Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (19 page)

The car was racing down the wide, almost empty road. There was hardly any traffic. He had his right hand on the steering wheel whilst stifling a yawn with his left and trying to beat the sleep. On the adjoining seat,

Imama sat quietly crying, of which Salar was aware. From time to time she would wipe her tears and blow her nose, and continue weeping as she stared at the road through the wind screen.

Salar, from time to time, glanced at Imama. He did not try to console her.

He thought she would herself settle down but, when even after half an hour she didn't quieten down, Salar began to tire.

'If you are so upset at running away from home, you shouldn't have done so,' Salar said, breaking the silence. Imama did not reply. A little while later,

he suggested "There is still time: most probably no one has yet noticed your absence.'

'I have no regrets,' replied Imama, after some time, in a choked but firm voice.

Then why are you weeping?' he shot back.

'There's no point in telling you.' she wiped her eyes again. Salar turned around and looked at her curiously, then turned away again.

'Where will you go in Lahore?'

'Don't know.'

Salar was quite surprised by her response. 'What do you mean? Don't you know where you're going?'

'Not now...'

'Then why are you going to Lahore?'

'Where else can I go?'

'You may as well have stayed in Islamabad.'

'Where in Islamabad? With whom?'

'There's no one in Lahore either who could put you up permanently...other than Jalal.' Salar stressed the last three words and tried to see her reaction. 'So you're going to him,' he said in a cutting tone.

'No. Jalal is out of my life. How could I go to him?' Salar couldn't fathom if there was more disappointment in her tone or more sadness.

'Then where will you go?' He was intrigued.

'That I can say only when I reach Lahore—where I go and to whose place.'

Salar looked at her doubtfully: did she really not know or did she not want to tell him? There was silence in the car once again.

'Your fiance—what's his name? Oh yes, Asjad—he's a very nice person,

very handsome,' Salar broke the silence again. 'And this other fellow, Jalal, is nothing compared to Asjad. Haven't you been unfair with Asjad?' Imama did not reply, but stared at the road ahead. Salar turned towards her awaiting her response, and then realized that she did not want to reply. 'I haven't been able to understand you...or what you're doing. Your actions are weird and you're even more so,' he said after a pause. This time, Imama turned to look at him.

'Am I stranger than you and are my actions stranger than yours?' Imama spoke in a soft but firm tone. Her words left Salar speechless.

'What's strange about me and which action of mine did you find odd?' he asked after a spell of silence.

'You know which actions were strange,' she replied looking straight ahead.

'You're referring to my suicide attempts, surely.' He answered his own question. 'Although I do not want to kill myself, I'm only trying to—I'm just experimenting.'

'What sort of experiment?'

'I've always asked people this question but no one has been able to give me a satisfactory answer. So I'm trying to find the answer myself,' he continued.

'What is your question?'

'A very simple question, but everyone finds it hard to answer. What is next to ecstasy?' he asked Imama.

She looked at him for a while, then said, 'Pain.'

'And what is next to pain?' he shot another question at her.

'Nothingness.'

'What is next to nothingness?' he asked in his typical style.

'Hell,' she replied.

'What is next to hell?' Imama watched him in silence. 'What is next to hell?'

he repeated.

'Aren't you afraid?' He heard her query in an unfamiliar tone.

'Afraid of what?' he was surprised.

'Of hell—the place which has nothing ahead...everything is left behind.

What remains after being condemned and destroyed that is worth your knowing?' she asked sadly.

'I fail to understand your argument—it's gone over my head,' Salar declared.

'Don't worry: there'll come a time when all this will make sense to you.

Then your laughter will end to be replaced by fear—fear of death, of hell too. Allah will make it all clear to you...and you'll never ask anyone what is next to ecstasy,' Imama said with composure.

'Is this your prophecy?' Salar responded sarcastically to her remarks. 'No,' she retorted in the same tone.

'Experiment? Yes, I suppose so, because you too have tried to end your life. I did it my way and you've done it in your way,' he said coldly. Imama's eyes filled with tears again. She looked at Salar. 'I've not done anything to end my life.'

'To leave home for any man is tantamount to suicide for a woman and that too for someone who is not ready to wed her. Look here, I'm a broad-minded, very liberal man, and don't see anything wrong with a girl running away from home for a civil marriage with a man of her choice—but at least the man should stand by her. To leave home for a married man...tsk, tsk! I can't figure that and that too at your age—it's utter stupidity.' 'I haven't left home for any man.' 'Jalal Ansar,' he reminded her.

'I haven't run away because of him!' she shouted suddenly. Salar's foot hit the brake as he looked at her in amazement.

'Why are you screaming at me? There's no need for it,' he admonished as she sat looking out of the window.

'You know, this religious theory or philosophy or point you've made— whatever it is, I don't get it! What difference does it make if anyone follows another prophet? There's more to life than these silly arguments—fighting over religion, faith and sects—what rubbish!'

Imama gave him an angry glance. 'It's not necessary that things which are meaningless for you should be so for others. I do not want to continue with the religion I was born into, or to marry a man from the same faith. It's my right to do what I want. I don't want to argue with you over things that are beyond you so don't make any comments on these matters.' 'I have a right to say what I want: freedom of expression,' Salar shrugged. Imama's response was to stare silently out of the window. Salar drove on without a word, but a little later he broke the silence and returned to his topic. 'This Jalal Ansar...I was talking about him. What's so special about him?' he glanced at Imama who looked straight ahead. 'He's no match for you. He's not at all good-looking and you're a beautiful girl—I'm amazed at your interest in him. Is he very intelligent?' he asked her.

She was surprised. 'Intelligent? What do you mean?' 'See, people are attracted by one's looks, but I don't think it was his looks that attracted you or his family background. I don't know about his social or financial status, but I know that you have a very sound family background so you could not have been attracted to him on that score. The only thing that remains is a person's intellect, his capability...so is he very intelligent?

Brilliant and outstanding?'

'No,' she murmured.

Salar was quite disappointed. 'Then what was it that drew you to him?'

She continued to gaze at the road ahead, lit up by the car's headlights.

Salar did not repeat his question; he just shrugged it off, focusing on his driving. There was silence between them.

'He used to recite naats very well,' she spoke under her breath, as if to herself, after a while. Salar had heard her but it seemed unbelievable.

'What?' He wanted confirmation.

'He recited naats very well.' This time Imama's voice was louder.

'Just for his voice...is he a singer?'

'No. he recites only naats, and very beautifully.'

Salar laughed. 'So you fell in love with him just for that! I can't believe it.'

Imama looked at him. 'Then don't—who needs your conviction?' she said brusquely. There was silence again.

'Let's accept that it was his style of reciting naats that affected you so deeply that you went to such lengths, but it's very impractical. It's right out of a Barbara Cartland romance whereas you are a medical student with a mature mind,' he said somewhat unkindly.

Imama looked at him again. 'I'm very mature—to mature, and in the last three or four years no one can claim to have considered things as practically as I've done.'

'I reserve my comments. Possibly my being practical is quite different from your view of practicality. Anyway, I was talking about Jalal, what you said about his naat recitals.'

'Some things are beyond one's control...! have none either.' Her tone reflected defeat.

'I don't agree with you—everything is within our power; at least we can control our feelings, our emotions and actions. We know when and why we develop feelings for someone; and these emotions do not grow unless we let it happen knowingly. Therefore I cannot accept that we have no control.'

While talking, he turned to look at Imama and was aware that she was not listening. She was staring, unblinking, at the windscreen or the scene ahead. She was somewhere far away, he couldn't say where. She looked abnormal to him. After driving in silence for a fairly long time, Salar addressed her again.

'Besides reciting naats, what other qualities does he have?' His rather loud tone startled her. He repeated his question.

'All those qualities that should be present in a good human being, a good Muslim.'

'Such as?' Salar raised his eyebrows.

'And even if he had no other qualities, I would still prefer him over other men because he has such adoration for the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) that this alone would have been enough for me.'

Salar smiled quizzically. 'What logic! I can really not understand such an argument.' He shook his head in disbelief.

'Will you marry of your own choice or your parents' choice?' Imama's sudden query took him by surprise.

'My choice, of course! Parents's choice does not prevail in this day and age,' he said nonchalantly.

'You too will fall for some quality in the girl you choose to marry, or you'll develop some understanding with her, won't you?'

'Definitely.'

'That's just what I am doing. It's a question of one's priorities—you'll marry for the reasons you listed; I too wanted to marry Jalal Ansar for a similar reason.' She paused. 'It was my wish to marry someone who loved the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) more than me. Jalal was such a person and I

felt he was the one I should marry. But, as I told you, some things are beyond one's control—there are some desires that one cannot be rid of...'

She shook her head sadly as she spoke.

'And now that he is married, what is your plan?'

'I don't know...'

I'lltell you what—find yourself another naat reciter and marry him,' he laughed, mocking her. Imama stared at Salar: he was insensitive to the point of cruelty.

'Why are you looking at me this way? I was just joking.' He had stifled his laughter. Imama looked away without a word.

'Your father beat you?' Salar resumed the conversation after a while.

'Who told you?' she asked without looking at him.

'The maid,' he replied calmly. 'The woman thought you had refused marriage because of me so she conveyed your "pitiable condition" in her most melodramatic style. Did your father beat you?'

'Yes.' She registered no reaction.

'Why?'

'I didn't ask him...perhaps he was angry, that's why.'

'Why did you let him beat you?'

Imama turned around. 'Because he's my father, he has the right to raise his hand on me.' Salar looked at her in surprise. 'Anyone else in his place would have done the same thing in this situation. I did not mind it,' she said in an even tone.

'If he has the right to hit you, he also has the right to marry you where he wishes. Then why are you making such a fuss about this?' His tone was sharp.

'As long as it was to a Muslim, I would have married wherever he wished.'

'Even if it weren't to Jalal Ansar?' he quizzed.

'Yes...as if I'm married to him now.' Her eyes seemed to be moist again.

'Then you should have told him.'

'Of course, I did—you think I didn't?'

'I'm really amazed by one thing: why did you decide to approach me for help? In fact, how did you do this, considering that you actually disliked me?'

'I had no other option beside you,' she said quietly, pausing between sentences. 'None of my friends were in a position to help me the way a man could. Other than Asjad, you and Jalal were the only men I knew, and you were the closest whom I could have contacted immediately—so I did.'

'You were convinced that I'd help you?'

'No; I took a risk. How could I be sure of your help? As I said, I had no choice.'

'So you're saying that you were ready to exploit a situation to suit your purpose?'

This comment summed up Salar's reaction and Imama was cornered into silence. He was an expert at driving home a point, but he was not wrong in saying so to her face.

'Very interesting.' He was quite pleased with his observation.

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'I want to stop the car here for a while.' Salar looked at the dingy hotel and gas station by the roadside. 'I need to get the tyres checked. There's no spare tyre in this car and a flat tyre would mean a real problem.' Imama nodded. He pulled his car into the gas station. From some distant mosque the call for fajr prayers came across. Except for the couple of hotel staff, there was no one else around. Seeing the car drive in, one of the workers came out; perhaps he had heard the car. Salar opened the door and stepped out.

Imama leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes for a while. The azaan became louder: she looked around and then alighted from the car. Hearing the door open, Salar turned around. 'How long will we stop here?' she asked him.

Ten or fifteen minutes... I need to get the engine checked too.'

'I want to say my prayers; I need to perform the wuzu,' she said.

Before Salar could reply, the man said, 'Baji, there's water in this drum if you want it for wuzu.'

'And where will she pray?' Salar inquired of the man.