Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (24 page)
'No one can replace Jalal in my eyes—least of all, you—never.' Her voice reflected her annoyance.
'Why?' he asked with mock innocence.
'I don't like you! Why can't you understand this? If you don't divorce me, I'll go to court,' she threatened him.
Salar burst out laughing. 'You are most welcome! You can do so whenever you wish. What better place can there be to meet and talk face to face? It will be such fun!' He was enjoying this sparring.
'You'd better remember that not only I, but your parents will be there too, in the court,' he warned her.
'Salar, there are enough problems in my life and these are growing by the day. At least you don't have to add to them.' Imama spoke sadly,
despairingly, but Salar was gloating at her plight.
'Adding to your problems? My dear, I am wasting away trying to make your life easy, sympathizing with you. Just consider what a secure and happy life you can have with me,' he pretended to be serious.
Imama's response was brutally honest. 'You know why I put myself through all this, Salar. Do you believe that I will agree to spend my life with a man who has indulged in all the cardinal sins our dear Prophet (PBUH) has condemned? Good women are the partners of good men, and evil women are for evil men. I may have done wrong things in my life, but I am not so bad that someone like you should be part of my life. I could not marry Jalal,
but I will certainly not spend my life with you.'
Imama spoke bitterly.
'Perhaps, that's why Jalal did not marry you—because for good men there are good women, not someone like you.'
Salar's words were like cold steel. The silence on the other side was interminable—till Salar queried 'Hello? Are you listening?'
A choked voice responded. 'Salar, divorce me!' Her anguish gave him a strange thrill.
'Then you can go to court for it, as you said you would,' he concluded and heard the phone being switched off.
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In these last few months, Hasan claimed he had tried his best to worm some information about Imama from Salar but without any success. He refused to believe that there was no contact between them, but had failed in his attempts to call Imama on her mobile.
Sikandar had told Salar to apply for admission to various universities in the USA—he knew that Salar's academic record would ensure his entry to any one of the best institutions.
Imama did not call Salar again, although he thought she would. Then he would tell her that he had already ceded her the right of divorce in the nikah papers and would send them to her. He'd confess he was just joking. But she did not contact him, nor did he bother to see the marriage documents again. Had he done so, he would have learnt much before that his nikaahnama was missing.
The day he got home after his last examination, he found Sikandar waiting for him.
'You'd better pack your stuff. You're leaving tonight for the US, to stay with Kamran.'
'Why, Papa? This is very sudden! Is everything OK?' 'Yes—everything except you,' his father retorted acidly. 'Then why are you packing me off like this?'
I'lltell you on the way to the airport tonight. Now go and do your packing.' 'Papa, please tell me why you're doing this? It's all so sudden,' Salar protested weakly.
'Didn't I say I'll tell you? Now go and pack up or else I'll leave you empty-handed at the airport, Sikandar threatened. Salar watched him quietly, then turned towards his room.
His mind was in a turmoil as he put his belongings together. Why had Sikandar Usman taken such a sudden decision? A thought struck him like a bolt and he began to rummage through the papers in his desk drawer. He could not find the nikah papers—where were they? He could now understand his father's strategy. He regretted his own carelessness in leaving those papers lying around. They were in possession of no one other than his father, because no one else would dare to go through his belongings, except Sikandar.
Salar felt no more confusion, no more anxiety. He quietly packed his bags. All he thought of was what his father would tell him on the way to the airport. When they left that night, only father and son were together; Tayyaba did not accompany them. They spoke dryly, without emotion. Salar too did not raise any queries. As they got to the airport, Sikandar took a sheet of blank paper from his briefcase and giving Salar a pen, said, 'Sign here.' 'What's this?' Salar looked at the blank paper with surprise. 'Just sign it. Don't ask questions.' His father's tone was brusque. Without another word, Salar signed the paper. Sikandar folded it and put it away in his briefcase. He then turned to his son.
'After whatever you have done, there's not much point in talking to you. You have lied to me constantly, time after time, thinking that I'll never get to know the truth. You know, instead of sending you off to America, I feel like handing you over to Hashim Mubeen so that you realize what a fool you have been. But my problem is that I am your father—and I have to save you. You have been taking advantage of my weakness, but no more. I am going to hand over the divorce documents to Imama and if you ever contact her again or even try to do so, you will regret it, I promise. You have no clue of what I'll do then! You have created enough problems for us, Salar, and this has to stop now—do you understand?'
Sikandar was furious and upset. Instead of replying, Salar kept looking out of the window. He seemed strangely content and carefree: Sikandar was incensed. Here was his son who had an IQ of 150+, but anyone looking at him would have wondered if he had any IQ at all.
END OF CHAPTER FOUR
The next few months spent in the US were the most trying days of Salar's life. Earlier too he had been to the US and Europe on holiday with his family; but the way Sikandar had packed him off now not only infuriated Salar but also created many problems for him. His friends who had completed A levels with him were enrolled and studying in various universities across the US. Likewise, his cousins and other relatives, and even his own siblings, were in different cities there. He wasn't all that attached to his family nor was he homesick, but the sudden forced move left him restless and miserable.
His cousin, Kamran, would be away at college all day and would be busy with his assignments when he got home. Salar, on the other hand, was cooped up in the apartment, either watching movies or flipping television channels. When he tired of this, he would simply roam around town to entertain himself. During those days in New York, Salar had thoroughly explored the environs where Kamran lived. In the city, there was not a night club, discotheque, pub, bar, theatre, cinema, museum or art gallery that Salar had not been to.
His academic record was such that all three Ivy League universities he had applied to for admission had issued acceptance letters without even waiting for his BBA results. These universities were those where none of his relatives were enrolled, nor any other friend, and Salar had deliberately applied to them to be away from constant scrutiny. There was no one he knew there who would be sending back reports to Sikandar Usman whose other children had not been given admission to an Ivy League institution.
Sikandar Usman should have been proud of Salar's achievement; instead he and his wife were more apprehensive about being unable to tag Salar, who had opted to join Yale. In fact, none of Sikandar Usman's friends or relatives were in New Haven.
Salar's accademic record also earned him a merit scholarship at the university. Unlike his brothers, who had taken lodging at hostels, Salar insisted on living in an apartment. Sikandar was not in favor of this move, but the scholarship left Salar with enough funds to rent an apartment. As for his educational expenses, Sikandar had already transferred a handsome amount to Salar's account. Although his youngest son was also availing of a scholarship, yet Sikandar obliged Salar's demands. It seemed that he was destined to do for Salar all that he had not done for anyone else, and that Salar was destined to try his father and test his patience in every way possible. If the other children went east, Salar would go west; whatever the others did, he would do the opposite, and adamantly. And Sikandar Usman could do nothing except work himself up into a state.
Before Salar left for New Haven, Sikandar and Tayyaba flew over from Pakistan especially to spend time with him. For days, they counseled him, and reasoned with him: he heard them out, but did not pay any attention. He had become used to these sermons and advice and now all counseling was like water off a duck's back, as far as he was concerned. As for Sikandar and Tayyaba, they were not only very worried but actually feared for Salar as they flew for Pakistan.
Salar had selected Finance as his major for MBA. Shortly after joining classes at Yale, his extraordinary abilities began to be noticed. No doubt that the institutions he had attended in Pakistan were the topmost in academic terms, but the education offered there was a piece of cake for him. At Yale, however, the competition was tough; the presence of the cream of bright students was a challenge. But there too, Salar made his presence felt.
He was exceptionally gifted intellectually, but his attitude also contributed to his profile. The typical Asian warmth and friendliness were noticeably absent, as were courtesy and affability, in his personality. He was not overawed by the environment, as Asian students tend to be by American or European universities. He had studied in the best institutions since childhood and had no complexes about his background. He had been taught mostly by foreign teachers, and he knew that their knowledge was not unlimited. If Yale had given him a scholarship, it was not doing him a special favor. The other Ivy League universities he had applied to would also have offered him a scholarship - and even if that did not happen, his parents could afford to send him to the best institution of his choice. Besides, despite his family background and social status, Salar had a bitter side to his withdrawn nature, and he made no effort to put on an affable front to please people. The image was completed by his intimidating IQ level.
He managed to draw the attention of his colleagues and professors in the first few weeks. This was nothing new-he had been doing this since his early years in school. He did not waste time indulging in pointless arguments with his teachers, but his questions were such that the teachers were often at a loss for an immediate response. If the answer was unsatisfactory, he would not argue, but accept it quietly without voicing his opinion. He debated only with those professors from whom he knew he could learn something, or else those whose knowledge was neither traditional nor academic.
Salar did not find studies difficult at Yale, nor did he spend all his time with his books. Though it was not as easy as before, but he did find time to pursue his interests.
Nor was he a victim of homesickness and did not mope and yearn for Pakistan all the time. He made no special effort to search for Pakistanis in the community there, and neither did he miss the home culture and activities. But, as time passed, he got to interact with a number of Pakistanis present there. He also had membership to various societies, clubs and associations in the university.
After class, he would often spend, rather squander, time aimlessly, especially on the weekends. His life was divided, it seemed, between clubs, discotheques, cinema, and theatre. He missed no new film, play, concert or instrumental performance, and he had all the details about every new restaurant-big or small, pricey or cheap.
And in the midst of all this activity was the adventure which had been the cause of his being in the US now. Salar did not attempt to find out how, or when, or from whom Sikandar had learnt about the secret marriage; but he made some guesses as to how it had happened. He did not suspect his friend Hasan or the maid Nasira. It must have been Imama herself who revealed all the detail—which was why she did not contact Salar again. It must be after speaking to Imama that Salar rummaged through Salar's room and found the nikah papers.
But when did all this happen? This question bothered Salar as he was unable to find a logical answer to it.
Thinking back on this chain of events also evoked a feeling of regret: 'Why did I help her? When she contacted me, I should have called up Waseem, or his parents, or my own parents and informed them about it. Or, I should have told them about Jalal, or else, not listened to her at all, nor married her, nor helped her run away from home.'
At times, Salar felt he had let himself be used by her, like a helpless child-why this obsequious surrender, this obedience, he wondered, especially when there was no bond between them, nor was he obliged to help her.
More than an adventure, this whole business seemed to be sheer foolhardiness. Like a psychiatrist, he tried to psychoanalyze his attitude towards Imama.
'With the passage of time, she'll be out of my system, completely. And even if she isn't, what difference will it make,' he consoled himself.
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As the days passed, Salar's circle of friends widened and among them was a boy named Saad. He was from Karachi and, like Salar, he came from an affluent family; but unlike Salar, Saad's family was quite religious. This was Salar's perception. Saad had a fantastic sense of humor and was also very handsome. A friend in New Haven had introduced them and Saad was the first to extend the hand of friendship. Salar, however, was reluctant initially, as he felt they had little in common.
Saad was enrolled in the M.Phil, programme and was also working his way through university. His appearance—sporting a luxuriant beard— reflected his emotional attachment to his faith. He was also very knowledgeable about religion. For the first time in his life, Salar had befriended someone who was inclined towards religion.
Saad prayed regularly and would also exhort others to do likewise. He had membership in several clubs and organizations, where he was quite active. Unlike Salar, Saad had no relatives in the US except for a distant uncle who lived in another state. Maybe, it was to dispel his solitude that he was so social. Saad was the youngest among his siblings; perhaps it was the special affection for the youngest that persuaded his parents to send him abroad for higher education. Otherwise, he too would have joined the family business after graduation, as his brothers had done.
