Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (12 page)

Salar listened to them impassively. This was nothing new: it was the usual dialogue after every failed suicide attempt.

'Why are you silent? Haven't you understood us?' Tayyaba was frustrated and angry. 'You seem to get a kick out of humiliating your parents!' They used his achievements and his potential as an incentive to evoke a response, and Salar thought, 'Here they go again.' He yawned.

Finally, he spoke. 'What can I say when you've said it all? My life is a personal matter for me and I'd told you earlier that I did not intend to die...'

Sikandar intervened. 'Whatever you intend, don't do it! Have pity on us!'

'Just say that you'll not do such things again. Please stop,' Tayyaba implored.

'Very well, I won't,' replied Salar, to free himself of their pleas and despair.

Sikandar and Tayyaba were not convinced, but they had little choice. They had always been so proud of Salar, yet he alone had given them more worries than all their other children together.

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'How's your friend now? Did you look him up?' Imama was out with Waseem when she was suddenly reminded of Salar.

'Better. He may be discharged in a couple of days,' replied Waseem. 'Shall we check on him on our way back?'

Imama was a little hesitant but Waseem reassured her and she agreed although she thought it was pointless to enquire about the welfare of such a patient.

'One would have thought his parents would have had the courtesy to visit us or thank us for helping him,' she said.

'You have no idea of their condition,' objected Waseem. 'What do you expect them to say if they are asked, when they come here, why their son does such things? For fun?' He felt sorry for them and said, 'His parents did thank me profusely and also thanked Ammi and Baba when they had gone to the hospital to see Salar. I'm glad they did not mention the incident to his parents—it would have been awful.'

'But why does your friend act this way?' Imama persisted.

'You're asking me as though he informs me before he decides to take his life.'

Waseem was quite annoyed.

'He's a close friend of yours.'

'Not all that close either. Besides, what he does is his business. Maybe there's a problem.'

'Then you should keep a distance from such people. What if you should start behaving in the same way tomorrow?'

'If you remember the way you behaved that day, that incident will certainly create a difference in this friendship,' Waseem said smugly. 'It was not quite the right reaction on your part.'

'I don't think he'll remember that slap—he was hardly conscious. Why? Did he say something?' Imama asked. 'Besides, he was trying to pull his arm away and he was abusing and then he pulled off my dupatta,' she added.

Waseem tried to defend Salar.

'Whatever it was, I was very angry then, but I regretted it and was grateful to Allah that his life was saved—or else I'd feel terrible about slapping him.'

Imama was really remorseful, but when Waseem suggested she apologize to Salar, Imama refused. 'Why should I rake up what's past? Besides, he's not so close that this should affect our relationship.'

When they were through with their shopping, Waseem drove to the clinic to see Salar. He was having soup when they walked in and he immediately recognized the girl with Waseem. Salar's mother had told him that it was Waseem's sister who gave him first aid—he remembered nothing of that but he did remember the tight slap across his face. He stopped as he saw Imama.

His piercing look convinced her that he had not forgotten the events of that night.

After exchanging greetings, Tayyaba and Sikander Usman thanked Imama.

Salar had known Waseem for some years now, and had seen Imama at their house but had never really paid attention to her. However, he stared at her rather critically: he was not grateful or indebted to her—she had ruined his plans by saving his life. Imama continued to talk to his mother but was also acutely aware of his eyes on her. Never before had anyone looked at her so distastefully—she felt like walking out. Salar sank further in her opinion; she had meant to apologize, but now she felt like landing him with a few more hard slaps.

A while later, they said their goodbyes but Imama did not bother to address Salar and left without even looking at him. She was relieved to be out. She criticized Waseem on his choice of friends. He was taken aback and asked her why.

'He does not even have the courtesy—after all he knows I'm your sister and that I was in the room with you. He's not worth wasting one's time on—and it is better that you have little to do with him.'

'I'll be careful,' Waseem assured her. 'You need not repeat this episode.' He tried to change the subject and Imama kept a studied silence. But Salar was now on her list of objectionable persons. It was a coincidence that she was in Islamabad when this incident took place, otherwise she would not have had this unpleasant introduction and close encounter with Salar.

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After her conversion to Islam, Imama saw Jalal Ansar closely when he came to their college. She was sitting with her friends on the lawn and he came to have a word with Zainab. They moved to a side, but Imama could not take her eyes of him. A strange sensation of happiness surrounded her. He left but her gaze followed him till he was out of sight. Her friends were busy in conversation, but she was oblivious to her surroundings. It was when she could see him no more that she was jolted back to reality.

Her second encounter with him was at Zainab's house when she accompanied her home from college. Zainab had been asking her friends over but everyone else declined with one pretext or another, so Imama went along. She used to feel an inexplicable sense of peace in Zainab's house—perhaps, it was the association with Jalal.

Imama was waiting in the drawing room while Zainab went to get the tea.

Jalal walked in and was surprised to see Imama; he did not expect to find her there. He greeted her in his usual manner and Imama responded, shyly.

'Did you come with Zainab?' he asked. 'Where is she? I needed to talk to her.

I didn't know she had company,' he excused himself and turned around.

'You recite naats very well,' said Imama spontaneously. He stopped in his tracks.

'Thank you. Where did you hear me?'

'When I had called Zainab one day and was waiting for her...and then Zainab told me about the competition. You had recited that naat...' She went on and Jalal was at a loss—should he feel happy or surprised?

He thanked her for the compliment—this tall, slim chadar-clad young woman whose dark eyes had a strange impact on him. Many people had praised his skill but this girl's praise was remarkable, and more so was her expression of it. He walked away from the drawing room. Speaking to girls was not his forte, much less to one whom he barely knew.

Imama sat there in a state of ecstasy—she could not believe that she had spoken to Jalal Ansar. So close—facing her. She stared at the spot where he had been standing a while ago, and in her mind's eye she could still see him there.

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Their next meeting was at the hospital. If Imama had been to Zainab's house by choice, then this meeting was by chance. She had accompanied Rabia who wanted to meet a friend there. She missed a heartbeat when saw Jalal in the corridor with a group of Final Year students. The corridor was too crowded for Imama to move towards him and she realized then how hard it was for her to stop herself. Even as she sat in the room, her thoughts were out there with him.

When Rabia and Imama came out after more than an hour, the students had dispersed from the corridor; she felt a pang of disappointment. Rabia was busy chatting when going down the stairs and they came face to face with Jalal. Imama felt an electric wave run through her.

'Assalaam Alaikum, Jalal Bhai! How are you?' Rabia greeted him.

Jalal replied politely, then asked what brought them to the hospital. Rabia explained the reason while Imama stood looking at him quietly.

Dastgiri meri tanhai ki too ne hi to ki
(You have been my saviour in my loneliness)
Me to mar jata agar sath na hota tera
(Were it not for you, I would have been dead)

His voice seemed to send her into a trance. Seldom had she heard anyone speak such chaste Urdu, and every time he spoke, his voice reminded her of the same beautiful naat she had first listened to. She felt curiously proud, and envious looking at him.

Speaking to Rabia, Jalal had perhaps realized Imama's concentration and turned to her with a smile. Imama looked away. For a moment she had an irrepressible desire to get closer to him. She looked away from him, and glancing about her, recited 'la- haul' under her breath. 'Maybe Satan wants to lead me astray,' she thought to herself, but despite her supplications to ward off evil, there was no difference in her feelings: she still felt the same attraction.

Despite the years-long engagement to Asjad, she had never felt drawn to him this way. Standing there that day, she feared Jalal for the first time. 'What will I do if I lose control of myself every time I set eyes on him? I was never so weak. What is it about him that melts my will?'

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Zainab knocked on Jala's door and entered.

'Are you free?' she asked, then continued. 'I have a request from a friend: can you record some naats in your voice on a cassette?'

Jalal was surprised and looked enquiringly at her.

'It's for my friend Imama. She requested me and I agreed.'

Jalal smiled—he was reminded of his meeting with her. 'Isn't she the same girl who was here?' he asked.

'Yes. She's from Islamabad but studies here. She lives in the hostel. Her father's a big industrialist, but she's very modest,' Zainab divulged.

'Seems to be very religious, from what I saw of her with you,' observed Jalal.

'The college environment has not affected her.'

'Yes. She's always been wearing a chadar since she came and I think her family's very conservative. But they're all very well-educated, her brothers and sisters too. She's the youngest among them,' Zainab went on. 'So you'll record the cassette for me, won't you?'

'You can have it tomorrow,' he replied. Zainab left the room and he returned to his reading.

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Their next encounter was in the library. Imama's reaction was spontaneous when she saw him there: she went up and greeted him. 'I wanted to thank you.'

Jalal looked at her, confused.

'For the cassette.'

He smiled at her. 'I had no idea that such a request would be made of me.'

'You're very fortunate,' she said softly.

'In what way?'

'In every way... you've been blessed with so much.'

'So are you blessed,' he replied. She looked at him with a wistful smile and he suspected her eyes were moist. She lowered her gaze.

'To begin with I had nothing, but now I do,' she intoned with the same softness. Jalal was trying to give meaning to her words. 'You have such veneration, such love for the Prophet (PBUH) when you say his name....' she stopped midway, but Jalal waited for her to complete her words.

'I envy you,' she said. 'Not all people feel the same way as you do. Nor can they express their adoration for him like you—in a way that leads the listener to fall at the Prophet's (PBUH) feet. Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) must love you too.' She looked up at him, clear eyed.

'Perhaps, it was a misconception on my part,' he thought, then spoke up. 'If it is so then indeed I am very fortunate. All I know is that I do feel a deep love and respect for our Prophet (PBUH) and that is a blessing indeed for me.

Allah blesses few with this feeling.'

Jalal spoke with sentiment and Imama could not take her eyes off him. She had never felt as insignificant before as she did now.

'Perhaps, I may recite naats some day, but never with the passion of Jalal Ansar. My voice will never move people the way his rectal does,' she thought despairingly as she walked away from the library.

After those meetings with Jalal, Imama tried her best to avoid him—even avoid thinking about him. She tried to distance herself from Zainab too, but it was all to no avail. Her helplessness increased with each passing day and she was brought to her knees.

'There's something about him that breaks all my defenses,' she conceded. Perhaps it was this admission that turned her attention towards him again; this may have been an unconscious act earlier on, but now she consciously put Jalal in Asjad's place in her life.

'What is wrong with my seeking the company of someone whose voice compels me to return to the presence of my Prophet (PBUH)? Why should I not desire a man whose love for the Prophet (PBUH) is more than mine? Why should I not pray that our fates should be intertwined, that his name should be my identity? He is someone I know, someone I envy for all that he's been blessed with.' Imama had all the justifications, all the answers to validate her emotions.

She began to find ways of being where Jalal would be. She'd call up Zainab when she knew he would be home too, as he often received the phone. The random conversations between them became longer and purposeful and finally they began to meet. Javeria, Rabia and Zainab were unaware of the growing friendship between Imama and Jalal. He was doing a house job and Imama often went to his hospital. They had not declared their love but were fully conscious of their sentiments for each other. He knew that her feelings for him were stronger than just attraction just as she too was aware of his feelings for her.

Jalal was so religious that he never expected to find himself thus involved with a girl or that he would be meeting her this way, but it all happened involuntarily and gradually. He did not mention his feelings for Imama to Zainab; had he done so, she would have told him about the engagement to Asjad. Had he known, he would have been very careful and would not have allowed the relationship to grow to this degree.

During one of their meetings, Imama came up with a proposal, much to Jalal's amazement.