The Holy Woman (26 page)

F
ATIMA HIRED THE
tanga,
the local horse and
carriage,
to take her from Chiragpur to the house where Khawar was living in the neighbouring village.
Tipping
the driver generously in advance, she told him to wait outside for her, for there were no taxis around in the village. Even the
tangas
were a scarce commodity at times.

Built on the outskirts of the village, Khawar’s large homestead stood alone, amidst green fields. He had inherited two such homes when his father died. He kept two male servants to look after the house and Rani, an old woman helper, to cook and wash for him on a daily basis. It was Rani who let Fatima in,
ushering
her into the drawing room, telling her to wait for Khawar’s return.

‘No more dreams,’ Fatima bitterly scolded herself. ‘It is all over.’

She had learnt her lesson, well and truly. Her daughter’s happiness and welfare meant more to her than her own foolish dream of seeing Firdaus as the Headmistress of the school and the future
chaudharani
of the village. The latter post being the one she herself had forfeited some thirty years previously when she had decided to marry Fiaz instead of Sarwar.

Scolding oneself didn’t, however, make it easy to part with one’s dreams. For a long time, Fatima’s heart had indeed been set on Khawar, as her eldest
son-in-law.

She could still recall the look in Kaniz’s eye when
one woman guest had loudly and tactlessly whispered to the new bride: ‘There is Fatima, the woman that Sarwar wanted to marry, but she turned him down.’

Blushing, Fatima had quickly glanced up and found Kaniz’s piercing gaze on her face. Feeling for the new bride, Fatima’s heart had gone out to her. Later she had admonished that woman with the loud mouth.

Kaniz, however, had neither forgotten nor forgiven Fatima for simply being ‘the other woman’. Fatima, in turn, had to revise her own early opinion of Kaniz, for the new
chaudharani
soon made it abundantly clear, by various means, that Fatima wasn’t at all welcome in her house. Later, she had used her servant, Neesa, to tell her bluntly that she had no right to come there. It was then that the animosity had begun, only to increase over the months and years to follow.

When Fiaz had his accident and Fatima joined the staff in Siraj Khan’s household, Kaniz had her sweet revenge.

Welcoming every opportunity that came her way, she had publicly and indiscriminately sneered at the ‘washerwoman’ Sarwar had originally wanted to marry. Fatima, for her part, had neither the time nor the patience for Kaniz or her petty taunts. She was faced with the task of keeping her family going and caring for her disabled husband. She had found a confidante and a friend in Chaudharani Shahzada instead.

Fatima was still lost in her own and Kaniz’s entwined past, when she heard Khawar’s footsteps
outside
on the veranda. She glanced up, marvelling at the young man’s even set of white teeth and the ever ready smile on his face.

She didn’t return the smile.

‘
Assalam-Alaikum,
Auntie Fatima. What a lovely
surprise!’ Flicking the dust from his boots with a handkerchief, he came forward into the room.

Fatima stood up. Her gaze dwelt on his tall,
well-built
frame.

‘Come and sit down, Auntie Fatima, and tell me all your news. How is everyone?’

‘Everyone is fine, Khawar. What about yourself? You seem to have settled down here permanently, my son.’

‘Yes, I am quite happy here, Auntie,’ he offered politely, uneasy at discussing the matter of his
separation
from his mother.

‘It is not right that you should be here,’ Fatima quietly commented.

‘Why, Auntie?’

‘Well, your poor mother is on her own in the village. You are her only child, Khawar my son, and you should be staying with her.’

‘How is Firdaus?’

‘She is fine, but she is leaving the village for good, my son.’

‘
What?
’ he asked sharply, standing up.

‘Yes, my son. She wishes to leave us and the village. She has been offered a new post as the Vice Principal of a girls’ college in the town. I cannot persuade her to stay on in the village. It is all over, my boy.’

‘What do you mean, Auntie?’

‘I mean that she wants nothing to do with either you, your mother or your home. She is adamant that you are the last person she wants to marry.’ Fatima almost immediately regretted her words. It was the second time that a man had been jilted in his family.

‘I am so sorry, Khawar,’ she said, more kindly. ‘I have tried my very best, you know that. But things are beyond my control.’

‘It is my mother, isn’t it?’ Khawar’s harsh voice matched the steel glint in his eyes.

‘Your mother hasn’t helped, I am afraid. Her recent visit to Firdaus’s school has definitely made matters worse. She probably has reasons to behave as she does. But all I want to say to you, Khawar, is to return home to your mother. I do not want you to be seen to be estranged from her on our account.’

‘I don’t want to go home!’

‘You must, my dear. Your mother loves you dearly. I have come to request that you return home and put Firdaus and us aside from your mind and heart.’

‘It is not as easy as you suggest, Auntie. And why should I have to, just because you and my mother say so. Can I see Firdaus?’

‘I wouldn’t recommend it, my son, not at the moment. She is in a very volatile mood. Your mother and I haven’t helped matters. Her pride is sorely wounded on both counts.’

‘What about the future, Auntie? I’ll not let her go without fighting for her.’

‘That is up to you, my son – but I personally wouldn’t recommend it to you, as much as I would want you to. You know yourself, Khawar dear, how I have always wanted you as my eldest son-in-law. But it looks as if Firdaus is destined for another home. If you have any respect for me, I hope to see you back in your family home in Chiragpur with your mother within the next few days.’

Fatima left, declining both lunch and refreshments. Her
tanga
thankfully was waiting for her, the driver still munching on his
paan.
Fatima had achieved her task – to talk plainly to Khawar.

I
T WAS A BEAUTIFUL
Saturday morning with the sun high up in the sky over Chiragpur. The village sparrows were singing in the trees. Yet Fatima didn’t relish the forthcoming afternoon and the unpleasant task that loomed ahead of her. She let the morning pass on her rooftop.

Finally, after two o’clock Fatima forced herself to leave her home. Resignation was stamped in each step she placed on the cobbled lanes, leading her inevitably to Kaniz’s home.

‘So many years wasted,’ she mourned. If she had only known! Personal selfishness was a hard thing to contend with. For so long she had desired the match between her eldest daughter and Khawar and had actually begun to believe in it as a foregone conclusion. And now Firdaus had already left for the town to start her new job.

Today Fatima intended putting an end to all those years of dreaming, and allow Kaniz to triumph and crown herself as the winner. As for herself, the
inevitable
loser, it was a day for her head to be lowered in humiliation and for Kaniz’s barbed taunts to find their true mark. ‘Even if that woman’s lips spill venom,’ Fatima reminded herself firmly, ‘today I will willingly gulp it all down with dignity and bow out of Chaudharani Kaniz’s life, with honour, and for good.’

Outside Kaniz’s gate, Fatima’s chapped finger hovered above the doorbell – not quite ready to touch it. When eventually she pressed the small round
button, her heart started to hammer away in her chest, startling and disconcerting her. Neesa opened the gates and led Fatima into the central courtyard with its alabaster pillars, to the canopied sofa on the veranda.

Bemused, Fatima stared around at the variety of pot plants lining the veranda, creating an attractive arena for the courtyard. It was indeed a beautiful place. Fatima recalled the occasion when top architects had been enlisted from Karachi by Sarwar’s father to design it. Fatima had secretly envisaged her daughter Firdaus roaming merrily around the scores of rooms on the two floors or sunning herself on the trellis-lined balconies on the rooftop. Fatima shook her head sorrowfully. It was time to part with her dream.

Kaniz was enjoying her afternoon siesta in her large
air-conditioned
bedroom. When Neesa gently touched her on the arm, she was not at all pleased to be woken from a pleasant dream. Her brain, somewhat befuddled by sleep, didn’t register straight away Neesa’s words that ‘Fatima Jee’ was here to see her. She sat up on her
palang,
and started to straighten her
chador
around her shoulders.

On spotting her ‘enemy’ enter the room, Kaniz’s almond-shaped eyes first screwed up into tiny slits and then flapped wide open, her body utterly still. Her mind went completely blank. Why is this hated woman here in my bedroom? she thought perplexed.

Fatima remained poised in the doorway, her face straight and her eyes steadily fixed on Kaniz’s face.

‘
Assalam-Alaikum!
’ Her cool confident voice echoed strangely in the semi-shaded quiet room, startling its occupant.

‘
Wa Laikum-Salam!
’ Kaniz replied stiffly, still unable
to look at Fatima. Social and village etiquette demanded that she treat Fatima as a guest. The nearest she could stoop to, however, was to nod at Fatima, and gesture towards the chair for her to sit on. The snub was not lost on Fatima; it was a gesture akin to the one Kaniz threw at Neesa, her servant. Apparently Fatima was no different.

Her heartbeat quickening, Fatima took rapid stock of herself and the situation. She hadn’t come to pick a quarrel with the
chaudharani
but to act in a restrained and mature manner. She thus grandly and
magnanimously
decided to ignore Kaniz’s petty insults.

Instead, she merely padded two steps forward on the cool marble mosaic floor, declining to sit on the chair. Signalling thus to Kaniz that she wasn’t here ‘to do her bidding’.

‘What has brought you to our home, Fatima Sahiba?’ The heavily laden ironic use of ‘Sahiba’ wasn’t lost on Fatima.

‘I thought it imperative that you and I had a chat.’ Fatima said with quiet dignity.

‘Concerning what?’ Kaniz hated her shrill voice and for being on the verge of losing her poise so quickly and particularly in front of the enemy.

‘Our children and our past, Kaniz Sahiba,’ Fatima replied quietly.

Kaniz turned away. Picking up her mirrored fan, she began to fan the long column of her neck, pulling her muslin
chador
off her head and shoulders. Swivelling her head around, she darted a fierce gaze at Fatima.

‘I didn’t know that we had anything in common. You are very presumptuous,’ she commented
disdainfully,
her cheeks now very warm.

‘I disagree, but if you insist, then I will agree that we
have nothing in common. However, I have not come here for your insults or to bandy words with you, Kaniz.’

‘Then what
have
you come for?’ Kaniz retorted, her fair cheeks throbbing with an ominous shade of red.

‘I have come to inform you that my daughter has left the village. She has got a post as a Vice Principal in a college …’

‘So you have come to boast, have you?’ Kaniz sneered.

‘No, I haven’t!’ Fatima snapped in return. ‘I have come to tell you that my daughter is adamant that Khawar is the last person she wants to marry. She is saying goodbye to the village for good. I will not
pretend
to you: I will admit that I had entertained hopes for her and Khawar. Luckily I have now come to my senses. Is there any point, I ask myself, in placing one’s face in the mud over and over again, just to have it smeared with filth. My daughter deserves better. You and your son are not worth wiping her shoes on. I was foolish, oh so foolish, for wanting my Firdaus to marry into your household.’ She sighed heavily.

‘Thank goodness, that at last I have woken up, Kaniz. I have decided that I’ll do whatever my Firdaus wants. Through your stubbornness and selfishness you have lost your son. I will not lose my daughter the same way. I have spent years of my life working to give my daughters a good education and a standard of life. I will not let all that go to waste.’ She looked sternly at the other woman.

‘I didn’t have any money to look after my son, unlike you. I could have, of course, if I had married Sarwar – but you know that, don’t you? You have never thanked me, have you? You are a
chaudharani,
but only because I
declined to marry Sarwar. You are a
malika,
the queen of this village, who treats everyone like dirt, but don’t forget I know who you are and from whence you have sprung. You have forgotten your humble roots – your shabby home with
charpoys
piled on top of each other, and your brothers and sisters falling over each other because of lack of space. You are an ungrateful and thankless woman. A woman who doesn’t know how to digest riches. You have to be born to them to do that.’

By now Kaniz had bolted up from her
palang.

‘How dare you come here to insult me in my own home!’ Her mouth opened and closed – aghast.

‘I am not insulting you,’ Fatima continued calmly, keeping her eyes steady on Kaniz’s face. ‘Just giving you a wholesome dose of what you always mete out to others. Today, I will wipe the slate clean between us, once and for all. There will be no going back, for either you or me, Kaniz. It is true, as you delight in telling the whole village, that my hands are “greased”, but tell me, who was on a par with Sarwar in the first place? Me or you? You know that my family are a land-owning family, and it was my pride that wouldn’t let them help me. I wanted to support my family myself. My weakness, unlike yours, Kaniz, is pride in my own achievements and work. I didn’t want to extend a begging hand to anyone.

‘Have you known, or can you imagine, what it is like to work, to support one’s family? You have no idea, have you? You, who are used to barking at your
servants.
I married my husband, not for his wealth, but for love. You married yours for wealth. That is the
difference
between us.’ Her voice grew stronger.

‘It is true, in your book of social etiquette, that I have done demeaning work. I have brushed, washed and
carried things for other people. But it is good honest work. It is very different from your lazy lifestyle, where you are totally dependent on other people. I have made my daughters self-sufficient too. All this I have achieved from my own efforts. Can you tell me what
you
have achieved? Apart from giving birth to one son?’

‘Enough!’ Kaniz shouted, totally scandalised. ‘I will not listen to any more of your insults. You mad,
vindictive
woman – get out. Neesa!’ Her eyes were now
practically
rolling in their sockets.

Unperturbed, Fatima merely smiled, showing a row of even white teeth. ‘Have no fear – I am going. You will not have to listen any more. I have said more than I had planned or wished to, but you deserved it, Kaniz. The chapter of your animosity towards me and my family will end today. My daughters and I decline to have anything to do with you, or your son. You can keep it all. It is beneath us. Goodbye.’ With a dignified gait Fatima strode out of the room, leaving the
chaudharani
of the village with her mouth half-open,
standing
in the middle of the room – near hysterical.

Fatima met Neesa in the courtyard, carrying a tray with a jug of iced lemon juice and a glass.

‘You must stay for a drink, Sahiba Fatima,’ Neesa politely insisted.

‘Thank you, Neesa. I am afraid I don’t feel inclined to drink even a drop of water in this house at the moment, nor would your mistress thank you for
offering
it to me.’ She flashed a knowing smile at the woman before she walked out of the property, closing the gates firmly behind her.

Inside, mixed feelings vied. She was triumphant, because she had had her say. Miserable, because it was a
hollow victory, and knowing that Khawar was never destined to marry her daughter. If only … No more foolish thoughts! Angrily, Fatima thrust open the gate of her home.