The Holy Woman (46 page)

Sikander was heartened by this small token of her trust. She didn’t see him as a
gheir merd
any more and thus had no need to cover herself.

‘It is I who should thank you, Zarri Bano, for going through with the marriage, especially when you were almost blackmailed into it by my son. If, at any time, you feel unhappy about anything, all you have to do is to let me know. We are, after all, husband and wife now. Goodnight!’

Not trusting himself to remain another minute in the room with her, Sikander made haste to leave. Closing the door behind him, he crossed the corridor and entered into his own bedroom.

In bed, Sikander evaluated the events of the day and his relationship with Zarri Bano. He recalled the moment of her entering the lounge hall in her bridal clothes and could still feel the sheer waves of pleasure that had washed over him. She had looked
breathtaking,
just as he had always imagined it. His heart had swelled with pride as the thought flashed across his mind.
This is the woman I want, have always wanted – and now she is going to be mine.

His euphoria, however, was shortlived. After he had said his vows during the
nikkah
ceremony, the Imam had turned to Zarri Bano. She had looked straight at Sikander. Then with all the guests as witnesses she called Haris over to her and said clearly, ‘Haris, do you want me to marry your daddy? I will only do this if you want me to.’

‘Yes, Auntie, yes!’ the child said, nodding his head energetically, snuggling to sit beside her.

It was only then that Zarri Bano followed the words of the Imam and finally signed the register. As she held the pen in her hand, poised to sign, she had looked up
at Sikander again. This time her eyes were colder than he had ever seen them before. Sikander’s heart sank in dismay. She couldn’t have made it clearer. He had been snubbed – spelling to him and all the guests that she was going through with the ceremony for her nephew’s sake and only for his. Later when his hand had
accidentally
touched hers at the dinner table, she had jerked it away with a look of pure panic. Thoroughly disappointed, Sikander realised that stormy times were ahead. He quashed the sudden alarming thought in his head: What if she never changes?

In one day he had achieved a lot, but still needed to be patient. ‘I must earn her respect and trust,’ he
murmured
to himself. ‘Honour her wishes and desires, even if they are an anathema to me. Even the month-long tour she is going on, in the Far East, after just one day of marriage.’

In her room, Zarri Bano hugged Haris’s small body to herself. She was glad that Sikander had come and spoken openly to her. He had alleviated some of her fears. The biggest fear of all that he couldn’t assuage, however, was her own fear of her self. Of the loving, sensuous, ‘wanton’ woman she had buried on the day she had heard of Sikander’s engagement to Ruby. ‘That woman is dead! I will not die for you ever again, Sikander,’ Zarri Bano later cried in her sleep.

T
HE NEXT DAY
was a hectic one for Zarri Bano as she had to spend time with the wedding guests as well as prepare for her forthcoming tour of Indonesia and
Malaysia. Only the closest family members were aware that she was leaving her new home for a month, after only one day of marriage. What they thought of her plan was anybody’s guess. Sikander’s mother Bilkis was very polite about it. His father Raja Din took it in his stride, when his son discussed it with him during their midday lunch.

‘You know, Father, Zarri Bano has a lot of
commitments.
She can’t just drop everything, now that she is married to me. One of those commitments is the women’s
Jamaat-i-Muslimeen
tour of Indonesia and Malaysia. Zarri Bano had made plans for this a long time ago, well before the wedding came along,’ Sikander explained, hoping they would understand his wife’s action and not hold it against her.

‘That is fine, my son.’ Raja Din smiled reassuringly at Zarri Bano as she listened and watched silently. He looked at his new daughter-in-law in wonder. Fate was a strange phenomenon. It had brought back the woman to whom both he and his son had lost their hearts. She was a different person now, of course, but it was still a delightful surprise to have her here by his son’s side, where she belonged. ‘May Allah fulfill all of my Sikander’s wishes and my own of having another
grandson
,’ he prayed. ‘A child just like Haris, but with the eyes of this woman.’

That evening Shahzada, Gulshan and Fatima arrived to visit Zarri Bano. They were thrilled to see her dressed in one of the elegant bridal outfits from her trousseau, instead of the black
burqa
that they had secretly feared she would still be wearing.

She was looking at her new wardrobe of clothes in her trousseau suitcase and wondering what to wear for the journey, when Sikander had come in.

‘Wear this outfit for me.’ Reaching over her shoulder, he picked out a chenille suit in a dark shade of purple. ‘This will look wonderful on you,’ he coaxed,
holding
the suit in front of her and gazing at her with admiration.

‘Look at the sequinwork on the bodice. It is much too showy, especially for a journey,’ she objected,
blushing
and hoping that he would move away from her.

‘No it isn’t. You are a new bride and this is what they traditionally wear. By the way, thank you for not
wearing
a
burqa
inside this home. That is the rule I am afraid you’ll have to obey while you are my wife.’

‘A rule! What about any male guests who happen to visit us?’ Zarri Bano asked, offended.

‘My dear, nobody wears a
burqa
at home. You can wear a large shawl, like everyone else. Surely that should cover you more than adequately? You can drape a whole bedsheet around you, if you like. Although I do remember another time when Zarri Bano was wont to wear nothing but a wispy black chiffon
dupatta,
out in a very public place, amidst strange men, yet she was still modestly dressed. You can be both modest and well dressed. There is no crime in being smart.’

‘Thank you for the lecture. But you are speaking of another time! It is unforgivable of you to remind me of it,’ Zarri Bano said angrily, flushing at the memory of the
mela.
‘I was an ignorant and a vain woman then.’

‘You were never ignorant, Zarri Bano, but I do miss the vain woman, though. I wonder if she’ll ever surface again?’ Somehow he knew he was pushing his luck too far.

Crouched on her knees over her steel suitcase, Zarri Bano stared up at him for a long time. ‘Sikander, it is impossible to turn the clock back,’ she said at last.
‘Don’t say any more, please. You have already ensnared me in your web.’

‘I am very sorry, that you feel we have
ensnared
you.’ Sikander was offended. ‘We thought that this marriage was best for everyone – for myself, for you, and above all, for my son.’ He walked over to the window and looked down at their orange orchard in the far distance. Recovering himself he turned to her once more. ‘Forgive me, Zarri Bano. You are free to come and go where and whenever you want to. There are no restrictions in this marriage, Zarri Bano. This is a home, a marriage, not a prison or a jail.’

‘Don’t look at me like that!’ Zarri Bano burst out, unable to bear the effect his eyes were having on her.

‘Like what?’ Sikander queried, genuinely bewildered.

Zarri Bano banged down the lid of her trousseau trunk and glared at him. ‘Yesterday, in the car, you crushed my hand in yours. Last night you caressed my face. Now you rape me with your eyes. Will your eyes do next what your hands cannot?’

Speechless and his tanned face pale, a look of sheer hatred flashed across Sikander’s eyes. Zarri Bano saw the look and knew she had gone too far this time. Her heart sank. It suddenly dawned on her that she had lost a friend. He stared at her for a long time.

‘A beautiful, desirable woman you may be, Zarri Bano, but I am not that desperate to demand my conjugal rights as to resort to raping my own wife!’ he snarled from across the room, hurting her as she had hurt him. ‘Nor any other woman, for that matter. You don’t know the meaning of the word rape! Keep your holy frozen self
to
yourself.’ And Sikander stormed out of the room, banging the door shut behind him.

Zarri Bano threw the outfit he had asked her to wear at the door. The large purple embroidered chiffon
dupatta
lay strewn across the marble floor. ‘I don’t care if somebody treads on it!’ she shouted. Then she burst into a flood of tears.

‘What on earth is going on here?’ Shahzada asked, coming into the room. What is your suit doing on the floor? Are you all right?’ She bent down over her daughter. Zarri Bano turned a tearstained face to her mother, not bothering to hide her wretchedness.

‘What is the matter, my beloved daughter? Why are you crying?’

‘Mother, I cannot cope with all this – with Sikander, with this marriage. Especially with his eyes … Mother, I am so afraid of them, of what they do to me. I can’t bear them!’ she sobbed.

‘He looks at you as do all husbands who love their wives very much.’

‘That is just it! I don’t
want
him to look at me like that! I hate his eyes – I want to run away from them and hide. What have you got me into, Mother? I didn’t want to marry!’ Zarri Bano cried out to Shahzada, a tortured look still in her eyes.

‘I see. I just passed him on the staircase. He didn’t look too happy either. In fact, he looked extremely fierce,’ Shahzada commented quietly, pulling up a chair to sit near her daughter. She looked down at the pile of outfits in an array of colours and textures strewn on the chair near the steel trunk. ‘I hope you know what you are doing, my daughter. He is a decent and a very understanding man, who happens to want you very much. Don’t push him too far. You may live to regret it, after it is too late.’ Shahzada thought it her duty to advise her daughter. Her own treatment of her husband
during his last five years still plagued her with bouts of guilt.

Her eyes flashing, Zarri Bano turned on her mother. ‘It is you people who are pushing
me
too far!’ Overcome by a senseless rage, the words jammed in her throat. ‘You, Mother, forced me into this marriage and said it could be a marriage in name only. Now after only
one
day
you are telling me to be careful of pushing my husband too far. You are all hypocrites! Did you
honestly
think that once I was married, I could slot neatly into Ruby’s place? Well, you were wrong, Mother! I married Sikander to legitimise my stay in his house, not to provide grandchildren for you, or to become his bedmate. This is a marriage in name only. It will always be that until I … hear me correctly … wish it otherwise. I have had my fill of male tyranny. First my father and now Sikander.’

‘Oh, my dear Zarri Bano, I am sorry that you feel that way. Sikander definitely isn’t a tyrant, you know that in your heart. Your father was, as we both know. Your grandfather still is, to some extent. They are a totally different breed of men. Another husband, whether it is a marriage in name only (which, as you know very well, is not
Halal
anyway unless it becomes a real marriage), wouldn’t have allowed you as a woman, as a wife to go alone to another country. He is a very tolerant husband, but there is always a limit to
someone’s
tolerance, my daughter, and never forget it. Just as today he loves you, tomorrow he could begin to hate you and annul the marriage. The look I glimpsed in his eyes just now didn’t bode well. Nothing remains the same for ever, Zarri Bano. Never take anything for granted.’

‘He already hates me, Mother. You should have seen
the look in his eyes! Thank you for your advice. Now listen to me clearly. This marriage, apart from how it relates to Haris, means very little to me. What matters is my identity. For the second time in my life I am being robbed of it. I have become a helpless victim once again. From an ordinary girl who loved friends and fashionable clothes, I became a simple devout woman, sacrificing all aspects of my former life. Now that devout woman is being pressurised to fulfil her wifely duties. The essence of my life and my whole being is at stake here. If I cannot be true to myself and my
feelings
, or respect myself, then I am a lost woman.

‘At the moment, I am struggling to make sense of minor details and changes in my lifestyle. For instance, I found myself debating whether I should wear a dull coloured suit, as I have done for the past five years, or to switch over to these pastel shades and bright deep colours. Yet my mind shies away from them. Until now, I have gone everywhere in my
burqa;
now I am requested to discard it at home. I am so used to the
burqa,
feel so totally happy and safe behind it, Mother, that without it I feel naked and disorientated, very
conscious
of my body and its shape. I have not touched the makeup kit for so long, and yet now I have to make up my face as befitting a new bride and to please my
husband
. I find all this abhorrent. I have no desire for it any more. Yet I am doing it all. I have compromised, but there is a limit to how much pressure and change I can take, unless you want me to end up in a psychiatric unit.’

‘Don’t be silly!’ Shahzada was really worried now. ‘You do what you think is best. All I wish, as a mother, is for you to have what you could have had if Jafar hadn’t died. You and Sikander happily married and
settled. There was no better match for you than Sikander, and you know it. He was the only man to have aroused that sparkle in your eyes. Never forget that you have been given a chance to recapture that happiness. At least let some good come from your sister’s death,’ she pleaded softly. ‘Don’t destroy something so precious; so beautiful. There aren’t many Sikanders around. He is one in a million!

‘And he is not like your father,’ she said firmly. ‘Habib was a tyrant and yet I loved him. I put up with his tyranny and he also loved me. I have never told you this before, but I lived with a terrible fear in the early years of my married life. As you know, your father was a very good-looking man and very aware of it. Compared to him, I was quite plain. His good looks terrified me at times, Zarri Bano. I was jealous of any woman he came across, especially if they happened to be better-looking than me. I was always afraid that he might fall in love and bring home a second wife. Women in the village, I’m ashamed to say, were always flocking to his side on some pretence or another – both single and married ones. They were shameless – some just couldn’t take their eyes off him. Not surprising as he was very
handsome
, young, rich and the son of the village landlord. On top of all that, there was a charisma about him which you have inherited – and it is not just to do with looks.

‘Yet, much to his credit, may he reside in
Jennat,
he never looked at another woman. The fear of losing him to someone else only left me in my later years, when I had a growing family. The pride he felt in his children, “his beautiful children” as he proudly called you all, took away that sense of insecurity from me.

‘In the end, there was no need to fear another
woman. He focused all his love on me and his children, especially on you, Zarri Bano – you know that, don’t you? He adored you because you inherited his looks, including the colour of his eyes. You in turn fed that adoration by worshipping him in return. You were his beautiful firstborn. But I don’t know whether you knew or even suspected that your father prevented you from marrying Sikander simply because he was jealous of him. He even threatened to divorce me!’

‘Mother!’ Zarri Bano looked aghast.

‘No, not in the way you think. He was afraid of losing you to him. He glimpsed something in your eyes that he had never seen before for any other suitor and simply couldn’t cope with it. If you had agreed to marry Khawar, for instance, he would have happily blessed the union, for Khawar posed no threat to him and the love you bore him. But in Sikander he saw a rival for your affection. You need to know, Zarri Bano, that your father took a personal dislike to Sikander from the very first meeting. As a proud, doting father, he was used to men falling in love with you at first sight, but here was a man, he believed, who had snubbed his daughter. “He didn’t even bother to look up at Zarri Bano, but was more concerned with the biscuits” – that is what he said to me after that first meeting.’

‘But, Mother, Sikander, had already seen me – at the
mela.
’

‘Your father didn’t know that. During their second visit, when you returned from a walk alone with Sikander in our fields, again your father was piqued and distressed on your behalf. While Sikander appeared his normal cool, collected self – “arrogant bastard”, your father called him – there was a wistful look in your eyes
which spelled to everyone that you were lost to Sikander. While I as a mother delighted in that look, knowing that my daughter had at last met her match, a strong man who would guide, love and respect her, it frightened your father, my dear. Habib couldn’t bear the thought of his proud, strong-willed daughter being vulnerable and helplessly in love with this man, who had the power to break her heart, to hurt her, and more importantly, replace him in her affections. He was also afraid that Sikander might even turn you down – and his pride could never have endured that insult. He could never have coped with that, my love.’