Unmarriageable

by Soniah Kamal

  ‘Alys,’ Mrs Binat said, sitting up, ‘not everyone is content to live the life of an unmarried failure. Lady is bright and beautiful and soulful, and that is why that handsome devil targeted her. If I were him, I’d have done the same. Your father will find them and make them marry. That is what we should pray for.’

  ‘What we should be praying for,’ Alys said furiously, ‘are mothers who do not preach marriage all day every day until—’

  ‘Come, Alys,’ Hillima interrupted her. ‘Come help me make chai.’

  Hillima took Alys by the hand and pulled her into the kitchen. This was hardly the time for daughter and mother to have one of their fights. Alys sank into a chair at the kitchen table. Hillima gave Alys two painkillers. Minutes later Jena joined them. She sent Maqsood, the cook, out of the kitchen and to his room – he had a tendency to gossip.

  Once Maqsood left, Alys asked Jena, ‘Does Mummy really believe Wickaam kidnapped Lady?’

  ‘I don’t know what she believes,’ Jena said. ‘Her beliefs keep changing every minute. If it wasn’t for Hillima, the rest of us would have gone mad by now.’

  Hijab’s mother had phoned that morning. Hillima had brought the cordless into the dining room, where the family was at breakfast. She’d given the phone to Mrs Binat. Seconds later, Mrs Binat had tossed the phone at her husband and proceeded to wail. Hijab’s parents were distraught at their house being the launching pad for such a thing. They’d thought Lady belonged to a good family. Girls from good families did not do such things. She was a Binat. Otherwise they would have never allowed Hijab to invite her. Hijab was traumatised by this turn of events and completely innocent of any complicity. How dare Mr and Mrs Binat send an awara badchalan, a sex-crazed daughter, to their home.

  After Hijab’s mother hung up, a bewildered Mr Binat informed them that Lady had run away with Jeorgeullah Wickaam. Only Qitty seemed unsurprised. In fact, she’d said, ‘I can’t believe Lady actually went ahead with it. She always wanted romance.’

  Qitty had known this was going to happen and she’d said nothing. Mr Binat looked as if he was going to hit one of his children for the first time in his life, and he told Qitty so.

  Qitty had begun to cry. Lady had telephoned her to share her secret and had been so nice to her for once. Like a good sister. Lady had said there was a beach bonfire and Wickaam was there and everyone thought he was gorgeous but he had eyes only for her. Lady had also said that it wasn’t as if Mummy and Daddy could ever afford to get any of them married with phoon phaan – a splash like NadirFiede – and she wanted an unforgettable splash of her own. Eloping was her way of getting it.

  Hillima set mugs of chai in front of Jena and Alys.

  ‘At least,’ Alys said, wrapping her hands around her mug and drawing as much solace as she could from its warmth, ‘we know Lady believed Wickaam was going to marry her. But you and I know he’s not going to. That would take a miracle.’

  ‘Miracles don’t happen to people like us,’ Jena said, her head in her hands. ‘We don’t have the kind of money that can buy miracles.’

  It was decided that Nisar and Nona would join Mr Binat in Karachi. Nona’s parents could keep the children for another few days, and Nisar would take emergency family leave from work, because this was a family emergency. Alys would have liked to accompany them, but the school year was about to start and if she and Jena didn’t return to work, their absence would confirm the rumours that were already circulating about Lady.

  Alys had told her mother to please not entertain the neighbours or anyone with the details of what had happened, but Mrs Binat required more of an attentive audience for her grief than just Falak, and to the delight of a neighbour who stopped by for a chat, she related the whole sordid tale.

  The news spread overnight, and the next day throngs of neighbours arrived with their great concern. Bobia Looclus came armed with a platter of chicken pulao because, though grieving, one must eat. Mrs Binat ate and held court, howling loudly about her ill luck, her poor Lady, that python Wickaam, and how this was all Hijab’s parents’ fault.

  ‘People worry about servants gossiping,’ Mari said morosely to her sisters, ‘and here our mother is doing the job.’

  The next day, Nisar and Nona left for Karachi. Back in Dilipabad, everyone hovered around the phone. Mr Binat called late at night. Nisar and Nona had arrived. To what good, though? Karachi was a sprawling metropolis; the couple, if that was what one must call them, could literally be hiding anywhere. The fact that they were hiding terrified him. Should they not have strutted back into society by now as Mr and Mrs Jeorgeullah Wickaam?

  Nona got on the phone and assured Alys that her father was tired and dazed but otherwise all right and that, come tomorrow, they would go to every hospital, in case there’d been an accident. The hospital search proved futile and, the very next day, Nona took over and sent Mr Binat back to Dilipabad.

  A despondent Mr Binat took himself into his study and crept into his armchair. Jena brought him a strong cup of chai and Alys laid her head in his lap and he stroked her hair.

  ‘You were right, Alys,’ he said. ‘You told me not to let her go. That she was immature and had no sense of right or wrong. But I was more worried about peace and quiet in this house, and now, because of it, we will never have any peace or quiet. This scandal will ruin Lady’s prospects forever, but Wickaam may yet find himself an heiress. Today, for the first time, I am feeling the full fire of patriarchy.’

  ‘Women are never forgiven in our society, but men can be,’ Alys said.

  ‘That seems to be the rule.’ Mr Binat sighed. ‘Lady may get what she deserves, but I’m heartbroken for what that means for the rest of you girls. No, Alys, don’t tell me not to be harsh on myself. Let me stew in my regrets. But have no fear. The Chinese proverb teaches us “This too shall pass”, and make no mistake, it shall. I weathered my brother’s betrayal and now I will weather my daughter’s, and you girls will learn to weather it as well. It is your mother who will never learn to see what is what and what is not. Claiming Lady was kidnapped. That it is Hijab’s parents’ fault. Such preposterousness boggles the mind, but of course this too shall pass.’

  Farhat Kaleen’s letter arrived the next morning at the breakfast table, where Qitty, Mari, Falak, and Mrs Binat were tucking away while the rest stared at the food. Mr Binat read the letter, then passed it on to his wife, who dissolved into hysterics. Falak told Alys to read it out loud.

  My dear Binats,

  What I have to say concerns all of you and deserves the staying power of a letter rather than the ephemeral nature of a phone call, which, in my vast experience, often means in one ear and out the other, an affliction I strongly believe Lady suffers from to a great extent, as per Sherry’s assessment of her. I am of course writing in regard to this elopement business. Is there even an elopement? Or is Lady living in sin?

  I unfortunately had to break the news to Begum Beena dey Bagh – better she hear it from me rather than from rumourmongers – and what she told me about Jeorgeullah Wickaam was shocking. He is her nephew, but he is a disgrace. He was disinherited years ago. He has no money and, God help us, his law degree is fake! I ask again if Lady is living in sin? What will become of her when this scoundrel tires of her?

  A woman is nothing and no one without her virtue. Her virtue is the jewellery of her soul. But this is forgotten by modern women, who march around in their patloons under the impression that wearing trousers means they are now men. A woman is a woman no matter what she wears and must behave like a lady.

  Of course, this terrible business will affect all of you. Had I any doubts, then let me tell you that Begum Beena dey Bagh corrected me. I still pray that Jena, Alys, Qitty, and Mari may find someone to marry them, but Lady has permanently dimmed her sisters’ prospects.

  I heard that Lady is to set up shop and Wickaam to be the shopkeeper in charge of determining her price. God forbid this be true. One should pray for Lady’s death before we should have to suffer suc
h humiliation.

  Given the situation, I’m sure you’ll understand why I think it unwise to visit each other at this time. I will also be most obliged if Sherry is not contacted and, if she contacts you, to please ignore her.

  I wish you all the best in these trying circumstances.

  I will pray for all your souls.

  Fi amanillah, May God go with you,

  Farhat Kaleen

  ‘A loose woman is a flower every man wants to pluck and chuck,’ Mari said desolately. ‘That’s what his letter means. I always said Jeorgeullah is no mullah, but none of you ever listen to me. And Lady is no lady. Lady nay humari naak kaat dhi. Lady has cut off our noses for shame. We, as a family, have no nose left.’

  ‘Should we write back?’ Qitty asked in a tiny voice.

  ‘What’s there to say?’ Alys said. She felt a persistent melancholy at how she and Darsee had parted without a friendly look or word, and she could only imagine Beena dey Bagh and Darsee’s mutual congratulations over escaping any association with this strain of the Binat family.

  ‘How can I show my face at the religious-club meetings?’ Mari said, drowning her grief in buttered toast. ‘What will the members say? One sister so pious and the other practically a prostitute.’

  ‘Yes, Mari,’ Alys said. ‘We all sympathise that this situation has disrupted your social life. Believe me, we are all irrevocably impacted.’

  Alys expected Mrs Naheed to fire her and Jena. She could well imagine parents up in arms at their daughters being taught by teachers whose sister had, as Farhat Kaleen put it, ‘set up shop’. And so it was that Alys and Jena were fully prepared to be terminated on the first day of the new school year. The staff room was a hush and they were glad no one asked them if the rumours regarding Lady were true. In fact, the teachers were extra-sweet. That Lady was absent, coupled with Alys’s and Jena’s long faces, was proof enough to all that some disaster had occurred.

  For the first time, Alys felt no joy as she gazed at her new batch of Year 10s and gave them an overview of the term and the books they would read. The students in Alys’s and Jena’s classes did not say a word. Later that day, Mrs Naheed did summon them into her office. She shook her head and pursed her lips and remarked that teenage years could be very trying and that they were to keep her posted on the fragile situation.

  Jena was grateful for Naheed’s support and Alys was too, but she told Jena she would not be surprised if Naheed was frantically searching for teachers to replace them in case Lady returned home in disgrace, unwed and pregnant, even. Perhaps the Dilipabad Gymkhana would break its die-hard rule of ‘once a member, always a member’ in order to expel the Binats. Such were the questions that, Alys was positive, entertained all Dilipabad.

  Nona called daily for the next few days with an update to say there was no update. And then: they were found. They were staying at a cheap hotel in a cheap part of town. They were fine. Lady was glowing. Wickaam looked bemused. He had no answer for why they were not yet married, which, come to think of it, was his answer. And, brace yourself, Lady did not care that they were still unmarried. She said they’d be married soon enough and were having too much fun to break the ‘honeymoon’.

  Nona was sorry to report it, but Lady seemed incapable of seeing she’d done something wrong and that her decision was going to negatively impact her family. Nisar had prevailed upon Wickaam to tell him whether or not he meant to do the honourable thing, and Wickaam voiced his demand: one hundred thousand dollars.

  It was an exorbitant sum. Nisar and Nona had some savings, as did Falak for sending Babur abroad. But even after they pooled their resources, their savings amounted to a pittance, for what was a grain of sugar to one who demands a cup?

  Alys paced in front of her father in his study.

  ‘We must give them the Lahore shop,’ Mr Binat said. ‘The rent is always steady.’

  ‘That rent is the bulk of our livelihood,’ Alys said in horror.

  ‘And it still won’t be enough for that greedy fellow,’ Mr Binat said. ‘We must sell the car, this house. What else have we got?’

  ‘Where will we live?’ Alys asked. ‘How will we make ends meet?’

  Mr Binat wrung his hands. ‘What a failure of a father I am.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Alys said.

  ‘An utter failure of a parent. My one job was to provide financial security to you girls and your mother, and I could not even do that. I should invest in a cart and sell the flowers and vegetables I grow. But wait – with house gone, flowers and vegetables gone too.’

  ‘So we are to lose everything,’ Alys said, ‘to buy Lady her respectability, and thereby ours, whatever little respectability it will be.’

  A bleak evening it was at Binat House, with everyone mourning their lot and looking into the future with trepidation. Only Hillima reminded them that, ten years ago, they’d landed in this house with hardly a penny to their names and, look, they’d survived.

  ‘We had this house,’ Mrs Binat wept. ‘We had a roof over our heads.’

  ‘And now,’ Hillima said, ‘we have educated girls who can earn.’

  ‘This is true,’ Jena said. ‘We will never starve.’

  ‘We may never starve,’ said Mrs Binat, hopeless at the thought of having to start over yet again, ‘but even on a full stomach one can lose the will to live. We will be forever hungry for better things.’

  ‘And dignity,’ Mari added. ‘And dignity.’

  And then, a reprieve. Nona called late that night. Such news could not wait for the morning. Must not wait when it would bring so much respite to all. Wickaam had agreed to marry Lady. No one was quite sure what had happened to change his mind. Perhaps Lady had wept and cried and begged. Perhaps Wickaam had decided he loved her after all. Perhaps – but who cared? They were to be married in the morning, as soon as four male witnesses were rounded up to take to the mosque. Nisar and three more men were needed; even strangers who were willing to sign their names to the marriage certificate would do.

  And that was what was done, and Nona called to say: ‘They are married.’

  ‘Joy’ would be too strong a feeling for what followed at Binat House. ‘Relief’ was more appropriate. Only Mrs Binat revelled as she put away the thermometer and blood-pressure cuff and began to plan a proper wedding for her favourite daughter, who was now married: Mrs Lady Wickaam! Oof their children would be beautiful. Angels!

  Mr Binat put his hands over his heart and Alys, Jena, Qitty, and Mari panicked, but he told his daughters that he was perfectly fine. He couldn’t be finer. At no financial cost to him, respectability and dignity had been restored.

  ‘Wickaam must truly love her,’ Jena said.

  ‘Don’t be so gullible all the time, Jena,’ Mr Binat said. ‘You think a greedy fellow like Wickaam will settle for a girl who loves him? I fear Nona has given him a huge share in her business and Nisar may have taken on debt. I dare not ask, because I can never repay them a hundred thousand dollars. All I know is that I am forever indebted.’

  ‘He is my brother,’ Mrs Binat said proudly, ‘and this is how a loving brother comes to the rescue.’

  ‘Nisar and Nona have gone above and beyond loving,’ Mr Binat said.

  ‘Barkat,’ Mrs Binat chirped, ‘at the very least we must throw the Wickaams a mehndi ceremony and a reception at the first available date open at the gymkhana. Hai, what will Lady wear? What will you girls wear? Hai, how exciting to have a daughter married! Finally! Finally!’

  But Mr Binat crushed Mrs Binat’s plans when he roared that, let alone throwing a mehndi or a reception, he was forbidding Lady and that ganda aadmi dirty man from setting foot anywhere near their home. If they dared show their faces in Dilipabad, he would shoot them.

  Mrs Binat began to cry. ‘You always begrudge me every happiness.’

  Mr Binat was unmoved. He meant to keep this resolution, and he turned around and went into the moonlit garden, where he began to pull out weeds in order to calm his heart. This af
ternoon he had thought all was lost: shop, car, house, garden, jewellery, reputation. And now all was miraculously restored. He began to weep.

  Alys and Jena found their father in the garden, weeding and weeping. They’d been sent by their mother to make him see sense, and he ordered them to return to her and make her see sense: Lady was dead to him, and Wickaam had never been alive.

  ‘Daddy, she’s not dead, God forbid,’ Alys said, ‘and she’ll always be your daughter. You have to allow them to visit us at least once. If we abandon Lady, that man will treat her as shabbily as he wants, without any fear of consequences. Also, by inviting them here, by your making a show of accepting the situation, it will go from a big scandal to merely a messy situation and will put an end to much malicious gossip.’

  And so it was Mr and Mrs Wickaam arrived at Binat House for a week’s visit, Wickaam driving a brand-new car and Lady, waving madly, decked out in a new designer outfit, Nona’s ‘borrowed’ sunglasses, and a fire-engine-red mouth.

  ‘Your lipstick is thabahi, deadly,’ Mrs Binat said, welcoming her married daughter with exhilaration. She held a Quran over Lady and Wickaam’s heads for blessing. ‘Enter, Husband and Wife. May God keep you forever sane, safe, and satisfied.’

  Mr Binat tersely shook hands with Wickaam and barely acknowledged Lady. Alys, Jena, and Mari smiled as congenially at the couple as their natures allowed. Qitty hugged Lady.

  ‘Moti, Fatty, you’re crushing my clothes,’ Lady said as she hugged Qitty back. ‘Qitty, I wish you’d come to Karachi too. I wish you’d all come. So many hot men. Not like the losers in Dilipabad. Karachi is for winners, and, look, I won myself a husband.’

  ‘Not won exactly,’ Wickaam said, ‘but phasaoed, lassoed.’

  ‘Hahaha. How Wick wishes he was funny,’ Lady said adoringly. ‘But he is handsome! Could any of you have guessed that, out of all of us, I would end up Mrs Jeorgeullah Wickaam?’

  ‘And I, Mr Lady Binat?’ Wickaam said, scratching his head.