

  Nazia played with a blade of grass as she listened to her mother explain how Abbu had lost the money Fatima had given them, about the landlord evicting them, and their need for a place to stay. Fatima looked at Nazia, but Nazia averted her eyes, ashamed that Amma’s voice sounded too much like begging.

  “Well,” Fatima said finally. “As I told you before, my chowkidar and guard will be back, and they have families as well who stay in the servant quarters. I don’t have the space for your family, Naseem, but I can probably make room for one of you. If you want to leave Nazia with me, I’d make sure she was well taken care of.”

  Nazia lifted her head. Only her? The possibility of living apart from the family had never occurred to her. She could not recall spending a single night away from her mother, away from her own home.

  “Nahi, baji—” Amma shook her head.

  “She could stay inside the house, if you are worried about her safety. I could clean one of the servant rooms out back that’s used for storage now, and she could keep her things there and use it in the day, but at night she could sleep in the reception area or the dining room, where she’d be safer.”

  Nazia twisted the grass around her fingers and snuck a glance at Fatima. What would it be like to live in the house with the iced teardrops over the dining table and Persian rugs to sleep on? Here would she be able to let go of her family’s burdens and be content as baji’s house servant? Could she really live without her family?

  Nazia knew she was not street smart like Shenaz or book smart like Ms. Haroon. Or brave like Sherzad. It was an impossible proposition. One that she knew Amma would never agree to.

  “Baji.” Amma stood up. “Thank you, baji, for your kindness, but I can’t leave my daughter alone. You know that. You know how the men are and how the other servants will talk. She’s going to be married soon, and I won’t put her innocence in jeopardy.”

  Fatima touched Nazia’s head with the palms of her hands. “Naseem, your daughter will be safe here. I know I have a son, but he is away. The other men here would not dare bother Nazia so long as I’m here.”

  “Nahi. We will find something, baji. Don’t worry. Allah will watch out for us when the time comes. He won’t put us to live on the streets.”

  Nazia’s eyes smarted. She wished fleetingly that she could stay with Fatima. Discreetly she lifted the corner of her dupatta and wiped her eyes. The sense of loss over something that she knew nothing about was strangely overwhelming. Was this one of those willful thoughts that Amma worried about?

  Fatima sighed. “I’m sorry, Naseem. I wish I could help you more, but my servants will be back soon or you know I would take your whole family, don’t you? They’ve been with me for three years now, and in today’s climate that’s a loyalty hard to find.”

  Amma took Isha’s hand and stepped onto the driveway. When she slid her slippers on, Nazia stood too, taking Mateen with her. The sympathy in Fatima’s eyes was undeniable. But Nazia couldn’t help but think of the beatings Sherzad suffered when his mother wasn’t there. Would this baji too suddenly become a different person when Amma left?

  Amma had said all bajis were the same. Nazia didn’t want to believe it, and she couldn’t imagine that Fatima would do anything more than scold her. But it didn’t matter anymore. Amma had refused, and now they would ask Seema tomorrow. Nazia glanced back at Fatima as she said good-bye at the gate, and at the unknown possibilities that slipped away.

  After dinner Amma wandered about the sparsely furnished house, sifting through their clothes, sheets, and cookware. She lifted a round plastic clock from the wall and tossed it into the open suitcase that used to hold Nazia’s jahez. Although it pained her to watch Amma pack away their meager possessions, Nazia knew she was only preparing for the inevitable. If they didn’t find a place soon, by this time tomorrow they would be out on the street.

  The night air was heavy with damp heat and the accumulated fumes from nearby traffic. Nazia sat in the open doorway in the hopes of catching a breeze, but nothing stirred. She spotted the lanky shape of
a man striding toward her in the distance. She squinted, then relaxed when she realized it wasn’t Abbu.

  When he didn’t veer off toward one of the other houses, she craned her neck as she watched him come toward her. Who could he be?

  A gravelly voice called out. “Nazia? Is that you?”

  Nazia stood quickly and draped her dupatta on her head just as the man reached her, his thin frame towering over her.

  He touched her head lightly. “Nazia, beta. Don’t you recognize me?”

  Nazia peered up into his face. His eyes were hidden behind a large pair of thick-rimmed glasses, and a thin graying mustache lined his upper lip. Uncle Tariq!

  “As salam-o-alaikum,” she said slowly.

  What was he doing here? Had Abbu contacted him about the missing dowry? She backed away to go into the house.

  “Abbu isn’t home, but Amma is. Please come in.” She wanted to warn her mother, but Uncle Tariq was right behind her, his greeting a booming invasion in the small house.

  Amma hurriedly dropped a cloth into the suitcase and smiled broadly. “Tariq bhai! What a pleasant surprise.”

  At Nazia’s gentle prodding Isha moved Mateen from the small sofa and settled him on the mattress to make room for Uncle Tariq. The man sank into the cushions with his knees jutting awkwardly close to his chest. He rested his wide hands on his thighs and looked around the disheveled room. Nazia sidled over to the suitcase, flipping over the lid to cover their belongings.

  “Where is Saleem?”

  “I’m not sure.” Amma’s voice cracked when she spoke. “But he’ll be home soon, and I know he’ll be happy to see you. You must be hungry after your long train ride. Did you come straight from the station? You should have told us you were coming, and then I could have prepared a proper meal.”

  “Would you have had the time?” The knob in Uncle Tariq’s throat bobbed up and down. “Naseem, you probably don’t even have the strength to cook for your own family.”

  Amma clasped her hands behind her back. “What do you mean? Of course I can cook.”