Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (18 page)

Salar cut him short. 'Just tell me if you'll help me or not? You need not bother about other things.'

'OK, I'll help you, I'm not refusing you. But you'd better think twice because this is a very dangerous step.' Hasan seemed to have given up.

'I've thought about it. Now tell me the details.' Salar was more relaxed now. He popped some French fries into his mouth.

'There's one more thing—what if your parents find out?'

'They won't—they're not here, they're in Karachi and will be there for some days. It would have been tough for me if they were here.' Salar tried to appease Hasan. They continued to munch on the fries, but Hasan's mind was somewhere else. Salar, however, was not too concerned on that account. Hasan was not worrying about the situation—he was figuring the best strategy. Salar had no fears about Hasan: he was Salar's best friend.

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Hasan made all the arrangements very smoothly. Salar gave him some funds and three witnesses were arranged for while he himself was the fourth witness. The nikah registrar had some apprehensions that something was amiss about this whole affair, but apart from a handsome fee he was also given a clear warning, and he quietly obliged.

It was late afternoon when Hasan came over with the registrar and the witnesses. They all went into Salar's room and the nikah papers were filled out. Salar had already informed Imama and at the appointed time the nikah contract was read out over the telephone. Salar sent the nikah forms over to Imama through the maidservant. As soon as she received the papers, Imama signed them swiftly and sent them back to Salar. The maid brought them back to him but the mystery was killing her—who were these people in Salar's room? What were they doing? What were these papers that Imama had signed?

She had a suspicion that Salar and Imama were getting married, but she could not control her curiosity. Handing the papers to Salar, she put on an air of innocence and asked 'Salar Saab, what are these papers?'

'How do they concern you? Mind your own business,' he told her off sharply. 'And understand this very clearly that you are not to talk about this to anyone. You'd better keep your mouth shut—it's best that you do so,' he warned her sternly.

'Why should I go about talking, sir? I was just asking you. You can rest assured Salar Sahib, I won't breathe a word to anybody.' She was petrified. As it was, Salar had an abrupt and terse manner and she was scared to approach him. He gestured imperiously for her to leave. He did not worry about the maid telling everyone what was going on—even if she did, so what?

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'Please meet Jalal once again...please,' Imama was pleading to Salar over the phone.

Salar was irritated by her request. 'Imama, he does not want to marry you—he's said this so many times. Why can't you understand that there's no point in talking to him again? He said his parents wanted him to get engaged...'

'He's lying,' Imama intervened, 'just so that I shouldn't contact him again. His parents can't fix him up so soon.'

'Well then, if he doesn't want to marry you; doesn't want you to contact him, then why are you wasting yourself on him?'

'Because it is my fate to be wasted.' She was crying.

'What does that mean?'

'It doesn't mean anything...you won't understand. Just go and tell him to help me. He holds Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) in such high esteem, tell him to marry me for the Prophet's (PBUH) sake.' She broke into sobs.

Salar was unmoved by her tears. 'What logic is this? Will he marry you for saying this?' But Imama did not reply, she was weeping uncontrollably. Exasperated, Salar said 'Either cry or talk to me.'

Imama hung up. Salar called back at once but she did not receive the call. After about twenty minutes, Imama called again.

'I'll talk to you if you promise not to cry again...otherwise hang up,' he said when he heard her voice.

Instead of replying, Imama asked, 'Then you'll go to Lahore?' Salar was amazed by her determination—she was tough and she stuck to her stand.

'All right, if you say so,' he conceded. 'Have you told your family about the nikah?'

'No, not yet.' She had regained her composure.

'When will you tell them?'

'I don't know. When will you go to Lahore?'

'Soon enough. I have some work here or I could have left immediately.' This time Salar was lying: he had no work as such and he did not intend to go to Lahore either.

'What do you plan to do once the bailiff helps you leave your house? I mean, where will you go, since Jalal may not be willing to help you?' he tried to distract her attention.

'I'm not assuming any such thing—he will help me,' Imama asserted. Jalal shrugged.

'You're not ready to make any assumptions otherwise I'd have told you that things won't turn out the way you want them to. What will you do then? You'll again need your parents' help so it's better for you to stay put—don't get into the court and bailiff tangle because ultimately you'll come back here.'

I'll never come back, under no circumstances.'

'That's being emotional,' he observed.

'You can't understand these things.' Imama repeated her pet phrase.

Salar was cheesed off. 'Do what you please,' he said and hung up.

'Your nikah with Asjad and the rukhsati will take place tomorrow evening,' Hashim Mubeen came to Imama's room that night and announced gruffly.

'Baba, I will refuse. It's better that you do not force me into this marriage.'

'If you refuse, I'll shoot you on the spot. Keep that in mind.'

She looked up at him. 'I have been married, Baba,' she announced. 'This is the reason for my refusal.'

Hashim Mubeen's expression changed. 'You're lying.'

'I'm not lying: I got married six months ago.'

'Who did you marry?'

'I can't disclose that.'

Hashim Mubeen had never imagined that this child would be the cause of such misery. In a fit of rage, he sprang upon Imama and began to hit her left and right. She tried to cover her face with her hands but to no avail. The noise from the room drew in Waseem, who got hold of his father and pulled him away from Imama. She stood against the wall, weeping.

'Baba, what are you doing? This matter can be resolved peacefully.'

The other family members followed Waseem into the room.

'She has married someone.' Hashim Mubeen was in a state of anger and despair.

Waseem did not accept that. 'Baba, she's lying—how could she have done this when she hasn't been out of the house even once?'

'She got married six months ago.'

Imama did not look up. Waseem could not believe she'd do such a thing—he knew too well. Imama looked at him with blurred eyes and quietly said, 'It's true—I am married.'

'What's the proof? Do you have the nikah papers?' he asked roughly.

'Not here, they're with my things in Lahore.'

'Baba, I'm going to Lahore tomorrow to get her stuff. We'll see then,' he declared. Imama regretted having said that—what could they find among her things?

'Even if you are married, it makes no difference. I will get you divorced and then marry you off to Asjad.' Hashim Mubeen spoke with finality. His face was red with fury as he walked out of her room. Gradually, all the others left too. She sat down on her bed—she knew now what a trapped bird must feel. It was a coincidence that they did not send her a copy of the nikahnama; even if she had it, she could not have shown it to her father as Salar's name was on it. It would be child's play for Hashim Mubeen to get to Salar and get rid of him. On the other hand, if they did not find the nikah papers in her belongings, then no one would believe her statement.

Imama locked the door and called up Salar: she told him everything.

'Go to Lahore once more and tell Jalal about me...I cannot live here any longer—I have to get out of here and there's nowhere else I can go but to him. Hire a lawyer for me and tell him to file a case against my parents on my husband's behalf for unlawful confinement.'

'You husband? Meaning on my behalf?'

'Don't give the lawyer your name. In fact, it's better if one of your friends hired a lawyer and filed the appeal—you can ask them to use any fictitious name. If my parents get to know about you, they'll get you and I don't want that to happen.'

Imama did not reveal the extent of her fears to Salar and he didn't try to probe. The next day, around 11 a.m. a lawyer called up Hashim Mubeen and spoke to him about Imama; the lawyer also informed him about the case being filed against him by Imama's husband. Hashim Mubeen needed no further proof. Erupting with rage, he stormed into Imama's room and beat her up badly.

'You'll see how you are destroyed, Imama...you'll be deprived of everything. Girls like you who gamble away their parents' honor and dignity deserve to be treated so! You have dared to take us to court when we've done so much for you—you have been thankless. Daughters like you should indeed be buried as soon as they are born.'

Imama endured the beating quietly. She could understand the state of her father's feelings but she could not explain her own emotions and thoughts to him.

'You have left us without a shred of honor—we cannot face anyone. You have literally buried us alive.' Salma had followed her husband into the room but made no attempt to stop him.

'You have destroyed our confidence,' her father continued. 'I wish you were not my daughter—not born in our family—or that you had died at birth or that I had killed you with my own hands.'

Today, Imama did not weep at his words or at his beating: she just took the blows and accusations without a word. Hashim Mubeen, exhausted, stopped hitting her—he was breathing heavily. Imama stood silent before him.

'You still have time—leave everything behind. Divorce the man and marry Asjad: we'll forgive you everything, forget it all.' This was Salma speaking firmly.

'I did not accept Islam to revert to the old ways. I will not return to your faith.' Imama spoke softly but with determination. 'Just set me free, let me leave this house.'

'If you leave this house, the world will kick you around. You have no idea of the world outside—people are waiting like crocodiles to swallow you up. The man you have married, and insulted us, will make your life miserable. He must have married you for our money and status, but when you are turned out with nothing to your name, he'll ditch you. You will have no refuge, no shelter.' Salma tried to frighten Imama by painting a grim picture.' There's time yet Imama—you still have time.'

'No Ammi, I have no more time—I have made up my mind, I have told you my decision. I cannot accept this life—please let me go. If you want to cast me out from the family, do so. If you want to disinherit me, do so—I have no objections. But I will do what I have said—I have chosen a path for my life and neither you nor anyone else can change my decision.'

'If that's the case, then just dare step out of this house—I'll kill you but I will not let you leave this house! As for that lawyer, I'll take good care of him too. If you think that any court can take you away from my custody, you are grossly mistaken. I will never let you go anywhere. I'll move you before the bailiff gets here—I'll see how you do not change your decision then. And if I do not find the man you have married, I will marry you to Asjad, regardless of whether or not your nikah has taken place. I refuse to accept this nikah—your wedding will only be by my wishes or not at all.' Saying this in a state of agitation and anger, he walked out with Salma. Imama stood silent, confused and frightened, staring at the door. The very purpose for which she had married was now disintegrating before her. She had gained nothing from it. Hashim Mubeen was like a rock in his determination.

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'Poor Imama Bibi!' exclaimed Nasira as she cleaned Salar's room. Salar was organizing the papers, etc. on his writing table; he turned around to look at her.

'She got a really bad beating last night,' added Nasira, noticing his attention.

'Who got a beating?' Salar asked, arranging his books.

'Imama Bibi, who else...' Salar stopped to look at Nasira. She continued that her daughter had informed her that Hashim Mubeen had been very violent with Imama.

Salar appeared amused. 'Really? Very nice.'

Nasira couldn't fathom his remarks which were in English. Salar inquired about the reason behind this episode. The maid was surprised by his reaction and his sardonic smile—she did not expect this reaction. According to her understanding of the relationship between them, Salar should have been saddened but the situation was quite the opposite.

'If poor Imama Bibi found out that Salar Saab was smiling at her plight, she'll die of shock,' she thought.

'Why else would her father be so furious,' she said aloud. 'She refused to marry Asjad Saab because she wanted to marry another boy.' Nasira stressed on the last word and looked meaningfully at Salar.

'That's all?' he remarked casually.

'It's not an ordinary thing, sir. Their household is in an upheaval. The wedding dates have been fixed, invitations sent out, and now Imama Bibi is refusing stubbornly—so her father beat her up.'

'That's no reason for such punishment,' he commented.

'You may think so, but for them it is a very serious matter. I feel very sorry for Imama Bibi—such a nice, polite girl and now she's in such a mess. Hashim Saab has locked her up at home. My daughter tells me that she's in poor shape.'

Nasira went on about Imama's sad condition in the hope that, believing her to be a sympathizer, Salar may reveal some secret. But he was no one's fool and nor was he interested in Nasira's so-called sympathy. He was not concerned about Imama's hardships and punishments but he did find it amusing that in this day and age, there were people who would raise their hand against grown-up offspring for defying them—and that too people of Hashim Mubeen's status, rich, affluent. It was a revelation. Many conflicting thoughts crossed his mind.

Nasira went on talking as she went about her work but Salar took no notice of her words so she finally quietened down, rather disappointed. She had never seen such indifference between lovers. 'His reaction is so peculiar—no distress, no anxiety, even after listening to all that Imama has gone through. Perhaps she may also feel amused if he were to suffer a similar fate,' Nasira wondered as she dusted a picture and put it back on the shelf.