Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (59 page)

When she left her home eight and a half years ago she knew that people would cast aspersions on her character. She knew she was choosing a path that would be thorn-strewn, that would be full of poisonous tongues and sarcastic looks but she had never imagined that Jalal Ansar would have been one of those accusing her. She would not defend herself before Jalal Ansar or present proof of her innocence. How could she? His words had for the first time in eight and a half years truthfully turned her into an outcast. He had thrown her out onto the burning sands of the desert.

'So this is what you are Imama Hashim. A stigmatized woman of ill repute. What illusions did you have of yourself?'

Slowly she began to walk down the road reading each hoarding, each neon sign. She knew many of the names here. Some were her class mates, others her juniors, and some her seniors. And where was she? Nowhere!

'Wait and see Imama what will become of you. You will get nothing; you will gain naught,' her father, Hashim Mubeen, had warned her. She felt tears carousing down her cheeks. The bright lights were beginning to hurt her eyes. Jalal Ansar was not a bad man, but he was not she had thought him to be. He was not that which had attracted him to her. What an illusion she had been living in despite the fact that she had her eyes opened wide. He had a materialistic outlook, completely materialistic. But this was the first time she had realized it. He was not a bad man; that was simply his outlook and he lived by those rules. Today he had just exposed his outlook to her. For the first time since she left her home had she faced such humiliation and mortification—and that too from the one she had idealized. And what was she in the eyes of that model of perfection? A girl who had fled from home...a woman of ill repute!

It was a flood of tears that was pouring from her eyes and that flood was washing everything away. Everything... severely she rubbed her eyes dry with her hands and then wiped her tear-drenched face with the end of her chador. She hailed a passing rickshaw and got in.

Saeeda Amma opened the door; she ducked in quickly so that Saeeda

Amma should not see her tear-stained face.

'Where were you Imama? It is so late. I have been worried. I was just about to go next door to ask the neighbour's boy to go to your office and find your whereabouts,' Saeeda Amma said shutting the door and following her to her room.

'No where Amma. There was work at the office and so I got delayed.' Imama replied without looking back.

'You have never been late at the office before so what happened today that makes you come home so late in the night. What was the work that delayed you so late in the night?' Saeeda Amma was not satisfied with Imama's explanation.

'What can I say to that, Amma? I'll be careful not to be so late again,' Imama replied still keeping her face averted. She moved towards her room.

'Should I heat the food or do you want to eat later?'

'I don't wish to eat now, Amma. I have a headache; I want to sleep for a while.

Why is your head hurting? Saeeda Amma followed her into the room really worried now. 'Shall I get you some medicine? Or make you some tea?'

'Amma! Please let me sleep. I don't need anything; if I do I will ask you for it.' Imama did have a splitting headache by now.

Saeeda Amma finally realized her concern was only causing Imama more trauma. 'Very well; you rest then,' she said as she turned to leave.

Without switching on the light, Imama shut the door to her room. Pulling the blanket on her she lay down on her bed and covered her eyes with the crook of her arm. She wanted to sleep. She did not wish to recall her conversation with Jalal Ansar, nor did she wish to think of ought else. She did not want to cry. She did not want to think about her future prospects. She only wanted to sleep.

Her wish was granted. She did not know when or how but soon she was in a deep sleep.

He was just three steps ahead of her. So close that were she to stretch out her hand she would be able to touch his shoulder. There was no one else except them. Over his shoulder she could see the doors of the Khana-e-Kaaba opening. She saw the glowing light flood the surroundings. She could easily read the words of the Quran inscribed on the covering of the Khana-e-Kaaba. She felt the stars in the sky were suddenly shining brighter than before. The man in front of him was reciting the talbiyah, the initial verses that all pilgrims recite at the start of a pilgrimage. His was the only voice reverberating around the place...a beautiful, resonant voice. She found herself repeating the verses after him, but under her breath. Then her voice took on the same cadence as his...but silently. Then she too began to recite loudly ...till she realized she could not raise her voice higher than his. She stopped trying. She was satisfied harmonizing her voice to his. The doors to the Kaaba were now open. She saw the man go and stand close to the doors. She saw him raise his hands to the sky. He was praying. She watched him till he finished his prayers and lowered his hands. Now he was prostrating before the doors of the Khana Kaaba. She watched him. He was getting up and was turning around. She wanted to see his face. His voice was familiar...but his face? Now he was about to turn.

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She got up with a start. The room was in total darkness. For a few seconds she felt she was living her dream, that she was still in the Khana-e-Kaaba, then she was back to reality. She got off the bed to switch on the light and then she came and lay down again. She could recall her dream in totality; it was as if she had seen a movie. But she had not been able to see the man's face. She had woken up before he turned around.

'Who could have such a beautiful voice other than Jalal Ansar?' she wondered.

The man in her dream had been tall, and his shoulders and hands—the only parts of his body out of the ahram were fair, whereas Jalal Ansar was dark.

But the voice was so familiar. Was it Jalal Ansar's voice or someone else's?

She could not make out.

The dream was strange; her headache was gone and she was wondrously at peace. She looked at the clock on the wall; it was past 1 a.m. She remembered that she had not read the Isha prayers before sleeping last night. She had neither changed her clothes, nor had she performed her ablutions before sleeping. She changed and came out of her room. Saeeda Amma's room was in darkness. She was asleep. The house was completely still. A light was on in the courtyard and its rays showed a soft mist forming. The green creepers climbing the red brick wall were still.

She had come out to perform her ablutions in the bathroom on the other side of the courtyard; instead she sat down by the pillar in the verandah. Pushing up the sleeves of her sweater, she unbuttoned her shirt sleeves and rolled them up. It was a cold night that sent a shiver through her. She sat there looking at the creepers. She thought of Jalal Ansar and all that had happened that evening. She could hear his voice echoing in her mind, but now it no longer moved her to tears.

It was none but you who supported me in my loneliness— Were it not for you, I would have died long ago.

When darkness, layer by layer, descends on the soul, Your light then does with greater brilliance glow.

There is naught that your worshipper would beg from kings His wealth lies in the sands of your footprints.

Imama smiled a sad smile. For the last eight and a half years, a single voice and these very words had echoed in her mind...and then last night...that dream and that voice reciting the talbiyah. She recalled it, once again. Here I am at Thy service O Lord, here I am. Here I am at Thy service; Thou hast no partner. Thine alone is All Praise and All Bounty, and Thine alone is The Sovereignty. Thou hast no partner.

That voice was familiar, a known voice...but whose? She knew no voice other than Jalal Ansar's. She closed her eyes and recalled all the details of the dream. The Station of Multazim, the open doors of the Kaaba, the luminous Quranic verses on its covering of the Kaaba, the peaceful, starlit night, the incandescent glow through the doors of the Kaaba and the man—prostrating in prayer, reciting the talbiyah. Imama opened her eyes. She sat in the mist-filled courtyard, pondering the mystery of the man. She could recall seeing a healed wound on the shoulder of the man in her dreams. She was astonished that she could recall a dream in such detail— something she had never been able to do earlier. It was the first time in her life that she had seen the Kaaba in her life and sitting there, she wished she could be in the Masjid-e-Nabvi also, standing before the tomb of the Holy

Prophet (PBUH) and that the mosque should be empty of people except for her. She had no idea how long she had been sitting there in her reverie till Saeeda Amma came out from her room to wash up for the tahajjud prayers.

She was surprised to see Imama sitting thus in the courtyard.

'How is your headache?' she asked coming close.

'It's gone.' Imama kept her head lowered.

'You fell asleep without any dinner last night.' Saeeda Amma sat down on the cold floor besides Imama.

Imama kept quiet. Saeeda Amma was wrapped in a warm shawl. Imama leaned head against her shoulder. The warmth of the shawl against her cold, numb face gave her an unusual feeling of peace.

'You should get married Amina,' Saeeda Amma said.

Imama kept her face hidden in the shawl. This was not the first time Saeeda Amma had broached the subject. Earlier she had always kept quiet; today she broke the silence, 'You arrange it, Amma.'

Saeeda Amma was astonished. 'Really?'

'Yes.' Imama lifted her head off Saeeda Amma's shoulder.

'Do you care for anyone?' Saeeda Amma asked.

Imama stared at the floor of the courtyard. 'Do I care for anyone? No. I care for none,' Imama said hiding her face in Saeeda Amma's shawl again. Saeeda Amma heard the tears in her voice.

'Once you are married, I will go to England to be with my sons,' she said patting her head. She realized Imama was crying. Before she could say anything, Imama covered her face with the shawl.

'What's the matter Amina? What is wrong, child?' she asked with concern.

Imama did not reply. She clung to Saeeda Amma and wept her heart out.

'What is it Amina. Say something for God's sake.' Saeeda Amma was really worried now.

'It is nothing Amma; it ...is ...just a headache.' Saeeda Amma forced her to look up. She got up and wiped her face with her sleeve. She refused to look Saeeda Amma in the eye. Leaving her staring at her with concern, she made her way to the bathroom.

Saeeda Amma was not the first to approach her regarding marriage. Dr Sibt-e-Ali too had raised the subject soon after she had finished her studies.

Despite the fact that she was free to marry she had shaken him off. 'Let me work for a while then I will get married,' she had told Dr Sibt-e-Ali. At the back of her mind was the fact that her marriage would be an added expense for Dr Sibt-e-Ali. She had thought she could do a job and collect enough for her own expenses; but she did not disclose any of this to him when she asked for permission to work.

She would have worked a couple of years more before deciding on marriage but the hurt caused by Jalal Ansar's words caused her to cave in. Imama did not know whether or not Saeeda Amma discussed her change of heart with Dr Sibt-e-Ali, but she herself immediately got busy finding a suitable match for Imama. Her choice fell on Fahd.

Fahd worked at a senior position in a company; he was of good repute. His parents came to see Imama and immediately liked her. It was only after they had sent a proposal for her that Saeeda Amma informed Dr Sibt-e-Ali about it. He was not too pleased about the proposal. Perhaps he still hoped to marry Imama off into his own family but Saeeda Amma praised Fahd and his family sky-high and finally Dr Sibt-e-Ali was persuaded. He met the family and Fahd himself, and also carried out some investigation about Fahd. Satisfied with what he saw and heard, he gave his consent to the marriage. Once the proposal was accepted, Fahd's family said they would wait a year before solemnizing the marriage; however a few months later they began to insist that the marriage take place immediately. Dr Sibt-e-Ali happened to be in Fngland in connection with some work when on Fahd's family's insistence, Saeeda Amma agreed to a date for the marriage. She kept Dr Sibt-e-Ali informed of all developments but though he advised her to wait a bit before fixing the date, she went ahead with it. Dr Sibt-e-Ali was disappointed that he could not be there for the wedding because of his commitments abroad but he sent his wife, Kulsoom, back to participate in the festivities. All preparations for the wedding were done by Aunty Kulsoom and Mariam, who came from Rawalpindi where she was now married and settled. After the date had been set, Dr Sibt-e-Ali had called Imama from London and had a detailed conversation with her. All three of his daughters had been married into his own extended family; none of the in-laws had asked for a dowry. However, Dr Sibt-e-Ali had, for each of his daughters, handed over a substantial amount of cash as a wedding gift in lieu of the dowry. 'When you came to my house eight and a half years ago, and I called you my daughter, I had put aside some money for your marriage expenses. That money is yours. You can take is as a cash gift or I can hand it over to Kulsoom and Mariam so that it can be used to purchase whatever you need for your dowry. Because Saeeda Amma has so insisted, your wedding is taking place from her house, although it was my wish that you be married from my house—from your own house.'

He continued, 'I am very sad that I should not be there for my fourth daughter's wedding, but perhaps it is for the best. I will try my best to somehow make it and even if I can come at the eleventh hour I will do so, but I doubt it if I can do it.'

Imama stayed quiet while Dr Sibt-e-Ali spoke. She did not protest about the money he was offering, nor did she insist that she be allowed to spend her own money on the wedding. Perhaps today she wanted someone to be responsible for her. That day she wanted to accept another favor from him. He had been so kind to her that she seemed to have become used to his favors. Her only complaint was that he was not going to be there for her wedding.