Beneath My Mother's Feet

by Amjed Qamar

  Nazia tried to keep her voice even. “I can’t leave now. Baji needs me.”

  “Don’t be crazy, beta.” Amma pressed her arm. “Seema will be fine. You gather your things and let’s go.”

  “Amma, I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  She knew her mother wouldn’t understand. “If we leave now, Seema will be so upset, she’ll make sure we never find work in the city again.”

  “Stop being ridiculous. After you get married, you’ll never need to work in Karachi. There is no need to be so loyal. She is nothing to us. Let’s get your things.” Amma tugged Nazia gently.

  “Nahi, Amma.” Why was her mother being so stubborn? “Amma, I need time to think about this.” She paused. “I don’t know if I want to go at all.”

  “Are you mad?” Amma whispered. “This is what I have prayed for! Your abbu has finally done what he should and fixed the mess he started. Are you going to throw it all away?”

  “No, I just — ”

  “Do you want to clean houses for the rest of your life? Do you want to end up like Shenaz?”

  Nazia pulled her arm away. “No, I don’t. But I don’t know if I want to marry Salman either.”

  Amma gasped. “Ya Allah! I always knew you would do this!”

  “Do what?”

  “I’ve always told you that your thoughts were dangerous. Remember? Not those of a girl about to be married?”

  “Yes,” Nazia said. “But Amma, if you know this about me, why do you keep insisting I go against my wishes or my own thoughts? Why do you pray for something I pray against?”

  Amma raised her hands. “Ya Allah, I should have paid attention to the signs. Why did you keep me blind? Ya Allah, grant me the patience to deal with this child,” she cried. “Why are you doing this to me, ya Allah?”

  Nazia glanced quickly at her uncle. “Amma, stop it,” she hissed. “We have to make them leave!”

  Uncle Tariq stepped closer, his mustache twitching. “What is this?” he demanded. “Is the girl rejecting my son?”

  Amma and Abbu both turned to him, hastily assuring him that everything was fine. “Of course not! She’s just confused about her loyalties,” Amma said. “She is worried about the memsahib’s party. Many people are coming, and Nazia feels badly about leaving now.”

  Uncle Tariq cast a stern look at Nazia. “She knows her responsibilities. She has never shirked them, even when her own father and brother have. Let her stay. We do not leave until tomorrow night anyway. Salman and I will come back for her on the way to the station.” He called out to his son. “Is that fine, Salman?”

  Nazia’s cousin shook his head. “Why? We have only one day in Karachi to finish the shopping. Nazia should come now to choose what she likes, and I won’t have to listen to her complain about my choices after the wedding.”

  “I will be happy with whatever you choose,” Nazia said. “Please go on without me and don’t even think about my preferences. I’m sure you and Uncle Tariq have excellent taste. I couldn’t possibly gather all my things and leave so abruptly. Please understand. One night. That’s all I ask.”

  “All right,” Uncle Tariq said finally. “Your father will come with us and choose on your behalf. We will return for you tomorrow evening before we leave for the station. Make certain you are ready to leave then, beta. There will be no more opportunities after this.”

  Nazia’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.” She backed away from her parents and her uncle, ignoring her cousin’s scowl. “Allah-hafiz!” She walked through the gate and around the catering truck. As she passed Sherzad, he snapped to attention, tossed the broom against his shoulder like a rifle, and saluted her.

  “You’d better be worth all this trouble,” she muttered to him.

  Sherzad laughed, and the sound lifted Nazia’s spirits. She would do this one thing for Sherzad, and then she’d have to decide about her own future. She had less than twenty-four hours to make up her mind. One thing at a time, she said to herself. First, free Sherzad. Second, free yourself, if you dare. Nazia tried to push the nagging thoughts from her mind and rushed back to the kitchen, where the tea had turned cold and bitter.

  Before leaving with his brother, Abbu had pulled Amma aside and demanded that Nazia be ready to leave tomorrow evening. Amma assured him that not only would Nazia be packed and ready to leave, but Amma and the rest of her children would also be ready to travel and attend the wedding.

  Abbu planned to accompany Tariq and his nephew to the market, then return later in the evening in hopes of indulging in the deliciously extravagant food that would be left over from the dinner party.

  Now, several hours later, Nazia sat on the veranda, exhausted. The party had started hours ago, and an endless procession of guests had passed through the gates, all eager to wish the sahib well on the successful completion of his soap factory. Sherzad had been planted at the gate, and there had been no chance to speak or prepare for his departure. Once the guests had arrived, he was assigned the task of ensuring the drivers and guards milling outside the gate received meals and drinks. He ran back and forth from the kitchen to the gate, fulfilling endless requests for more water, more bread, and more curry.

  The din on the lawn, of people talking and laughing, of forks colliding against plates, and bottles of carbonated beverages jostling in their crates as guests sorted through the empty ones, gave Nazia a headache. Her arms ached from carrying trays of dessert plates and teacups to the ladies in the house.

  When Abbu returned, she managed to convince one of the younger waiters to give her a plate laden with beef curry, chicken tikka, and spiced rice. She carried the plate and a bottle of cola outside the gate, where Abbu sat against the boundary wall.

  Abbu took the plate eagerly. “Thank you, beta.” Using his fingers, he shoveled the food into his mouth. When Nazia turned to leave, he grunted at her. “Wait.” He swallowed a piece of beef without bothering to chew it and looked up into his daughter’s face. “You are a lucky girl, Nazia. It is not often that a man gives the girl’s family a second chance. Your uncle Tariq is my brother, I know, but even the bond that ties relatives together is a delicate one, easily broken.”

  “I know, Abbu.” Nazia nodded absently.

  “I am proud of you, Nazia. I am proud of the way you left school to help your mother when she needed you, the way you earn money to feed your family, and I am proud that you were compelled to stay to help the memsahib with her party.”

  “Thank you.” The glow she usually felt when Abbu showered her with praise was gone. Instead a hollowness spread within her.

  “But now it is time for you to get married. Don’t let the rest of these worldly demands interfere and keep you from fulfilling your obligation to your parents and to Salman. He is a good man, and you will both be happy together.”

  “Will I get to finish school once I am married?” The question was out before she could stop it. But she had a right to know, didn’t she? What if marrying Salman was nothing more than exchanging one form of servitude for another?

  Abbu snorted. “Well, that would be up to your husband. Of course, there will be no need to finish school once you are married. I’m sure there will be plenty of work to keep you busy as you set up your new home. Decorating and all that.”

  “Salman has his own house?”

  “Well, no, of course not. You will stay with his parents, as is customary. But I’m sure you’ll want to add your own touches to the house, to make it feel more like home.”

  What touches? The home belonged to her aunt, her future mother-in-law. It was a well-known fact that every new bride deferred to her mother-in-law in all matters, from clothing to decorating. After everything she’d been through, did her father really think she cared about decorating? “I have to get back, Abbu. If you need more food, just ask one of the waiters. No one will mind.”

  “Thank you, beta. Don’t forget what I said, now. Tomorrow when my brother comes for us, you should be ready to go. No excuses
. Understand?”

  “Yes, Abbu.” Nazia left her father to go back inside. Sherzad stopped her at the gate and pulled her into the chowkidar’s room.

  “It’s getting late. I’ve packed a small sack to take to the station. Is it time to go yet?”

  Even in the darkness Nazia could see that he was bouncing, barely able to contain his excitement. “Almost. Let me go check the time. The train doesn’t leave until twelve thirty, but you need time to get to the platform. Do you have everything you need?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you sure? You remember how to get to your dadi’s house, don’t you? If only you knew the address, I would feel so much better. You’ll just have to let your instincts guide you, I guess.”

  “Don’t worry, Nazia baji. I know Multan. I’ve traveled alone many times. It’ll be easy to find her house.”

  Nazia wasn’t so sure. He was still only a boy. But a brave one, she had to admit. What other ten-year-old would have the courage to escape by train in the middle of the night? She wasn’t sure if even she could do it. We all have our own challenges, she thought. The escape is his, the marriage mine. “Gather your things, then. I’ll be back with your ticket.”

  Nazia stepped out of the room and gasped as she collided into her father. His steel plate clattered to the ground, and she swooped down to pick it up. Had he heard her talking with Sherzad? Did he know what they were planning? She straightened and searched his face, but Abbu gave away nothing. “What are you doing inside the gate? You know Seema baji will have a fit if she sees you.”

  Abbu smiled. “I know. There are so many people, she probably won’t even know I am here. Unless someone tells her, of course. I just wanted to get some more food.”

  “Go back outside. I’ll get it for you.” Nazia went back to the rear of the house, where the large pots of rice and curry were stored. She handed the plate to the cook, who ladled another serving onto it. “Do you know what time it is?”

  The cook shouted to a passing waiter. Seconds later he said, “Ten o’clock.”

  Nazia gasped. Already? It would take nearly an hour to get to the station by bus. How could she have let the time slip away so quickly? She mentally kicked herself for not sending Sherzad off sooner. “Could you hold on to the plate? I’ll be right back for it.”

  She went to her room, tore open the plastic bag, and rummaged through the clothes until her fingers touched the paper ticket. She wrapped the ticket in a fold of her dupatta, and clutching it tightly, she went back for her father’s plate. With the ticket concealed in one hand and Abbu’s plate in the other, she headed back to the main gate.

  The chowkidar’s quarters were empty and the gate was open. Nazia stepped out onto the road, where cars were scattered along the curb. Abbu was sitting on the hood of a car, talking to Sherzad.

  “Abbu!” she called, and at the sound of her voice he slipped off the car and came toward her. “Your food.” She handed him the plate. “You shouldn’t be so obvious about being here. Later we’ll try to sneak you in so you can sleep on the charpai, but in the meantime please try to stay out of sight. You know very well how the memsahib feels about you, and if the sahib knew you were here, who knows how he would react.”

  Abbu laughed. “You worry too much. The sahib always loved my work. It is your baji who is so hardheaded. Don’t worry about me. I’ll slip into the shadows here under the neem tree.” He sauntered off toward the cluster of lean trees near the boundary wall.

  Nazia turned to Sherzad. “We haven’t much time.” She unfolded the end of her dupatta and removed the ticket. “Put this in your bag and don’t lose it.”

  Sherzad took the ticket, ran back into the chowkidar’s room, and returned with his belongings to give her one last hug. “I will never forget everything you’ve done for me. You are the best sister anyone could wish for.”

  Nazia blinked to keep the sting out of her eyes. “Go now. When you get to the station, present your ticket at the counter and tell them your parents are sending you to Multan to stay with relatives. When you get on the platform, find some women to sit close to. That way no one will bother you. Go now. There isn’t much time.”

  Sherzad stepped back. “I’ll miss you. Remember to sleep where you can see the stars, baji. No matter what you’ve been through, the lights in the night sky will always soothe away the day’s pain.”

  Nazia smiled. “So you’re a shahir now? Stop stalling, poet. Go!”

  Sherzad wove between the rows of parked cars, bobbing and bouncing as he went, before finally melting into the night.

  Nazia whispered a prayer. Her task was done. All she could do was believe that he would make it home to Multan. She sighed and turned back to go inside. She would have to make sure that Seema baji didn’t notice the boy’s absence, at least until the train left.

  Abbu was not at the wall, but his empty plate was. She picked it up and headed back inside. Feeling drained as she passed Sherzad’s room, she was shocked to see a large foot hanging over the charpai. She stepped inside, and even in the darkness she knew it was Abbu. “What are you doing in here?”

  He waved a hand at her. “I’m not hurting anyone. I’m tired. You’ve no idea how hard I’ve worked to coddle my brother’s ego for you. Let me rest, beta. We both know Sherzad won’t need the bed tonight.”

  Stiffly she backed out of the room. “Sleep, Abbu. I won’t tell anyone you are here.”

  The next hour passed in a flurry of activity as Nazia struggled to complete her chores as well as Sherzad’s. She cleaned up after the guests and corralled their children into one area of the yard. The dishes were whisked away by the catering company, and the tea station was set up on the front veranda. Surprisingly, the men from the catering company completed the tasks that usually fell on her shoulders, and she was genuinely glad for the sahib. His soap factory had made it possible to hire the catering company and ease her workload, and for that she was grateful.

  The guests slowly departed, until only a few stragglers remained to chat with the sahib and sip tea in the drawing room. Nazia washed the excess kitchen dishes and utensils that had somehow found their way into the hands of the guests. When the buzzer to the front gate rang, Nazia dropped a serving spoon into the dingy water and prepared to go to the screen door.

  At that moment Seema entered the kitchen. “Oh, leave it, Sherzad’s there. He’ll get it.” She settled a tray of water glasses on the island. “Here. Wash these, will you?”

  Nazia hesitated. If the buzzer rang again, then Seema would probably go to the gate to scold Sherzad for being so slow, and she would know he was gone. Quietly she turned away from the door. When the buzzer didn’t sound again, she began washing the glasses. Maybe the caterers had left the gate open.

  After the dishes were done, Nazia pulled out her steel plate and drinking glass. Finally she would eat. The caterers had carried the leftovers into the kitchen for the baji, who had drained the trays of beef korma and chicken tikka into her own pots for storage. Nazia moved to the doorway that divided the kitchen and the main lounge. She found Seema sitting on the settee with another guest, drinking tea and reliving the events of the evening.

  “Baji gee.”

  “What is it now?”

  Nazia lifted the plate. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

  Seema sighed dramatically. “I’m too exhausted to serve you. It’s all there in the kitchen. Take it out yourself.”

  Seema’s friend turned to Seema and wrinkled her nose. “You’d let her do that? She might contaminate the rest of the food. You’d have to throw it all out then.”

  “You’re right.” Seema struggled to her feet. “That’s the trouble with servants. You have to be vigilant all the time.”

  Nazia followed Seema into the kitchen. Fuming at the woman’s humiliating comments, she held out her plate while Seema filled it with food. Her indignation slipped away as the aroma of spiced rice and beef curry caused her mouth to water. “Thank you, baji.”

  With a cup of w
ater in one hand and her plate of food in the other, she moved toward the screen door. Now she wanted nothing more than to sit on the charpai in her room and eat her meal slowly, relishing each and every bite. She had made certain that her family had eaten earlier. Amma had finished her tasks and was lounging in the servant quarters with Mateen and Isha. Nazia was sure that her mother was unaware Abbu had returned. She wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible so that Seema would not catch wind of his presence.

  As she was about to push open the door with her hip, the screen suddenly flew open and a thin woman barreled up the steps, a black chadar billowing behind her. Nazia gasped as she was shoved back against the cupboards and the food splattered across the floor at Seema’s feet. Shouts rose up from Seema and the woman, while Nazia got on her knees to sop up her ruined dinner.

  “What insolence is this?” shouted Seema.

  The woman ignored the mess and clutched Seema’s sleeve. An eerie wail escaped from the woman’s lips. “Ya Allah! My son! What have you done with my son?”

  Nazia looked up at the woman. The chadar slipped away and trailed behind her. The woman’s face was contorted in anguish as she pleaded with Seema. It was Parveen, Sherzad’s mother! Dazed, Nazia wiped up the food.

  “You told me you were having a party when the sahib’s factory was finished. I came to share in your happiness and pray for his success. You are always generous, baji, and I thought I would come and eat with my son. But what do I find? You have sent him away! He is gone!”

  Seema pushed her away. “What are you ranting about? I haven’t sent him anywhere. He’s been here all night.” Seema lifted her chin toward Nazia. “Ask her. They’ve both helped me tonight.”

  Parveen whirled at Nazia. “Her? This is all her fault! She’s filled my boy’s head with lies so that she could steal his duty and give it to her father.”

  Nazia stumbled backward until the marble edge of the counter pushed against the small of her back.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Seema shook her head. “You always have this thing in your head that I’m going to replace Sherzad. He’s a willful boy, but he does good work. Don’t worry about it.”