Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (52 page)

'Imama has been out of your life all these years. God knows where she is—or even if she's still around or not.'

'Furqan!' Salar stopped him harshly. 'Just leave her alone or whether she is or isn't. What happens if she should turn up tomorrow?'

'You'd better speak to Dr Ali about this,' advised Furqan.

'No. You should tell Saeeda Amma and her daughter the truth. It could be that they will not accept an already married man as their son-in-law. If that were so, she would also have accepted the man who went off and married of his own choice.'

'Had he turned with his family, she would have accepted him too, but the problem is that he's not ready to have Amina as his second wife.'

'He can be traced.'

'Yes, he can be traced, but not this time.'

'Dr Ali has not made the right choice for Amina—what could I possibly giver her? I'm worse than that man who walked out on her.' Salar spoke like a defeated man.

'Salar, they need someone now, and at a time of need only that person is valuable who can be trusted. You have been helping so many people through your life—can you not do something for Dr Ali?'

'I have helped others monetarily,' he said. 'Dr Ali doesn't need my money.'

Before Furqan could say a word, his phone began to ring. He looked at the number on the screen and held the phone out to Salar. It was Dr Sibt-e-Ali.

With a somber look on his face, Salar took the call. Sitting there, the phone held to his era, Salar realized that not everything can be divulged to anyone at random. Whatever he had told Furqan could not be repeated in a loud and angry voice to Dr Sibt-e-Ali. He could not say 'No' to him. He could neither argue with him nor give any justifications or excuses. Dr Ali spoke to him in his typical soft tone.

'If you can get your parents' permission, then marry Amina. She's like my own daughter. Consider that I am requesting this for my daughter. I am putting you to much trouble, but I am compelled—I have no choice.'

'I'll do as you say.' Salar spoke in a low voice. 'Please don't request— just convey your orders,' he found himself saying.

Furqan returned to the room about ten minutes later. He found Salar seated on the floor, cell phone in hand, looking lost and quiet.

Furqan pulled up a chair and sat opposite him. 'Did you speak to Dr Ali?' he asked gently.

Salar looked up and without a word handed back the cell phone. After some time, he said, 'I will not take her home yet. The nikah alone will be quite enough.'

Salar began to look at the lines on his palms. Furqan felt very sorry for him—this was not the first time that a person had fallen victim to circumstance.

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The traffic on the road was almost non-existent as the night deepened. The fog was slowly engulfing everything in sight.

The streetlight seemed to reach out through the fog to relieve the dark in the balcony where Salar was sitting on a stool by the railing. The steam from the mug of coffee before him rose in strange shapes against the dark night: he sat with his arms folded across his chest, staring at the deserted road below. It was a weird sight, wrapped in the foggy dark.

It was ten and he had reached home a few minutes ago. After the nikah ceremony, he left immediately and spent several hours driving around aimlessly. He had switched off his mobile as he wanted to be left alone. He wanted no contact with the world outside. He did not want to speak to Furqan who would have certainly called and tried to clarify matters. He did not want to speak to Dr Sibt-e-Ali who would have called to thank him. He just wanted absolute silence.

Watching the wraiths of steam from the hot coffee, he relived the events of a few hours ago that evening. It was all like a dream. He wished it was a dream. Sitting there, he remembered his prayer at the Kaaba.

'So is it a divine decision to remove her from my life?' he reflected, painfully. 'Then this torture should also have been taken away, for I had asked release from this pain, escape from her memory.' He wrapped his cold hands around the hot mug and poured its bitterness into himself. 'So, Imama Hashim, you're out of my life forever.'

Salar ruminated over all the possibilities that could have prevented the situation he now found himself in. If only he had not run into Saeeda Amma and offered to drop her home; If only he had found her address and had not brought her home—neither would the connections have built up, nor would she have invited him to the wedding. If only he had stayed back in Karachi instead of returning to Lahore or slept with his mobile switched off, and his phone off the hook, or not responded to Furqan's call. If he had not known Dr Sibt-e-Ali, he would not have felt obliged to concede to his request. 'Imama is not destined for me,' he thought sadly as he drew his hands across his face. Then he reached for his wallet, as if remembering something, and pulled out a small folded paper. He opened it and read it.

'Dear Uncle Sikandar,

I am so sorry to learn of the death of your son. Some years ago, your family was put to a lot of trouble on my account, for which I am very sorry. I had to pay Salar some money which I am enclosing.

Allah Hafiz

Imama Hashim'

He could not remember how many times he had read this in the last nine months. When he touched the paper, he could feel Imama's touch on it...his name, written by her, yet there was no familiarity in these few lines written on paper. He was also aware that the news of his death had not pained her. That news had come as a release for her after two and a half years, so how could it be a source of distress for her. Yet, in spite of all this, those few lines on a piece of paper had become very important for him.

He ran his fingers over those lines lingering over her name, Imama Hashim, at the end. Then he folded it up and put it back in his wallet. The mug was still out there with a few mouthfuls of cold bitter coffee—he swallowed it in a gulp.

Dr Sibt-e-Ali was returning to Pakistan from England in a week's time. Salar awaited his return. Whatever he had been unable to disclose to him about Imama Hashim, he wanted to tell him all now—all that he had been unable to reveal about his past, he wanted to tell Dr Sibt-e-Ali all about it. He no longer cared what he would think.

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It was the fourth of Ramazan when Dr Sibt-e-Ali came back. He had returned quite late at night and Salar did not want to disturb him. He had planned to visit him the next evening but unexpectedly, Dr Ali called him up in the afternoon when he was at the bank. This was the third time he had contacted Salar after the nikah. After the customary inquiries, Dr Ali said, 'Don't come later at night. Come earlier and join me for iftar.'

'Very well, I'll be there,' agreed Salar. They spoke a little longer and then Dr Ali called off.

He left the bank a little earlier than usual. He went home and changed and reached Dr Ali's place about an hour before iftar. Dr Ali's servant, instead of seating Salar in the assembly hall, led him straight into the lounge. Dr Ali greeted him warmly, embracing him, and gently touched Salar's forehead with his lips.

'You used to come here as a friend, but toady you are here as one of the family.' Salar knew what he was implying.

'Come, be seated.' Dr Ali gestured towards the sofa, and took a seat at the other end. 'Congratulations! Now you are finally settled down.'

Salar looked him with quiet eyes and a wan smile. Dr Ali was smiling broadly. 'I'm very happy that you have married Amina,' he continued. 'She is like a fourth daughter for me and you are thus a son-in-law.'

Salar lowered his gaze. If the Imama Hashim chapter had not been a part of his life, he would have felt very proud to hear this. But she made the difference—she was the one who made all the difference, she who was and was not there.

Dr Sibt-e-Ali observed Salar for a while and then said, 'You have been coming here for so many years, but you never disclosed that you were married. Not even when the subject was broached once or twice.'

Salar looked up at him. 'I had wanted to tell you, but ' he broke off.

'What could I tell you, every thing was so strange,' he thought to himself.

'When did you marry?' Dr. Sibt-e-Ali was now enquiring softly.

'Eight-and-a-half years ago, when I was twenty-one,' he said resignedly, and then, ever so slowly he disclosed every thing to him.

Dr. Sibt-e-Ali had not interrupted him even once. He had held his peace for long time even after Salar had fallen silent.

Eventually he had said, 'Amina is a very nice girl and she is lucky to have got a virtuous man.'

His words hit Salar like a whiplash.

'Virtuous? I'm not a virtuous man, Dr Ali! I ... I am the most despicable of the despised. Had you known me, you would not have used this word to describe me, nor would you have selected me to marry this girl who's like a daughter to you.'

'In our lives, we've all passed through this 'Age of Ignorance' at some stage. Some of us go through it while some are stuck in it all their lives. You have passed through it—your regret and remorse indicate that. I will not stop you from regretting your actions nor from seeking forgiveness—it is incumbent upon you to do so all your life—but also be grateful that you have been rid of a diseased ego.

'If the material world no longer attracts you, if the fear of Allah brings tears to your eyes, and the vision of hell frightens you, if you worship Allah as you should, if goodness draws you towards it and you repel evil, then you are virtuous. Some are born virtuous, some become virtuous. To be good by nature is indeed fortunate but to become good is like walking on a double-edged sword; it takes a longer time and is more painful.

'I still hold that you are a virtuous man because you have worked towards it, and Allah has destined greater deeds for you.'

Salar's eyes had moistened. Dr Ali had again neither said anything about Imama nor questioned him. Did it mean that she was out of his life forever? Did it mean that she would never, in the future, be a part of his life? Would he have to spend his life with Amina? His heart seemed to sink at the thought. He wanted to hear from Dr Ali some consoling words, something to give him hope.

Dr Ali was quiet. Salar looked at him in silence.

'I'll pray deeply for you and Amina. In fact, I have prayed earnestly at the Kaaba and at the tomb of our dear Prophet (PBUH).' On his way back from London, Dr Ali had gone to perform the Umra. Salar lowered his head. From a distance, the call for prayer could be heard. A servant was laying out the iftar. With a heavy heart, he broke his fast with Dr Ali, and then accompanied him for the maghrib prayer, to a nearby mosque. On his return, he had dinner with Dr Ali and then drove back to his flat.

'Can you come with me to Saeeda Amma's tomorrow?' Salar called up Furqan on his return from Dr Ali's place. It was about 10:00 p.m. Furqan was on night duty.

'Yes, why not—anything special?'

'I need to talk to Amina about some things.'

Furqan was unable to respond: Salar's tone was very even, with no hint of bitterness in his voice.

'What sort of things?'

'Nothing to worry about,' Salar tried to calm his fears.

'But all the same,' Furqan persisted. 'Do you want to tell her about

Imama?'

'First, answer my question: will you come with me?' asked Salar, instead of replying to his query.

'Yes, I will.'

'Then I'll tell you tomorrow what I have to say to her.' Before Furqan could say anything, Salar had hung up.

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'You want to talk to her about Imama?' Furqan asked as he was driving.

'No, not just about Imama, but many other things too.'

'For God's sake, Salar, don't try to rake up issues that are dead and buried!' Furqan was visibly annoyed.

'She should know my priorities and my aims in life, if she has to spend the rest of it with me,' Salar said, taking no notice of Furqan's agitation.

'She'll get to know—she's a sensible girl and she'll understand once she comes and lives with you. You can tell her then instead of going there and opening a Pandora's Box.'

'What's the point in telling her after she comes to my place, and has no path of return? I want her to listen to what I have to say, to understand it, think over it, and then take a decision.'

'She can't take any decision now, she's already married to you.'

'Yes, but the marriage has not been consummated.'

'What difference does that make?'

'Why not? If she has any objection to what I have to say, she can review this relationship.' Salar replied very seriously.

Furqan fixed a piercing gaze on him. 'And what sort of facts and justifications do you propose presenting her with for this review?'

'Just a few things, knowing which is necessary for her,' Salar brusquely replied. 'They are Dr Ali's relatives and, as such, I hold them in high regard. If he had not told me, this relationship would not have been established either. But I ....'

Furqan intervened without letting him complete. 'Fine, say whatever you have to, but just tone down the Imama bit, because if anything will hurt her, this is it. Maybe, she won't mind about the other things, but it is not easy to be, and be known as, the second wife.' He tried to make Salar understand.

'And I want her to feel and think about this. You say she's beautiful, well-educated, from a good family, etc....'

Furqan cut across again. 'Quit it, Salar! Go and tell her whatever you want to...'

'I want to speak to her in privacy.'

'I'll tell Saeeda Amma. She'll arrange it for you to meet Amina alone.' Furqan shook his head in frustration.

Half an hour later, they were at Saeeda Amma's. She opened the door and was beside herself with joy at seeing Salar and Furqan at her doorstep. She took them to the sitting room.

'Saeeda Amma, Salar wants to speak to Amina in privacy,' Furqan announced as they entered the room.

Saeeda Amma looked a little flustered. 'Speak about what?' She now looked at Salar, who was standing with Furqan.

'There are some things that he wants to tell her himself. It's nothing to worry about,' Furqan tried to allay her fears. She looked at Salar again: he looked away.