The Lost Pearl (2012) (15 page)

The summer of 2002 arrived, and I continued to wait earnestly for Ahmer’s unspoken promise to turn into a marriage proposal. After my final exams, we went to see the Indian Movie
Devdas
, which was a remake of an older version. It was a beautiful movie with fantastic music. There was a scene where the girl, played by the stunning Aishwariya Rai, got married to someone she did not love, under pressure from her family. The man she loved, Devdas, played by the famous Shahrukh Khan, bade her a sad farewell. He lived next door, so he participated in the wedding, helping to carry the palanquin in which she departed, while a tragic song played in the background. It was such a touching scene that my eyes filled with tears. I let a few escape silently, hoping Ahmer would not notice.

On the way home, we discussed the film, and I said, “It was so tragic, her getting married that way. It must be so hard to marry someone when you love another. I felt bad for both of them.”

“Yeah, but it was all his fault. He didn’t propose to her in time, so he lost her, ruining her life and his own. He didn’t fight for her. And then he was so self-destructive; he became a drunkard, destroyed his liver, and died,” he said, as if he were talking about a real person.

“I thought it was a beautiful ending,” I said, “especially the scene where he was dying at the doorstep of her enormous mansion, and she ran to see who it was, but the gates closed on her before she could meet him.”

“So you like tragic endings, then,” Ahmer said with a smile.

“Sometimes. They touch your heart. But only in stories, not in real life.”

After saying good-bye to Ahmer, I walked up to my apartment, wondering what the conclusion of our story was going to be. I gazed up at the sky, said a prayer in my heart, and admired the full moon shining down on me in all its glory.

Upon completing my journalism degree in 2002, I accepted a position at the local news station where I had interned and continued to write articles for the paper. I also volunteered periodically to give lectures to undergraduate students at Stanford. Ahmer still had several months to go before completing his combined law and business master’s degree, and that helped me finalize my decision to stay in Palo Alto.

I soon began working on a documentary for television based on my thesis article on 9/11. I had conducted some interviews to write the thesis, and I used them as a starting point to develop my project further. I intended to record some interviews in Pakistan as well, to capture the diverse opinions among various factions and to address the escalated violence since 9/11. In the meantime, I continued my job with anchoring and occasional spot reporting.

In 2003, news channels and papers were inundated with rumors of CIA leaks and allegations against George Bush regarding the dearth of evidence to support the presence of weapons of mass destruction, which had been the pretext of the invasion of Iraq.

I had not visited Pakistan the year before, mainly because I had been terrified of having to meet Zain. Sahir was in medical school and was immersed in his studies. I did not think I would be graced by much of his company if I went home. He rarely had time to even talk to me over the phone. Occasionally he would call and mumble something for a few minutes, his mind
constantly filled with the cardiovascular physiology he had read about or the countless names of bones and muscles he had memorized the night before. He was not getting enough sleep, and per Ammi and Sara’s accounts, had lost a considerable amount of weight. I was proud of him, as I was sure my father would have been had he lived to see this day, but worried at the same time. I e-mailed him words that I had read on one of my college clipboards: “Kill the stress before the stress kills you, reach the goal before the goal kicks you, help others before someone helps you, live life before life leaves you.”

Sara spent most of her holidays with her paternal aunt in Lahore, so I did not see the benefit of going every summer. It would be impossible to avoid conversations with my stepfather, as Ammi would be the only buffer and possibly not a very effective one.

I had known and cared for Ahmer for several years by then, and it worried me sometimes that he had not broached the subject of marriage. I tried not to think about it too much and just let the tune play itself out. I was afraid that asking him about it prematurely might compromise our friendship, which was too precious for me to risk; it would be like gambling with the last coin I had left.

One spring evening, we were sitting in the quad laughing over a recent
Everybody Loves Raymond
episode. We were snacking on salt and vinegar Pringles, which I had allowed myself to occasionally indulge in, while sipping on our cans of Diet Coke. “It was hilarious how Robert purposely spoiled all the wedding preparations so Amy wouldn’t ask him to do any more work,” I said.

“Yeah, and Raymond and his dad were the ones who put him up to it.”

We continued to share unimportant, yet interesting details of our every day life. I noticed that Ahmer seemed preoccupied and that faraway look in his eyes had returned. As I saw the hint
of the purple jacarandas emerging from the tips of the tall trees, my mind drifted back to all the springs we had shared together. As I sat there trying to decipher his thoughts, his voice suddenly transitioned to a serious tone. “The other day I was talking to Mama’s picture,” he said, pausing for a few seconds. “I was talking to my mom’s picture,” he repeated, clearing his throat as though he were struggling to formulate the words he wanted to say, “as I often do, and I told her that some years ago, I had met a wonderful girl.”

“Really?” I asked, my eyes wide with amazement, my tone that of one requesting confirmation. “What else did you tell her?”

“That she makes me smile, that I have fallen for her, and that I am going to ask her what I have intended to ask her since the day we first met. I will ask her to marry me.”

Considering how compatible we were, how much we cared for each other, and how we both knew that marriage would be the next step, I had expected a proposal for a long time. But I had not expected it at that moment, not when we were sitting in the quad munching on Pringles and sipping Diet Coke. The place was definitely right—it was where we had first met. I looked at the ground that had a puddle of water, a slowly disappearing remnant of the morning rainfall. In it, I could see my reflection and Ahmer’s. We looked good together, as if we were meant to be. I had become increasingly apprehensive about getting tied into a matrimonial knot with a stranger and having to say yes in lieu of not having sufficient grounds to do otherwise. If I had a proposal from a well-educated person from a respectable family, my mother would not force me into marrying someone I did not know at all.

It was one of the happiest moments of my life. I had been so hurt by all that had happened in my past that the fear of betrayal had stopped me from becoming close to anyone. It had happened nevertheless, and I had rediscovered the power of human closeness and the timelessness of unconditional love. In that
instant, I felt the disillusionment I had harbored in my mind for years drifting away and the sadness I had sheltered in my heart melting away. I was daring to be happy again.

“Will you marry me, Sana?” I looked up into his eyes, but before I could say yes, he stopped me.

“Before you answer, I want to tell you something about myself, something that I have not yet shared with you. I don’t think we should have any secrets now. For you to understand me fully, I want to take you to meet someone. And for that we need to go to Pakistan. If things work out, we can have an engagement or a wedding right there.”

He took a beautiful ring from his pocket. It was a traditional ring made of pure gold, with emeralds and rubies forming a flower in the center. “It’s my mother’s,” he said.

“She asked me to give it to the girl I marry. Keep it with you, but don’t wear it until you make your final decision.”

“It’s beautiful, Ahmer,” I said, tears of happiness filling my eyes. I looked at the ring with admiration. I felt honored that I was the chosen one, the one who, in his eyes, deserved to be the wearer of his beloved mother’s ring. I was also surprised and did not know how to interpret all of Ahmer’s words. I tried not to overanalyze them, but my joy was dampened by the revelation that Ahmer had hidden something from me. Was it fair of me to hold that against him when I had done the same? My secret was dark, but not something that could change anything between us. But what if Ahmer’s secret, once revealed, came directly in the way of our happiness? How would I bear it? Had he not once told me that life was a gift waiting to be unwrapped? And I had begun to tear away the wrappings of hurt and anger and rediscover the beauty of this finite journey called life. But what secret was hidden inside this person I thought I knew so well? What if, after removing the shiny silver wrapping, an unbecoming truth emerged?

I told Kavita about it, and she tried to allay my fears. She was always the trusting one and held Ahmer in the highest esteem.

“You are a psychologist, Kavita,” I said to her. “Tell me what you make of this. Do you think I should worry?”

“No, you should not,” she replied with a reassuring smile on her face. “You have known him for years; we have all known him for years. He’s a good person and he cares about you a lot. If there is something he wants to tell you, just let him say it rather than worrying needlessly.”

Jennifer was a little more circumspect, and I could see it in her eyes. She decided against saying much. She congratulated me for the proposal but did not meet my gaze when I asked for her interpretation of Ahmer’s words. The more I thought about it, the more it troubled me. Perhaps he had a past. If he had loved someone before me, I could not hold that against him. After all he had not been committed to me then. What if he had been married before? What if he was still married? It was not against the law in Pakistan to have more than one wife. The day we had met and reminisced about Pakistan, he had given an interesting analogy about his relationship with Pakistan being like a marriage. I had been surprised that an unmarried person could talk in depth about the various stages of marriage.

The more I thought about it, the more I felt my heart slamming like a hammer against my chest wall. What if he had a child or children? It could be his child he wanted me to meet. That would certainly be a hindrance to our wedding. Even if I could overlook a marriage, could I overlook the fact that he had hidden such a significant truth from me? I had not accepted my stepfather in so many years. Could I possibly accept a stepson or daughter? They would have preconceived dislike for me if I were going to replace their mother. They surely would resent me. Would I be able to raise them as my own? I paused and then answered my own question: I could. I would.

My mind went back to the turmoil of emotions I had felt on 9/11. Anything would be acceptable to me except being permanently separated from Ahmer. But how would I convince my mother and my aunt that this was the person I had chosen for myself? How would I convince them that he was indeed the one for me, the one who would justify my refusal of Zain’s proposal?

My mother would have difficulty accepting that I had chosen a husband for myself. I was only beginning to realize that I might have been unfair to her and that I may have disappointed her as a child. Would it be fair to fail her as an adult as well? Was that the daughter I wanted to be? The daughter that my father had said was destined to do great things, destined to make him proud. I paused for a moment and realized that everything that had wreaked havoc in my mind for the past hour was mere speculation. I was a journalist—a fact-finder, a truth-seeker—and here I was, solving a puzzle without having the pieces, capturing a photograph with a faulty lens. I had to trust Ahmer. Despite the nagging sense of doubt, I felt that his intentions were good; that was why he had asked me not to give him an answer to his marriage proposal. Had he not given me that opportunity, I would have answered in the affirmative without the blink of an eye, without the bat of an eyelash.

I had already planned to be in Pakistan for my vacation, and Ahmer was to arrive a week later. My stepfather, being in real estate, had found a good bargain, and the family was moving into a new home. I had asked them to wait for my arrival so I could help out with the relocation, and they had gladly complied.

Two years had elapsed since 9/11, but my fear of flying had not dissipated. I read
The Kite Runner
on the plane, which was Ahmer’s most recent gift. He had scribbled “I hear it’s a great book, didn’t want you to miss it” on the inside of the first page. I wanted to tell my mother about Ahmer, especially to ward off discussions about how fabulous Zain was, but before I embarked on that discussion, I wanted to clear whatever it was that stood in
the air between Ahmer and me like a thick, black cloud. Would that cloud be carried away by the wind, leaving behind a clear, limitless sky? Or would it burst, creating waters deep enough to drown me in a bottomless sea?

The flight seemed longer than usual. Every time I drifted off to sleep, I had vivid dreams, sometimes of red roses in beautiful gardens and other times of loud thunder in a stormy sky. I wanted to feel pure bliss, but questions in my mind continued to pull me away from it. My anxiety added to the usual heaviness I felt in my legs after the long flight.

Two days after I arrived in Pakistan, Sara rushed into my room with a giggle and told me that we were expecting a guest for tea that evening.

“Who?” I said, trying to readapt to the constant influx of guests at all times of the day.

“Lubna Aunty is coming over. She is dying to meet you,” Sara said, still giggling uncontrollably like girls her age frequently did.

“Who?” I repeated, unable to recollect any acquaintance by that name.

“Zain Bhai’s mother,” she said.

I was appalled by this news. I could not believe that my mother was going ahead with this without discussing it with me. I had just arrived, it had taken two days to get my sleep-wake cycle straight, and now she was already planning my wedding. I was not going to marry Zain, and the sooner he and his family were informed of this, the better it would be for everybody. I silently prayed for Ahmer to arrive before I was forced to create a scene at home. I was anxious to make our bond official and final, so I could explain my reservations about meeting Zain.