The Holy Woman (29 page)

Z
ARRI
B
ANO
WAS
among a group of Muslim women gathered in the female section of the Regent Park mosque in Central London. They had just finished saying their midday prayers. Saira, the friend, with whom Zarri Bano was staying, had invited her friends to meet and to consult Zarri Bano on all sorts of religious matters. Zarri Bano was happy to oblige. It gave her an opportunity to meet other Muslim women from around the world, living in England.

‘May I begin?’ asked one woman. The group were sitting in a semi-circle near Zarri Bano, on the carpeted floor.

‘Of course,’ she assented with a smile.

‘Thank you, Sister. My name is Dudiya. I am a Muslim refugee from Bosnia. I would like to ask you: what constitutes a “true Muslim”? For you see, in Bosnia, living as a minority in a Communist country, we knew ourselves just as “Muslims”. There were no differences within our community. Here in England, however, I have met and made many Muslim friends and often they ask me which sect I belong to. Am I Shia, they ask, or Shafai or Hanafi or Ismaili? I look back at them, puzzled. I just don’t know. These friends keep encouraging me, pulling me towards their
particular
group’s beliefs and thoughts. I don’t know what to do, Sister Zarri Bano. Which group should I follow?’ The rest of the women smiled in understanding – they knew what she was trying to say.

‘Sister Dudiya, you do not have to follow a particular
group or school of thought or sect, if you do not want to. Just follow the words of Allah from our holy book the Quran and the Hadith, the sayings of our prophet Mohammed, may peace be upon him. Islam, like other religions has, over a period of time, evolved and become subdivided. It would be beneficial for you to learn about the differences and the similarities of these
various
groups, then you can decide which one, if any, you wish to join – according to your own personal beliefs,’ she ended with a broad smile at Dudiya. The latter, smiling back, nodded her head.

‘Your turn, Sister.’ Zarri Bano beckoned to the young Pakistani woman sitting on her right.

‘I find it embarrassing to raise this issue in this
company,
but my husband complains that I spend too much time on prayers and on reading religious books. It often leads to having quarrels. He sometimes stops me from reading the Quran in the evening, when he is around. I am very shocked and distressed by this because I believe I am not doing anything wrong. What should I do, Sister Zarri Bano?’

Zarri Bano paused to reflect. ‘It is a complex situation,’ she began, dimpling a warm smile at the woman. ‘There is no doubt that you are
not
doing
anything
wrong and that your husband shouldn’t stop you from reading the Holy Quran. On the other hand, I can’t help thinking that perhaps he feels neglected and imagines that you are not giving him enough attention. Have you thought about doing your
ibadat
when he is not around? Allah Pak wants us to remember Him always, hence we have the five prayers in the day, but at the same time, however, He expects us to lead our normal daily lives too. He definitely doesn’t expect us to neglect our family and our loved ones or our work,
which places food in our mouths. He best appreciates one who is healthily able to combine both and lead a very normal life. As you know, my sister, Islam is about a
complete
way of life. You cannot divorce the spiritual side of your life from the material world around you.’ Zarri Bano turned to another woman.

‘My question concerns myself, and is probably
representative
of the second generation of immigrants, brought up and bred in the West. I find that our lives are full of compromises. For instance, our faith
promotes
the segregation of the sexes, yet it is practically impossible here. We have to interact at all stages of our lives with men, especially in the workplace. You do understand the situation I am describing?’

Zarri Bano nodded, smiling, and stopped to think for a few seconds before answering. ‘This is a very important issue, of great concern to Muslims all over the world. There are, of course, places such as Saudi Arabia where it is possible to segregate the sexes,
however,
this luxury is not widely available nor practically possible in most places, especially in countries where you are a minority.

‘All I can say is that you should know instinctively your social, ethical and moral parameters as a Muslim woman. At work you are naturally likely to interact with men at all times. If the relationship is truly professional and platonic and you are able to regard the man as a brother or father figure then it is harmless. It is when there is a chance of it developing into something else that you need to step back. Theses things can have dire consequences. Your instincts should signal to you the difference between what is right and what is wrong. Learn to regard all men as brothers, uncles or father figures and address them as such, if they happen to be
Muslim. In the case of non-Muslim men, friends and colleagues, explain to them about your faith and its traditions – so that they cannot misunderstand you, but instead learn to appreciate and respect your behaviour, beliefs and way of life.’

‘Thank you,’ the young woman replied with a smile.

‘You are welcome,’ Zarri Bano replied.

Later in the afternoon, Zarri Bano went with Saira to a café, where they were joined by one of Saira’s friends.

‘This is Jane Foster,’ Saira said. ‘She was particularly keen to meet you, especially when I told her how you had taken the veil.’

The young English woman held out her hand to Zarri Bano, who took it warmly. ‘Thank you for
coming,
Sister Jane.’

‘I was fascinated by your story, Zarri Bano. Saira told me about your university days, when you studied with her. She showed me a photograph of you in a pair of Levi’s with only a short blouse on top. Now seeing you wrapped in this veil, I am unable to put the two
pictures
together in my mind. I want to ask you whether you found it difficult to wear the
hijab
at first and why did you do it anyway? I hope you don’t think I am being too personal.’

Uneasy about discussing her past and the
burqa
with a virtual stranger, Zarri Bano did, in fact, feel cornered by Jane’s question. She wished that Saira hadn’t been so generous in showing old photos of herself and
discussing
her.

‘It is true that I found it very strange at first, Jane, when I began to wear the
hijab.
Two years ago I wanted to tear it aside: now I cannot live without it. The veil has given me a sense of my self-worth, respect and
dignity. Above all, it has freed me from vanity. I never thought it would be easy but I have been able to shed myself of the trappings of female vanity. You must not misunderstand me, Jane. I am not saying that all Muslim women lead very simple and unglamorous lives – that would be a misconception. On the contrary, behind closed doors and behind the
hijab
, most of the women here could compete with any woman in Knightsbridge, in the art of looking good.’

‘And you, Zarri Bano, are you still dolled up behind your veil?’ Jane asked with a speculative gleam in her eyes.

‘No,’ Zarri Bano answered quietly. ‘Not any more. I have passed that stage in my life – a stage that now, in retrospect, seems so trivial. Once my whole life was devoted to looking good, and presenting a glamorous smart image to the public world. Now I am content with my simple
burqa.
I do not dress to please others and in deference to them. Thank you for your question, Sister Jane. The veil has always perplexed and tantalised the Western world, both men and women alike. It is a disconcerting phenomenon for them as much now as it ever was. Westerners have always misunderstood the reason why women wear it. To add insult to injury, they see it as a symbol of male oppression – a widely accepted stereotyped myth. They think that women are forced to wear it by their menfolk.

‘I can assure you, my friend, that in the current climate, there are more women now in the
hijab,
by their own free will, than ever before. There has been an international scarf revolution, a symbol of Muslim women’s unity. My father has criticised me for wearing it at home. Now I feel bare without it.’

Zarri Bano stopped to drink her coffee, deciding she
had said enough on this controversial issue. Jane Foster’s expression had changed from mild interest to amazement. It was not the answer she had been expecting.

‘We are not freaks,’ Zarri Bano could not resist
adding,
‘just women who like to dress in a modest fashion and believe in covering ourselves well. All we ask is that people respect us and our dress code.’

‘Of course,’ Jane Foster said quickly, a blush
spreading
across her cheek.

‘Saira, I wish you hadn’t told everything about me or showed those shameful photographs to a complete stranger,’ Zarri Bano confronted her friend, as they walked out of the café. ‘Please don’t use me as food for entertainment and sensationalism.’

‘I am sorry, I didn’t think you would mind,’ Saira replied guiltily, as they walked through Piccadilly Circus.

‘I suppose,’ after a short pause, ‘that you also told her about my ceremony?’ Zarri Bano fixed an accusing glare at her friend.

‘No,’ Saira lied, thinking it prudent not to tell Zarri Bano the truth. Jane Foster was a journalist and Saira had told her everything. ‘Are you coming home with me or going to visit your sister in the hotel?’ She asked, wanting to steer Zarri Bano away from the subject of the
hijab.
She herself didn’t wear it and thus found it an awkward topic.

‘I’ll go to the hotel to see Haris again. He’s so lovely, I can’t wait to hold him. I have promised Ruby that I’ll go with her and Sikander to the theatre tonight. They want to see a play in the West End.’

‘Don’t be too late. Remember that they are
expecting you at seven-thirty tomorrow evening to give the lecture at Manchester Metropolitan University. Before that we are stopping over at Birmingham. I don’t want you to get too tired,’ Saira reminded her friend in concern as they reached the underground station.

‘I won’t be,
Allah Hafiz
!’ Zarri Bano waved Saira off as she went down into the station, then walked along to the traffic lights, and crossed over the road to the hotel where her sister’s family was staying. Ruby and Sikander with their one-year-old son Haris had been on a trip to Europe and had decided to spend three days in London to coincide with Zarri Bano’s three-week tour of England.

As she entered the foyer through a side door, she saw Sikander lounging on a large sofa, his eyes on the revolving doors. Zarri Bano blinked, looking away. She pulled the hood of the
burqa
further onto her forehead, feeling for any missing stray locks of hair. He was waiting for her to walk in!

Sikander watched her glide across the carpeted floor to stand near him. Still avoiding any eye-contact with him, she admired the large Turner oil-painting of a ship on the wall behind him.

‘
Assalam-Alaikum!
Where are Ruby and Haris?’ she asked politely, sitting down on the sofa opposite him and wishing he would take his eyes off her face.

‘Mother and son are waiting for you upstairs. Ruby wants you to go to Harrods with her.’

Zarri Bano chuckled, as she recalled her sister’s
lifelong
wish to shop at Harrods. Sikander’s face relaxed and he too laughed. Then with a serious expression he asked. ‘What are your plans, Sister Zarri Bano? Will you be returning to Pakistan with us or staying longer?
We are heading for Singapore. I – we were wondering whether you would like to join us.’ He looked down.

‘I am sorry, Brother Sikander.’ Zarri Bano stood up abruptly. ‘I have other plans. Will you excuse me? I shall go upstairs to see Ruby and Haris.’

Her eyes blurring, she walked quickly away from him and into an elevator. Singapore was where he had promised to take her for their honeymoon.

H
USBAND AND WIFE
laughed as their grandson Haris jumped off Habib’s lap and ran out of their
bedroom
, to go down to his own parents and Aunt Zarri Bano.

‘Shahzada, please ask Zarri Bano to come and see me. I cannot rest until I have unburdened myself to her,’ Habib informed his wife. ‘The cancer has been eating away at me for the past three years,’ he sighed.

‘What cancer?’ Shahzada asked in alarm,
straightening
up. Although she didn’t love her husband anymore, she still cared for his physical well-being.

‘My guilt,’ he whispered, ‘from forcing my daughter to become a
Shahzadi Ibadat.
I shouldn’t have done it.’ He was unable to look at his wife.

Shahzada’s indrawn breath disconcerted him. She said nothing – for she felt absolutely nothing for her husband. Thus the words of understanding and support that Habib so yearned to hear failed to leave her mouth.

‘I know that you have never forgiven me,’ he went on. ‘Have you?’

She was sitting on his bed, while he lay resting
against the headboard, his hands crossed behind his neck. Shahzada got off the bed and walked towards the door.

‘Have you, Shahzada?’ His raised voice stopped her short.

‘Does it matter whether I have forgiven you or not?’ She turned round, but her hand remained firmly on the door handle.

‘Of course it matters! You were right all along. I lost a wife and a beloved close friend the day my Zarri Bano became a Holy Woman. You act as normal, yet you have kept me at arm’s length. I never knew my Shahzada was capable of such hardness. She was a gentle, warm person. In which grave have I buried her? The rapport we had has gone, your love, your respect … all gone. I can’t cope with it any more! Forgive me, Shahzada – I beg of you!’

What happened next startled both of them. Habib jumped off the bed and went over to Shahzada,
kneeling
in front of her on the floor, clasping her feet in supplication. She froze, looking down at her proud husband bent meekly over her feet, his hands clutching the strap of her sandals.

It was appalling to see Habib abase himself like this. Although she empathised with his pain, she could not respond to it. It was all too late.

‘Habib, please stand up,’ she said irritably. ‘Do not humiliate us both. It is not seemly for you to touch my feet. You know you cannot turn the clock back. What is done is done. You killed your beloved wife the day you threatened her with three divorces – and the dead do not return. Be happy that Zarri Bano has become the woman you wanted to shape her into.’ Her face was marked with deep lines of pain.

‘I wish to God that I had never forced our daughter into it,’ Habib cried. ‘Seeing Ruby happily married and with a son, I shrink inside myself with horror. “What have I done?” I ask myself over and over again. I cry bitterly in my sleep and prayers. I have deliberately prevented my daughter from having a normal life like Ruby’s. Who am I – a god? Shahzada, what right did I have to change another person’s destiny? I cannot go on this holy pilgrimage to Mecca without asking for Zarri Bano’s forgiveness and yours. Allah will not accept my
hajj
rituals until I do this. Prophet Mohammed, may peace be upon him, has said that he who goes on
hajj,
must first reconcile himself or herself to everyone and ask for their forgiveness. As
hajj
is going to be my spiritual journey, I must come back as a person newly born. I have learned to
transcend
my male ego, Shahzada, and to be humble. It is that humility which has reduced me to come crawling to your feet. No man, no husband of my calibre would ever do that. You must recognise, and appreciate that! You talk about dying. Well Habib too died on the day Sikander entered my home, for I haven’t been the same man since.’ His eyes never left her face.

‘So you see, I have to beg for Zarri Bano’s forgiveness and to free her from the oath never to marry. What I hadn’t bargained on was that I would lose you too in the process. Allah Pak will never forgive me for treating you the way I did four years ago. I now cannot live without your respect and love, Shahzada. Don’t shut me out of your mind and heart, please! I hate myself and what I stand for. When my mind compares Zarri Bano with what she used to be like, I recoil. I wanted the world for my daughter, but we lost her to books, to
religious conventions and to a black
burqa.
She is so remote, so inaccessible.’

There were tears of remorse in his eyes. He went on, choking with emotion as he spoke: ‘That dimple in her cheeks, which I used to delight in seeing and touching when she was a child … I have not glimpsed it for three years. She hardly ever laughs or smiles any more. Oh where is our beloved Zarri Bano? My mind and conscience will not rest, Shahzada, until I have laid bare my soul to her. I want my daughter back,’ he ended passionately, then waited for his wife to speak to bring him the comfort he so desparately craved. But Shahzada’s bitter words now lashed back at him.

‘It is all your fault. You had wanted to keep your beautiful daughter, your beloved possession, at home. You didn’t want to part with either her or the fields. You couldn’t stand losing her to Sikander, your rival for her affection, so you thought. Your jealousy has devoured our whole family! You wanted homage and reverence at your daughter’s doorstep? Well, now you’ve got them! People travel from far and wide in Pakistan to seek her moral and intellectual guidance on religious matters. So there should really be no regrets, Habib.’ Shahzada didn’t bother to disguise the contempt that had suddenly surfaced, in both her eyes and voice.

The light of hope in Habib’s eyes died and he rose to his feet. Shahzada was right. He
had
killed his beloved wife that terrible afternoon when he had threatened her with divorce for questioning his decision about Zarri Bano’s fate. To be offered three
thalaks
for no apparent reason would emotionally kill any woman, especially someone of Shahzada’s gentle nature who had
worshipped
him. It was too cruel a punishment, merely for standing up for her daughter’s rights.

‘I will go and get Zarri Bano for you,’ Shahzada told him coldly. ‘I think she is in the lounge with Ruby and Sikander.’ She left her husband standing in the middle of the room, the look of a lost man in his eyes. The padlock still clutching at her heart wouldn’t let her utter any words of consolation. As she closed the door behind her, Shahzada wondered sadly if she was ever going to be able to forgive him.

As soon as Zarri Bano walked into the room, Habib came directly to the point. ‘My dearest daughter,
something
has been bothering me lately. In fact ever since you became a Holy Woman.’

‘What is it, Father? What’s worrying you?’ Zarri Bano said anxiously.

‘I have to ask your forgiveness, for I cannot go on this holy pilgrimage without doing that.’ His voice was husky with emotion. ‘I have already asked your mother for hers. You see, I sinned against you both. Please forgive me, Zarri Bano, for forcing you to give up Sikander, marriage and the life you previously had. What we did was wrong. I do not know how to turn the clock back. My dear daughter, I would give anything to have the old Zarri Bano back again.’

‘Father, there is nothing to forgive,’ she said gently. ‘You shouldn’t feel guilty. I have gained so very much from my new role – in fact, all the things that you said I would.’

‘Is that the truth, my dear,’ Habib interrupted, eagerly. ‘Or are you saying it just to make me feel better?’

‘No, Father. As Allah Pak is my witness, I speak the truth. By your action, you opened the door to another world for me. I am, I hope, a good Muslim now. I hope
I perform all my duties well. I also now have the knowledge to show and direct others along the same path. I have met people that the old Zarri Bano would never have met. I have visited places that in my old life I would never have had the chance to see. It is true my life is not like Ruby’s, but mine is fulfilled in its own way. Therefore, you have simply nothing to worry about,’ she ended with a forgiving smile on her face.

Zarri Bano’s words were like pearls of water falling out of her beautiful mouth onto Habib’s thirsting soul, offering a precious salve to his conscience. He gratefully drank them in.

‘Her words are not enough,’ his conscience prompted, however. Half-heartedly he tried again. ‘My daughter, I have thought long and hard about this issue, and I know that I have done wrong. No matter what you say, I want to make amends. If now, or in the future, you ever wish to marry, you will have my full blessing.’

‘Father, why do you say such things!’ Zarri Bano cried in disbelief, wondering if Habib had become deranged. ‘I don’t want to marry, ever. I am a Holy Woman now!’

‘You wanted to marry then, as I remember clearly – so why not now? I have committed a crime not only against you but also against our faith. I have read the books on Islam and the words of condemnation jump out at me!’

Zarri Bano listened to her father in silence, then answered without any trace of bitterness. ‘I, too, have studied those books and read the jurists’
interpretations
, from Imam Malike and Shafia’s school of thought on this precise issue. Marriage is to be encouraged and not prevented. The family unit and the raising of a family is at the heart of our faith. But I
absolve you of that guilt. I accept your blessing, your permission, as my guardian, for me to marry, if I ever so wish.

‘Marriage, however, has no relevance in my life now, Father. I am truly happy with things as they are. There should be no compulsion to marry if one is really against it – that, too, is written, Father. There is no man I want to marry.’ She quashed the inner whisper: ‘
There was one a long time ago – but you prevented me from marrying him.
’

‘If you are sure? If you ever change your mind, then you have my blessing, my child, remember that!’ Habib pressed earnestly.

‘Never, Father!’

He nodded his head in understanding. Smiling, she stood up to leave.

‘How are the preparations for the
hajj
going?’ she asked. ‘I was just talking about our
hajj
downstairs with Ruby and Brother Sikander. The tickets are sorted out; our clothing has been prepared. I am going through the book on
hajj
with Ruby, so that she knows what she has to do once she gets to Mecca, and also knows what to expect. I have read two or three books on the subject already. Sister Sakina has been filling in the gaps for me. She was saying that it is best to go to Medina first and say our forty obligatory prayers in the Prophet’s Mosque, before the
hajj
. Apparently it is quieter there at that time, than after
hajj,
when most of the pilgrims decide to visit Medina all at the same time. When you went, Father, did you go to Medina before or after the
hajj?
’

‘We went before. Sakina is right – it is not such a rush then. One has plenty of time to visit the holy places, and it’s easier to find a good hotel.’

‘Well, we have booked our tickets so that we have two weeks before the
hajj,
and one week after. That gives us about six days in Jeddah and Mecca and then eight days in Medina before returning to Mecca on the day before the
hajj
begins. Brother Sikander has
contacts
in all three places. He has booked us rooms in good hotels for all of our stay.’

‘I am pleased that he will be going with us,’ Habib approved. ‘We need a young man on a journey like this. Anyway, with four women, there is need of another male escort for the
hajj.
’

‘Yes I am glad he is going with us as well. Haris will miss his parents, though.’

‘I know, that’s the only problem – we’ll all miss
him.
I can’t wait till next month, Zarri Bano,’ Habib said enthusiastically. ‘It will be our first
hajj
together as a whole family.’

‘I am looking forward to it too,’ she told her father warmly.’ Right, I had better get downstairs. Brother Sikander was sorting out the paperwork for our visas; they are going back to Karachi in half an hour.’

‘Aren’t they staying the night?’

‘No. Goodnight, Father.
Khudah Hafiz.’

When Zarri Bano had left, Habib went to lie down on his bed feeling happier than he had been for a long, long time. He was so glad that he had had this chat with his daughter, and she had relieved him of some of the burden.