Typhoon (15 page)

J
AMILA FELT GIDDY
as another wave of nausea attacked her. Hearing voices outside on the verandah, sat up in bed, her head still spinning and pulled her dupatta around her just before the door opened. It was Mary, their middle-aged village midwife. Jamila sighed with relief.

‘Assalam Alaikum, Sister Jamila!’ Mary beamed at her new patient.

Her head lifted, ‘Walaikum Salam!’ Already hot, she pulled off the covering from her head. As it was only Mary, she didn’t need it.

Mary herself was all wrapped up in a beige cashmere chador, her arms folded across her chest beneath it.

‘How are you this morning, Jamila Jee?’ she beamed, coming up to Jamila’s palang, carefully moving aside the velvet duvet from the bed. She made herself
comfortable
at the rear end of the bed by raising one leg up and folding it beneath her body. This was Mary’s favourite mode of sitting with her patients. Without this position she found herself fidgeting all the time.

‘Are you still feeling bad? Do you wish me to refer you to a clinic, if you are sure that it is an abortion you want.’

‘No! No!’ Jamila ejaculated, her body heaving upright. Her hands automatically reached her ears, pinching the lower lobes with her thumbs and first fingers, in an earnest village gesture of asking Allah
pak’s forgiveness for the sin of even harbouring such a thought.

‘What have I said?’ Mary asked, bemused by her patient’s vehement reply. She leaned her bulky frame forward. ‘1 thought that was what you wanted, Jamila Jee. You were all set for it yesterday.’

‘No, Mary Jee, not now! I am already a sinner, please do not suggest abortion to me, or tempt me to go for it. May God forgive me for even thinking about it. If He has willed this child to be born, then who am I to wish it otherwise?’ Jamila felt compelled to explain. ‘I have decided, Mary Jee, and don’t look so surprised – to have this child. You told me yourself that I was blessed to become pregnant. And may God forgive me for my sin, for even thinking about wanting to get rid of it and for the sin we committed this afternoon.’

‘What do you mean?’ Mary leaned forward, intrigued.

‘Did you not attend Baba Siraj Din’s kacheri?’

‘Kacheri? No, I was busy delivering a bouncing, healthy boy at the Master Tailor’s house. That’s their fourth, you know – but they still gave me the same number of presents: four suits and one of them a
gorgeous
chiffon one in my favourite peach colour. Isn’t that generous of them? Sorry, I do go on. Tell me what happened?’

Jamila looked down, her hand nervously smoothing out the maroon folds of her duvet cover. Her lips
trembled
, trying to form words, but there was no sound in her throat. ‘We saw a woman being divorced publicly. It should never have happened Mary Jee.’ Her voice raw: ‘She was given three thalaks by her husband, and you know what? He didn’t want to give them. Where is the common-sense in all this? We were forced to
witness this awful thing!’ Jamila looked at her midwife intently, then she wiped her damp forehead, feeling sick and dizzy again.

‘Jesus Christ! How? Why?’ Her mouth half-open, Mary was now totally mystified. Jamila screwed her eyes tightly shut. Behind the closed eyelids she relived the kacheri scenes.

The woman – the ‘whore’, had come in with her head bowed. Siraj Din hadn’t patted her head, and thus had publicly humiliated her. Then came the thunderbolt revelation announced by Haroon that the ‘whore’ and ‘man-eater’ was in fact his legitimate ‘first wife’. Then there followed the divorce – all three stages at once. The woman’s bowed head sank lower as her husband, before everyone’s amazed ears – pronounced the three thalaks on the spot. Finally, the poor
bechari
, divorced woman, leaving the madrasah courtyard with her bare head held high, leaving behind the spectators with their heads sunk in shame, shock and guilt. They had all gone to see a huge spectacle. But it had backfired on them, shaming them and the Buzurgh instead of the woman.

‘Allah pak will never forgive us for what we
witnessed
. He wants us to get together, not to part and divide,’ Jamila uttered aloud, wetting her dried lips, her eyes on the ceiling fan. ‘We were party to a divorce that should never have taken place, Mary dear. I don’t know what happened to all of us, or to the Buzurgh – as to why he demanded it. It was so unlike him. She was publicly humiliated. No woman should have to go through that. Hajra called her all sorts of names, but she remained silent, yet she was his legal wife,
remember
. She had as much right to Haroon as Gulshan. Then she had herself publicly divorced. While shaming us
all, she stood tall in dignity. It all happened so quickly, Mary Jee. We didn’t know what was
happening
. All we knew was that a crime was committed against that woman and
she
wasn’t the criminal, Mary. We were! Particularly Hajra and the old man.’ Jamila paused to wipe her eyes, then she continued earnestly. ‘I don’t want to commit another sin. I have woken up, Mary. I now want this child. I do not wish to either miscarry this baby naturally, or to have it medically removed. Allah pak has taught me a lesson, well and truly that I’ll never forget. I do not need your services now!’ As she saw Mary’s face fall, she hastened to add, ‘Of course, I will do at the time of delivery.’

Suddenly, Jamila threw her bolster aside, lifted up the corner of the bedsheet and she swept aside the small mound of dried dates. ‘I definitely don’t need these any more. Not that they worked – for me anyway,’ she joked shamefacedly.

Mary laughed as she watched the dried dates scatter on the immaculately washed marble floor. Jamila spoke again, as her eyes met Mary’s.

‘I think I have rested long enough in bed. I was becoming a hypochondriac. I am not the first woman to suffer from bouts of nausea, nor the first to have a baby at the age of thirty-seven. Nor, I believe, will I be the last one!’

‘Of course not, Jamila Jee.’ Mary quickly added. ‘What is thirty-seven anyway? Women have had babies in their forties and fifties!’

Jamila threw off the quilt cover from her legs. ‘Mary, I am going to offer thanksgiving
nafl
prayers for this pregnancy and at the same time seek Allah pak’s forgiveness, for what Baba Siraj Din and we too did to
that woman. Please pray to Jesus Christ for me in your church.’

‘Of course.’ Mary reluctantly stretched out her long legs from beneath her and stood up. It felt as if she had been neatly dismissed.

Jamila glanced up at their midwife’s crestfallen face. Smiling she explained, ‘Mary Jee, you can come to see me every month, or whenever you can. I’ll, of course, need your supervision for my pregnancy, you know that.’ Just as she had expected, Mary’s face lit up. Still smiling, Jamila led the midwife out of her bedroom. ‘Let’s see if Shahnaz has got some tea ready for us,’ she suggested happily.

S
ABRA’S EYES RESTED
anxiously on the wall clock on the verandah. Kaniz and Younus Raees had been alone in the drawing room for over half an hour. In normal circumstances, she would have chaperoned her sister and sat with the couple. Today she thought it important to let Kaniz enjoy a private chat with Younus Raees, the zemindar from the neighbouring village. He was not going to be fobbed off any longer. With Siraj Din as a willing go-between, the young landlord had been trying to woo the very attractive but very private young widow. All to no avail, so far. He had decided to take matters into his own hands.

Sabra hovered patiently on the verandah, resting her body against the marble pillar, her eyes focused on the drawing room. Suddenly the door was thrust open and a flushed Kaniz strode out. She gave her waiting sister a pointed stare before crossing the courtyard and heading up the staircase. Sabra accurately assessed her sister’s body language. Kaniz was in a filthy temper.

Dismayed and nonplussed by her sister’s behaviour, Sabra decided to see Younus Raees. Just as she got to the door, he too stepped out of the guestroom. He
studiously
avoided Sabra’s inquisitive gaze, his cheeks too, were heated. Sabra hastily moved back to let him pass.

‘Won’t you stay for dinner, Raees Sahib?’ she urged, wanting to detain him.

But Younus Raees was ready to leave. Dinner wasn’t
on his mind. And he wanted none from Kaniz’s table!

‘No, thank you, Sister Sabra. You are very kind. I have already taken up a great deal of your and your sister’s time,’ he answered coldly. ‘Please convey my sincerest apologies to her. If I had known that she felt so strongly against marriage, I would never have troubled her at all in the first place.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sabra felt faint with disappointment.

Younus Raees looked at Kaniz’s younger sister. This time he gave her the benefit of eye-contact as he spoke.

‘Sabra Jee,’ his tone was at its driest, ‘your sister has made it perfectly clear to me, and in no uncertain terms, that the last thing she wants in life is to be married. To anyone! In fact, your sister loathes the whole idea of marriage. You can convey my message to her: I will not, I repeat,
I will not
be troubling her ever again. Allah hafiz, Sahiba Jee.’

‘I am so sorry, Raees Sahib.’ Stuttering to offer her apology, Sabra moved to block his way. ‘Please do not mind my sister. She appears to be abrupt and rude at times and doesn’t always know what is best for her.’

His eyes squarely on Sabra’s face, Younus Raees laughed bitterly. Discomfited, it was her turn to look away. What had she said?

‘She knows perfectly well what she is saying, Sabra Jee. Your sister is a very intelligent woman and can express her opinions very happily for herself, I can assure you.’

‘I will have a word with her – please give her another chance?’ Sabra found herself begging. She couldn’t let him walk away without trying. If her sister needed
any man in her life, this was the one – she knew it instinctively. She just wished her sister also knew it. Her love for Kaniz dictated that she keep on trying, even if she made a fool of herself in the process.

Eyebrows raised and lips curling with bleak
amusement
, Younus Raees gazed down at the younger sister, desperately fighting on her sister’s behalf.

‘It appears to me that it is you, Sister Sabra, who doesn’t know what is best for Kaniz. If I may be allowed to ask – I hope you do not mind – how well do you know your sister?’

Taken aback by the question, Sabra stared at him, her mouth half-open.

‘You don’t really know your sister that well, do you? Do you know, for instance, that she simply loathes men?’ he gently elaborated, his voice lowered in case any of the servants were around.

‘What?’ Totally bewildered, Sabra looked straight into his eyes, seeking an explanation.

‘I am sorry,’ Younus Raees said gruffly, recovering his social etiquette. He looked away. ‘It is just an impression I have gained, while talking to her.’
Colour
flooded into his cheeks as he recalled the
expression
on Kaniz’s face as she had turned on him. The words she had used now tumbled shamelessly out of his mouth.

‘Your sister said she didn’t wish to be bedded by any man!’

Horror and embarrassment swept straight across Sabra’s face, and she gasped in shock.

All of a sudden Younus Raees wished to be gone from Kaniz’s hawaili. ‘Allah hafiz!’ he bade her.

Sabra blindly moved out of his path, her hand still on her warm cheek. He left, a tall stiff figure, his words
still ringing in Sabra’s ears. She shot up the marble stairs to her sister’s bedroom and flung the carved wooden door wide open.

Kaniz was standing in front of the mirror,
unbraiding
her long hair from the elegant tight chignon at the nape of her neck. She looked up, taken aback by the violence of the gesture and by the fierce look on her sister’s face.

Sabra stood in the doorway, her hand held to her throbbing cheeks. She burst out, ‘Have you no shame! To say that to a strange man!’

‘What?’ Kaniz’s mild tone infuriated her younger sister.

‘He told me what you said!’ Sabra waited for her sister to respond. Kaniz was busy massaging her long, beautiful neck with one hand, whilst holding up the coils of her hair with the other. ‘I almost died with the shame of it. He said that you didn’t wish to be ‘bedded by any man’!’

Kaniz’s eyes drifted away in shame from her sister’s outraged gaze, letting the thick coils of her hair fall and flutter gracefully around her face. The wavy tendrils framed her forehead and cheeks becomingly. Bemused, Sabra stared at her sister’s face. She was so attractive – but mad! She had to be mad to say such besharm things.

Chastised, Kaniz sat down on the dressing-table stool.

‘Well! Did you say that to him?’ Sabra demanded.

Silence. Kaniz was staring at her hands in her lap. The parameters of their relationship had switched over – it was as if Sabra was now the eldest sister and Kaniz the youngest. The naughty sister about to be reprimanded.

‘Kaniz!’ Sabra shouted from across the room.

Kaniz’s head shot up, her face a tight mask. ‘Yes, I did say that – so what?’ she threw back defiantly.

Sabra ran across the room and stood with her hand raised, itching to strike her sister’s face. ‘To what depths of degradation have you sunk, my sister, that you can’t see that there is anything wrong in what you have said to a virtual stranger. To a man! If you didn’t want to marry him, OK – but why did you have to spell it out to him in such bold, shameful terms? Have you no self-respect?’

‘I had to!’ Kaniz’s shrill voice cracked through the cool darkened room. ‘Why won’t everyone leave me alone? That was the only thing I could say to him, to get rid of him for good! How could I marry him if I have no desire to sleep with him or with any other man? I had to tell him Sabra! In fact I am going to announce it to the whole village, so that people will accept it, once and for all I have no wish to link my life, physically or emotionally, with anyone.
I cannot sleep with any man!
’

Dazed, Sabra moved away and sank down on the edge of her sister’s bed. ‘Sleeping with a man – is that all you think about in a marriage? Oh Kaniz! Where did our family go wrong with you? How can you behave like this, say such things?’

Her lower lip quivering, Sabra went on: ‘Marriage is not just about sleeping together. Marriage is a
wonderful
thing – how can you be so afraid of it or debase it in such terms, a relationship blessed by Allah pak? The physical side of marriage is just one part of it. It is a wonderful gift from Him to mankind. It brings people closer together emotionally, and leads to a
well-balanced
human race. Marriage is about love,
friendship
, companionship, trust, consideration – not just
sleeping together …’ Sabra stopped. ‘Are you listening to me, Kaniz?’

‘Leave me alone!’ Her voice raw with tears, Kaniz turned pain-glazed eyes to her sister. ‘You can give me a thousand lectures, my dearest sister, but they’ll have no impact on me!’

‘Why?’ Sabra angrily hissed.

‘Because … because I hate men and the physical act you talk of!’

‘You are mad!’ Sabra shrugged in defeat, ready to leave her. Then from the depths of her heart Kaniz screamed out her agony to her sister.

‘I was raped!’

The words thundered and echoed around them.

Sabra swung round, her eyes, huge orbs of horror.

Unable to bear the look on her sister’s face, Kaniz doubled over and she sank to the floor beside the dressing-table. Her face buried in her hands.