The Holy Woman (11 page)

F
IRDAUS AND HER
two sisters saw their mother some two hours later, long after Ali had deposited her parcels and headed back for the town. Highly indignant and with their tempers frayed, they waited impatiently.

‘She should put her family first, instead of gadding about visiting her friends.’ They all agreed with Salma on this issue. But then, that was their mother – a law unto herself, accountable to nobody!

Their father, too, was waiting patiently on his bed in the
pasar
. He hadn’t seen Fatima for nearly two months. His daughters had changed his clothes and bedding, and performed a last-minute rush of tidying up the whole house for their mother’s arrival. She always
looked around critically. Salma, the second daughter, had already fried some fresh fish – a favourite dish, she knew, of her mother’s. Accompanying that was the dessert –
karai halwa
.

At last the wooden gate of their home creaked open and Fatima’s bulky figure burst forth, her arms outstretched to her daughters in joy. Immediately Salma ran into her mother’s arms, followed closely by Fazeelet, the youngest daughter and finally Firdaus.

‘You should have taken your time, Mother dear. We could have waited another month,’ Firdaus teased, laughing in her mother’s sheepish face as she embraced her warmly.

‘Come on, girls. You know that I just had to say “hello” to my friends on the way. Well, here I am, and you have got me for two full weeks. How are you all?’

They led her into the
pasar
, to their father. With the window shutters open Fiaz had avidly drunk in the picture of his daughters’ welcome, in delight. His gaunt face creased into a smile, the lines of age
prematurely
criss-crossing his face. It was good to have Fatima home. The next few days would indeed be
exciting
. ‘It is a strange world,’ he mused sadly to himself, ‘for a husband to wait patiently for his wife to come home from work. Normally it would be the husband coming back from the fields, or the city or from abroad.’

Fiaz harboured no bitterness in his heart towards his wife. On the contrary, he had learnt to accept his lot philosophically. If it wasn’t for Fatima’s work in Habib Khan’s family home, how would he and his young family have survived when he had lost one of his legs?

Fiaz could still recall vividly to this day the raw pain and the terrifying shock of waking up in hospital to
discover that his right leg had been amputated. His eyes closed, automatically blocking out the memory of an event which had played havoc with their
kismet
and his destiny.

After ploughing in his field he was taking his two bullocks back to the farmyard, when one of them
suddenly
turned round, making Fiaz lose his grip on the harness, stumble and fall. In those few seconds, his worst nightmare was enacted as he felt the weight of the bullock’s hooves trample on his legs. Then
everything
had blissfully blacked out for him.

During the following month, having lost the use of his other leg, too, Fiaz was faced with the heart-rending need to sell his bullocks and his portion of land, and to borrow money from his neighbours to pay for the
medical
bills. Neither his family nor Fatima’s were in a position to help them.

Out of sheer desperation, and faced with the dire need of feeding her four small children, Fatima had swallowed her pride and approached the big house for work. Employed immediately, she helped Siraj Din’s eldest daughter-in-law, Shahzada, to bring up her three young children, as well as lending a hand in running the large family home. To do this, however, Fatima had to abandon her own children at home with her
husband
, appealing to her neighbour Naimat Bibi, the village cook, to keep an eye on them for her. Dry-eyed on the outside, inside she wept for her young children left alone without their mother. ‘I have no choice. It is either that or no food in their mouths,’ she cried to herself as she hugged them to her chest at night-time.

When Habib moved his family to the city, Fatima moved with them, albeit reluctantly. Acutely aware of what it entailed for Fatima and her family, Habib and
Shahzada had asked her to bring them with her, but Fiaz wouldn’t hear of it. They in turn showed their appreciation by their generosity. They paid for her children’s school fees and their books, and her
husband’s
medicine, as well as giving her a generous salary, a large portion of which she stacked away in the bank.

When their mother moved to the city with the Khan family, twelve-year-old Firdaus took on her small shoulders the full responsibility of running the
household
, looking after her sick father and her two younger sisters and brother Sarfaraz. Habib’s home in the city was too far for Fatima to return on a daily basis.
Eventually
her visits had dwindled to twice a week.

As the years sped by, Fatima’s children got used to living without her. It was her money, however, that had sent Sarfaraz to Dubai and Firdaus to an illustrious teaching college, and Salma to study for two years at a sewing college in the city. Now Fatima’s goal in life was to amass thousands of
lakhs
of rupees for her three daughters’ dowries. It was a hard pill for Fiaz’s male pride to swallow. He, the traditional male breadwinner, had been forced by fate to become a dependent and simultaneously had lost his wife too.

Over the years he noticed a change in her. She had become very attached to Habib Khan’s children,
especially
Zarri Bano, almost as if they were her own. Her tastes too had moved very much ‘upmarket’. Living in the lap of luxury in the Khans’ palatial dwelling, Fatima found everything in her own home in the village both gauche and shabby and very much on the small side. Although she didn’t make an issue of it, her family knew how she felt from the way she spoke and looked around at everything.

In the first few years, she found the transition
between the lifestyle of her employers and that of her own home in the village unsettling. For instance, she was now used to the constant air conditioning in every room of Habib’s home, including in the kitchen. Fatima thus, on return, felt hot and bothered in her own small kitchen. Apart from the fact that there were no modern units gracing the wall and she had to squat on the floor to do her cooking, there was only one
ceiling
fan. ‘That fan is useless,’ Fatima told her daughters exasperatedly, while fanning her flushed face vigorously with a piece of hard cardboard. ‘All it does is throw more hot air in our faces!’

‘You have become spoilt, Mother dear, with all that air conditioning in the town,’ Salma replied tartly.

‘You are right, girls. The life in Shahzada’s house has sadly rubbed itself off on me. I am indeed spoilt. Fancy a mother becoming more spoilt than her own educated daughters,’ she chuckled, banging another buttered
chapatti
on the flat frying pan.

‘How are you, my dear?’ Fiaz asked, when Fatima greeted him and sat down in the chair next to his bed. Feeling as if she was a stranger – an errant wife, to be precise, who had abandoned her home and family – she just hoped that he understood and forgave her.
Somehow
, she always felt guilt-ridden whenever she returned home.

‘I am fine. How are you?’ The words came in a rush from her mouth. ‘I am so sorry for taking so long to return this time. I have been phoning Firdaus regularly at the school to make sure that you were all right. I am a terrible wife, Fiaz Sahib, I know. Forgive me, but you do understand, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do, my dear. You are not a terrible wife – you
know that. We have missed you, of course, but we know that you were needed there. Never feel guilty, Fatima. If it wasn’t for you, where would we all be?
I
sometimes feel guilty. You should have married Sarwar, then you would never have been in such a situation.’

‘Shush, Fiaz Sahib! Don’t be silly. I married you, not Sarwar. This was my
kismet
. You are a good husband and so understanding. I have only worked, Fiaz Sahib, because I want to give Firdaus a grand dowry. I do not want her to pay from her own pocket – my pride will not let me do that! She can help towards her younger sisters’, but I insist on preparing for hers. Here, let me massage your leg for you.’

She sat down at the foot of the bed and began to knead the wasted muscles of her husband’s calf. Fiaz lay back on the bolster and closed his eyes, savouring the feel of her hands. He looked forward to this daily ritual for the next few days.

H
ALF AN HOUR
later, the couple were interrupted by the sound of Kulsoom’s rich booming voice and the jangling sound of over two dozen multi-coloured glass bangles on her bony arms. The village matchmaker had arrived, apparently having lost very little time upon hearing that ‘Fatima Jee’ was back in the village, for Fatima’s four extremely eligible children represented an excellent business proposition for Kulsoom.

The initial greetings and exchanges of social niceties quickly dispensed with, Kulsoom and Fatima neatly switched to the subject uppermost in both their minds.

‘Now – have you found a suitable
rishta
for my Firdaus, Kulsoom Jee?’ Fatima began eagerly.

‘I have.’ Leaning forward, Kulsoom cast a gleeful glance at Fatima. ‘Two, in fact.’

‘Oh, that is good!’ Fatima was now all eyes and ears. Sitting up in her chair she too leaned forward. ‘Tell me about them,’ she prompted.

‘One
rishta
is in the neighbouring village. The boy is good-looking and a graduate – B. Com or something. His family are well off. They have a two-storey house with six bedrooms, built on fourteen
merlas
of land. And guess what? They only have two other children. They are elder daughters, both of whom are married and settled far away.’

‘I see.’ Fatima let the information sink into her brain. So, the boy was an only son – excellent! Her daughter would have no other sister-in-laws, and the house would become theirs eventually. And her Firdaus would become the reigning queen in that household.

‘What about his parents?’ she asked sharply.

‘The father is dead. There is only a mother, and she is such a sweet, gentle soul. I don’t think you could ask for a better mother-in-law than this woman for your daughter, Fatima Jee. I know of some vipers … you can guess who I mean, don’t you?’ Kulsoom winked at Fatima, aware of Firdaus’s presence in the courtyard outside. She could both hear and see them from the open window. Leaning forward, Fatima closed one of the window’s wooden shutters.

‘I see,’ Fatima uttered, lost in thought once more. This family appealed to her; she wouldn’t let them slip through her fingers. It was a very attractive package and she wanted to get cracking on it before it was too late. God knew how many other mothers had their
eagle eyes on this boy and his family. He lived in the neighbouring village, so her daughter wouldn’t be travelling too far either. That was a mighty big plus in their favour.

Coming to a quick decision, Fatima put her hand in her tunic and, from the neckline, fished out her small purse. Unzipping it, she took out a 500-rupee note and handed it ceremoniously to Kulsoom.

‘Here, Sister Kulsoom, I think we might be
interested
in this boy and his family. I am giving you this as a reward for your research and to ask a favour that you keep this
rishta
a secret and not barter it at a higher price to any of our neighbours or other clients of yours. If I find you have whispered a word about it to anyone else, I will wipe my hands of you and enlist the help of another matchmaker. I will not let you anywhere near my children or those of any of my friends again. Is that understood, Kulsoom Jee?’ Fatima gave the
matchmaker
the benefit of a hard stare.

‘Oh, come on, Fatima Jee, you can trust me. I will not breathe a word of this to anybody until everything has been finalised to your satisfaction. You should know me better.’ All affronted, Kulsoom hastened to reassure her favourite client.

‘Now tell me about the second
rishta
.’ Her mind now totally at ease, Fatima relaxed back in her seat again. With three daughters to marry off, she had to explore as many avenues as possible.

‘The second one is in the town. You know my
popularity
,’ Kulsoom boasted, her large round face split into a self-satisfied smile. ‘I have good connections with other matchmakers, you see, in other towns and villages. The only trouble with this
rishta
, I am afraid, is that the boy comes from a large family. He is the
eldest son, and there are five daughters – all unmarried, all of them younger than him as well as the other two brothers.’

‘Stop right there! Don’t say any more, Kulsoom Jee. I don’t think we’ll be interested in this family.’ The vision of her daughter embroiled and ensconced in a large household with so many sister-in-laws and brother-in-laws and with so many dowries to arrange, had Fatima creasing her forehead in distaste. Having given away precious years of her life working in someone else’s home in order to raise and educate her daughters, Fatima wasn’t going to waste it all by
planting
any of her daughters in the household of a large family. Her girls were cut out for much better things.

‘Kulsoom, what about
her
? You know who I mean!’ Fatima hissed, raising her eyebrows in a conspiratorial fashion, hoping that the matchmaker understood. She didn’t want Firdaus to hear what they were discussing. ‘Has she found a
rishta
for her son? I know you are working for her too. Do not cross me on that one, Kulsoom. You must keep me abreast with what is going on there. If I find that you have kept something from me …’ Fatima’s voice trailed off, her stare hardening again.

‘No, of course not, Sister Fatima, I will not cross you. But I can tell you brutally that she has no intention of making your Firdaus her daughter-in-law, ever! Now that Zarri Bano has refused to marry Khawar, she has switched her attention to Ruby. Therefore, dear sister, if you were to pay heed to me, do not either raise your hopes or cast your eyes in the direction of the
hawaili.
It is a dead course. I know you have set your heart on Khawar and have liked him for a long time, and regard him as a desirable match for your daughter, but his
mother is another story entirely. You are truly out of your depths there, my dear. That woman, as you well know, is a viper, I tell you she hates you and your family, and would eat your daughter alive with her taunts.’

‘OK, OK, Kulsoom, please don’t rub it in!’ Fatima agitatedly interrupted. ‘One day she’ll regret it. Tell me how many young women in the village are
Headmistresses
or so well-educated. I tell you, my Firdaus will go – just like that!’ As if to emphasise the point, Fatima snapped her fingers at Kulsoom. ‘It is just that I wanted her to stay in the village. Firdaus wants to stay here, too, and the only person who is compatible with her education and personality is Khawar …’

‘But not his family, Fatima. You must be realistic! Your background is different from theirs. I don’t want to be offensive, but that woman is very proud and a snob. She will not contemplate such a
rishta
. The only family she thinks is on a par with her is that of Habib Khan. You know what I mean: she claims that your daughters are beneath her.’

‘Yes, I know precisely what you mean,’ Fatima answered, her face flushing in indignation. ‘Does she begrudge me for working to support my family? If a similar thing had happened to her husband, what would she have done? Let her children starve? Is my family to be forever penalised and condemned because I have worked to support them? You know my job wasn’t inherited, nor one of our trades. We are farming people like most of the other villagers – just like
her
family. I am very cross at the injustice of it all.’ There were tears in her eyes.

‘I am not going to give up though,’ she ranted on. ‘I have known for years that Khawar wants to marry my
daughter. It is his mother who is like a thorn in
everyone’s
back. I am going to have a word with our
buzurg
, Siraj Din. As the village elder, and the man to whose family I have devoted the most precious years of my life, perhaps he can intervene and put in a good word for us and sway that woman’s opinion …’

‘Stop! Mother, stop!’ Firdaus dashed into the room to stand beside Fatima, her cheeks fiery red. ‘I have heard enough. My ears are burning from the sheer shame of it all. I tell you now, Mother: even if that proud woman were to come begging on her knees. I would not step one foot into that household. Don’t we have any pride, or aren’t we entitled to any, Mother? Who do they think they are? Out of which soil have they sprung? Have they lost their bearing on humanity, by their
self-importance
and acres of land? Mother, how dare you demean us all by throwing yourself at them? It is as if God had created Khawar and no one else. Are there no other men or families in the world?’ She paused to take a deep breath.

‘If you are bent on marrying me off to Khawar, then listen to me, Mother, carefully – I will remain a
spinster
! I will not marry to please you, nor the school committee, so that they can keep me here in the village. If you want me to marry any man, I am willing to consider the one Kulsoom Jee mentioned earlier, from the neighbouring village. I could commute to my school from there. I am personally interested in him, Kulsoom Jee.’ Firdaus addressed the matchmaker. ‘Please let me know about him and his family and then you can arrange a meeting between our two families.’

‘Yes, little Sahiba,’ Kulsoom offered with alacrity, her small eyes dancing from daughter to mother. Truly gagged by her daughter’s outburst Fatima didn’t have
anything further to add for the next few minutes while they sipped tea and ate biscuits. Apart from telling Kulsoom the sad news of Zarri Bano becoming a Holy Woman.

It was an hour later that Kulsoom left Fatima’s home, a most contented woman. Waited upon by Fatima’s three daughters, she had first dined in style and then been given a special gift of a suit from Fatima, as well as a pot of moisturising cream for her dry,
pigmented
skin. Kulsoom knew for sure that she would be amply rewarded, once she managed to match Fatima’s daughters to good worthy
rishtas
.

As she made her way to her friend Naimat Bibi’s house in the village lane, Kulsoom spotted Khawar on his white horse in the field. Purposely she hastened her pace towards him.

‘
Assalam-Alaikum
, how are you, my son?’ she greeted him, while keeping discreetly well away from the horse’s legs. She wasn’t an animal lover by any means. Her bony legs had only just come out of plaster last month.

‘
Wa Laikum-Salam
, I am fine, Auntie Kulsoom. What brings you to this side of the village?’ he humoured the reputable village matchmaker.

‘I went to visit Fatima.’ Kulsoom eagerly took up her cue, looking up at the handsome young man. ‘She has just returned to the village. I have been telling her about some suitable
rishtas
for her three very lovely daughters.’

‘Including one for Firdaus?’ Khawar asked quietly, bending down to pat his horse on his flanks, while keeping his expression neutral.

‘Oh, of course, especially Firdaus. She is the eldest
and the most eligible of Fatima’s three daughters,’ Kulsoom replied, letting a secretive smile deliberately play on her lips.

‘Where are these
rishtas
?’

‘One is in the city. The man is a general,’ she lied glibly, looking up from the ground and staring back at him. ‘The other one is in the next village. He is the only son and a graduate. He has a very nice mother and a huge
hawaili
. He works as a manager in the city.’ She added the last bit herself as an afterthought. She had a knack for exaggeration, when it suited her or the situation.

‘I see. Well, our Firdaus is going to be lost for choice. Such good matches!’ he bit out sarcastically, his nostrils flaring, his hands tight on the horse’s reins.

‘Oh, I definitely think so,’ Kulsoom slyly dug in, noting both his look and action with interest. ‘There is nobody suitable in the village for our Firdaus. She
herself
was adamant that she doesn’t want to marry anyone here, even if they begged her to, or even if the school committee threw her out of the school. You should have heard her, Khawar. She was spitting fire and daggers at me and her mother.’

‘Why?’

‘Well …’ Sobering, Kulsoom decided to play with destiny and tell him the truth. ‘You know, Khawar, Fatima has always nurtured the idea that you and Firdaus make a nice pair. But of course your mother will not hear of it, and now Firdaus definitely does not want to have anything to do with you. Do you know what she said, Khawar dear? She said that even if your mother came on her knees, begging for her hand, she wouldn’t step into your home. Can you ever imagine your mother on her knees begging, Khawar? Firdaus
seems bent on pursuing this match with the man from a neighbouring village. I thought it important to let you know, my son. For I am aware that you have always had a soft spot for our Firdaus and I wouldn’t want you to blame me when it was too late.’ The woman sighed.

‘She’ll be “snapped up”, as her mother says, from right under your very nose, Khawar. I won’t say any more – I have already said enough. And your mother will not thank me. I have probably made an enemy of her already and lost her business too – but I care, you see, Khawar! I care for you both. You are the children I never had. Yet, I don’t want to cause a rift in your family. Good evening, my son, and may Allah fulfil all your dreams,’ she ended solemnly and entered the village lane.

She left Khawar on his horse, having given him much food for thought. He knew what game Kulsoom was playing. His male ego was wounded, nevertheless, by Kulsoom’s suggestion that Firdaus wouldn’t marry him, nor set foot in his home. It seemed that he had two proud women to contend with. A woman he wanted to marry and a mother who wouldn’t let him marry her.

It was time for action! This matter had to be resolved, one way or another. He didn’t relish it, but it looked as if a confrontation with his mother was
imminent
. As Kulsoom had said, Firdaus would most
certainly
be snapped up by these so-called ‘generals’ and ‘managers’. Where would that leave him or their school? He had a double interest at heart and both, at the moment, were at stake.

When he reached home, his mother’s furnace of hate for Fatima and her brood was now well ablaze.
She therefore failed to notice the cold determined glint in her son’s eyes.