The Holy Woman (39 page)

Z
ARRI
B
ANO THRASHED
restlessly around on her bed, her mother’s words of appeal ringing in her ears.

‘It could be a marriage in name only, at first,’ Shahzada had suggested. ‘Sikander has agreed to this. Just for Haris’s sake. At least think about it, Zarri Bano. Could you become a full-time mother to Haris and spend half of your time in Karachi? Would that be too much to ask?’ Shahzada had stopped short as her daughter stormed out of the room.

Now Zarri Bano pressed her face in her pillow,
tortured
by conflicting emotions. ‘I am not ready for this new upheaval in my life. Allah Pak, what am I going to
do?’ she prayed. ‘I love my nephew but I cannot cope with this. I want to have nothing to do with Sikander – ever!’

During the next few days, she managed to put the whole affair out of her mind. Shahzada hadn’t mentioned it again and Zarri Bano avoided
meeting
Sikander when he came to drop Haris off for his weekly trip.

After leading the Friday prayers for the women in her
madrasa
, Zarri Bano led a seminar for her regular group of students.

Sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor of the large seminar room, the young women discussed the sayings of Prophet Mohammed (Peace be upon him), and the writings of the Holy Quran. A table piled high with textbooks in English, Arabic and Urdu stood near Zarri Bano.

On this occasion, they were debating the issue of women and inheritance, according to the Islamic
Shariah
law.

‘Our faith says we have distinct rights of inheritance, yet in reality it is the men who end up getting most of it,’ one young woman complained angrily, starting the debate off.

‘You are right, Nargis. Unfortunately, that does tend to happen in our society, especially if the woman is ignorant of her rights,’ Zarri Bano agreed, fingering the page on the issue of inheritance in one of her textbooks. ‘If you know your rights and are conversant with the
Shariah
law, and consult these books, you may be able to change things. You can take the matter to our
Shariah
court.’

‘What you say is true, Sister Zarri Bano, but in reality how many women, whether young or old, will
actually stand up and confront their male kin, or fight for their rights, let alone take the matter to court? It is easily said, but difficult to achieve in reality. The male kin also come up with insulting the woman,
saying
that she is greedy, especially as they have already spent a great deal on raising her up as well as on her dowry.’

‘Can I stop you there, Nargis. There is some truth in what you say about dowry. Say, for instance, a property is in question – a house is to be divided up between five brothers and a sister. If the brothers have already spent a lot of money on the sister for her wedding (note, the brothers,
not
the father), then I think we have a moral and ethical problem here. Is the woman in question entitled to the same share of the inheritance as her brothers? Is it right for her to claim it, if she personally has no need of it and if her brothers have already spent a lot on her out of their own pockets? I think it is a grey area, which makes the situation complicated. That doesn’t mean, however, that fathers can go ahead and aggressively disclaim their daughters’ rights, by
harping
on how much they have spent on them.’ She paused, then went on.

‘The issue of inheritance is a very sore point with me personally. As you know, I have inherited the bulk of my father’s estate. I had no desire for this inheritance, but as the eldest daughter and with no brother, my father decided to pen almost everything to my name. As I have no children, nor am I likely to …’ Zarri Bano paused again, losing, for a moment, the thread in her thoughts, ‘… I will pass my inheritance to my nephew Haris. Inheritance is a major issue for landowning families like ours. Brothers have killed each other and had lifelong feuds over land. Some end up applying
their own brutal law, that of the fittest, and the one with the most influence ends up winning everything.’

Zarri Bano suddenly stopped, fearing that she had said and revealed too much. She glanced up at the assembled women, listening to her with rapt attention. ‘Let’s turn to page seventy where this issue is
discussed
…’

Zarri Bano looked up as she saw her Cousin Gulshan come into the room.

‘Gulshan, how nice to see you. Please join us,’ Zarri Bano said warmly.

Gulshan looked around awkwardly at all the women on the floor, with opened books lying in their laps.

Zarri Bano moved aside and made space beside
herself
for Gulshan, pulling the
burqa
hood in place on her head. Dressed in cool pastel shades of pink and blue lawn fabric, Gulshan felt frivolous amidst the severely dressed students surrounding Zarri Bano. With an awkward movement, she pulled the pink chiffon
dupatta
over her hair, feeling that she should cover it up too, out of respect for the group, although normally she never did this in front of other women. Then she sat back and listened to Zarri Bano leading the remainder of her seminar session.

Zarri Bano’s performance and knowledge impressed Gulshan. She appeared to speak authoritatively on different issues and explained everything in a very balanced, intelligent manner. Gulshan looked at her cousin, marvelling at her. She couldn’t believe that only five years ago Zarri Bano never had an inclination to say a single prayer in one day, yet here she was, supposedly the local female authority on all religious matters. ‘She knows everything,’ Gulshan mused in awe, becoming more and more aware of her own ignorance.

Eventually the session ended and the women left. ‘How do you manage to sit cross-legged for so long on the floor?’ Gulshan asked, standing up and stretching her own stiff legs. ‘I definitely can’t.’

‘You get used to it after a while,’ Zarri Bano replied with a laugh, also standing up. ‘Remember the daily prayers are not only meant to be a spiritual union with Allah but also the best form of exercise. The
wudu
, the daily ablutions, is the best form of hygiene. There is a wonderful purpose for mankind in everything that Allah Pak has prescribed for us to follow. When we say our prayers, especially if you know Arabic, one is directly communicating with Allah Pak, Gulshan.’

‘It is all right for you, Zarri Bano, because you know Arabic. For us, ordinary ignorant folk who recite it in a parrot fashion, the rapport you talk of can’t always take place. Do you know, I could do with attending one or two of your seminars. I have so much to learn.’

‘Of course, my dear, you are most welcome. There is a breed of us women from our background and class who have become totally divorced from our faith. I have only recently realised by how much. I was like a blind person, stumbling in the dark and spiritually bankrupt. Now thanks to my father for directing me onto this path, my life is so different. I have gained so much!’

‘But you have also lost a great deal too,’ Gulshan prompted softly, remembering the reason why she had sought Zarri Bano out and had come to visit after Shahzada had phoned her.

‘I have lost nothing!’ Zarri Bano snapped, the smile disappearing from her face. ‘Once, I might have thought so – but not any more.’

‘Come on, Zarri Bano. Surely you’ve not forgotten how you were forced into the role. You are not going to
pretend to
me
that you walked into this life freely? You were about to marry Sikander!’

‘Let’s go home, Gulshan,’ Zarri Bano interrupted, cutting her cousin short. It seemed as if everybody was intent on getting her to review her present and past life, and then proving to her that her life was somehow sadly lacking and that Sikander was suddenly the answer to everything! It was absolutely maddening.

Later in the evening, sitting on the verandah at the back of the house, Gulshan resumed the conversation that her cousin had ruthlessly cut short. Haris was
playing
on the lawn. Zarri Bano watched him with affection shining out of her eyes.

‘You love him very much, don’t you?’

‘Yes, if you mean Haris.’ Zarri Bano said. ‘He is my Ruby’s treasure.’

‘Don’t you ever get sick of wearing it?’ Gulshan teased, changing the subject gently.

‘You mean my
burqa
?’ Zarri Bano returned. ‘No, I never get sick of it. It is like my second skin now. I only feel comfortable when I am wearing it. It also makes my life so simple and carefree. I don’t have to worry about what I am wearing underneath, or about my hair and so on. It is an amazing experience, I can tell you. I still remember the first time I wore it. Can you imagine, shudders of horror passed through me? Now I feel naked and vulnerable without it, particularly when I am in front of strange men. Not that I come across many as they all dutifully keep a respectable distance. The old vain Zarri Bano drew whistles from men, this one draws distant courteous respect. My life is so
sheltered
that men just don’t feature in it.’

‘What about the future?’ Gulshan said, cleverly
steering the conversation her way. ‘Do you not visualise a future with a man in it? I know Uncle Habib gave you his blessing to marry if you so wish. You don’t know what you are missing. Marriage is a wonderful
experience
, especially with children – see for yourself, Zarri Bano, please!’ Gulshan appealed.

‘I see,’ Zarri Bano muttered, looking down at the empty cup in her hand.

‘What do you see?’ Gulshan prompted, after a long silence between them.

‘I can see that my mother has been talking to you too. It seems that, these days, someone is forever trying to marry me off. Only last week Sister Sakina was at it and, before her, my former tutor, Professor Nighat, phoned and tried to persuade me to marry by referring to her own experience. “I wish I had remarried after my husband’s death,” she said. “I gave up my youth for my daughter’s sake. Now I am so lonely. What am I going to do when she leaves? You don’t even have children. What will you do when your mother dies? You will be all alone. Loneliness is a terrible thing. Take this chance, Zarri Bano, before it is too late!”

‘Suddenly I am asked to forget who I am; to give up what I do and become a
normal
woman to everyone’s way of thinking. Gulshan, marriage may agree with you. It may be the answer to what you want in life. I know that you are happily married and now have a family of your own. But what if I say I want none of it and that I love my life too much to give it up?’

‘I am sure you can still carry on with all that, but your life will be more fulfilled.’

‘How, Gulshan? My life is already fulfilled, not in the way you imagine, but fulfilled nevertheless. I do not need a man in my life.’

‘Not even Sikander? Does he not mean anything to you?’

‘No, especially not Sikander! Excuse me, Gulshan, it is time for my prayers.’ And Zarri Bano ended the conversation, leaving her cousin watching her in bemusement.

A
S
Z
ARRI
B
ANO
reached her bedroom she saw Haris talking with his father on the telephone. She quickly closed the door, afraid in case Haris asked her, in his innocent manner, to talk to Sikander. She waited in the corridor for a few moments and then went in. Haris was bidding his father goodbye, his lower lip quivering in distress and there were tears in his eyes. Zarri Bano flew to her nephew’s side. Putting the receiver down on its cradle, she caught the little boy in her arms and swung him up into the air.

‘Why are you crying, my darling?’ she asked, nuzzling her face in his hair, holding him tightly in her arms.

‘Daddy said I had to go home tomorrow. But I don’t want to go, Auntie. I want to stay here with you,’ he cried, snuggling further into her arms.

‘But you have to go home, my darling. Your daddy misses you too,’ she reminded him gently.

‘I like staying here with you. Don’t you want me to stay with you, Auntie? You don’t love me!’

‘Of course I love you, Haris,’ Zarri Bano quickly assured her young nephew.

‘No, you don’t. Nobody loves me! I want my mummy! My mummy!’

‘Please stop, Haris. We all love you very, very much.’

‘I want my mummy back! Where is she?’

‘Oh
Allah Pak
, Haris – I want your mummy back too, but Allah has taken her to heaven.’

‘Will Mummy never come back?’ he asked in a small fearful voice, looking at his auntie with his thick fringe-lined brown eyes, brimming with tears.

‘No, darling Haris, I’m sorry, she won’t,’ she answered sadly, opting for honesty.

‘But I want my mummy!’ Haris wailed, his small body trembling as he sobbed.

The anguish in her nephew’s voice lanced through Zarri Bano. ‘I am your mummy too. Remember you have always called me your second mummy.’

‘But my mummy stayed with me. You just keep sending me away back to Karachi!’ he replied angrily, turning away from her arms.

Stung, Zarri Bano cried, ‘I won’t send you away, my darling – ever, I promise. I will never let you cry again.’

Holding him tightly to her chest, Zarri Bano promised herself that she would never let her nephew shed a single tear again. ‘Oh, the selfishness of adults,’ she chided herself sadly in her mind.

It was as she was putting him to sleep, in her bed, that Haris sought reassurance from his aunt. His small arms around her neck, he pulled her head down. Putting his hand through her hair, he asked, ‘Do you mean it, Auntie? Will you always stay with me, even in Karachi?’

Zarri Bano’s heart stopped, panic looming in her body. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘Even in Karachi, I promise!’ she quickly reassured him. ‘Now, go to sleep.’

Gently massaging his temple and sweeping his hair
away from his forehead, Zarri Bano printed light kisses on his face until he fell asleep.

Rising from the bed, she felt a new weight of responsibility falling on her shoulders. Her sister’s son was now her responsibility and she would treasure him for all time.

‘They have all won!’ she cried inwardly. Yet they were all right. What mattered was Haris and his happiness.

For a long time she stood looking out of the window at the lush green lawns of their courtyard. With a heavy heart, she then went to the telephone and stood by it, gathering her resolve. She knew what she had to do. With a trembling hand, she tapped out the Karachi numbers, hoping that
he
would answer it.

Her wish was answered.

‘It’s me, Sikander Sahib.’ She spoke in a voice so low that she hardly recognised it herself. She had to
consciously
remind herself not to call him ‘Brother’ now. There was an awkward pause before Sikander answered.

‘Is everything all right? I was speaking to Haris a short while ago, Zarri Bano.’ She could tell he was surprised to hear from her.

‘He is fine and is sleeping soundly in my bed. He was a little upset earlier when you reminded him that he has to return by Friday.’

‘I see, but you do realise that he has to come home sometimes.’ His voice was cool.

‘Of course I do.’

‘Will you be able to bring him yourself?’ he asked more pleasantly, after a pause.

Zarri Bano took the cue he had offered.

‘Yes, I will. Moreover, I will stay as long as Haris wants me to and as long as I am welcome, of course, in
your home. Haris’s happiness means everything to me,’ she rushed quickly. There was a long silence at his end.

‘You know you are most welcome, Zarri Bano, any time. Would that mean indefinitely?’ he asked after a further pause, feeling the tension grow at the other end of the line.

Zarri Bano glanced down at her hand holding the receiver. The palm was moist.

‘If that is what is best for Haris,’ she answered in a voice that sounded alien to her ears.

Sikander seemed lost for words, then: ‘Thank you, Zarri Bano! Look – you do know what you are saying, don’t you?’

‘I do.’

Sikander couldn’t leave it at that. He wanted it clearly out in the open. ‘When can
it
take place, Zarri Bano?’ he persisted.

She couldn’t pretend to misunderstand him. ‘I … I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead,’ she murmured, her heart going faint, as if she’d been
running
for miles in her grandfather’s fields. ‘I only came to this decision in the last few minutes. Haris’s tears tore at my heart. I couldn’t bear to see them. I do this for him.’

‘As Allah is my witness, Zarri Bano, I will never let you regret your decision. You’ll be free to pursue your career, your vocation in life. You can come and go whenever you wish. I demand nothing, only that you be a permanent mother to Haris and make my home your home.’ She couldn’t fail to note the warm earnestness in his voice.

There it was, all out in the open. The taboo word
marriage
had still not passed through their mouths, almost as if they were both afraid that the tenuous link
that was being forged would snap with that one word. Neither wanted that, at any cost.

‘Thank you. I hope you appreciate that I am only doing this for your son’s sake. I am not the same person I was five years ago, Sikander. This will not be an
ordinary
marriage to a normal woman.’ She felt it important to remind him.

‘Of course I know that you are now a different sort of person from the one I first met – yet, beneath it all, I believe you are still the same woman, Zarri Bano. But I don’t want to go into that at the moment. All I can assure you now is that everything will be in your hands. I’ll make no demands on you. It will be one step at a time.’

Zarri Bano felt her cheeks grow warm at his word
demands
. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out the sensuous images behind her eyelids. It was such a long time since her mind had entertained them.

‘Thank you for your understanding. I will tell Mother about this tonight. It seems that everyone has won – Gulshan, Fatima, Grandfather, you and Mother.’ She shook her head, unable to disguise the bitter tone. ‘
Allah hafiz
, Sikander Sahib!’

Putting the phone down she returned to the window, and stared out bleakly. ‘What have I done now?’ she asked herself in dismay.

In Karachi, after ending the conversation, Sikander sat looking at the telephone for a long, long time. Then in a semi-daze, he went to find his mother. Bilkis was sitting on her prayer-mat, offering her
Isha
prayers. He waited until she finished, then bent down and kissed her forehead.

‘Say a special prayer today, Mother, for me, Zarri
Bano and Haris. Pray that we shall prosper and be happy together as a family and for our future.’

Bilkis looked up with joy leaping out of her eyes, and standing up she drew his shoulders down to hug him.

‘Oh my beloved son. I am so glad for you!’ Holding his face in her hands, she kissed his cheeks. ‘Has she accepted?’

‘No, she proposed herself instead! To start off, it will be a marriage in name only.’ Seeing the look on his mother’s face, he felt challenged to explain. ‘She needs a lot of patience, Mother. Too much has happened in her life. She has received too many emotional knocks. She is only marrying me for my son’s sake, not for herself nor for me. It will be hard, but at least my son will have a woman who is like a mother to him, and who will be with him most of the time.’

‘What about her work? Will she abandon her new college, the one for women that she recently established?’

‘I hope not. We’ll see what happens, but it’s one step at a time. I need to keep in mind that this is the woman who once beguiled me with one look, five years ago, and who now shudders in distaste at the idea of any intimacy with me because I married her sister. So we have a long way to go. We cannot steam-roller her to our wishes. She has already been oppressed and exploited by her father and grandfather. I am not going to be another male oppressor in the guise of a husband. I will be a friend and companion to her until she decides she is ready for a more fulfilling marital relationship.’

‘I will pray for you all. May Allah bless my family … and may poor Ruby’s soul rest in peace.’

‘
Amin
. Yes, Mother, yes!’ he said with sincerity in his heart.