The Holy Woman (42 page)

Sabra smiled lovingly at her sister. It looked as if the future was indeed going to be rosy for Kaniz, after all. She sat down next to her sister and, removing the chador from Kaniz’s head, she began to massage her oily scalp again. There would be no need for almond oil head massages any more. Her son’s wedding would give Kaniz back her inner strength.

Sitting on the floor before the sofa, Kaniz tilted her head back towards her sister and closed her eyes. Behind her lids she could still see Firdaus on the floor, with her hands held up in supplication. Then from somewhere else there flashed the hideous scene of
herself
in a similar position. Kaniz’s eyes screwed up
waiting
for the pain, but nothing happened. Giggling in
her mind, Kaniz opened her eyes. Two silly proud women had both bowed down and touched the ground. Both had had their faces smeared in the mud in equal measure. Chaudharani Kaniz was well and truly vindicated.

K
ULSOOM CROSSED THE
main village street from Kaniz’s
hawaili
into the side lane leading to Fatima’s home. Her footsteps were light and hurried. She couldn’t wait for the moment when she would break the bombshell to an unsuspecting Fatima and her daughters. Just to see their expressions would be ample reward.

Salma heard the urgency of solid knocks on the door and rushed to open it. Kulsoom was standing outside, holding her arm up and looking at her glass bangles. She had just broken three of them, knocking. Salma opened the door wide and asked her to come in. ‘Are you all right Auntie?’ she said, wondering what all the excitement was about.

‘Where are your mother and sister Firdaus?’ Kulsoom asked, letting herself be led into the guest room, while counting how many bangles she still had left on her bony arm.

‘Please be seated. I’ll go and call them down. They are sunbathing on the rooftop.’

‘Wait, Salma, don’t call them down, I will go up,’ Kulsoom bravely volunteered.

‘Are you sure, Auntie?’ Salma teased, a smile on her face. She knew Kulsoom hated climbing steps.

By the time Kulsoom reached the rooftop balcony, she was panting heavily. The excitement, however, was still threatening to tear her ribs apart.

On spotting Kulsoom, with her small hand held tightly against her heaving chest and her dark
sun-tanned
cheeks flushed with the heat of exertion, Fatima laughed aloud.

‘Welcome, Kulsoom Jee, but what are you doing up here? You shouldn’t have climbed all those stairs. We would have come down.’

‘It is all right, Fatima Jee,’ Kulsoom replied
magnanimously
, in a hoarse voice and still trying to catch her breath. ‘I am not used to so much exercise, like climbing all these stairs at one go,’ she explained feebly.

Firdaus quickly removed her book from the chair and pulled it over for Kulsoom. Secretly amused Salma went down again to fetch some refreshments. Scanning their faces, Kulsoom smiled, her small eyes glittering amid her wrinkled face.

‘I have great news for you both,’ she announced, still panting for breath.

‘What is it, Kulsoom Jee? I could tell by looking at your flushed face that you had some important news for us,’ Fatima teased pleasantly, glancing slyly at her daughter.

‘Fatima Jee, I feel as if my chest is going to burst at the seams. My old battered heart has never suffered so much excitement since this morning. I am sure I am going to die of a heart attack, probably right up here on your rooftop.’

‘God forbid if something happened to you, Sister Kulsoom. What would we all do without you?’ Fatima said kindly. ‘Please tell us, don’t keep us in suspense.’

Kulsoom braced herself, standing up straight. She wanted to achieve the right effect. She hadn’t sacrificed her heart or climbed all those steps for nothing. Nor did she have any intention of wasting an ounce of this golden opportunity that had generously been turned her way. After all, Chaudharani Kaniz had bestowed upon her a high status as the carrier of good tidings which would fulfil Fatima’s lifelong dream.

‘Fatima, you are a very lucky woman,’ she began as a form of prelude, twitching her earring in place around her small right ear. ‘Your star sign is definitely
beckoning
you.’

The conversation was getting nowhere and Fatima was beginning to feel irritated with Kulsoom, but she managed to hide it. She knew the old matchmaker inside out, with all her flaws and foibles, and was thus able to tolerate Kulsoom’s ritualistic way of telling news. Biding her time, patiently she allowed Kulsoom the luxury of talking in riddles, and for as long as she wished.

‘I see, Kulsoom Jee,’ Fatima replied in a neutral tone, keeping her face straight and pretending not to be interested, while she fanned herself.

Firdaus’s lips quirked. She herself had always found the matchmaker an amusing and a grotesque figure. The old lady would never change. How else would she make a living? She did it, of course, by manipulating people’s desires and interests, cleverly pulling the right strings at the right time, in the right place and with the right people, as Firdaus well knew.

With her shawl straight in place over her bosom, and her gold locket with the word Allah embossed on it conveniently dangling out of the
chador
, the old woman said portentously: ‘I have just come from the
hawaili
.’

She now had both their attention. Firdaus stiffened, dropping her eyes to the book in her lap. Fatima’s gaze locked itself on to Kulsoom’s lips. The seconds ticked away, and Fatima feared that everybody could hear her banging heartbeat. Then, slyly glancing at them from under hooded eyes, having now ascertained that she had their full attention, Kulsoom plunged forth.

‘Chaudharani Kaniz has asked for Firdaus’s hand in marriage for her son Khawar. If you find the proposal agreeable, she will come to initiate the engagement ceremony. How about that?’ Kulsoom finished with a hearty laugh, scanning their faces with interest.

Total silence greeted Kulsoom’s dramatic
announcement
. The only audible sound was that of the village flour mill grinding away the wheat, and the village tube well sloshing water into the fields of rape and sugar cane, and the chomping of their neighbour’s fodder machine. Mother and daughter’s glances clashed. The unheard-of had come about. The sky had met the land. The impossible Chaudharani had
formally
asked – no, more correctly ‘stooped’ – for her daughter’s hand, hers the washerwoman’s.

With a sigh of satisfaction escaping her lips, Fatima rested her back against the thick bolster. Years of snubs and abuse by that woman were washed away in an instant. Whether they accepted the proposal or not, the Chaudharani had herself asked for Firdaus’s hand. It was done, despite her vehement assertion that she would rather die than do it. Life was strange, making people eat their words, knocking humility into them, Fatima pondered.

Firdaus for her part, felt embarrassed and
uncomfortable
. How could Kaniz ask for her hand again in the light of what she had done? Also there was the question
of Khawar. Had Kaniz consulted her son? Or was it her own decision? Gratified and humbled by Kaniz’s
proposal
though she was, her pride wouldn’t let Firdaus give her permission until she knew what Khawar felt for her. The last time she had seen him, he had treated her like dirt. I am not going to throw myself at him, she decided fiercely. I, too, have my pride. I will not marry him just to please the two mothers. He will have to propose personally.

Fatima was the first to break the silence. ‘Thank you, Sister Kulsoom, for such good tidings. I find it so hard to believe. How did it all come about? You know what her opinion has been on this matter. On the other hand, I think she has undergone a change of heart recently.’ Fatima shot a meaningful glance at her daughter,
causing
Firdaus to blush. Her mother would never allow her to forget her foolish act in letting Kaniz beg on her knees.

‘You are right, Fatima Jee, it is most unusual. I couldn’t believe it when Neesa came to summon me to the
hawaili
. I was very surprised. You see, I have not spoken to her for the last two years, especially since Khawar left home.’ Kulsoom stopped, recalling her astonishment at the change wrought in Kaniz’s manner and appearance. ‘She is a different woman now,’ she told them. ‘Do you know, her hand actually trembled when she lifted a cup of tea, Fatima Jee! You have seen her recently, haven’t you? She has always been a beautiful woman, but now she looks quite haggard. Her manner – I can’t describe it.’ Kulsoom thought for a moment. ‘She actually regarded me, for the first time in her life, as a human being and not just as a servant to do her bidding. There was warmth in her look. She didn’t say much, but whatever she uttered bore no resemblance to
the old, demanding Kaniz. She actually looked me directly in the eye, all the time I was there.’

Kulsoom cackled gently. ‘Her sister Sabra, who has been staying with her for ever such a long time, warned me that I should be gentle and say nothing which might upset her. As if I would! I never upset people. My job is to please people, not to upset them. How else would my business run?’

She beamed. ‘She used to make me quake in my shoes and feel one inch high. To her I was just the matchmaker, one of those many menials who had a subservient role to play in her life. Now do you know what she said, Fatima Jee? She called me “Sister Kulsoom”! Me I tell you, she is a changed person. Have you any idea what might have brought about this change, Fatima Jee?’

‘No idea at all,’ Fatima replied evasively.

‘So what are you going to do, Fatima Jee? What shall I say to Chaudharani Kaniz?’

‘I don’t know what to say. We are obviously very flattered and honoured. I suppose it depends on the two people who are getting married. You know my view on this. I have always wanted Khawar for Firdaus. He is a wonderful person. But I am afraid, Kulsoom, that things have been very strained between the two families over the past few years and months. I really don’t know what to do. Ask my daughter! She is the proud,
stubborn
one, who once vowed that she would never marry into that family, and would remain a spinster rather than enter that home. That is true, isn’t it, Firdaus?’

Fatima’s voice lashed at her daughter with anger. Firdaus, who had been listening to everything that had been said, just looked from one woman to the other.

‘It is true what my mother says, Auntie Jee,’ she said
finally. ‘But things change – we all change. I will accept the Chaudharani’s proposal willingly and I am very happy and honoured to do so, but on one
condition
…’

‘
What
?’ Fatima sprang up from her chair, unable to believe her ears. ‘Have you lost your senses, my girl?’ She didn’t care whether Kulsoom heard or not! ‘You are in no position to bargain! You proud vixen.’

‘Mother, please!’ Firdaus hissed under her breath. ‘At least let me finish. I was about to say that I will accept on the condition that Khawar proposes to me
personally
. After all, I will be marrying him, not his mother. It was the
chaudharani
who asked me, not him. How do I know that he still wants to marry me? He might have changed his mind. I do not want to marry a man who would be marrying me just to please his mother and out of sufferance.’

‘Oh, you sly girl!’ Kulsoom laughed. ‘That boy has been besotted with you for nearly fifteen years, and you say that he won’t marry you?’

‘People change, Auntie Jee. We have just been
discussing
that very topic,’ Firdaus replied stiffly, hedged in both by Kulsoom’s innocence and her mother’s innuendoes.

‘OK,’ the old woman said brightly. ‘Shall I say to Chaudharani Kaniz that you accept, but would also like Khawar to propose in person?’

‘Yes, please Auntie Jee,’ Firdaus whispered.

‘Also, Kulsoom Jee, tell the Chaudharani that I would personally like to accept it and I will come and visit her shortly,’ added Fatima.

‘Of course I will. I hope you are going to make me a happy woman, Fatima. I will have fulfilled your dream. This locket and pair of earrings have become rather old
now.’ Kulsoom held up her locket from her chest and dangled it meaningfully in front of Fatima.

The other woman laughed. ‘If and when my Firdaus marries, I promise you that I will grace your neck with a new locket that will pull your neck down. One with a large ruby in it.’

‘That is most generous of you, Fatima Jee. I will thank you by finding a wonderful
rishta
for Fazeelet, your last daughter and, of course, for your son. Tell him to come home from Dubai. You are all rich now. I will look out for a lovely bride for him. A tall, fair one – just like him.’

‘Don’t forget education, Kulsoom Jee,’ Fatima teased.

‘Of course. These days all men seem to want
educated
women – even those with not a certificate to their own name.

‘Of course, there are some men, the
very
educated ones, who only want homemakers –
gheraloo
women. Personally, I think they feel threatened by those other dynamic, educated and professional women. It is either that or they want to have power and authority over their wives. I believe education is good for girls, but not for them to work. A home needs a woman to run it. If both husband and wife work, how can the house run?’

‘I am afraid, Kulsoom Jee, you are talking to the wrong woman here. I am all for women working. Have you forgotten, I myself have worked for so long and raised a family. My Firdaus works and I do not expect her to give it up once she is married. I didn’t pay thousands of rupees on her for it all to go to waste, for her just to stay at home and twiddle her thumbs. No, a woman needs her own life, a sense of independence and to feel valued. To have achieved something.’

‘I daresay you are right, Fatima Jee,’ Kulsoom replied diplomatically, swiftly changing her tune. It wasn’t a good tactic in her business to displease her clients. She always agreed wherever she could, without losing face. And after all, she herself was a working woman.

After refreshments and an early lunch, Kulsoom returned to Kaniz’s
hawaili
to deliver the messages. On the way back she had met Siraj Din and told him the good news also.

He was very pleased for everyone. His agile mind at once began to work. If Firdaus married Khawar, then perhaps Firdaus would stay in the village and return to the post in the school. At the moment they had only issued a temporary contract to the new
headmistress
. The latter was all right, but she wasn’t a local woman. Sometimes he wished his own
granddaughter,
Zarri Bano, would become the headmistress. But he knew he was fooling himself. An urban and international life was more her thing. His son was right. Their Zarri Bano was not a ‘
Bibi
’, a woman who barely stepped out of her home. He prayed for happiness and serenity in his daughter-in-law and granddaughter’s life.