Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (13 page)

'What do you plan to do when your house job's finished?'

'I'll go abroad for specialization.'

'And then?'

'Then I'll return and set up my own hospital.'

'Have you thought about marriage?' Her question caught him off guard.

'Everyone thinks about marriage,' he smiled.

'Who do you plan to marry?'

'That remains to be seen.'

After a pause, Imama asked, 'Will you marry me?'

Jalal was too stunned to reply.

'Did I offend you?' she asked as he sat in shocked silence. She repeated her question, shaking him out of his stupor.

'It is a question I should have asked you. Will you marry me?'

'Yes.' She was composed, collected. 'And you?'

'I...I ...yes, of course. Who else would I marry?' He saw a glow on her face as he completed his words. 'When my house job's done, I'll send my parents to your family formally.'

She was quiet for a while, then said, 'Jalal, how could I marry you without my parents' approval?'

He was surprised. 'What do you mean?'

'It could be that they may object to our marriage.'

'Haven't you told them about us? How would you know their reaction?'

'No,' she said. 'But I know them.'

Jalal was perplexed. He had not expected any resistance on the part of her parents, but she knew otherwise. 'Will you still marry me, despite their opposition?'

He pondered the situation and his silence pushed her into turmoil. At last, he spoke. 'Yes. Even then, you'd be my only choice. I cannot think of marrying anyone else. I'll try to convince your parents to agree, but if they refuse then we will go ahead all the same.'

'Will your parents agree?' she asked.

'Yes, and I will persuade them if they don't. They never refuse me,' he said with a hint of pride.

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'Hello!' Imama turned round at the call. It was Salar, standing a few feet away, as casual as ever with his shirt unbuttoned and hands thrust into his jeans' pockets. Taimur was with him too. For a moment, Imama did not know how to react.

'Come, let me introduce you to the young lady,' said Salar when he saw Imama at the bookshop.

'This chadar-clad person?' Taimur was taken aback when he saw her. 'Who's this?'

'She's Waseem's sister.'

'What do you have to do with them? Waseem and his family are very conservative, so why do you want to meet her?'

'I'm not meeting her for the first time...I've met her before, and anyway, what's the harm in talking to her?' Salar ignored Taimur's objections.

Imama's eyes moved from the magazine to Salar and to his friend. 'How are you?' he asked, seeing her look towards them.

'Fine,' she replied.

Salar introduced Taimur, saying he was also Waseem's friend. 'Waseem's out there.' She gestured towards the shopping center.

'But we're not here to meet him, said Salar. She looked at him seriously.

'We're here to talk to you.'

'I hardly know you, so what's there to talk about?' she replied coldly. She did not like the look in Salar's eyes—he never spoke to people with his eyes lowered, she thought, especially not to girls. She began to flip through the magazine.

'You don't know me?' he sneered. 'I live right next to your house.'

'You certainly do, but I don't know you "personally",' she clarified, eyes till fixed on the magazine.

'Some months ago you saved my life,' he mocked her again.

'As a medical student, that was my duty. I would have done that for anyone dying in front of me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am busy.'

Salar did not budge even though Taimur tugged at his sleeve; he had some regard for Imama because of Waseem. Salar freed himself.

'I wanted to thank you for that night, although your treatment of me wasn't altogether professional,' Salar said seriously and Imama looked up at him.

'If you are referring to my slapping you, then it was unprofessional and I am sorry (although I'm sure you deserved more),' she said swallowing the half unsaid words.

'I didn't mind that. I meant something else,' he replied nonchalantly. 'You bandaged my wrist very sloppily and you weren't even able to check my blood pressure properly,' he said, popping a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.

Imama felt her earlobes turning red. She stared at him without blinking. He continued to mock her. 'What a shame that you could not even do what any untrained person can be expected to do.'

'I am not a doctor: I'm a just a medical student. And as for being unprofessional, there'll always be a next time since you are in the habit of making such attempts. I can keep practicing on you to make myself perfect.'

But Salar was unfazed. He smiled at her saying, 'If you are trying to embarrass me...'

'I will fail as you are not embarrassed,' she completed his statement. 'I know that because embarrassment is a trait found in humans.'

'And what am I in your opinion?' Salar asked in the same tone.

'A vet may be better able to answer that question,' she retorted. Salar burst out laughing.

'Every dictionary defines a bi-ped animal as a human being. I walk on two feet'

'From a bear to a dog, animals can walk on two feet if required to or if they desire to.'

'But I have only two feet and I use them all the time.'

'Well, you're lucky not to be four-legged; that's why you should go to a vet— he'd be able to explain better.' Imama's tone was cold. She was disgusted, but Salar was not to be put down.

'You know so much about animals that you'd have made a great vet. I'm very impressed by your knowledge.' Imama's face turned a deeper crimson. 'If you become my vet, I'll come to you for treatment and perhaps you could even do research on me. What fee will you charge?' He talked in a serious tone and Imama was at a loss. Getting into a conversation with him was inviting trouble.

'Waseem will inform you,' she said, trying to ward him off.

Salar joked about that suggestion despite understanding the threat in her voice. Taimur tugged at him again. 'Come on, Salar! I have work to do.'

'OK, yaar—don't pull at me!' He then turned to Imama. 'I was just joking—I really wanted to thank you. You and Waseem were a great help. Bye!'

Imama breathed a sigh of relief seeing them go away. This fellow was truly crazy: she was surprised that a person like Waseem could be friends with him.

'Did Salar come to see you?' It was Waseem. He had seen Taimur and Salar from a distance. 'What did he have to say?' Waseem was curious.

I'm surprised how you can have such friends—I have yet to meet someone as rude and obnoxious as him.' Imama was very annoyed. 'He had come to thank me and at the same time to tell me that I could neither bandage properly nor check blood pressure.'

'Forget it,' Waseem smiled. 'He's crackers.'

'I felt like landing a few more slaps on his face...just turning up with his friend who's no better. By the way, he said he was your friend too,' she remembered.

'Not exactly—just an acquaintance.'

'How can you keep company with such boys? Look at the way they dress, their appearance, the way they talk! You should have nothing to do with them.'

Imama began to walk out and Waseem followed her.

'I'm amazed though how he could have noted that the bandage was not applied correctly or that I had a problem checking his blood pressure. He was flailing about so much—how could he have observed what was going on?'

Imama was compelled to think.

'He was right,' Waseem noted with a smile. 'You did have a problem.'

'I know, I was very nervous,' she conceded. 'I'd never seen such a case before, and all that gushing blood really scared me. And his attitude, to top it all...I've not seen a suicide case behave this way.'

'And you aspire to be a doctor, a competent and renowned one—it's unbelievable!' he said.

'I didn't tell you all this for you to make fun of me,' she protested as they walked to the parking lot.

Imama noticed a change in Zainab and Jalal over the last few days—it was in their attitude. They seemed abrupt; there was a tension between them and her. She tried calling Jalal a couple of times at the hospital, but the answer was always the same: he was busy. When he came to pick up Zainab from the college, he did not stop to meet her as before. And even if he came across Imama, it was a perfunctory greeting.

She thought first that it was just her suspicion, but when this attitude became more pronounced she decided to confront him and turned up at the hospital.

Jalal's reaction was cold and indifferent—not even a smile crossed his face when he met her.

'It's been a while since we met—so I thought I'd come over,' she said, trying to shake off her fears.

'I've got to go, my shift is about to begin.'

Imama was shocked. 'Zainab told me your shift ends at this time, which is why I came now.'

Jalal was quiet for a few moments, then he replied. 'Yes, that's right, but I have some other work today.'

Imama tried to understand what he was thinking. 'Jalal, are you upset with me about something?'

'No. I'm not upset with anyone,' he replied curtly.

'Can you come out for ten minutes and hear me out?'

Jalal looked at her and, with his coat on his arm, came out without a word. He glanced at his watch as if to give her a cue.

'Why are you misbehaving with me this way?' she asked point-blank.

'Am I misbehaving with you?' he countered.

'You've been ignoring me for the past few days.'

'Yes, I have.' Imama was taken aback by his blunt admission—it was unexpected. 'Because I do not want to meet you,' he completed his statement.

'Why?' She was stunned. 'There must be some reason why your attitude has changed so suddenly.'

'Yes, there is,' he said abruptly, 'but it's not necessary to tell you—just as it was not necessary for you to tell me certain things.'

'I? What have I kept from you?'

'That you are not a Muslim,' he said bitterly. Imama's breath choked. 'Did you not hide this from me?'

'Jalal, I wanted to tell you.' Her voice betrayed her defeat.

'Wanted to....but you didn't. You tried to deceive me.'

'I did not try to deceive you! Why would I do that?' she protested.

'But you did.' He shook his head in disgust. 'You deliberately trapped me.'

Imama's eyes welled up. 'Trapped you?' she murmured, looking at him in utter defeat.

'You knew of my love for the Prophet (pbuh). Now that I've come to know about you, let alone marriage, I don't want to have anything to do with you.

Don't ever try to meet me again.' Jalal's tone was bitter and curt.

'Jalal, I have converted to Islam,' she whispered.

'Oh, come on! Standing here you've just converted for my sake,' he mocked her, with a dismissing gesture.

'I've not done this for you—although you have been a path to it. This happened many months ago and if you don't believe me, then come along—I'll show you proof.'

Jalal was perplexed. 'I accept I made the first move towards you,' Imama continued, 'trapped you, as you say. But I was helpless as far as you were concerned—it was beyond my control...it was your voice. I told you what I felt when I first heard you recite. Would you have behaved the same way if you'd already known about me? This is what I feared and why it took me so long to tell you. There are some things in life beyond our control—for me, it was you.'

'Does your family know about this?'

'No...no...I can't tell them. I am already engaged—I didn't tell you about this either.' She paused. 'I don't want to be married into that family...I want to marry you. I'm just waiting to complete my education so that I am on my own feet, and then I'll marry you. Four years down the road, when I have qualified as a doctor, perhaps my parents will not object to my choice. If I tell them now abut my acceptance of Islam, they'll pull me out of college and marry me off to Asjad.' She expressed her fears.

'I am still dependant on them...my hands are tied. You were my only hope for a way out, and I truly love you, Jalal, or else I would not have proposed marriage. You have no idea of my circumstances, my problems—if you were in my place you'd realize that I had no choice but to cover up' Jalal sat down on the wooden bench nearby. He was distinctly disturbed. Imama wiped away her tears. 'Do you feel nothing for me? Are you involved with me just because I love you?'

'Sit down, Imama,' he replied. 'The whole Pandora's box now lies open before me. If I cannot estimate your circumstances, neither can you understand my situation. There's no way my parents will agree to me marrying a non-Muslim, regardless of my feelings for her.' 'Jalal, I am not a non-Muslim,' she reiterated. 'You're not one now, but you were before, and then your family...' 'Those are things I can do nothing about,' she replied weakly. They just sat in silence. Then she turned to Jalal. 'Can't you marry me without your parents' consent?'

'That would be a very major step,' he said, shaking his head despondently. 'And suppose, I decide to, I cannot do it—like you, I am also dependent on my parents.'

'But you're doing a house job and will be established in a few years.' 'I want to specialize after the house job and I can't do that without financial backing from my parents. It'll take me three to four years to establish my practice after specialization.' 'Then?' Imama's tone was steeped in despair.

'Then give me time to think—to find a way out. I don't want to lose you and I don't want to lose my career, either. My problem is that I have nothing of my own—whatever I have is my parents' and they are spending all their savings on me in the hope that I'll do something for them in the future.' He stopped and then said, 'Is it not possible that your parents should agree to marry you to me? In that case, at least my parents will be satisfied that you didn't marry me secretly against your parents' wishes.'

Imama looked at him, hopeless. 'I don't know...I can't say whether this is possible or not.' She spoke slowly. 'Not a single girl of my family has married outside of her own free will for me to say what followed. But I do know that the reaction to such an action would be very severe. My parents love me very much but they'll never allow me to take this step. You have no idea of the humiliation and loss of face it means for my father—they'll not change their ways because of me.