Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (47 page)

'Three brothers and a sister.'

'How many of them are married?'

'All except me.'

"Are you the youngest?'

'No. I'm the fourth—I have a younger brother.' For the first time, Salar regretted his impulsive decision to help this old lady.

'Is he married too?' she went on. When Salar said 'yes' she asked, 'Then why aren't you married? Was there a love affair or something?'

Salar was really taken aback. Was she some kind of psychic? He avoided her query. 'We can't seem to find a rickshaw, so tell me your address and I'll drop you off myself.' He was already late and since there was no other transport available, he could not leave her stranded on the road.

She gave him the address. He couldn't make it out, so he pulled up near a traffic constable at the crossroads and asked him the way. The man explained the route; Salar moved on.

'So, you didn't tell me if there was a love affair that stopped you.'

Salar wanted to hang himself. That lady had not forgotten her last question whereas he was prepared to go all the way to drop her off just to get out of this.

'No, Ammaji, there was no such business.' He spoke very seriously this time.

'Alhamdolillah!' He couldn't quite make out in what context this term had been used. Now she was interrogating him about his parents, wanting to know all sorts of details. Salar was really stuck in an awkward situation. The worst was when he reached the locality where she lived: he asked her to direct him to her house.

'Well, I do live here but I don't know the way.'

He was stunned. 'Then how am I supposed to drop you home without knowing how to get there?'

She gave him the name and number of her house.

"No, no. I need to know the name or number of the street.'

She began to tell him about the landmarks. 'There's a sweet shop at the corner of the street... It's a very wide street... .Parvez Sahib's house is also there—the same man whose son got married in Germany last week. His first wife is living here, and she cried her heart out when she learnt of his second marriage.' She veered off in another direction instead of showing him the signposts.

Salar pulled up by the roadside. 'Ammaji, what's your husband's name? Give me some detail about your house and your street. I can't get you home this way.' He spoke as patiently as he could.

'I'm known as Saeeda Amma. My poor husband passed away ten years ago and people have forgotten about him. I told you that the street I live on is very wide. Three days ago, they replaced two of the drain covers there— absolutely new and cemented in place. Every second month somebody would make off with those covers, but now they're safe.'

Salar sighed in exasperation.

'Should I be asking people to direct me to the lane with the new drain covers? Give me the name of someone there who's well known to the residents.'

'There's Murtaza Sahib whose son broke his leg yesterday morning.'

'Ammaji, that's no introduction.'

She got into a huff over this. 'Well, people don't break their legs everyday—it's not common in every household!'

Salar stepped down from the car and walked up to the shops nearby, with the hope of locating her home using the 'landmarks' she had supplied. He realized that it would be impossible at least within the span of that day. He returned disappointed.

'Do you have a telephone at home?' he asked as he got into the car.

'Yes, I do.'

Salar was relieved. 'Tell me the number he said, switching on his mobile phone.

'That I don't know.'

Salar was in near despair. 'You don't know your phone number?'

'Son, I hardly use the telephone. My sons call me up themselves and so do my other relatives; and if I need to speak to anyone, my daughter dials the number for me.'

'Who had you gone to visit in Model Town?' A thought struck Salar.

'I have some relatives there. I went to distribute sweets to celebrate my grandson's birth,' she replied very proudly.

'Fine,' said Salar, somewhat relieved. 'We'll go there. What's the address?'

'I don't know.'

Salar was too distraught to say anything.

'Then how did you get there?' he finally asked.

'You see, if I want to go anywhere, my neighbour's children drop me off. They know all the addresses; they've been doing this for the last ten years. Then Bilal brings me back from there. They also used to live in our locality till about ten years ago, so everyone knows their house.'

She continued, 'What happened today was that no one was home except the maid servant. I sat there for a while but since there was no sign of their returning, I decided to go home myself. And praise be to God, I found you.'

'Ammaji, what address would you have given the rickshaw driver?'

'The same that I gave you!' he could not help but marvel at her intelligence.

'Have you ever found your way home, with such directions?' he asked rather morosely as he reversed the car and turned it toward the main road.

'No, never...I never needed to,' she replied calmly. Her peace of mind was enviable.

'Where are you going now?' Saeeda Amma could not be quiet for long.

'I'm taking you back to where I found you. The house must be on the same road. Did you take a turn anywhere?' he asked as he looked at her in the rearview mirror.

'No, I didn't turn anywhere,' she replied in an upset tone. Salar didn't note that. He was feeling better as he thought the house would be easier to locate on the main road rather than in the inner lanes.

'Do you smoke cigarettes?' She broke the silence again. He was a little jolted. When he looked at her in the mirror, she was watching him too.

'Me? Uh, no.' He hadn't quite fathomed the question.

'Any other addiction, etc?'

More than the question it was her very informal style that astonished him. 'Why do you ask that?'

'Just by the way. You can't expect me to stay quite all the way.' She seemed to be expressing her problem.

'What does it seem to you? That I take drugs?' he asked.

'No, not at all... I was just curious. So you don't?'

Salar was amused by her defensive style. 'No, I don't,' he said briefly. They had stopped at a traffic signal.

'Any girl friend?'

Salar thought he had heard wrong. He turned around and asked, 'What did you say?'

'I asked you if you had any girl friend,' she replied, stressing the last two words.

Salar burst out into laughter. 'Do you know what a girl friend is?'

Saeeda Amma took offence at his question. 'Why indeed! I have two sons and you expect me not to know what a girl friend is. When they went abroad for studies, my husband had warned them not to have any girl friends. They used to call home every month.'

The signal turned green and Salar, looking ahead now, put his foot on the accelerator. Saeeda Amma continued her discourse.

'I used to tell them to swear that they had no girl friends. Till they got married, they would swear this to me—even before greeting me,' she said very proudly. 'My sons are very obedient; they didn't get involved with girls there.'

'Did you arrange their marriages by your choice?' Salar enquired.

'No, they married there of their own choice,' she replied very plainly. Salar could not hold back his amusement.

'What's the matter?' she asked seriously.

'Nothing. Are your daughters-in-law Europeans?'

'No, they're Pakistanis but they live there. They used to work with my sons. But, why did you laugh?' she asked again.

'It's nothing special.'

'You didn't tell me...any girl friend...'

Salar interrupted. 'No, Saeeda Amma, not even a girl friend.'

'Mashallah, Mashallah!' once again, Salar failed to understand the context of this exclamation.

'You have your own house?'

'No, it's rented.'

'Any servants?'

'No live-in servants, just part-time ones to do the cleaning.'

'And this car must be your own?'

'Yes.'

'And how much do you earn? What's your salary?'

Replying mechanically to her queries, Salar suddenly stopped in his tracks. He didn't make out immediately the direction this dialogue was taking.

'Saeeda Amma, why do you live here alone? Why don't you join your sons?' he changed the topic.

'Yes, that's what I intend too. At first, I didn't want to, but once my daughter gets married, I'll go abroad. I'm tired of living alone out here.'

Salar was now back on the road from where he'd picked up Saeeda Amma.

'I'd picked you up from here. Now tell me which house is it on this road that you were visiting.' He had slowed down the car and was looking at the houses on his right.

'Even if you don't know the number, you should be able to recognize the house.'

Saeeda Amma was peering at the houses. 'Yes, yes... I can recognize the house.'

She began to describe the house as vaguely as she had given her own address. They reached the end of the road and she had been unable to identify the house. Salar got Bilal's father's name and he started walking down the rode, enquiring about him and anyone who knew Saeeda Amma. Half an hour later, he had knocked at every door but no one responded to the names he had asked.

'You do remember his name correctly?' he asked her. He was at the end of his tether.

'Yes, of course. Why should I forget his name?' she felt insulted.

'But no one by this name lives on this road, and nor does anyone here know you,' stated Salar, getting back into the car.

Then let's look at the street there,' said Saeeda Amma, pointing to a street nearby.

'But you said it was on this road.'

'When did I say that?' she objected.

'I had asked if you had turned anywhere from this road and you said you hadn't,' Salar reminded her.

'Yes, I did say that, but what is a "turn"?'

Salar despaired of her. 'Did you come here from another road or street, did you take a turn here?'

'Oh! So that's what you mean,' she said, placidly. 'Why did I sit down here? I was exhausted, walking on and on. How could I get tired walking down this narrow lane?'

Salar started the car. It had been a horrible day. 'From which street did you turn here?' The car moved forward.

'I think...' She looked around in confusion. 'This one,' she claimed.

Salar was convinced that it was not the one; nonetheless, he turned that way. It was confirmed that the day was going to be wasted in this fruitless search. For the next hour and a half, he kept searching the roads with Saeeda Amma, without any success. From a distance she would declare that she'd found the house. On driving up close, she'd say, 'No, no, no— not this one.' Finally, he left that colony and brought her back to the locality where she said her house was situated. Another hour or more were wasted searching, and it was evening now. All along, while he traipsed up and down, Saeeda Amma sat complacently in the car.

'Found it?' she asked as he returned.

'No, it's getting dark now and its pointless looking around. I'll report at the police station about you. Your daughter or your neighbors are bound to contact the police if you don't get home. They'll come for you,' suggested Salar as he started the car again.

'Poor Amina must be worried.' Saeeda Amma expressed her concern for her daughter. Salar felt like telling her that his anxiety was greater than her daughter's, but he drove to the police station without a word. After filing the report, he got up and so did Saeeda Amma.

'Sit down, please. You're going to stay here,' he told her.

'No. Where will we keep her here? Please take her with you. If anyone contacts us, we'll give your whereabouts,' the inspector announced.

'But I want to hand her over to you,' Salar objected.

'Look here, she's an old lady. Should no one contact us for her, where will we put her up for the night? And if more days should pass...?' explained the inspector.

Saeeda Amma did not let him complete his words. 'I don't want to stay here. Son, I'll go with you. Where do you expect me to sit around with these men?' she turned to Salar, who looked at her apprehensively.

'But I live alone...' he was about to say, when he thought of Furqan's place. 'Very well, let's go,' he said, with a sigh.

He came out to the car and dialed Furqan's mobile number. He wanted to arrange for her to stay there for the night. Furqan was still at the hospital; Salar apprised him of the situation. 'Nosheen's away at the village,' Furqan informed him. 'But that shouldn't be a problem. I'll be there in a while and I'll take her to my apartment. She's an old lady, not a young woman, so no need for concern. You're being too cautious.'

'No, it's not that—I was concerned about her comfort. She shouldn't feel awkward,' Salar replied.

'No, she won't, pal! Ask her—if she's uncomfortable, I'll put her up with Alam Sahib's family next door.'

'Anyway, you get here, then we'll see,' said Salar and switched off the phone.

'No problem, son—I'll stay with you. You're like my son; I trust you.'

Salar smiled in response. He stopped at a restaurant on the way and picked up some food. He was ravenously hungry and he suddenly felt a pang of guilt that Saeeda Amma had been with him since afternoon and hadn't eaten. On the way home, he got some fresh apple juice for her. It was his first experience of spending time with an old person—it was not easy.

He was having dinner with Saeeda Amma at his apartment when Furqan arrived. He introduced himself to her and joined them for dinner. In no time, he was happily chatting with her in typical Punjabi. Salar envied him—he had yet to see such a good conversationalist as Furqan—there was something in the way he spoke that the other person would take him into confidence in next to no time. In spite of his long friendship with Furqan, Salar had yet to learn the art of conversation from him.

Ten minutes later, at dinner, he was a quiet spectator while Saeeda Amma and Furqan talked away. Learning that Furqan was a doctor, she was busy consulting him on various medical problems. By the time they had finished eating, she had persuaded Furqan to bring his bag and check her up.