Revolt (12 page)

‘Yes, Mother,’ Salma whimpered, distressed and mortally terrified of Jennat Bibi.

‘You see! If I were you, Zeinab, I would lock away your
manhous
daughter until the babies in this village are born. Instead of letting her gad about and spread her
perchanvah
on healthy pregnant women!’

Done with her speech, Jennat Bibi dramatically swished her
chador
shawl over her shoulders and stormed out, with Neelum hurrying after her, throwing an apologetic stare at Zeinab.

For a few seconds, the mother and daughter remained standing, as if turned to stone, buried under the cruelty of Jennat Bibi’s accusations. At last, Zeinab sank on the
charpoy
in the courtyard and turned her wrath on her daughter, who seemed to have melted against the pillar.

‘Salma, Salma, how many times have I told you not to have anything to do with your friend until she’s had the baby? I know that we don’t believe this
perchanvah
rubbish, but these village women do. Why did you go to her house yesterday and why, of all things, did you hug Faiza? You’ve just played straight into Jennat Bibi’s hands.’

‘It was Faiza! She hugged me and fell on the marble floor, right before my very eyes! Her miscarriage has nothing to do with me, Mother. Believe me!’

‘You daft girl! Why didn’t you tell Jennat Bibi that Faiza fell?’ Zeinab was up on her feet in outrage.

‘I was so afraid! I’m sure that Faiza hasn’t told her.’

‘But this is an outrage! Allah Pak, that vicious woman is spreading rumours that you have caused her daughter-in-law to miscarry. Come on, my girl, grab your
chador
. I’ll not let her victimise you any more. She’s made you a scapegoat for her daughter-in-law’s own carelessness! I’ll deal with this woman once and for all!’

‘Where are we going, Mother?’ Horrified, Salma drew back, lips quivering in distress, not relishing the thought of being drawn into the unsavoury limelight any further.

‘We’re going to Jennat Bibi’s house to sort this matter!’

‘Mother, no!’ Salma whimpered, dreading meeting that woman again.

Zeinab grabbed her reluctant daughter by the arm and, a few minutes later, was racing through the village lane to Jennat Bibi’s house. In a daze, Salma allowed herself to be dragged, thinking about Jennat Bibi’s vindictive word
manhous
, evil. Perhaps if she hadn’t gone to see Faiza, her friend might not have slipped and thus lost the baby. Perhaps
perchanvah
did affect women. How could her mother persuade the village women to believe otherwise?

When a fuming Zeinab, with her daughter in tow, entered the sweetmaker’s courtyard, Jennat Bibi’s houseguests were lounging around and treated them to speculative stares. The two elderly men, puffing away at the hookah pipes, who were hitherto engrossed in the ability of the new government to tackle the problems that the previous group could not deal with, also stopped short. Cheeks shot red with embarrassment, Salma sidled to hide behind her mother, not having bargained on meeting all these people. The reverse was true for Zeinab; she congratulated herself on having a healthy audience of all ages and deeply relished a confrontation with Jennat Bibi.

Stepping out of her kitchen and catching sight of them, Jennat Bibi narrowed her eyes in disbelief, her body stiffening.

Zeinab calmly skimmed the faces of all the people in Jennat Bibi’s home, and stared back. Apart from the cheery morning cawing sound of the crows, complete silence reigned. The women guests were particularly keen to witness the next scene. They had already learned of the reason for Faiza’s miscarriage and immediately guessed the identity of the two women visitors; one with the
perchanvah
.

They had just finished a hearty breakfast of
parathas
, tomato omelette and fresh homemade yoghurt and were now about to savour a second cup of
sabz
tea. Luckily, the two grandchildren were playing with kites on the rooftop terrace. The guests were struck by Jennat Bibi’s rudeness; she hadn’t issued a single word of greeting or welcome for the two female visitors.

Zeinab, too, had dispensed with the customary greeting and
gestures of social etiquette. Nor did she care a
paisa
for the sly glances of Jennat Bibi’s two female guests. Today she was in for the kill and would not spare their host. Now it was her turn. Zeinab straightened her back, standing supremely tall in the middle of the courtyard, reminiscent of Jennat Bibi’s stance a short time earlier in her home.

The silence was only broken when the sweetmaker followed his wife out of the kitchen. Irked by his wife’s abject rudeness, he warmly welcomed the visitors, drawing out a high-backed chair for Zeinab under the guava tree. ‘Welcome, Sister Zeinab, please sit down here. If you’ve come to see Faiza, she’s resting in her room.’

‘Thank you, Brother Javaid, but are you sure that we are
permitted
to see Faiza? For you see, your darling Jennat Bibi has forbidden us from entering your home, never mind seeing Faiza!’ Zeinab enjoyed watching the fleeting expression of irritation pass over his face.

‘I’ve come to see Jennat Bibi, and her
pir
.’

‘Oh!’

‘Why do you want to see my
pir
?’ his wife quickly interrupted. ‘What has he done?’

‘A lot! He’s responsible for stuffing the heads of silly and gullible women like you with sheer nonsense and for making my daughter into a scapegoat for Faiza’s miscarriage.’

For the first time in her life, Zeinab didn’t mince her words; after all Jennat Bibi hadn’t minced hers. She had nothing to be afraid of and Jennat Bibi had almost accused her daughter of murder and witchcraft. Therefore she felt no shame in openly talking about miscarriages, a tabooed subject like sex and pregnancy, whilst in the presence of the two elderly male guests.

Anyway, today wasn’t a normal day, and she didn’t feel normal, either. Javaid had been irritated and bemused for years by the influence that the
pir
had on his wife, and so in a perverse way he welcomed the speech, even though it was a
baesti
to have his wife called ‘silly’ in front of all these people. He was extremely angry now and suspected that his wife had done Zeinab and Salma a great wrong to have brought this normally pleasant and dignified woman to speak in such a manner.

‘Jennat Bibi, what have you done? Been blaming the loss of our grandchild on that
masoum
, innocent child? This is ridiculous!’

‘Trust you, Javaid, to delight in me being insulted and ridiculed.’ Outraged at her husband for taking that woman’s side, Jennat Bibi could barely speak – anger choking her.

‘It’s not a matter of ridicule,’ Zeinab angrily explained, ‘but a matter of religious and social debate. Where does it say in the
Holy Quran
or
hadiths
about
perchanvah
? These are the sources of our beliefs and anything else is
shirk
, against the teaching of our faith, as you well know. Where has the
pir
got his ideas from? Is he a woman? Or a doctor? Or an authority on all female health matters? What does he know about the functions of our
female
bodies?’

Jennat Bibi paled under the onslaught. ‘We all know that you don’t believe in
pirs
. That doesn’t give you the license to ridicule
ours
.’ She bitterly stressed the word ‘ours’, hoping that her husband would support her. However, from Javaid’s hostile stare, it seemed that the contrary was true. In fact, the wicked man appeared to be gloating; apparently his god-sent opportunity to discredit and rubbish her
pir
. Jennat Bibi felt very much alone.

‘No. It doesn’t. You’re right, Jennat Bibi. I respect religious people like
pirs
; they are normally very intelligent men. People like us do need them, to guide us in religious and spiritual matters. It’s their ignorance in female matters, meddling with superstitions passed down through the centuries and brainwashing you women that I abhor. Some of you women have been brainwashed to such an extent, that you not only shun, but deeply offend women like my daughter, who have tragically miscarried on more than one occasion. Silly woman, it’s not a disease that you can catch! Some of you have even shunned the food that my poor Salma cooked and put in front of you. All this I’ve silently and bitterly observed and tolerated. You’ve harmed the minds of young women like my daughter … and insulted the whole essence of your womanhood,’ Zeinab ended, pursing her mouth tightly.

‘Shut up! I’ll not listen to any more of your nonsense!’ Jennat
Bibi aggressively stood in front of Zeinab, her body quivering with rage.

‘Not so easy, I haven’t finished yet, Jennat Bibi,’ Zeinab scoffed. ‘I suppose it’s all right for you to come storming into my house early in the morning and accuse my daughter of witchcraft – that my Salma caused Faiza’s miscarriage. Well, has your precious Faiza told you that she fell yesterday and hurt herself on the marble floor?’

Her mouth dry, Jennat Bibi stared at the woman she utterly loathed.

‘What fall?’ she blustered.

‘Why don’t you go and ask that madam?’ Zeinab goaded.

As if in a terrible dream, Jennat Bibi walked to her son’s bedroom, with Zeinab, Salma, Javaid and one of the women guests following behind her.

In her room, Faiza lay panicking. She had overheard everything in the courtyard. Hearing the footsteps, her heart thudded, dreading this moment.

Then the door was thrust open and they all entered, hovering around her bed. Faiza spied her friend Salma hiding behind her mother and studiously avoided looking her in the eye.

Jennat Bibi eyed her daughter-in-law with a particular message that she desperately wanted Faiza to interpret correctly.

‘These silly women are making up tales. Salma said that you fell yesterday. Did you fall, my dear?’

Faiza looked her mother-in-law steadily in the eye. She was confronted with the moral choice of either betraying her friend or allowing her mother-in-law to lose face.

‘No,’ she said emphatically, out of the corner of her eye catching sight of the crushed look on Salma’s face. Faiza ruthlessly looked away; she could only save one. Knowing how much the baby had meant to her she couldn’t bear to cap her mother-in-law’s loss with a
baesti
, a public loss of face. The baby was lost through her own carelessness; she had been warned about wet floors.

Highly distressed, her eyes brimming with angry tears, Salma had rushed out of the room, unable to believe what had
happened. Her friend, by her lies, had sealed her fate with the evil shadow.

‘Well, apparently your daughter-in-law is not only a liar but a mighty big coward, too!’ Zeinab, red-cheeked and with a pointed stare at Faiza’s lowered face, strode out of the room and out into the courtyard. She turned to look over her shoulder at Jennat Bibi.

‘Don’t think that the matter is now closed, Jennat Bibi. I’m going to invite … No! In fact, force your
pir
to come to our village and give his version of the ideas you have cruelly perpetuated in the village.’ Then with a dramatic gesture of her hand, pointing around the courtyard and the house, she continued:

‘Moreover,
perchanvah
is now in your house; now your daughter-in-law has miscarried, and therefore according to your rules and
ressmeh
, no household with a pregnant woman should welcome her nor will they visit your house. Now, it’s your Faiza who will and should be shunned – that is what you preach and think, isn’t it? If, in the next two or three months’ time, any woman miscarries it will be due to your Faiza’s evil shadow not my daughter’s. I will keep my Salma at home; anyway, the poor girl hides herself in the sugarcane fields half of the time – you people have mentally scarred my daughter. She can’t think straight any more! As you have made the rules by your preaching, you must now live by them! You cannot have it both ways! No other pregnant woman will visit your house and you must not let your lying,
two-faced
, serpent of a daughter-in-law, Faiza, visit other houses!

‘Correct, Javaid-ji? You and all your guests are our witnesses today. And you’ll ensure that Jennat Bibi lives by the rules of her own making.’

So saying, Zeinab ended her visit. Fuming and with her head held high, she made a dignified departure. Her daughter had already ran ahead, mortified to her very soul at her friend’s betrayal.

Jennat Bibi stood in the middle of the courtyard, amidst the amazed glances of her unwanted guests, her mouth opening and closing. For once in her lifetime, she was lost for words, bringing a reluctant smile to her husband’s face.

Mehreen had no inkling that she had an English daughter-
in-law
, flying high up in the sky, heading to her home. Smiling in her sleep, she opened her arms wide to greet her beloved son.

‘Liaquat-ji! Wake up! Our son is coming!’ Her husband stirred.

‘Mehreen! The Imam hasn’t even opened the mosque gates for the morning
azan
,’ Liaquat gruffly reminded her, peeping at the clock on the wall with one eye open, and turning on his side.

‘But you’ve to be at the airport in two hours’ time. Can I come with you?’ she appealed, excitement running through her voice.

‘Mehreen, you know very well that there will be no space in the car!’

‘No space for a mother?’ Mehreen exploded.

‘He’s coming home, Mehreen! Be reasonable!’ His voice hardened, fearful of a full-blown tantrum at this time of the morning. ‘Just think, you’ll see him in a few hours’ time. Your sister, Gulbahar, never goes to the airport.’

‘Stop comparing me to Gulbahar! I hate it when you do that. She doesn’t like aeroplanes! Well, I love them. And I want to watch the one with my son in it land!’

‘Now you are being childish, Mehreen. Remember that Arslan and his father are going, too.’

‘OK!’ Mehreen’s high-pitched voice didn’t bother her husband. Frustrated, a few minutes later, she poked him in the arm, but he simply ignored her, a smile on his face. Gulbahar was in his dream again.

Daniela savoured the adrenalin surging through her on hearing the pilot’s authoritative voice informing the passengers that the plane was due to land in half an hour’s time.

‘At last!’

For so long, she had fantasised about visiting this land. A whole new world lay before her; meeting new people, hearing another language and learning about different customs. Over the bent head of the sleeping elderly fellow-passenger, she caught her first glimpse of the landscape below rapidly changing to a rich green carpet. Just then, her husband’s head turned – his look lanced her. She mutely stared back. What had she done to transform her husband into a beastly stranger?

The plane shuddered and the wing flaps lowered in preparation for landing. As soon as it came to an abrupt stop, some over-zealous passengers scrambled to their feet to retrieve their luggage from the overhead compartments. Daniela panicked. Grabbing her handbag and box of duty-free chocolates, she reached her husband’s side.

‘Ismail. All I wanted was to give you a surprise!’

‘Yes, you’ve done that all right, you mad woman!’ Daniela paled. Ismail had never uttered an unkind word to her before.

He had pushed ahead. Daniela did the same, smiling apologetically at two of the passengers letting her pass. Clutching tightly onto her hand luggage, she ran down the metal steps of the plane, ignoring the sudden blast of May heat attacking her bare legs as she attempted to keep up with her husband. Breathlessly, she hopped on the waiting bus, gripping the arm of an older gentleman. Seeing that it was an Englishwoman his expression was all sweet and saintly. Ismail’s eyes spat fire, as he stood behind her, urgently whispering in her ear.

‘Daniela, please,’ he pleaded, desperation now written all over his face. ‘I can’t take you home. Please forgive me – I will explain everything later. Just get on the very next plane back to England. You can’t meet my family yet.’

‘I don’t understand, Ismail!’ Daniela choked back her tears
before being jostled against a bearded man as the bus came to a sudden halt outside the arrival hall. Her husband had already leapt off the bus. Horror-stricken, Daniela saw him disappear amidst a crowd of people.

She merely nodded when the smiling immigration officer checked her passport, finding everything so surreal. Listlessly, she joined the large crowd of passengers in the baggage reclaim hall. Their prying, speculative gazes didn’t matter to her, knowing that she looked out of place with her white skin and bare legs, amidst the group of brown, newly-arrived Pakistanis, and wishing that she had either worn a long skirt or a pair of trousers.

‘Daniela!’ Ismail was by her side again. ‘It’s the wrong time, I tell you!’ He raised her chin.

‘Leave me alone!’ Daniela hissed. Tears were threatening to stream down her cheeks.

‘I’ll bring you myself next time – I promise. Just check into a hotel, my darling. Speak to the people at the information desk, they’ll guide you further … Have you got enough cash? I must go. They are waiting for me.’

‘Who?’

‘My family!’

‘But I want to meet your family!’ Daniela wailed aloud, uncaring that people were looking at her with sharp interest. A
goorie
crying aloud at the airport! Why?

‘You can’t – not now!’ he stepped back, panicking.

‘But why?’

‘Because they don’t know you exist! Oh, God! There’s my cousin, Arslan, I must go!’

And he was gone.

‘I don’t exist!’ Swaying, Daniela watched her luggage go round on the carousel. She pushed aside the eager porter expecting a fat tip. His jaw dropped. The woman had hauled her suitcase onto a trolley and was now wheeling it out of the hall.

‘Wow! What a woman!’ he announced to his fellow porter, his forehead shining with beaded sweat.

‘Well, she’s a
goorie
!’ was the other’s dismissive reply. ‘They are supposed to be sturdy women – not like some of “our” frail ones.’

In the arrival lounge, Daniela spotted her husband with a young man. Rage stormed through her.

‘Ismail,’ she called. Other passengers stared at her. The man Ismail was hugging also turned.

Hearing his wife, Ismail started to steer away his luggage trolley. ‘Come, Arslan, let’s go!’

‘But, Ismail, that woman is calling you!’ Arslan’s eyes were on the attractive Englishwoman, with her straw hat and a skirt that just reached above her knees, standing looking lost and out of place amidst the native Pakistanis.

‘What woman?’ Desperation paralysed Ismail.

Arslan sprinted to Daniela’s side. She was whimpering her husband’s name. ‘Ismail!’

Ismail felt faint, mouth drying as his father entered the arrival lounge. Pushing his trolley and summoning a smile to his face, Ismail reached his father.

Liaquat was looking at Arslan and Daniela, a frown creasing his forehead as he hugged his son.

‘Who is Arslan speaking to?’

‘She’s
only
a woman tourist,’ Ismail jabbered. ‘Arslan is helping her in English. Let’s go and meet the others.’ He steered his trolley in the other direction, diverting his father’s attention.

Arslan stood in front of Daniela. ‘Can I help you, madam?’ Her streaming eyes were fixed on her beloved husband – deserting her in a foreign place amongst strangers.

‘I don’t know!’ Animal-like noises tore at her throat.

‘You called my cousin “Ismail”. Do you know him?’

‘He’s my husband,’ she cried. ‘And he’s abandoning me here!’

Arslan’s mouth dropped open, face paling.

‘Am I so ugly or something?’

‘No, no!’ Arslan hastened to add, trying to regain his bearings. Ismail’s strange behaviour and his haste to be off now all made sense. ‘You don’t understand, madam,’ he coldly informed the Englishwoman.

‘Try me!’ she stammered, choking on her tears.

Even though Arslan’s own head was spinning, he felt sorry for her. The full implication of his cousin’s actions hit him then. It was important that this woman was acquainted with the truth at once.

‘The problem is far worse,’ he began, realising that he was going to hurt her, but she had to understand the gravity of the situation. ‘Your husband has a fiancée waiting for him here in Pakistan. Our cousin, Saher! They are supposed to be getting married in three weeks’ time!’

‘What!’ Daniela’s body swayed against the trolley, her breathing shallow and the colour draining from her face.

‘What shall I do?’ Arslan debated fast, now also panicstricken. They were all waiting for him, but he couldn’t abandon this poor woman, especially as she happened to be Ismail’s wife.

A volcano burst through Daniela.

‘I’m his wife and expecting our first child! He told me to go to a hotel and catch the earliest flight back to Manchester. I only wanted to meet his family.’

Arslan saw his father coming over, a speculative look gleaming in his eyes. He snatched the trolley from Daniela and began to steer it towards the exit. Decisions had to be made and fast.

‘Let’s move. My father is coming,’ he whispered. ‘I’m going to pretend that you are my guest,’ he quickly explained. ‘You must not tell anyone that you are Ismail’s wife. Understand?’

Expecting the worst, Daniela nodded. Disconcerted, she stared back at the older man whose eyes coolly slid over her body, down to her bare calves.

Haider had watched Arslan’s intimate exchange with the white woman; his head dipped close to the woman’s face had sent alarm bells ringing in Haider’s head.

Striding to his son’s side, he demanded, ‘Who’s this woman, Arslan?’ the words coming out more harshly than he had intended, his eyes fixed on the woman’s tear-smeared face.

‘She’s a tourist, Father, from England. I know what you are thinking but she’s not from America – she has lost the address of the people she’s supposed to be visiting. I’m taking her to our home,’ Arslan explained, face taut.

‘What! Why?’

Daniela looked on helplessly, unable to understand what was being decided about her.

‘Because I speak her language and she’s afraid of being on her own.’

‘And why should you be responsible for her?’ Haider ground out, angry with the stance his son was taking. Fear was fast clutching at his heart. Had Arslan brought home an American mistress?

Ignoring the last comment, Arslan turned to the English guest, ‘Come!’

Daniela gratefully followed, nervously glancing at the older man and intimidated by the hostility darting from his eyes. It dawned on her that perhaps the older man thought that she was with his son. With mounting hysteria, Daniela wanted to giggle aloud.

‘Father, you go with Ismail. We’ll follow in another taxi.’

Angrily Haider walked off. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw them get into a taxi together and, still in a daze, he joined his brother-in-law.

‘Where’s Arslan going and who’s that white woman with him?’ Liaquat enquired.

‘My son has gone mad. He’s taking a goorie to our home!’ Haider replied.

‘Did that woman come from England, Ismail?’ Liaquat asked.

‘I’ve no idea!’ Ismail promptly lied, flushing and looking out of the window. ‘Can we just get home please, Father?’

The car sped away from Islamabad’s airport. The scenery held no nostalgic appeal for Ismail; instead, he kept looking back, cursing his cousin for being such a gentleman. ‘She would have gone back and nobody would have been any the wiser if Arslan had not seen her!’ he thought.

Now he had lost all control over his life; a puppet in a puppet theatre in which the master puppeteer was unknown.

‘You silly woman! What have you done?’ Ismail inwardly cursed his wife whilst beaming at his father.

The passing scenery, the shops, the people and the sunshine held no interest for Daniela. Everything was a blur. The words ‘his family doesn’t know about you’ and ‘there’s a fiancée waiting to marry him in three weeks’ time’ zoomed through her head.

‘I can’t believe it!’ she said.

‘I’m sorry, but you had better believe it! Your appearance is going to turn Ismail’s family’s world upside down – especially that of his fiancée, patiently waiting for him to take her back to England as his bride!’ Arslan bitterly reminded her, the polite smile slipping from his face.

‘God help me!’

The intrigued, Pushto-speaking driver kept peeping at the ‘special’ passenger in his rear-view mirror, the first white woman ever to sit in his taxi – who was she? And more interestingly did these two people have a sexual relationship?

‘Yes, God help us all!’ Arslan echoed in his own head, recalling the face of the woman he adored. ‘I’ll kill you, Ismail, for doing this to our Saher.’

He turned to the woman beside him. ‘What’s your name?’ he coldly asked.

‘Daniela.’ Wetting her dry lips, Daniela raised her face to him. The two green orbs of misery melted Arslan’s heart.

‘Don’t worry, Daniela,’ he reassured her, touching her hand. ‘I’ll take care of everything. You shall stay in my father’s house as my guest until your husband comes clean and claims you as his wife. He’ll not be marrying Saher. You have my word on it, Daniela!’

Glad to see her visibly relaxed he had to remind her nevertheless: ‘You must understand, Daniela, that you have unleashed a storm upon my clan. Many people’s dreams, including those of my two aunties and Saher, are going to be shattered. It would be cruel to foist you on them straight away … a bombshell. For they have no inkling about you, Daniela. We’ll have to try the
softly-softly
approach. I think that’s how you say it in English, isn’t it? This will buy your husband time to reflect on the situation and
to prepare his family. From what I could see at the airport he was going out of his mind already. Sorry to have to warn you, but be prepared to become an object of hate!’

‘Oh!’ Daniela was thoroughly shaken.

‘I’m sorry, but that’s the reality! And you must remember you are my guest. I really don’t know what else to do under these circumstances’.

‘Thank you,’ Daniela accepted in a broken voice. ‘That lousy husband of mine would have abandoned me at the airport. How could any man do this to his wife?’

‘A cowardly one, Daniela, and one who doesn’t know what to do, other than to scamper!’ Arslan angrily shot back, his fist was itching to thrust into his cousin’s face. ‘I’m going to kill him!’

‘Yes, do,’ Daniela smiled at her companion for the first time. ‘Let him meet his mother first in one piece – then we’ll both finish him off together!’ Daniela giggled, making the driver look up sharply into the mirror.

Arslan settled in his seat for the two-hour journey back to the village; eyes closed, thoughts on Saher, vowing to spare her the pain.

Sympathy welling up for their unwanted guest, he generously offered, ‘Daniela, I’ll show you my country – some very beautiful sights, I promise you. I’ll look after you. Don’t worry about anything.’