The Holy Woman (10 page)

Shahzada had listened, her hand held up to her mouth, wanting to say so much but unable to offer anything – only tears and guilt-ridden silence. Zarri Bano stepped forward and pulled her mother gently into her arms.

Dry-eyed, she remained thus for a long time.
Nothing
mattered any more. Despondency had numbed both her mind and her body. Quietly and with a
dignity
that only Zarri Bano possessed and could summon to her aid, she whispered in her mother’s ear: ‘Tell Father he can start the preparation for my wedding to the Holy Quran.’

T
HE VILLAGE OF
Chiragpur was larger than most other neighbouring villages, but it had the same
features
: a mosque and two schools, one for the boys and one for the girls. With its conspicuous mosaiced green dome and a tall white minaret, the mosque was strategically built at the centre of the village, fronted by a baker, a butcher, a potter’s and other shops. The schools, by contrast, were built on the outskirts of the
village, amidst fertile green fields of vegetables, wheat and sugar cane. The entire village was neatly
criss-crossed
into eight lanes, with rows of houses of all shapes, sizes and façades.

The
hawaili
, the large house belonging to Habib Khan’s father, Siraj Din, the feudal landlord, was located near the mosque and thus enjoyed the most central position in the village. With its ample grounds and a very large square-shaped courtyard, it took up one quarter of the land occupied by the whole village. Siraj Din’s family had ruled over Chiragpur for decades, even before the influx of Muslim refugees from India after Partition.

On this particular day, the sun shone brightly in the clear, blue summer sky and over the fields; an air of tranquillity blanketed the entire village. Farmer Faisal was ploughing the land with his new tractor. The twenty-four hour ‘chug-chug’ sound of the flour mill as it tirelessly ground wheat into flour could be heard distinctly all day and well into the night – a sound that the villagers would be lost without. The women were busy in their homes or out in the fields, and most of the children were at school.

Fatima’s eldest daughter, Firdaus, was taking her morning break on the veranda outside her office, when the school clerk came and gave her a message: Fatima had phoned to let her daughter know that she was returning to the village later that afternoon.

After a few minutes, Madam Sadaf, the headmistress of the girls’ school, joined Firdaus on the veranda. They had an urgent matter to discuss. ‘So your mother is coming back for good, my dear?’ The headmistress looked enquiringly at her twenty-six-year-old deputy and protégée.

‘I don’t know, madam, probably just for a few days. The family she is supporting is quite dependent on her, especially now that their son Jafar was killed in a riding accident and their eldest daughter, Zarri Bano, is likely to get married. Madam Sadaf, you must have seen her!’ Firdaus said enthusiastically. ‘She came to spend
Eid
with her grandfather here in the village. She is simply gorgeous. So tall, so slender, her skin is like ripe peaches, her hair is all glossy curls and her eyes like emeralds –
and
she’s so well educated. My mother never tires talking about her. When we were young we used to be jealous of her and accused our mother of loving her more than us, her own daughters.’ Firdaus chuckled at the memory. ‘That was a long time ago. These days, when Zarri Bano comes to visit her grandfather Siraj Din, we cannot wait to call on her. She would make a wonderful principal of a college. I can just see her students spellbound by her personality and looks. Mother is delighted that, at last, she has met someone whom she is really interested in marrying.’

‘So you’ll probably be going to the wedding?’ Madam asked before she was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone in her office. She stood up to answer it. ‘Excuse me, Firdaus, I’ll be back.’

Firdaus looked down at the document in her hand. Her eyes quickly skimmed over the paper, which was giving them notice of an impending government inspection. At the sound of a horse’s hooves, she raised her head and looked in the direction of the concrete wall surrounding the school’s large courtyard. Above it appeared the upper torso of a man, apparently sitting on a horse.

It was Khawar, looking directly at her. As he caught her eye, he smiled, giving his handsome features a
rakish look. Firdaus quickly glanced back down at the papers, embarrassed both by his look and his presence. When she next glanced up, he was moving on, but his eyes remained on her face. Suddenly he lifted his hand and saluted her.

Firdaus was alarmed by this brazen act of flirtation. Since that incident in the village cauliflower field a few weeks ago, Khawar had become overtly familiar in his manner towards her. Anger swept over her. Just because he had helped her up, it didn’t mean that her
reputation
had to be compromised. What if somebody had seen him salute her just now? Tongues could begin to wag! A hot little titbit of village gossip could escalate to a volcano. She was soon to become headmistress, when Madam retired in the summer, therefore really couldn’t afford any hint of scandal to tarnish her reputation.

What would happen when she took over here? Firdaus mused. Would she stay on in the village, or would she eventually move to the city and carve herself a career there? Of course, it all depended on who she married. Firdaus sighed to herself.

Marriage was, at the moment, a major issue for Firdaus and for her family. Her mother had lost no time in enlisting the aid of three matchmakers to find a suitable partner for Firdaus. ‘As my daughter is so
well-qualified
and educated, as well as being quite attractive, only the best will do for her. I am not going to saddle her with any run-of-the-mill fellow,’ Fatima had smugly boasted. The trouble was, as she delighted in lamenting to everyone: ‘There are hardly
any
suitable eligible men in the village, who are near enough compatible with my daughter’s qualifications and status in life.’

At the end of the day, as the future Headmistress of a
large secondary school for girls, her Firdaus couldn’t marry just
anybody
. The only man who Fatima thought was suitable was Khawar – and he was suitable in every way – well-educated, good-looking and from a rich land-owning family. An added bonus would be that, married to Khawar, Firdaus would remain forever firmly ensconced in the village and she could be the Headmistress for life.

Now that, in Fatima’s mind, was truly an ideal match!

The problem was: Khawar’s mother. For Kaniz had let the whole world know that she would never
ever
contemplate such a match for her son – ‘a match with a washerwoman’s daughter!’ It was a blemish that even Firdaus’s status as a Deputy Headmistress couldn’t delete at any cost.

Firdaus wished, with all her heart, that her mother would give up her demeaning, menial job. She had no need to work. Why did she do it? It was a disgrace for a Deputy Headmistress’s mother to work as a servant in someone else’s household. If she returned home on a permanent basis they could all live like an ordinary family. Her mother could look after her bedridden husband, rather than leave him in the care of her daughters, who had their own lives to lead anyway.

Today she was definitely going to have a serious talk with her mother, Firdaus promised herself. Fatima kept paying out good money to matchmakers for suitable
rishtas
, yet she persisted in creating an obvious obstacle to a good match by remaining in her present job. Khawar’s mother would continue to look down her long arrogant nose at them, while her mother still worked ‘washing dishes’, as Chaudharani Kaniz so offensively termed it.

Firdaus had known for the past three years that Khawar had eyes only for her and was interested in pursuing a relationship that surpassed that of the sisterly feelings all men in the village were supposed and expected to harbour as a decent act towards the women. The elder women were
aunties
, and the younger women were supposed to be
sisters
.

Firdaus and Khawar hadn’t had a chance to explore each other’s feelings, or even to make them known to one another. They only met in the company of other people – or sometimes, by chance, in the village lanes. On these occasions, as befitted social decorum, they maintained their silent distance. She always,
nevertheless
, felt his eyes on her whenever she passed. In the last few days he had begun to ride his horse on the path going in the direction of the school, and passed the high wall, just at the time when Firdaus had her break and drank her tea on the veranda.

Firdaus wasn’t sure exactly why he singled her out. His mother was apparently still chasing after Habib Khan’s daughters. Also, there were other fairly attractive village women. One or two of these young women would be well tolerated by his mother, if not applauded.

Khawar’s family ranked second in the village
hierarchy
after Siraj Din’s. They had some land to their name, a large house and two comfortable places of
residence
in the nearest town. As the only son and heir, Khawar had taken over the responsibility of running the family business, which consisted of leasing out acres of fertile land to the village tenants.

Like Baba Siraj Din, in whose footsteps Khawar was eagerly following and liked to follow, he had in the last year or so begun to play a prominent role in the village
management committee, overseeing and governing the school. Firdaus normally kept away from the meetings, letting the elder Headmistress chair them. Khawar had specifically requested for Madam’s replacement to be recruited from the village.

‘If we have a woman from the village,’ he had asserted at one meeting, ‘she will be more likely to be committed to both the school and the pupils; she will have a similar commitment to try to instil in them the ethos of village life and etiquette, because she will be like us. Therefore we can safely leave our children in her capable hands, for she will share our fears and interests. Also, she could be consulted at any time by the parents because she would be residing in the village.

‘In short, I believe we will gain greater dividend by having somebody from the village, rather than from town. You can never retain urban people for long here. They have a different lifestyle and way of going about things, and they always seem to hanker after that. They have no sense of allegiance to us or village life at large; nor can we expect them to. Also, I have learnt from my experience that they tend to have a condescending
attitude
towards us anyway. As if we people who live in the country are nothing but bumpkins.’

He finally ended, letting his eyes move over the other six male members of the committee and Madam Sadaf. He had spoken passionately and he thus wanted the right response from them.

‘I see,’ said Siraj Din. ‘How many candidates will be applying from the village for this job?’ As a founding member of the school he too, like Khawar, took a keen interest in the issue of Madam’s replacement. He had originally helped to set up the school, with the
assistance
of his two sons. Sharing some of Khawar’s ideas he
too, wanted to keep the village ethos as pure and rural as possible. He wanted no ‘flighty’ miss from the city to corrupt impressionable young girls in her care. The influence of the Headteacher was a very strong one. The matter thus merited a great deal of thought. Ideally, he would have wanted his granddaughter, Zarri Bano, to head the school – but he knew that she loved city life too much to come and stay here. She would be smothered by the tranquillity of village life.

‘Apart from Firdaus, there is no one else, is there?’ Siraj Din continued. ‘She is a very young woman and, as yet, unmarried. Then we are back at square one …’

‘Why is that, Uncle Siraj Din?’ Khawar asked quickly. ‘Women can still work after they are married.’

‘Of course they can. I didn’t mean that. I only meant that she is bound to leave the village soon,’ Siraj Din explained. ‘Her mother has been on the lookout for a good
rishta
for Firdaus for the past three years. There is no one in the village who appeals to Fatima’s taste. Unless, of course …’ He raised his eyes meaningfully towards Khawar but then quickly dismissed the thought, knowing full well that Kaniz wouldn’t even stoop to listen to the suggestion, let alone allow it to happen. She had been badgering him to act as a
go-between
for the last three years for Zarri Bano’s hand in marriage.

Khawar knew what Siraj Din had alluded to.

Firdaus also knew as she listened sitting behind the curtain at her desk; the window was open and she had heard everything. She flushed indignantly. Did the old man mean that Khawar should marry her so that she could remain in the village? What a cheek! Did her opinion not matter at all? She had no desire to link herself with Khawar or have anything to do with his
snobbish and bitchy mother. She would marry
somebody
suitable, but would also remain in the village. Her husband would definitely not be Khawar!
She
was the good catch, not that conceited fellow!

F
ATIMA RETURNED TO
the village, laden with boxes of goods and with much pomp and ceremony, in Habib Khan’s black Audi car. There were groceries, clothes, and other items that could only be purchased in the town’s boutiques, including presents for her three daughters. Shahzada had personally helped Fatima to pack everything and then later had waved her off.

‘We will miss you, Fatima. But please stay at home for at least a week – you owe it to your family. Try to sort out Firdaus’s
rishta
this time. If you need me I will come and help you find an eligible young man for your most eligible of daughters!’

Fatima had simply beamed with pleasure at her
mistress’s
words. She was a good, kind and generous employer. ‘Thank you, Chaudharani Sahiba!’ she called from the car window.

Driving through the open cobbled streets of her home village, Fatima saw some of her friends and her heart swelled with pride as she watched them staring curiously at the shiny black car, and begin to follow it.

The car stopped first outside Baba Siraj Din’s house. Fatima always followed the ritual of greeting him and calling on him first, whenever she returned to the village. As the
buzurg
, the village elder, he also enjoyed the position of the highest-ranking inhabitant.
Siraj Din, however, wasn’t at home this morning. She was informed by his manservant that he was out in the fields, taking a walk.

Fatima dutifully climbed back into the car and headed for Kaniz’s territory, the other section of the village. Delighting in driving past Khawar’s family home, she prayed that the almighty Chaudharani Kaniz would be looking out from her high chamber balcony of her room on the second floor.

Peering out of the car window, Fatima stealthily glanced up at the shuttered window of Kaniz’s room. When she saw a woman’s face appear Fatima decided to get out. She imperiously ordered Ali to stop. Her loud voice was intended to be heard, not only by those people in the street, but also by those listening from behind the scenes. ‘Ali! Please take all of my parcels to my home,’ she said grandly. There are ten of them. I will just visit my friend Rani, before I go home.
Afterwards
, my daughters will not let me step out of the house,’ she ended with a laugh.

Swishing her new black cashmere
chador
over her shoulders, Fatima entered the house directly opposite Kaniz’s home, her cheeks plumped out with laughter. Fatima was enjoying herself immensely. She was ninety-nine per cent sure that Kaniz was still watching her, for she could almost feel her sharp, eagle eyes boring warm holes into her back.

The lady in question swept away from the window and banged it shut, causing the wooden shutters to rattle on their hinges. She knew full well she had played directly into Fatima’s hands by looking out. ‘What is the world coming to?’ Kaniz snorted in disgust. ‘A washerwoman barking orders to another servant, and riding in an Audi car! How vulgar she sounded.
“Ten parcels”,’ she mimicked. As if it mattered to
anyone
here how many bars of Lux soap and Colgate
toothpaste
she had brought from the city for her daughters. ‘The parcels probably contain cast-off clothes from Chaudharani Shahzada’s daughters anyway,’ Kaniz sniffed bitchily to herself.

‘Mother and daughter are different in personality, yet they share one distinct trait: they are both proud beyond their status,’ Kaniz decided. Firdaus, however, was a lot worse than her mother. Just because she had managed to get herself educated and taught in a school, there now appeared to be no end to her airs and graces – the self-important young madam! She expected the whole village to pay homage to her as if she, and not Kaniz, was a
chaudharani
!

Kaniz’s worst secret fear and ultimate nightmare, which sent cold shudders crawling through her body, was that Firdaus would somehow end up trapping her beloved son into marriage. She had distinctly heard through the village grapevine that Firdaus had said there was no one suitable for her here – the sly,
double-dealing
little witch! In Kaniz’s opinion, Firdaus had had her eyes on Khawar ever since she was a twelve-year old, peering down doe-eyed at him from the rooftop of her home.

‘What do they take me for? Do they really think I am stupid enough to allow a washerwoman’s daughter to be foisted onto my only son, the heir to acres of land?
Never
!’

Fatima could gather all the parcels in the world, ride in rows of shiny cars into the village; her daughter could become a university professor, for all she cared, but it
still
wouldn’t remove the stigma of Fatima’s menial job. Some things never change! No money or
achievements could alter certain realities, or purchase an unblemished lineage and background.

Kaniz laughed in the mirror, examining her rows of neat white teeth, before brushing and chiselling them with the
muswak
stick, and later with
sak
which stained her lips red. As she peered closer in the mirror, she saw to her horror a small
chaiei
– a brown mark forming just under her left eye on her very fair cheek.

Kaniz’s eyes widened. This was a bigger problem than Firdaus and her scheming mother. For no
blemishes
were ever allowed to mark her face – she had always made sure of that. The mirror was probably playing tricks on her. She picked up the small hand mirror from the wooden dresser, and decided to go up on to the top balcony, to have a better look in the open sunlight.