The Holy Woman (5 page)

From the natural well of her maternal instinct, both outrage and defiance reared their ugly heads. She decided to address her
Aba Jan
directly.

‘Aren’t you both happy that at last we’ve succeeded in arranging a match for our Zarri Bano, and to our satisfaction?’ she asked, and was unable to mask either the accusing tone, or the look of resentment in her eyes.

Shocked by the audacity of his ‘beloved’
daughter-in
-law, Siraj Din ruthlessly turned on her.

‘Arranging, Shahzada? We have done no arranging. You and your daughter have had the impudence to
arrange
it all. You didn’t even have the courtesy to tell us that Zarri Bano was going to Karachi or indeed consult us on whether she ought to be allowed to go, without your presence as chaperone. It appears, my Shahzada, we have no say in this matter. Amazingly, you have by-passed both Habib and myself. I hadn’t realised what an industrious daughter-in-law I had. In fact, I am beginning to wonder who actually rules this home. Who is master in this house? You or my son, Habib …?’ Siraj Din stopped as he watched his son stiffly get up and leave the room.

Shahzada watched with hurt bewilderment. Habib hadn’t said a word. Was he not happy for his daughter? What
was
the matter with him? Her mouth now very dry, she turned to her father-in-law’s equally hostile stare. He pulled his legs up on the sofa and took another puff on his long smoke pipe.

‘
Aba Jan,
you knew those people were interested in our Zarri Bano,’ Shahzada felt obliged to explain. ‘Jafar introduced us to them. Habib Sahib has kept you informed of everything. You know we never do
anything
without your authority or your blessing. Please forgive me if we gave you any other impression. Habib Sahib is the master of this household, how could you ever doubt that? And how could I, a mere woman, take such a step as arranging my daughter’s marriage
without
involving you two? You insult both me and yourself by such a preposterous assumption. I am not guilty of any crime,
Aba Jan
. I have not done anything wrong. If love for my eldest daughter and concern for her future happiness in marriage to the right person are crimes in your book, then I am guilty indeed,’ Shahzada ended quietly, holding herself with dignity.

‘Then tell me, Shahzada, why is my son behaving so
oddly towards you?’ Siraj Din rasped, leaving aside the smoke pipe. ‘I have not lived for over seventy years to remain blind to the signals that my son has been
shooting
forth at you all this afternoon. He offers no blessing to this match to this rich tycoon, that you and your daughter appear to be so keen on. Tell me, Shahzada, why is this so?’ Siraj Din’s eyes bored accusingly into hers. He had never, ever stared at her with such
disapproval
before.

‘I don’t know,’ Shahzada said miserably, her head bowed, unable to make sense of either her husband’s antagonism towards Sikander or her father-in-law’s disapproval.

Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, Shahzada got up, keeping her face averted. ‘I will see if Jafar is back from his horse riding,’ she mumbled and left the room.

But instead of Jafar, she went to look for her husband.

Shahzada found Habib in their bedroom. He was
standing
with his back to her, looking out at their fields of wheat and corn. He heard his wife enter and
instinctively
knew it was Shahzada. Stopping in the middle of the large bedroom, she waited for him to turn and look at her. He didn’t.

She aimlessly moved around the room, picking up the large fleecy towel from Habib’s bed. Folding it she placed it on the chair. Next, she straightened the books and Habib’s business ledgers on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Propping up the cushions she placed them at neat angles on the leather sofa. Shahzada stood and surveyed the room – there was nothing further for her to do.

Habib’s back was still turned to her. Resigning
herself to the fact that her husband was neither going to speak to her or acknowledge her presence, Shahzada swallowed her pride.

‘Habib Sahib,’ she whispered gently, walking to stand behind him and touching his arm. ‘Isn’t it
wonderful
that Zarri Bano has agreed to marry Sikander? I am so happy.’ She felt his muscles tense under her hand. ‘Aren’t you happy, Habib Sahib?’ she repeated.

‘
Happy
, Shahzada?’ Habib violently swept round, fuming down at her from his towering height. ‘I told you that I can’t stand that man! Do you think I am going to let him marry my beloved daughter? He is unworthy of her.’ He ignored the look of utter horror on her face.

‘Habib, Zarri Bano has just told us that she wants to marry Sikander. Our daughter is in love with him!’ She desperately appealed for his understanding.

‘Love!’ Habib spat out the word. ‘Since when did our women start falling in love before marriage?’ he snarled, his eyes now twin green beams of fury.

Her heart pounding loudly Shahzada raised her
distraught
face to her husband. ‘You can’t fight something as natural as love, Habib,’ she replied. ‘What disease is eating you up?’ she demanded, her eyes wildly scanning her husband’s face.

‘I will tell you what disease is eating me up!’ Habib hissed into her face. ‘If you encourage my daughter to marry this man against my wishes, I will divorce you on the spot, Shahzada – not once, not twice but
thrice
! You will receive three divorces, three
thalaks
! And all at one go!’ he ground out cruelly, his eyes boring vindictively into hers.

Shahzada stepped back in shock, her mouth half open, a look of utter outrage and betrayal in her eyes.
Her gentle, kind husband had turned into a warped stranger, threatening her with the cruellest of all
punishments
a woman could receive from her husband, the three
thalaks
.

‘You! You …’ she stammered in a trembling voice, holding her hand hard against her heaving chest, ‘you would do that to me? You would divorce me? Me, Habib, your wife?’ Her warm brown eyes stared up in wounded amazement. ‘What evil force has possessed you, my beloved husband? What form of madness is this?’ Choking on her words, she stumbled away from him and careered straight into the arms of her
housekeeper
, Fatima, as she hurriedly entered the room
without
knocking.

The two women stared at each other, unable to understand the look on the other’s face. Both wore masks of pain and horror.

‘Mistress! It is Jafar,’ Fatima gulped, her face deathly pale. She looked at her master. ‘He – He …’ She stopped, unable to go on. Instead she buried her head on her mistress’s shoulder.

‘Jafar?’ Shahzada uttered, her brain reeling, as she saw her husband run out of the room.

T
HE
SMARTLY DRESSED
waiter hovered around the table where Sikander and Zarri Bano were dining in a semi-secluded alcove in a prestigious Karachi
restaurant
. Once he had moved away with the plates, Sikander looked tenderly across at Zarri Bano. Too shy to fathom the look in his eyes, she watched the other people
dining in the air-conditioned lounge, beautifully
decorated
with a Mughal theme.

‘You are a very beautiful woman, Zarri Bano,’ Sikander whispered. ‘That waiter couldn’t bear to take his eyes off you.’

‘I am finding it very embarrassing, Sikander Sahib,’ Zarri Bano felt compelled to state, knowing for sure that a tide of colour had suffused her cheeks. ‘I have never eaten out alone with a bachelor before.’

‘Am I still like a single man, Zarri Bano? Surely not!’ She heard both the indignation and the hurt behind the words.

‘You are, Sikander, that is until I step into your home as your wife.’ Her eyes on a seventeenth century Mughal painting of a Maharani taking a walk in her garden, Zarri Bano felt the urge to clarify the situation to him. ‘At the moment, there is nothing between us.’

‘I dispute that, Zarri Bano.’ He leaned forward on the tablecloth, his soft gaze warming her face. ‘There is
everything
between us, and you know it! It was love at first sight, from the moment we saw each other at the
mela
!’

She gently contradicted him. ‘There is no blood tie between us, Sikander, you are not my relative or brother.’

‘God forbid, Zarri Bano. I could never be your brother! What sort of talk is this? Let’s change the subject. Tell me more about the publishing company you were talking about yesterday and which you plan to set up here in Karachi.’

Zarri Bano ignored his request and instead found herself asking, ‘Do you often bring women here to dine with you?’ For some reason it had become very
important for her to know how many other women had sat across the table from him. Surprised by the question he paused, and then looked down at the napkin in his hand.

‘Not very often, but I bring my male friends and colleagues to this place. Why do you ask?’

‘I just wondered.’ Blushing, she explained, ‘Because the Karachites are supposed to be, let’s say, more “advanced” than us in the countryside. For all I know, you bring a new woman here every evening. They do things here that are not so morally acceptable to us in the countryside, especially the free interaction between men and women.’

‘And you, Zarri Bano? Where do you fit into all that?’ Sikander asked, more and more intrigued by the woman sitting in front of him.

‘Nowhere, Sikander.’ A serious look entered her eyes. ‘Don’t be fooled by the modern image that confronts you. I may look the part, but on the inside I am very much a product of my clan. Never, ever forget that. I think and behave in a manner consistent with my clan’s traditions. I respect and follow our centuries-old
traditions
. The essence of my life lies with the well-being of my family.

‘Luckily for me I have a loving, indulgent father and grandfather – both of them dote on me and have let me do what I wanted to do. For instance, it was unheard of ten years ago for a woman from my clan to live away from home. I did so. I lived here in Karachi for three years, while I was studying at university for my Master’s degree. Now my father, who I am ashamed to say, according to my sister’s teasing “would sell the world” for me, is helping me to set up a large
publishing
house. Did you know, by the way, Sikander, that
you’ll be marrying a very wealthy woman?’ Zarri Bano said playfully.

Sikander’s grey eyes glittered. ‘It is not your wealth I care for. I have enough of my own to be able to
comfortably
compete with your father.’ Leaning across the table he whispered, ‘It is you I want!’

Colour flooded Zarri Bano’s cheeks, prompting Sikander to sit back in his chair and suggest kindly, ‘Shall we leave?’

‘Please!’ Zarri Bano said gratefully. Her mouth very dry, she got out of her chair.

They passed through the rows of round tables. Noting two men’s appreciative glances at Zarri Bano’s elegant frame dressed in Karachi’s
haute couture
, the thick waves of her long hair swinging freely around her shoulders, Sikander moved protectively by her side, leading her out of the building.

Sitting in the car, he asked, ‘Would you like to go for a walk in Clifton Park and along the beach, before we return home?’

‘Yes, that would be nice,’ Zarri Bano readily agreed.

The journey was a silent one, as she enjoyed the view of the busy nightlife of Karachi’s teeming shopping promenades and plazas. Stopping at one of the plazas, Sikander told her softly, ‘I want to buy you a gift, Zarri Bano.’

She shook her head vigorously. ‘Sikander, no gifts, please. Not yet. It is only your ring I want and that at the proper time and via your parents.’

‘I see.’ Sikander tried not to show his
disappointment
by turning to look in the car mirror before moving off again into the traffic.

Wanting to humour him, Zarri Bano dimpled at him, somehow knowing the effect it would have on
him. ‘I will make you stop at this plaza every weekend, Sikander,’ she teased. ‘Then you can buy me all the gifts in the world, including from Singapore while we are on our honeymoon over there.’

In a companionable silence, as if they had been living together for years, they wandered around the grounds and night funfair at Clifton Park, before climbing down to the beach.

Across the water of the Indian Ocean, a halo of dusky red light cast a golden glow over the shimmering waves. An old ship etched against the horizon stood abandoned a mile away from the harbour. The warm evening breeze blew Zarri Bano’s hair around her face. Laughing she swept it back.

A camel with two children on its back trudged along at a leisurely pace, led by its owner. The man selling corncobs cooked over the charcoal fire like the other snack-sellers was still busy, with queues of people eager to buy even the semi-charred ones. Sikander led Zarri Bano away from the other night beach-strollers.

‘I come to the beach often at night-time. I find it very relaxing,’ he informed her, picking up a pebble and throwing it in the water.

‘For me, because we don’t have any sea or river near us, it is the fields of my grandfather’s land in our village.’

Sikander squatted down on the beach and picked up three sea shells. She watched him shake off the sand and standing before her, he held up one for her to see. ‘I have loved every minute of this evening, Zarri Bano. I know you have refused to accept gifts from me, but please keep these as a memento of this day,’ he tenderly requested.

Touched by his words, Zarri Bano opened out her
palm and grasped the sea shells tight in her hand. ‘I too have enjoyed myself very much, Sikander, but if my grandfather were to see me now, all alone with you in the night, he would have a fit.’ They both chuckled guiltily.

‘Then, my Zarri Bano, marry me very quickly,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Please don’t make me wait for you.’

Zarri Bano looked beyond him at the shimmering golden waters of the Indian Ocean. Then turning her face to him, instead of words, she offered him her eyes. Simply letting him read the tender message they flashed back at him. ‘
I too want the same
.’