Dear Zari: Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan (26 page)

‘Bibi jan, it’s nothing much. I knew my brother would say no to my request.’

Bibi invited Janpary to sit next to her. Then she said, ‘Too much crying robs you of your energy. It tears you apart, and after many hours of crying, no help comes. It only comes if you try hard for it.’

But Janpary couldn’t stop crying and she told Bibi how she felt humiliated by her brother. She said he and his wife had cursed her in front of her children when she made the mistake of asking for her rightful
meeras
.

Bibi said, ‘Of course, your brother was going to do this. If he were a decent man, if he was a good Muslim, he wouldn’t let you be in this situation in the first place. You’ll have to plan and fight for your share.’

Janpary asked how she could do this.

‘We have a law and a government. You must go to the courts and speak to a judge. Don’t worry, I’ll take you there.’

Janpary felt so relieved; it was as though someone was giving her a mountain to lean on. She prayed for a long-lasting and happy life for Bibi before finishing the rest of the jobs in the house.

In the late afternoon Janpary returned home to feed her children. When she saw their faces it was clear they were still upset and worried for their mother. Janpary tried to lighten their mood by telling them that she had brought them something to eat, but her daughter ran up to her mother and said, ‘Auntie is here.’ Janpary was surprised and asked which auntie. ‘Auntie Naseema, uncle’s wife.’

Janpary guessed that her sister-in-law had come to further insult and humiliate her but the two women greeted each other politely. Janpary told her daughter to bring tea for her auntie but Naseema insisted she didn’t want anything apart from a quick word with Janpary. Naseema and Janpary sat opposite each other. Naseema was wearing clean cotton clothes and her face and hands were soft and smooth. Janpary wore a large grey scarf around her body, marked with sweat and grime; her hands were red and calloused after scrubbing pots all morning; her face was dark from the sun and it looked as if it was a long time since her hair had been combed.

Naseema cleared her throat. ‘I know you’re really an honourable woman. You’re a Pashtun woman so it doesn’t suit you to do shameful
things like this. Do you know of any Pashtun woman who has done this sort of thing? You’re going to embarrass your brother in front of the whole village, so I’m asking you to change your mind. I’m offering you the opportunity to come and live in our house. We’ll give you and your children a room in the corner of the house. In return, you can look after the place, so instead of cleaning strangers’ houses you can clean mine. Your children can also help. As you know, my children are at school all day and I’m left at home with too many chores to do.’

Janpary could barely believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t look at her sister-in-law while she was speaking and had been drawing lines on the floor with her fingers, but now she faced her.

‘Naseema! Why don’t you have any feeling of kindness towards me? I’m a woman and a mother just like you. The only thing I have is this small house, and now you want me to leave this to come and be your servant?’

‘Yes, I want you to be my servant! Do you expect me to treat you like a queen?’

At this, Janpary began crying and shouting. ‘Naseema, be scared of God’s anger. Look at my children. I have hopes for them. I too want to send my children to school but you want them to become your servants?’

Naseema said, ‘For a young woman who roams around other people’s houses all day, surely it’s better to stay out of sight in your brother’s house. It must be preferable to serve your brother and his children rather than wash a strange man’s dirty
shalwar
!’

‘The sister of a shameless brother like mine has to wash strangers’
shalwars
. If my brother, who lost his sister in a bet, doesn’t feel ashamed then why should I? If my sister-in-law is trampling all over me and my four children then why should I be their servant? It offends me to call you my family. Shame on you, woman, shame on you!’

Naseema seemed so angry it looked as if she was about to tear her own clothes in rage. ‘You
faihsha
(whore)! Go and sleep with the men you work for because you didn’t get enough attention from your gambler husband. You’ll do anything to shame your brother in the village.’

Janpary’s children started wailing. Janpary had to restrain herself from lashing out at her sister-in-law.

‘Naseema, I came to you in private to ask your husband for my share but now I’m forced to go to court to claim what is mine. I’m going to take every rupee I’m owed by you and your family. God has given me this right.’

At this Naseema stood up. ‘Listen to you! Who do you think you are? Where have you got all this talk of court from? It’s from those men you spend all your time with. They must have filled your head with this nonsense.’

Janpary’s face went red and then pale. ‘For God’s sake, woman, don’t insult me just because I’m poor and a widow! How dare you say these terrible things in front of my children? Have you no fear of God? Islam has given me this right.’

Janpary went up to Naseema and grabbed her chin – a sign of pleading. ‘Please don’t insult me. I beg you!’

Naseema pushed Janpary’s hands away. ‘Janpary, I’m not stupid. I know you had no idea about this
meeras
nonsense. You’re obviously one of those women who sleep around with men. One of your men must have shown you these kind of shameless things.’

Janpary gripped Naseema’s hand tightly and told her to leave her house immediately. Naseema shoved her back hard. ‘I’ll be telling your brother what you’ve done today. Just you wait and see what’s going to happen to you.’

After her sister-in-law had gone, Janpary sat on the floor in the middle of the room, surrounded by her four children. ‘God, do you ever listen to a widow like me?’ she implored. ‘What should I do? Please show me a way out.’ She and the children all sobbed and hugged one another.

Naqib said, ‘Mother, I’m not going to let Auntie Naseema come here again. I don’t like how she talks to you. Is it true what she says about you meeting men?’

Janpary was shocked and upset that her own son now appeared to be questioning her. She told him that he would have to wait until he was
grown up before he could understand his mother’s situation. ‘I hope I’m still alive when that day comes,’ she said, mournfully.

Naqib fell silent. He and his brothers and sister were tired. Janpary, too, was exhausted but it was a long and lonely night for her as she worried about what to do.

Early next morning Janpary rose to say her prayers and to start cooking the children their breakfast. She went into the room where they were sleeping and gently kissed each one on the forehead. At that moment, Janpary decided to take her
meeras
from her brother no matter the personal cost.

Janpary began her cleaning while Bibi was still asleep, impatient for her mistress to wake up so she could get some more advice. At about nine o’clock Bibi finally surfaced. Janpary made tea for her and began to explain how her sister-in-law had insulted her. Bibi said Janpary should go to the police station in the city and get legal advice, offering to send the guard with her. Janpary was frightened at the prospect of doing this but she daren’t refuse because she was determined to fight for her right. She had made that decision and was going to stick to it.

Janpary promised Bibi that she would finish all her work when she returned and got into the car with the guard. They had to pretend that they were brother and sister because if the Taliban had found out she was out of the house with a man she was not related to they would consider it
haram
– something that is forbidden in Islam. The Taliban believe you must have a legal and Islamic relationship with the man you are with on the street; they call that man
mahram
.

This was the first time in her life that Janpary had gone to an official place for legal advice. She was nervous about talking to officials about her
meeras
. She sat on a wooden chair, which had been placed in front of large desk in a dark and dusty room. A Talib with a small black turban, a long beard and with eyes that had been underlined with kohl looked at her, and asked, ‘What is it you want? Why are you here?’

Janpary’s hands were trembling. She had heard stories of how the
Taliban had beaten up women on the streets. Her voice could barely be heard since her head was facing the floor and was hidden beneath her
burqa
.

‘Mullah Saab, I need to get my
meeras
from my brother. We are Muslim and I have asked him for my share of our inheritance. I’m poor and a widow and have four children. I only have a few more days’ work left and after that there’ll be no more money so I don’t know how I’ll feed my children.’

The mullah snorted. ‘So what do you want us to do?’ He laughed sarcastically and the two police officers who were standing nearby joined in laughing too.

‘What? Do you want me to beat him up?’

‘No, Saab, I just want to have my
meeras
.’

The mullah took some details down about her brother. He ordered Janpary to go home and told her she must not come to the police station again. He said he would look into her case and if she were legally right, they would take the
meeras
from her brother.

Janpary couldn’t wait to leave the suffocating atmosphere of the office. She got into the car and told the guard what had happened.

‘Oh Janpary, I can tell you they won’t do a thing. Unless their senior mullah orders them, they completely ignore all calls for help from poor people.’

Janpary told the guard how the Taliban had warned her not to return and the guard nodded, as it confirmed his view that they would do nothing.

Back at Bibi’s house Janpary told her what the police had promised to do. Bibi said this was as much as could be expected and it might put her brother under pressure. They should hope for the best. And so Janpary went back to her work: cleaning, washing and brushing. When she was free to go home she walked home slowly, feeling an enormous burden on her shoulders.

As usual her daughter was waiting by the door for her. When she saw her mother, the girl began crying; her face was pale.

‘Mummy, Uncle is here and he’s very angry. He says he’s going to beat you.’

Janpary told her daughter not to be frightened because her uncle could not harm either of them, but still the girl tugged at her mother’s
burqa
and urged her not to go inside.

When Janpary entered the house she saw her brother sitting together with his eldest son. She greeted him but he did not respond. Instead he stood up, walked across to her and slapped her hard on the face. Janpary’s children immediately began crying and pleading with their uncle to stop. Janpary had no strength to defend herself; she only asked why he was doing this to her: ‘What sort of weak man are you that you beat a woman? What kind of brother are you?’

At this, he hit her even harder, knocking her to the floor, and shouted, ‘You shameless woman, you went to the police so now the whole village knows about our affairs. You’ve brought shame on me and my family.’

And he started kicking Janpary as she lay on the floor. Naqib grabbed his uncle’s hand and sank his teeth into the flesh, but he in turn was badly beaten by his cousin, who was a lot older and bigger than him. Janpary felt the blows as if they had been inflicted on her body.

Her children screamed for help but no one came. Finally, Janpary’s brother took a stick and began to strike her, hitting her as if she were an animal. She tried to shout but nothing would come out. She saw her children crying helplessly and her son bruised and battered. Her brother beat her until he became tired. Her face, hands, back and legs were swollen and covered in cuts and bruises. As her brother left, he warned her to keep quiet or the next time they would all be killed.

‘Janpary, this is your punishment for going to the police. Everywhere you go, I’ll find out. Whatever you do, I’ll know about it. Remember what happened to Khan’s daughter? They killed her. If you don’t keep quiet your children will lose another parent. I’ll make them orphans if you don’t shut your ugly mouth! Girls have no rights to
meeras
. There’s no such thing here. The bitches who have got them are wrong. You should remember that you were a married woman. I’m not responsible for your
widowhood. If you can’t stand it why don’t you marry again? This is the last time you mention the word
meeras
.’

Janpary couldn’t move from the floor. Her children crowded round her.

‘I don’t want to be killed,’ her daughter said. ‘I want you and my brothers to live. Please don’t ask for the
meeras
again. I promise not to ask for food. We can go and beg on the streets but don’t go to Uncle’s house again.’

Janpary’s eyes were so swollen from the beating that she could barely see her daughter. She tried to stand with difficulty. The children rushed to help her. Once up, she hugged them close to her.

‘My children,
toba
! I have said
toba
(never ever again) to the
meeras
. Women like me don’t have any rights in this country. We must stay quiet; we cannot speak. Our voices are not heard.’

That night, her children lay around her sleeping on the floor but Janpary could not sleep. She sat like a ghost in the middle of the room. She muttered to herself that women must stay silent otherwise they will share the same fate as Khan’s daughter.

In Afghanistan it is taboo for women to talk about inheritance. Some families do consider their daughters when sharing out the inheritance but it is a rare occurrence. Tradition usually overshadows religion. Few people are properly knowledgeable about Islam and so cultural practice becomes confused with religious doctrine. Sometimes this confusion is deliberate. Women are, in the main, dependent on men. An Afghan woman never has her own house. When she is young, it is her father’s house, when she is married it is considered her husband’s or in-laws’ house and when she is old it is said she lives with her son.