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chapter 9

Having reached Lahore, the next step was to seek help—but from
whom? She could not return to the hostel nor could she contact Javeria or
her other friends since they were the ones her family would first suspect. It
would not be long before her family would be in Lahore, conducting a
search. For all she knew, perhaps the search had already been initiated.
Going to a friend‘s house would only mean putting herself in danger. The
only option open to her was Sabiha. But she was not sure if Sabiha had yet
returned from Peshawar.
As she feared, the family was still in Peshawar. ‗When are they expected
back?‘ she asked the chowkidar who opened the door to her and
recognized her from her earlier visits.
‗I do not know for sure, but they should be back in a couple of days,‘ he
replied.
‗Do you have the phone number for Peshawar?‘ Try as she might she
could not disguise the disappointment she felt.
The chowkidar replied that indeed he did have the phone number. Relief
flooded through her being as she followed the domestic into the house. She
waited in the drawing room till the man fetched the phone number. She
dialed from her cell phone. A gentleman answered the number and on her
query told her that Sabiha was out but would return in a little while.
‗I have been unable to talk to Sabiha,‘ she told the chowkidar. ‗I will wait
here till I can talk to her.‘
An hour later she was able to get through to Sabiha. Her friend was
surprised to hear from her. As briefly as she could, Imama told her the full
story of her leaving her house but she did not tell her about her marriage
vows to Salar. She was not sure how Sabiha would react to that.
‗Your best bet would be to approach the courts,‘ Sabiha advised Imama
after hearing the whole story. ‗The law should provide some protection
since you have changed your religion.‘
‗I don‘t want to do that.‘
‗Why?‘
‗I had thought about approaching the courts, Sabiha,‘ Imama replied, ‗but
that is a course I don‘t want to take. You know my father and the position
he has in society. The press would have a field day. My family would have
to put up with much harassment; I do not wish that because of me my
family should have to face hostility and embarrassment. In any case,
Sabiha, you know what happens to girls who seek protection from the courts after changing their religion. They are sent to the Dar ul Aman—one
might as well be in prison as at the Dar ul Aman. On top of it, the court
case can drag on for years on end. The family can bring about one charge
after another and thus prolong a final decision forever. And even if the court
allows one to live freely according to one‘s beliefs, social pressure can still
compel girls to return to their families.
‗I have no desire to spend my life in the Dar ul Aman nor do I wish to
become the eye of the storm. I have left my house quietly and I wish to live
my life in the same silence.‘
‗I understand your point of view, Imama,‘ Sabiha answered, ‗but whether
you like it or not you will have to face the storm you have raised. Your
family will make every effort to trace you. And once they start looking for
you it will not be long before they reach me and my family. While I would
love to help you, and my family will too, but I know they will wish to do so
openly and not in secret. My father will say what I am saying: you need to
approach the law. I have no doubt that the courts will decide in your favour.
‗In any case for now, stay in the house; I will speak to Abu about this. I‘ll
also see if I can persuade him to return to Lahore tomorrow. Now let me
speak to the chowkidar.‘
Imama gave the phone to the chowkidar and after speaking to Sabiha,
he put the phone down and said, ‗Sabiha Bibi has asked me to prepare her
room for you. You are to please stay here till they come back.‘
Imama went to Sabiha‘s room, but she could not rest. If anything, her
conversation with Sabiha had only served to further agitate her. She could
understand Sabiha‘s concerns; she herself did not wish to be a cause of
worry to Sabiha‘s family but she, for sure, did not want to approach the
courts. She had no doubts that once her father, Hashim Mubeen, were to
find out that it was Sabiha‘s family that had helped her escape, he would
regard them as an adversary and would deal with them as such. Perhaps
this was why Sabiha was so adamant that she should approach the law.
But for Imama approaching the law was the tougher path to take.
That the daughter of such a prominent figure of the community should
forsake her religion would be akin to a slap in the face for the entire
community and they would react—what the reaction would be she did not
know; but surely it would not be pretty.
She was still pondering over these issues when she thought of Syeda
Mariam Sibt-e-Ali. Mariam Sibt-e-Ali was a friend and class fellow of
Sabiha‘s and Imama had met her a couple of times in Sabiha‘s house. In
fact, she was the only one Sabiha had told of Imama‘s conversion to Islam.
Mariam had been surprised and delighted at the news. Shaking her hand warmly, Mariam had told Imama that if she ever needed any help she
should approach her without any hesitation. Whenever they met again,
Mariam would always renew her offer to help.
Imama did not know to what extent Mariam would really help, nor did she
know why she thought of her at this moment, but contacting Mariam
seemed the right thing to do. She picked up her mobile to call but the
battery was dead; she plugged in the mobile to recharge it and coming into
the lounge picked up the diary to look for Mariam‘s number.
Dr Sibt-e-Ali answered the phone when she dialed. ‗Could I speak to
Mariam please? I am her friend calling,‘ she said. This was the first time
ever she had called Mariam on the phone. Dr Sibt-e-Ali asked Imama to
hold while he called his daughter. In a couple of minutes Mariam was on
the line.
‗Hello Mariam, this is Imama.‘
‗Imama…Imama Hashim?‘ Mariam sounded surprised.
‗Yes, Mariam, I need your help.‘
Imama poured out the whole story of her leaving home to Mariam who
listened in total silence while she spoke. Finally she said, ‗Where are you
now.‘
‗I am at Sabiha‘s house but there is no one here. Sabiha and her family
are in Peshawar.‘ Imama did not tell her of her conversation with Sabiha.
‗You stay right there. I am sending the car right away to fetch you. You
are to come here with all your belongings. In the meantime, I am going to
talk to my parents about what can be done.‘
Imama put the receiver down. She had not realized what a lucky
coincidence it was that she had not used Salar‘s mobile phone to talk to
Mariam. Had she done so, surely Salar could have traced her through the
phone company to Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s house. Lucky too, that she had not once
used the mobile since reaching Lahore.
Another lucky coincidence was that Dr Sibt-e-Ali sent his office car and
driver to have her picked up, otherwise the servants would have recognized
Mariam‘s car as she was a frequent visitor. Since neither the office car nor
the driver was known to Sabiha‘s chowkidar, no one would be able to trace
her movement from Sabiha‘s house.
---------------------
Half an hour later, the servant came to tell her that a car had arrived to
pick her up. Imama picked up her bag to leave.
‗Are you going?‘
Yes.‘
‗But Sabiha Bibi said that you would be staying here.‘
‗No, I am leaving. If Sabiha calls tell her I have left.‘ She got into the car
without letting the man know where she was going.
-----------------------
She had never been to Mariam‘s house before and was unsure of the
reception she would get. However, she was sure she would have to face a
barrage of questions and in the car Imama prepared herself. But this did
not happen.
‗We have already had breakfast; but you must be famished,‘ Mariam said
as she came out into the driveway to greet her. She took her in and
introduced her to her parents. Dr Sibt-e-Ali and his wife greeted Imama
warmly. The sorrow and stress on her face moved them to pity.
‗I‘ll set the table for breakfast, Mariam, why don‘t you show Imama to her
room so she can freshen up,‘ Mrs Sibt-e-Ali said to her daughter.
By the time she had changed and come out, breakfast was ready for her.
Imama ate in silence. When she had finished Dr Sibt-e-Ali said, ‗Imama, go
and get some sleep, I am off to the office now; when I get back from work
we can sit and discuss your problem.‘ He left the room instructing his
daughter to take Imama to her room.
In the room Mariam said, ‗You are exhausted Imama, try and sleep. I‘ll
get you a sleeping pill to help you rest. Take it if you feel the need for it.‘
Mariam left the room.
She came back shortly with the sleeping pill and a glass of water. ‗Try
and rest,‘ she tried to reassure Imama. ‗All will be well. Just think you are in
your own home.‘ She pulled the curtains, switched off the light and left the
room.
Although it was nine in the morning, it was a foggy day and with the
lights off and the curtains drawn, the room was fairly dark. Imama took the
sleeping pill; she knew well enough that she would not be able to sleep
without this aid. She was far too fretful to rest otherwise.
As she lay in bed she felt the tablet taking effect as drowsiness swept
over her and in a short while she was lost to the world.
-----------------------
When she woke up the room was in total darkness. She got off the bed
and groped her way to the wall and the light switch. She switched on the light; the clock on the wall showed it was 11:30 at night. She could not
make out whether she had slept so long because of the sleeping pill or
simply out of sheer exhaustion over the last few days. Whatever the
reason, she felt refreshed after her long rest. She was also famished. Not
knowing if the household was asleep or awake, she tiptoed to the door and
softly opened it. Dr Sibt-e-Ali was sitting in the lounge reading a book. He
heard the door open and looked up.
‗Did you sleep well?‘ he asked with a smile.
‗Yes…‘ she tried to smile.
‗Now this is what you have to do,‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali continued pleasantly.
‗See that door? It leads to the kitchen. Your dinner has been kept for you in
the fridge. Take it out and heat it. When you have had your dinner, make
two cups of tea and bring them here so we can chat.‘
Without a word Imama did as she was told. Having eaten, she made two
cups of tea and came back to the lounge. Dr Sibt-e-Ali had put his book
aside and was waiting for her. She handed him one cup, and with the
second cup in her hand, seated herself on the sofa opposite him.
‗This is very good tea,‘ he said, taking a sip.
Imama was so nervous that she neither smiled at the compliment nor
thanked him. She just sat there and stared at him.
‗Imama, the decision you have taken is the right one. There are no two
opinions about that. A decision like this requires a great deal of courage but
sometimes it requires even more courage to stand by the decision one
makes. As time goes by you will be more aware of this.‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali was
speaking in calm measured tones as he regarded Imama thoughtfully.
‗I would like to know,‘ he continued, ‗if your decision to change your
religion is based solely on religious grounds or is there any other factor
involved.‘
Imama looked at him without replying.
Since Imama did not reply, Dr Sibt-e-Ali continued. ‗Perhaps I should
make myself more clear. My question is that are you by any chance
interested in a boy and has he influenced you in any way to change your
religion and leave your home?‘
Without waiting for Imama to reply, Dr Sibt-e-Ali spoke on. ‗I would also
like to make it clear that if such is the case I will not have an ill opinion of
you. The only reason I am asking this is that if it is so, it will be necessary
for me to meet the boy and his family.‘
For the first time, Imama regretted that she had not thought of contacting
Mariam and her family before she took the drastic step of marrying Salar.
Had Dr Sibt-e-Ali talked to Jalal…she dismissed the idea from her mind and shook her head in the negative in reply to Dr Sibt-e-Ali.
‗No, there is no such thing,‘ she replied.
‗Are you sure?‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali persisted in his calm way.
‗I did not embrace Islam for the love of any man,‘ Imama replied truthfully
for indeed she had not accepted Islam for the love of Jalal Ansar.
‗Are you fully aware of the difficulties you will face?‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali asked
next.
‗I am.‘
‗I am acquainted with your father, Mr Hashim Mubeen. He holds a very
prominent position in your community. Your changing your religion thus and
leaving the house will be a great blow to him and he will do everything
possible to find you and persuade you to return home.‘
‗I will not return home under any condition. I have thought about this very
seriously and I have made up my mind,‘ Imama replied firmly.
‗You have left your house…but what is your next step to be?‘
Anticipating that Dr Sibt-e-Ali would suggest that she approach the law
for protection, Imama pre-empted him. ‗I will not go to the courts. I do not
wish to be made a public spectacle. I am sure you will appreciate the
problems that will confront me if I decide to take my case to court,‘ she
said.
‗In that case, what is it that you wish to do?‘ Dr Sibte Ali asked looking at
her intently. ‗You know you will not be able to complete your medical
degree if you remain in hiding?‘
‗Yes I am aware of that,‘ she replied forlornly putting her cup down. ‗In
any case, I will not be able to pay the tuition fee on my own.‘
‗What if you transfer to another medical college in another part of the
country?‘
‗No, that will not be possible. My family will anticipate that as my first
move and they will contact all the medical colleges in the country. In any
case, there are few such schools and it will not be difficult for them to track
me down.‘
‗Then…?‘
‗I would like to take admission in B.Sc. in some college in the
country…not in Lahore; and I wish to change my name.‘
Dr Sibt-e-Ali did not reply immediately. He remained lost in thought for a
while; then with a deep sigh he spoke. ‗Imama for now you must remain
here. Let‘s wait and see what steps your family takes. In a few weeks we
shall know. Till then I suggest we wait. You are completely safe here. You
do not wish to approach the courts, and I respect your judgment in that.
Stay here, till we figure out what to do next. Your family will not be able to trace you here and, even if they do, they cannot force you to leave against
your will. No one will make you do anything against your will; please be
assured of that.‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali tried to reassure Imama that she was safe
and had sanctuary in his house.
Looking at him, Imama was reminded of her father Hashim Mubeen and
she went back to her room with a sad heart.
about 5 months ago
Umera Ahmed Official
It was five in the evening the next day when Dr Sibt-e-Ali came back
from the office and summoned Imama to his study. The servant came to
the kitchen where she and Mariam were to say that Dr Sahib was asking
for her.
She knocked on the door and entered.
Dr Sibt-e-Ali was riffling through some papers in a drawer. ‗Come Imama
sit down,‘ he said. She sat on the chair opposite him.
‗I have made some inquiries today regarding your family and the search
they are conducting to find you,‘ he said. Shutting the drawer, he abruptly
asked, ‗Who is Salar Sikandar?‘ He was watching her intently.
Imama was taken aback. She felt her heart drumming in her chest. The
color drained from her face— a fact that was not lost on Dr Sibt-e-Ali.
‗Salar…he is our neighbor…he helped me…escape from home…he...he
helped me come to Lahore…from Islamabad…‘ she stammered.
‗Should I tell him about my marriage vows with Salar?‘ she wondered.
‗Your father has filed an FIR (First Investigation Report) against him
accusing him of abducting you,‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali informed her.
Imama paled further. ‗Has he been caught?‘ she cried out. She had not
reckoned on her family tracing Salar so quickly, but that they had done so
meant that they would soon find out about Jalal Ansar and then they would
trace her to this house.
‗No. But they do know that he came to Lahore that night with a girl. He
has admitted as much but denies that the girl was you. He claims to have
come with a girlfriend and has already provided the proof.‘
Dr Sibt-e-Ali deliberately omitted the fact that Salar claimed to have
come to Lahore with a prostitute.
‗No. His family too is not without resources and the police could not pick
him up; but your family is convinced that he is the one who helped you run
away.‘ Abruptly changing the subject he asked, ‗What sort of a person is
Salar?‘
‗He is bad…‘ Imama spoke impulsively. ‗He is very bad.‘
‗But you just said he helped you…‘
Yes, but he is not a good person. Perhaps he helped me because once
when he had tried to commit suicide I had helped save his life; or perhaps
he did it because he is my brother‘s friend. But he is not a nice person…he
has a mental problem…he says odd things…does odd things.‘ Imama was
recalling in her mind the drive from Lahore to Islamabad and how Salar
provoked her the entire way.
‗The police have contacted all your friends, including Sabiha,‘ Dr Sibt-eAli continued. ‗Sabiha is back from Peshawar but Mariam has not told her
any thing about your being here. You are not to contact her in any way not
even by telephone. Her house is under surveillance and the phone will be
tapped. In fact, for now your best bet is to lie low and not contact anyone at
all.
‗Can I contact them through my mobile phone?‘ Imama asked.
‗You have a mobile phone?‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali was startled.
‗It belongs to Salar.‘
‗They have tracked Salar down; it will not take them long to trace the
mobile phone. When you called Mariam from Sabiha‘s house did you call
from the mobile?‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali sounded worried now.
‗No, I had used Sabiha‘s home phone to call.‘
‗You are not to use that mobile at all—neither to call nor to receive calls.‘
He was somewhat relieved.
-----------------------
For the next few days Dr Sibt-e-Ali would come home in the evenings
and tell her about the development regarding her family‘s quest to find her.
The police were questioning everyone she could have been in touch with
and going to all places where she may have sought refuge. Medical
colleges, hospitals, hostels, friends, colleagues…Hashim Mubeen left no
stone unturned. The only thing he did not do was approach the media. He
knew that was a route that would lead to disgrace and disappointment. To
whatever extent he could, he was trying to keep his daughter‘s
disappearance a secret. He had contacted the police; his own community
was aware of his predicament and was doing its best to help in the search.
The police had contacted Sabiha‘s family but they were not aware of the
fact that she had sought refuge in her house on her arrival from Lahore.
The fact that Sabiha and her family had at that point been in Peshawar
threw them off the scent. Mariam too had not confided in Sabiha and
continued to play the part that she too was confounded by Imama‘s
disappearance.
----------------------
Having lived some weeks in the security of Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s house, Imama
was convinced that she was safe; that no one would be able to follow her to
this place. She decided to call Salar and ask for the marriage certificate. It
was now that she was horrified to learn that Salar had neither allowed her
the right to ask for divorce nor was he prepared to divorce her. She felt the
ground slip away from under her feet.
This was the first time that she had used the mobile phone since her
arrival in Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s house; that too to call Salar and without informing
anyone. She began to be aware of her folly. She should never have trusted
a man like Salar. At the very least she should have read the nikahnamah or
kept a copy of it for herself.
As the realization grew that Salar could become a real problem in her
life, she began to rue all her earlier decisions. Had she ever imagined she
would meet a man like Dr Sibt-e-Ali, she would never have committed the
folly of getting married—and that too to a man like Salar.
Had she known that Dr Sibt-e-Ali would help her regardless, she would
have told him the truth about Salar. Surely, he would have found a way out
for her. But now that she had so convincingly lied about the fact that there
was no man involved in this enterprise, how could she back out of it? And
then, that she was married to the very man she had badmouthed
about…the very man against whom her family had filed an FIR with the
police on charges of abducting her. Should she now come clean and
confess everything to Dr Sibt-e-Ali? She feared if she did so she may lose
the only refuge she had; and at this moment she did not want to do that.
In her worry and apprehension, Imama lost all appetite; she could neither
eat nor drink. The future seemed bleak and dark. As for Salar
Sikandar…she had developed such a hatred for him that if he were before
her she would have shot him. A myriad of fears and anxiety began to prey
on her mind. Earlier, she was afraid of her family; added to that fear now
was her dread of Salar. She did not know which way to turn. Always quiet
by nature, she now slipped into complete quietude. She began to lose
weight and became listless and lethargic. The change was not lost on Dr
Sibt-e-Ali and his family. One by one, they spoke to her to find out what
was worrying her but she managed to fob them off.
‗What is the matter Imama? You have always been quiet, but now you
look as if a great worry is pressing down on you.‘ Mariam was the first to
approach her.
It‘s nothing Mariam. Just that I miss home,‘ Imama tried to make light of
the situation.
Mariam was not to be misled so easily. ‗Why now? You have been here
for sometime now but it is only over the last few days that you have
stopped eating. You are looking pale, you have circles under your eyes as
if you have not been sleeping well and you have lost weight. If this goes on
you will soon fall ill.‘
Imama could not deny Mariam‘s observations. She knew that anyone
looking at her could gauge the extent of her anxiety and perhaps also that it
was due to recent developments. But she was helpless—she could not
confide in Mariam about Salar, nor could she confess to her marriage with
Salar.
Again she tried to put Mariam off. ‗I have been thinking more of my
family lately. The more time passes, the more I seem to miss them,‘ she
said softly; nor was this a complete lie because she was missing them
intensely.
She had never been separated from her family for such a length of time.
True, she lived in a hostel in Lahore but she made it a point of going home
at least once a month. Her father or brother would also often drop by to see
her; and then there was the telephone; she spoke to her folks nearly every
day. But now she felt as if she was adrift on an endless sea with no one in
sight. Those beloved familiar faces were now hers only in her mind and in
her imagination.
Mariam, seeing that Imama was not willing to share her fears with her,
changed the subject and began to prattle on about other things, hoping to
distract her from whatever it was that was worrying her.
--------------------
Dr Sibt-e-Ali was blessed with three daughters. Mariam was the
youngest of the three and was completing her medical studies. The two
older sisters were married and living in cities other than Lahore.
Incidentally, soon after Mariam came to Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s house, the sisters
came home one by one to visit the parents.
Mariam found in both sisters the same love and kindness that she had
come to associate with Dr Sibt-e-Ali and his family, but on both occasions
she was greatly reminded of her own sisters and the love and affection they
had lavished on her. She thought of her home, her father, her older brother,
Waseem, and Saad…Saad who was not related to her by blood. Saad had
been adopted in keeping with her community‘s practice of adoptinghomeless boys and by giving them security and love, creating a new
member for the community. In keeping with this principle, Hashim Mubeen
had adopted Saad when he was very little and Imama was in her last year
of school. The coming of a stranger into her house had been a new
experience for Imama.
‗We have adopted Saad as an expression of our gratitude to Allah, who
has given us so much; by doing this we hope to establish a chain of
kindness,‘ her mother had explained to Imama on the day she brought
Saad home. ‗You should regard him as your younger brother.‘
Imama was very proud of her parents that day; that they were willing to
share the blessings God had given them with those less fortunate than
them. She did not stop to think that her uncles had done the same as had
some other prominent families she knew. It was only much later that the
true nature of these adoptions came to light.
Saad and Imama shared a bedroom and, from the very beginning, Saad
became attached to her. Once Imama joined medical college and accepted
Islam, she began telling Saad stories about the Holy Prophet (PBUH) on
her trips home for the weekend. Since Saad was too young to reason, she
would simplify her rationalization by saying ‗As God is one, our Prophet
(PBUH) too is unique. There is no one like him and there can be no one
like him.‘
While talking to Saad she would always ask him to not repeat their
conversations to the rest of the family, but she well knew that that would
not happen. She was aware that Saad was already deeply influenced by
the family and the community, and by the regular religious gatherings he
attended. She had also thought that once she completed her education and
started living her own life, she would take Saad with her; though again she
was well aware that that would not be an easy thing to do.
When leaving home, she had contemplated taking Saad with her, but
she knew that such a step would increase the danger of her getting caught.
Albeit many times since she had found shelter in Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s house, she
wondered if she could have brought Saad along. Although she had broken
off ties with her family and was determined to pursue the path she had
chosen for herself, this did not in any way diminish the love she still felt for
them or for Jalal Ansar.
All night in the privacy of her room she would cry for them. Initially, no
one knew how unhappy she was. When she would appear at the breakfast
table with swollen eyes, she would shrug off the hosts‘ concern by saying
she had had a sleepless night. However, one night Mariam came into herroom unexpectedly. Since it was very late, Mariam, assuming that Imama
would be asleep, did not knock on the door. Imama was in bed but not
asleep; wrapped in a blanket she had been crying with a deep anguish
born of hopelessness. As Mariam turned the handle to enter, Imama
quickly covered her face with the blanket. The movement alerted Mariam to
the fact that Imama was not sleeping.
‗Imama?‘
No reply.
‗Imama, are you awake?‘ Mariam walked to the bed and pulled the
blanket off Imama‘s face. She was horrified to see Imama‘s tear-stained
face. ‗Imama! No wonder you look so exhausted.‘ Making up her mind in a
minute, she pulled Imama off the bed. ‗No more sleeping alone and
worrying! You are to sleep in my room from now on,‘ she said determinedly.
Quietly Imama followed Mariam to her room; she was too ashamed to
say anything. From that day on Imama slept in Mariam‘s room. As a result,
she stopped crying in the nights but she still had no control over sleep; and
there were still nights when she lay sleepless till the early hours of
mornings.
When she would look at the medical books in Mariam‘s room, Imama
would be filled with a deep melancholy. She knew she had left that life far
behind and there was no return to it.
In the mornings, once Dr Sibt-e-Ali would leave for work and Mariam for
college, Imama would go and spend time with Mrs Sibt-e-Ali whom she
called Aunty. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps it was
Aunty who would not leave Imama alone; she kept her busy all day so she
would not have time to brood. Despite Aunty‘s efforts, there were times
when Imama would fall into a reverie oblivious to the world around her. She
made no effort to get in touch with Salar again. She knew nothing would
come of it except an increase in her worries.
---------------------------
Three months had passed since she had come to stay with Dr Sibt-e-Ali
and family. One day he called her to his study.
‗Imama, it has been a while now since you left home. Your family, while
not having given up the search, has lessened their efforts to locate you.
Have you given any thought as to what you would like to do next?‘ he
asked.
‗I would like to continue my studies,‘ Imama replied quietly.
Dr Sibt-e-Ali considered her reply; overlooking her answer he asked, Have you given any thought to your marrying?‘
‗Marry…? I do not understand…‘ Imama stuttered, completely taken
aback by the question.
‗Given your circumstances the best way out of this situation would be
marriage. If you were to marry into a nice family, it would provide you with
the security you so lack now,‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali broached the subject that was
obviously on his mind. ‗I know a few boys from very good families; I wish
for you to marry one of them.‘
All colour drained from her face, Imama watched Dr Sibt-e-Ali. It was the
same conclusion she had come to so many months ago, the thought that
had led her to Salar Sikandar and to folly.
Had she not been married to Salar, she would have accepted Dr Sibt-eAli‘s proposal with alacrity. She understood that marrying into a well
established family would give her sanctuary from many problems she now
faced. She had always lived a sheltered life depending on her family for all
her needs. It frightened her that now she had no one to turn to. How long
could she go on like this? But her hasty marriage to Salar was like a bone
stuck in her throat—she could neither spit it out nor swallow it.
‗No, I will not marry.‘
‗Why not?‘
She had an answer to Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s question but not the courage to give
it. What would Dr Sibt-e-Ali think of her if she said the truth? That she was
a liar and had been living in his house for so long under false pretences.
Or, perhaps he would think that she left her house in order to marry Salar
and all the rest of it was a pack of lies. And what if, on knowing the truth, he
refused to help her any further…or asked her to leave the house…then
what? Or what if he decided to contact her parents? She had lived for three
months in Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s house and she had realized he was a good and
kind person, but she herself was too scared, too intimidated by her
circumstances to put implicit trust in anybody; she could not afford to run
the risk of trusting anyone so completely.
She had reached a conclusion; she could not let anyone into her secret.
‗I would rather finish my studies first. I do not wish to be a burden on
anyone; I want to stand on my own feet. If after getting married there are
issues, I want to be able to support myself. There is no way of knowing how
things will be after marriage; I may not have the opportunity to study.‘
Imama spoke at length after a long silence.
‗Imama, we will always be there to help you. We do not plan to cut ties
with you if you get married. We are not trying to get rid of you. For me you
are like my own daughter, my fourth daughter.‘
Imama‘s eyes welled up.
‗I am not putting any pressure on you Imama. This was only a
suggestion.‘
‗Let a few years pass and I will marry whoever you tell me to. But not
now, not immediately,‘ Imama spoke aloud but in her mind she was
thinking, ‗For now, I have to get rid of Salar. I must find a way to get a
divorce.‘
‗Which city would you like to study in?‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali dropped the idea of
marriage.
‗Anywhere—I have no preference,‘ Imama replied.
about 5 months ago
Umera Ahmed Official
When she had left her house, Imama had taken all her documents, plus
as much of her jewellery as she could. When Dr Sibt-e-Ali called her a few
days later to inform her that he had decided to admit her to a college in
Multan she went to her room and fetched a small bag from her suitcase.
She returned to Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s study and opening the bag took out the
envelope containing the necessary documents and handed it to Dr Sibt-eAli. Then she took out another small container from the bag and put it on
the table.
‗This is some of my jewellery that I have with me; it is not much, but if I
sell it, it can cover the cost of my education for some time,‘ she said.
‗No. Don‘t sell the jewellery; you will need it when you get married. As far
as your education goes, I am responsible for you and it is my responsibility
to take care of your needs...‘ About to say something more, Dr Sibt-e-Ali
stopped suddenly startled by something he saw gleaming in the open bag
in Imama‘s hand.
Slightly ashamed of herself for hiding it from him, Imama pulled out the
little pistol out of the bag and put it on the table. ‗This belongs to me. I
brought it from home. As I had said earlier, I needed Salar‘s help and he is
not a good man…‘ She was unwilling to give more information than this.
‗Do you know how to use it?‘
Imama gave a sad smile. ‗Yes, I had trained with the NCC in College.
Also my brother Waseem used to go the Rifle Shooting Club regularly and I
would often go with him. I had begged my father to buy me this pistol. It is
gold plated.‘
Dr Sibt-e-Ali picked up the pistol. ‗Do you have a license for this?‘ he
asked.
‗Yes, but I did not bring it with me.‘
‗In that case, leave it here with me. Do not take it with you to Multan. As for the jewellery, let‘s put it in a locker.‘
Imama nodded her head in agreement.
---------------------
A few months later Imama found herself in Multan. A city she had never
even given a second thought to in her life. But then so much had happened
to her that she never imagined could happen. Could she ever have
imagined that at the age of twenty, she would be restarting her studies; this
time with a view to taking a B.Sc. degree…at an age when most girls have
completed their B.Sc…?
Could she ever have imagined that she would have willfully abandoned
her desire to be a doctor…?
Could she ever have imagined that she would be the cause of so much
hurt and humiliation for her parents…?
Could she ever have imagined any other man in her life other than
Jalal…? And that she would be so desperate to marry that man…?
Could she ever have imagined, given her failure to marry the man of her
choice that she would end up marrying a man like Salar Sikandar…? And
that too of her own volition…?
Could she ever have imagined that having given up the security and
comforts of her own house she would end up with a family as kind and
caring as Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s?
She had no experience of the outside world, and she had had no need of
it, either. When she left home, she had prayed earnestly for her own
safety—that she may not need to go from pillar to post in her struggle for
survival. She was not bold enough to fend for herself and take on the odds.
She really did not know that she would now have to manage everything on
her own or how she would deal with strange men and all kinds of people—
and that too when she had no family to fall back on.
It was a different matter to study in a medical college in Lahore and
dream of going abroad for higher studies, when in the protective shade of
one‘s family. There were no financial issues, and Hashim Mubeen‘s name
and reputation were sufficient to ward off unwanted attention, persuading
people to approach her with due respect.
She was lucky that on leaving home she did not have to face the kind of
problems she had feared. Salar Sikandar had dropped her to Lahore and
Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s family had given her sanctuary. Since she had been at Dr
Sibt-e-Ali‘s she was fortunate that all concerns, big or small, were taken
care of. Her change of name, admission in college in Multan, a place to stay in the hostel, the expenses involved with her education—all had been
handled by Dr Sibt-e-Ali—and she was profoundly grateful to God for it. At
least she did not have to face the daily strife for survival in a hostile world.
----------------------
She left for Multan. This was the beginning of a new life for her. A difficult
life. She felt herself all alone in the hostel. Sometimes she would miss her
family and the home in Islamabad with such intensity that it took all her
willpower to stay where she was and not run back to them. Often she would
cry for no reason at all. Sometimes she thought of getting in touch with
Jalal Ansar. She still longed for him.
A number of girls who were studying with her were those who wished for
admission in Medical colleges but who failed to get the required grades in
their F.Sc. exams. They were now sitting for their B.Sc. in the hopes of
doing better and entering the field of their choice.
‗Medical college…doctor…‘ For a long time these words were like
daggers twisting in her heart. She would look at lines etched in her hands
in amazement. What was it in her fate that was turning to dust all that she
cherished? Often she would recall her conversation with Javeria.
‗If I cannot be a doctor, I have no wish to live…I will die,‘ she had said.
But she had not died. She continued to live.
‗I will be the country‘s most renowned eye specialist,‘ she had declared.
It had all remained a dream. All that she was so close to achieving had
remained so far.
She had no home.
She had no family.
Asjad was not hers.
She was not going to be a doctor.
Jalal was not hers.
In one sweep, she had lost all the comforts of life that she was used to,
yet she lived. Imama could never have imagined that she had or could ever
have had the courage to live thus of her own will and yet she had proved
herself at every moment.
As time passed, the sense of loss decreased. She was finding in herself
strength to bear the tribulations in her life. After God, it was Dr Sibt-e-Ali
and his family who did all they could to help her recover. Once a month,
she would visit them on a weekend. They regarded her as part of their
family. ‗What would have happened to me had I not met them?‘ Imama
often wondered. ----------------
Imama was unable to get Salar out of her mind during her long stay in
Multan. She wanted to call him and again ask him to divorce her and, if he
still refused, she resolved to reveal all to Dr Sibt-e-Ali. Thus, once her B.Sc.
exams were over she went to a Public Call Office (PCO) and rang up Salar.
It was long since she had stopped using the cell phone Salar had given
her; since that was Salar‘s own number she wondered if he had restarted
using it for himself, or whether he was using the new number he had given
her to call him those two years ago. With great trepidation, she rang both
numbers in turn but got no reply to either. He obviously had a new number
for his cell but since she did not have it she could not contact him. Having
no choice she called his home number. The bell rang, then somebody
picked it up and a woman‘s voice said, ‗Hello.‘
‗Hello. I wish to speak to Salar Sikander,‘ Imama said.
‗Salar Sahib….Who is this calling?‘
Imama realized that whoever was on the other end was suddenly
suspicious. The voice was familiar but she could not place it. Before Imama
could speak the woman at the other end spoke with great enthusiasm,
‗Imama Bibi…is that you Imama Bibi?‘
Imama felt a thrill of fear run through her. Inadvertently, she dropped the
receiver into the cradle, disconnecting the line. Who could it be who had
recognized her so quickly merely by her saying those few words? And that
too in Salar‘s house? She remained rooted to her spot in fear. Her hands
were trembling. Sitting in the inner booth of the PCO she tried to reassure
herself.
‗I have nothing to fear. I am so far from Islamabad, no one can trace me
here. I have nothing to fear.‘ Gradually she recovered her composure.
Having convinced herself that she had nothing to fear she gathered her
courage to call again. She asked the owner of the PCO to connect her to
the same number again.
Somebody picked up the phone immediately; a man‘s voice greeted her.
It was not Salar; she would have recognized his voice.
‗I wish to speak to Salar Sikander,‘ she said.
‗Is this Imama Hashim?‘ the voice at the other end was gruff and
unfriendly.
‗Yes…‘ Imama remained unruffled this time.
There was complete silence at the other end.
‗Can I speak to him please?‘ Imama repeated her request. That is not possible,‘ the man finally replied.
‗Why not?‘
‗He…is no longer alive.‘
‗What? Is he…is he dead?‘ Imama could not stop herself asking.
‗Yes…‘
‗When…‘
There was a prolonged silence at the other end. Then the man spoke,
‗When was the last time you were in contact with him?‘
‗Some years ago…about two and a half years ago.‘
‗He died a year ago. You…‘
Imama disconnected the line. There was no need to hear any more. She
was free. She knew that it was wrong to rejoice over the death of any
human being, but she could not help it. Had Salar divorced her when she
had asked him to do so, she would undoubtedly have mourned his death.
But now, two years later she felt remarkably light—a sense of relief. The
sword of Damocles which had been hanging over her head had been
removed. There was no need to broach the subject with Dr Sibt-e-Ali—she
was free in the real sense of the word. It was her last day at the hostel and
that night she prayed for forgiveness for Salar‘s soul. As it was, she had
forgiven him when she learnt of his death; but she could not mourn his
death--she was immeasurably relieved over the turn events had taken.
---------------------
The woman Imama had spoken to was Nasira who worked both at
Salar‘s house as well as at Imama‘s. She had recognized Imama‘s voice
the minute she spoke. When Imama cut off the phone line, she went to
Usman Sikander in a state of great excitement. It was just a quirk of fate
that Usman Sikander was home that day. He had been unwell in the
morning and had not gone to work.
‗A girl called a little while ago…she wanted to talk to Salar…‘ the maid
said to Usman.
‗Well, tell him.‘ Usman was indifferent. By yet another twist of fate, Salar
was there too—he was visiting from America, and was home at the time.
The maid was flustered. ‗Saab jee, it was Imama Bibi calling,‘ she said.
Usman Sikander almost dropped the cup of tea he was holding. ‗Imama
Hashim? Hashim Mubeen‘s daughter?‘
Nasira nodded her head in confirmation.
‗So has Salar been lying all this time when he says he has no connection with Imama…‘ he thought, his mind a whirl.
Aloud he said, ‗Did she say she was Imama calling?‘
‗No Saab jee, I recognized her voice. And when I asked her, she put the
phone down on me.‘
The phone rang again. Before the maid could pick up the phone, he
reached for the extension in his room. The girl on the other end confirmed
she was Imama; she also said that she had not been in touch with Salar for
over two and a half years. While there was no way he could confirm what
she was saying was the truth, his instinct told him the girl was not lying.
‗If only I can keep her away from contacting Salar, we will have rid
ourselves forever of a great deal of trouble,‘ the thought ran through his
mind. And so he told her that Salar had died.
For Usman Sikandar the year Imama had disappeared has been a
difficult one. Suspecting Salar in the disappearance of his daughter,
Hashim Mubeen had brought all sorts of pressure to bear on Usman
Sikandar. The bills for his firms that had always been easily passed through
in Government offices were now inexplicably delayed; he began to receive
threatening letters and phone calls from anonymous callers; near strangers
would talk to him threateningly telling him to assist in the return of Hashim
Mubeen‘s daughter; for a long time Salar had been shadowed and this
harassment had not stopped even after he had been sent abroad. Even in
America, Salar remained under surveillance until Hashim Mubeen was
finally convinced that Imama and Salar were not in contact with each other.
With no proof of Salar‘s involvement in Imama‘s disappearance the
harassment finally ceased. Numerous attempts made by Usman to reestablish good relations with Hashim Mubeen were rebuffed but at least the
threat to him and his family had ceased. And now two and a half years on
this girl was trying to get in touch with Salar again. He did not want to go
through all those hassles again nor did he wish that for Salar.
Had he himself not been a man of means, just as Hashim Mubeen
Ahmed was, the latter could have caused him even more problems than he
had faced in the first few months. He was anxious to send Imama a copy of
the divorce deed he had prepared on behalf of Salar: that the deed was a
forgery and that Salar had no knowledge of it was of no consequence—he
just wanted to make it clear to Imama that she had no connection to the
family and nor could she expect one. Had there been a connection—
however tenuous it may have been—it was now snapped with the news of
Salar‘s death. It was a coincidence that Imama had put down the phone
before hearing him out. He tried to trace the call and learnt that it was from a PCO in Multan.  There was still a week to go before Salar left for the United States.
Usman Sikandar decided to keep a strict eye on all his movements.
Without his knowing it, Salar was continuously watched for the last week of
his stay in Pakistan. All his phone calls were monitored and the servants
were instructed not to let any calls through to him no matter who had
called. The maid was strictly warned not to let Salar know that Imama had
called. When Salar left for America a week later, Usman Sikandar breathed
a sigh of relief. The danger had passed.
On her return to Lahore, Imama sold the cell phone (since there was no
way she could now return this to Salar). To the cash she received she
added some more money to cover the costs of the phone bills she would
have incurred two and a half years ago, plus the amount Salar must have
spent on her, driving her to Lahore and other miscellaneous costs. All this
cash she posted to Usman Sikandar in Islamabad along with a short note
explaining why she was sending the money; thus she paid off any money
she may have owed Salar and put herself out of an obligation to him.
Usman Sikandar was relieved at receiving the small packet. It convinced
him that Imama was cutting off all ties with him and also that she did not
doubt his story.
------------------
On finishing her B.Sc. Imama returned to Lahore from Multan. It was
now three years since she had left home. She was convinced that the
search for her was now not as intense as it may have been some years
previously. At the most her family would still be watching medical colleges.
Her assumption was correct. Although more sure of herself now she did not
lower her vigilance. She took admission in the Punjab University in the
Chemistry Department and registered for her M.Sc. In Multan, she had only
worn a chador to and from college, but now she took to wearing a veil
which covered her face too. After all, this was Lahore and somebody could
recognize her.
On her return to Lahore she did not take stay with Dr Sibt-e-Ali; instead
she started living with Saeeda Amma.
----------------------
Dr Sibt-e-Ali had introduced Imama to Saeeda Amma before she went to
Multan. The reason was that Saeeda Amma had many relatives living in
Multan and Dr Sibt-e-Ali felt that Imama would be able to contact them in any emergency.
An extremely garrulous and active woman of about 65 to 70 years of
age, Saeeda Amma lived alone in a large house in the inner city of Lahore.
She had been widowed some years earlier. Both her sons had gone
abroad to study and on completing their education, they had married and
opted to live abroad. Numerous attempts to persuade their mother to shift
in with them had failed and now the sons took turns to visit her each year
and be with her for some time. Saeeda Amma was related to Dr Sibt-e-Ali
in that she was a cousin.
Before bringing Imama over Dr Sibt-e-Ali had told her all about Imama.
Saeeda Amma greeted her warmly when she came and proceeded to tell
her in great detail about each and every relative present in Multan. And as
if that was not enough she even volunteered to accompany Imama to
Multan and drop her off at her college—an offer that Dr Sibt-e-Ali refused,
gently but firmly.
‗No, sister, that will be too much trouble,‘ he said.
‗Perhaps a better idea would be for Imama to stay with one of my
brothers.‘ Saeeda Amma was beginning to doubt the advantages of being
in a hostel. ‗She will be well looked after there and will have all comforts of
a home life.‘ She began to recount the many problems and discomforts
Imama would have to face in a hostel. Imama was relieved when Dr Sibt-eAli remained firm in his stance regarding the hostel. Imama herself felt that
was the best option.
--------------------
Her next meeting with Saeeda Amma was in Multan in the hostel she
was staying in. She had been at there for a couple of months when was
told a lady had come to see her. Imama went numb with fear. Who could
have come to meet her and that too a woman? She was surprised to see
Saeeda Amma waiting for her in the meeting area. Saeeda Amma greeted
her with the same warmth and kindness she had shown her in Lahore. She
was on a fortnight‘s stay in Multan to catch up with her relatives there; and
in those two weeks she often came to see Imama. On one occasion she
even took Imama to see her brother and his family at their house.
about 5 months ago
Umera Ahmed Official
This then became the routine. Every few months Saeeda Amma would
visit Multan and would come and see Imama in the hostel. When Imama
would go to Lahore on her monthly visit she too would pay a visit to Saeeda Amma‘s. If she was on a longer stay she would, on Saeeda Amma‘s insistence, sometimes stay overnight at her place. Imama loved the old
brick house Saeeda Amma lived in. Without verbalizing it, the two felt at
peace with each other because both suffered from the same sense of
loneliness although Saeeda Amma, unlike Imama, had friends and
neighbors to temporarily alleviate this feeling. Because of her own situation,
Saeeda Amma could empathize with Imama. Once Imama confided in her
that she planned to do her M.Sc. from Lahore, Saeeda Amma began
persuading her to come and live with her when she returned to Lahore.
It was around this time that Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s eldest daughter shifted back to
her father‘s house. Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s son-in-law, who was also his nephew,
was going abroad to complete his PhD. It was decided that for the time he
would be abroad his wife and children were to stay with Dr Sibt-e-Ali.
Although Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s house was big enough to accommodate all, Imama
felt uncomfortable staying on. In any case she was already far too indebted
to Dr Sibt-e-Ali for all his kindness and she wanted to stand on her own feet
as soon as it was possible. If she continued staying with Dr Sibt-e-Ali, he
would insist on paying for her education and would probably also continue
supporting her even after she started working. Living with him she would
never be able to assert herself. An independent life was the best solution,
she felt. And living with Saeeda Amma would suit her perfectly. Once she
got a job she would also be able to insist on paying a small rent to Saeeda
Amma—a thing Dr Sibt-e-Ali would never agree to if she continued living in
his house.
-------------------------
For Dr Sibt-e-Ali, her decision to move out came as a shock.
‗Why Amina? Why will you not stay in my house?
‗Saeeda Amma insists I stay with her.‘
‗I‘ll speak to her.‘
‗No, that is not it. I wish to stay with her. If I live with her she will not be
so lonely‘
‗That is no reason. You can visit her every day if you like. Why must you
stay there?‘
‗Please, let me stay there. I will be happier doing so. I wish to start
becoming independent,‘ Imama pleaded.
‗I do not understand what you mean by that,‘ Dr Sibt-e-Ali replied.
‗I do not wish to be a burden on you. As it is I owe you so much. I don‘t
wish to be indebted all my life…‘ Imama‘s voice trailed away. She realized
she had hurt Dr Sibt-e-Ali with her words. She regretted them. I have never thought of you as a burden Amina. Never. Daughters are
never a burden and for me you are my daughter…what you say has hurt
me very much.‘
‗I am sorry Abu. That is not what I meant. I was just expressing my
feelings. Being dependent on someone is a painful reality. Living with
Saeeda Amma will give me peace of mind. I‘ll pay for stay. That I cannot
ever do with you. I owe you so much that if I were to live ten lifetimes I
would not be able to repay you for all you have done for me. But now…for
now…I wish to learn how to live life on my own. Please let me do so…‘
Dr Sibt-e-Ali did not insist any further. For this too Imama was grateful to
him.
For Imama living with Saeeda Amma was starting life all over again. This
was not the same as living with Dr Sibt-e-Ali and his family; nor was it the
same as living in the hostel. She felt a strange sense of happiness and
independence for the first time in her life.
Saeeda Amma lived by herself. She had a maid who would come in the
mornings and do the housework and leave by evening. She had a large
social circle and was often out meeting friends and relatives and also
receiving many visitors of her own. She introduced Imama to everyone as
her sister‘s daughter. As time passed, she began referring to her as her
daughter. So while her old acquaintances knew Imama as Saeeda Amma‘s
niece her newer friends all thought she was her daughter. Nobody gave the
relationship much thought. They all knew what a loving heart Saeeda
Amma had. Her sons and their families too began to accept Imama as part
of the family and every time they called Saeeda Amma they would also talk
to Imama. When they would come to Lahore on their annual vacation, they
would treat Imama as a sister and Imama too began to feel she was part of
the family; she would often feel that she was in reality Saeeda Amma‘s
daughter, a sister to her sons, and an aunt to their children.
Once she completed her M.Sc. at the Punjab University, Dr Sibt-e-Ali
helped get her a job with a pharmaceutical company. It was a good job and
for the first time in her life, Imama was financially independent. This was
not the life she had lived in her parent‘s house; nor was this the life she had
once envisaged in her dreams; but it was not also the nightmare she had
feared her life would become when she had fled her home all those years
ago. She could not talk to anybody about it but she felt her life was a series
of miracles. To have sought the help of a man like Salar Sikander…to have
found sanctuary with Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s family…to have found a new family with
Saeeda Amma…to have completed her education…and now this job. The
only regret in her life was Jalal Ansar. If she could have married him she would have considered herself the luckiest person on earth.
The eight years that had passed since her flight from home had
transformed her completely. On leaving home she was well aware that she
was losing the affection and devotion of loved ones; that she should have
no expectations from anyone; that when people let her down she should
not feel hurt or rejected. She had hardened in these years on her own; she
no longer cried at the slightest hurt. She was no longer the Imama Hashim
she had been at 20—timid and fearful; she was now more confident, more
self assured. But these years of independence had taught her caution; she
was now careful in her speech and careful about how she conducted
herself.
She had received inestimable love from both Dr Sibt-e-Ali‘s and Saeeda
Amma‘s families and she was very careful not to say or do anything that
would upset them or cause them to scorn her. This is something she had
never had to do living with her own family. Being discreet and tactful was a
new trait she had learnt.
The day Saeeda Amma disappeared Imama was at work. The house
was locked when she got home. This was not worrying since Saeeda
Amma, being as social as she was often out visiting when she got home.
Imama unlocked the door and went in. This was around four in the evening.
But when the late evening call for prayers was sounded from the mosque,
Imama began to worry. It was Saeeda Amma‘s habit to come home by
sundown. Imama went to the neighbour‘s house to inquire. She was told
the neighbour‘s son had accompanied Saeeda Amma to Bilal‘s house.
Since Imama was well acquainted with Bilal‘s family she rang them up to
ask about Saeeda Amma. She was told that Saeeda Amma had come but
that she had left around noon. She rang up all her neighbors and friends to
find out where she could be. She drew a blank everywhere; now she was
really worried. She rang up Dr Sibt-e-Ali and told him that Saeeda Amma
was missing.
What really caused her worry was that Saeeda Amma was completely
unfamiliar with the city. She was used to her own neighborhood and the
confines of the inner city; but once out of familiar surroundings, she was
lost. If she wanted to go outside her neighborhood she would ask either
one of the neighborhood boys or Imama to take her.
Salar, on the other hand knew the entire city of Lahore with the
exception of the inner city. Had he even some idea of the inner city, he
would have been able to help Saeeda Amma home despite her vague
directions.
It was late in the night when Dr Sibt-e-Ali rang up Imama to tell her that Saeeda Amma had been traced through an acquaintance and that she
would be home soon. Imama breathed a sigh of relief.
An hour later when the bell rang, Imama went rushing to the door. She
opened the door. A good looking man greeted her and turning around said
goodbye to Saeeda Amma who was standing behind him. She hardly
noticed the other tall man, with his back to her. The two men walked away
as Imama hugged Saeeda Amma fervently.
The next few days Saeeda Amma spoke often of the two young men
who had come to her aid—Furqan and Salar. Imama did not connect Salar
with Salar Sikandar. Dead men do not come back. In any case, Salar
Sikandar was not the type to aid anyone nor did he have any of those
glowing qualities that Saeeda Amma was so enthusiastically extolling.
A few days later Furqan came with his wife to visit Saeeda Amma.
Imama got to meet him for the first time. She liked both Furqan and his
wife. Over the next few months the two would often come over and they
became quite good friends.
-----------------------
It was now two years since Imama had been working. Perhaps life would
have continued like this, had she not one day passed a street on which Dr
Jalal Ansar had built his hospital. His name was emblazoned on the
outside. Imama stopped involuntary. She stood there for a while looking at
his name, then she determinedly walked away. She promised herself that
she would never come down this street again. Jalal was married; that she
had learnt when she left her house. She did not want to ever be a part of
his life again. But as fate would have it, this decision was not to be a lasting
one.
A fortnight later she bumped into Rabia while at work. Rabia was there
on an errand. Seeing her standing before her, Imama fell into confusion.
She did not know whether to greet her or not. Rabia solved her problem.
Embracing her warmly she said, ‗Imama where have you been? Your
disappearance created quite a stir both in the college and in the hostel.‘
Imama smiled weakly. ‗I left home; why I did so must be known to you.‘
Imama did not wish to elaborate.
‗Yes, I have an idea why you left but I have not discussed it with anyone.
We really got into trouble when you disappeared. Me, Javeria, Zainab…the
police really grilled us but we had no idea where you were. There were
many rumors though about you and much gossip in the hostel and the
college.‘Rabia rambled on, sitting in the chair in front of her. ‗Did you go alone?‘
she asked suddenly.
‗Yes.‘ Imama switched on the intercom to ask for tea.
‗But where did you go?‘
‗No where. I was here in Lahore. But tell me more about yourself, and
Javeria…and the rest.‘ Imama was eager to turn the conversation away
from herself.
‗I have my practice here in Lahore; Javeria is in Islamabad. She is
working there. She is married to a doctor. I got married to Farooq. You
remember Farooq? He was in our college.‘
Imama smiled. ‗And Zainab?‘ Her heart began to beat fast.
‗Zainab is in London these days, doing her residency with her husband.
My husband Farooq has his practice in her brother‘s hospital.‘
‗In Jalal Ansar‘s hospital?‘ Imama could not stop herself from asking.
‗Yes. In Jalal‘s hospital. Jalal set up his hospital after completing his
specialization. He is such a nice person but unfortunately he has his
troubles. He got divorced recently.‘
‗Divorced…why?‘
‗I don‘t know why. Farooq did ask him but he only said that he and his
wife could not develop an understanding with each other. She was very
nice too—a doctor. We got very friendly with them and would often go to
their house. I could never have imagined there was any friction between
the two of them. He has a three year old son who stays with him. His wife
has gone back to the US.‘
Changing the subject in the same breath, she continued, ‗But now tell
me about yourself. I can see you work here, but what about your studies?
Did you complete your degree?‘
I did my Masters in Chemistry.‘
‗So, are you married?‘
‗No, not yet.‘
‗And your parents? Have you patched up with your parents yet?‘
‗No.‘ Imama spoke in a soft voice.
Rabia sat for a little more and then left. For Imama the rest of the day
was tedious. She could not stop thinking of Jalal Ansar. She had never
really forgotten him—it was just wishful thinking. She could not really put
him out of her life; today she once again realized how much she really
cared for him. She had put him out of her life only because she did not wish
to cause any complications in his life, nor did she want to be a source of
trouble in his marital affairs. Now, he was single again. She thought of her could not marry Jalal. There were too many obstacles in the way—hurdles
that she could not overcome and obstacles that Jalal had no power to
remove.
Now, time had intervened. Those barriers no longer existed. That he had
been married and was now divorced was of no concern to her; nor the fact
that he had a three year old son.
‗I should go and see him,‘ she resolved. ‗Perhaps he still thinks about
me. Perhaps he has recognized his error.‘ Imama was ready to forgive him
for the hurt he had caused her the last time they had talked on the phone.
Anybody would have done the same. After all one does not risk everything
for the sake of a girl. He had his career to think of; and his parents who had
so many hopes and dreams associated with him. How could he have
abandoned all? Like me, he too was helpless, she reasoned to herself. The
sharpness of his words those many years ago was forgotten now; they did
not cause her to pause and rethink her decision to go see Jalal Ansar.
‗I should go and see him. Perhaps Allah is giving me another chance.
Perhaps all my prayers are finally being answered. Perhaps Allah has had
pity on me now. Otherwise why would Rabia have popped up in my life so
suddenly now? Why would I have found out that he is now divorced?
Perhaps, if I were to meet him again… ‘ She had made up her mind. She
was going to meet Jalal Ansar.
--------------------
‗I wish to see Dr Jalal Ansar,‘ she said to the receptionist.
‗Do you have an appointment?‘ the receptionist asked.
‗No.‘
‗Then I am afraid you cannot see him. Dr Ansar does not meet patients
without an appointment.‘ The receptionist was dismissive.
‗I am not a patient. I am a friend.‘ Imama spoke softly putting both hands
on the receptionist‘s desk.
‗Does Dr Ansar know you were coming to see him?‖
‗No.‘
‗Let me just ask him then,‘ the receptionist said picking up the phone.
‗Your name please.‘
When Imama did not reply, she repeated her question. ‘Can I have your
name please?‘
‗Imama Hashim.‘ Imama could not recall the last time she had said her
name aloud.
‗Sir, there is a Imama Hashim to see you,‘ the receptionist spoke on the intercom. Then turning to Imama with a smile she said, ‗You are to go in.‘
A patient was just leaving the doctor‘s room. Imama walked in. Jalal was
standing behind the desk, astonishment writ large over his face. She could
feel her heart beat in her ears. It had been more than eight years since the
two had met, when exactly she could not recall.
‗Imama, what a pleasant surprise!‘ Jalal greeted her warmly, coming
forward to meet her. ‗I can hardly believe it. How are you?‘
‗I am well. And you?‘ She was staring at him—at the face she had been
unable to forget in eight years. She was listening to the voice she had not
forgotten in eight years.
‗I am just fine,‘ he said indicating the chair in front of his desk asking her
to be seated. He went and sat behind the table.
She had always known that meeting Jalal again would be a cause of
great happiness but this excitement that she felt…she had not anticipated it
would be thus.
‗What will you have? Tea? Coffee? A soft drink?‘ he was asking.
‗Whatever you wish.‘
‗Right then we will have coffee. You always liked it.‘
He spoke to the receptionist to ask her to send out for some coffee.
Imama saw the changes wrought in him through the years. He no longer
sprouted a beard; his hairstyle and changed and he had put on some
weight. On the whole he looked far more confident and self contained than
he had before.
‗So what are you doing nowadays?‘ he asked putting down the receiver.
‗I work in a pharmaceutical company.‘
‗Did you complete your medical studies?‘ he inquired.
‗No. I did an M.Sc. in Chemistry.‘
‗Which company are you working for?‘
She told him.
‗That is a very good firm.‘ He spent the next few minutes praising the
company. She watched him intently.
‗I went abroad to specialize…‘ He was now telling her about himself. She
sat quite happy just to be looking at him. Sometimes it is enough for a
person to just be there she was thinking to herself. ‗It has been a year since
I started this hospital and I have a good practice going.‘
He was still talking when the coffee was brought in.
‗How did you find out about me?‘ he asked picking up the cup of coffee.
‗I saw your name outside on the panel of doctors. And then Rabia also
told me. You know Rabia? Zainab knows her well.‘
‗Rabia Farooq? Yes I know her well. Her husband Dr Farooq is my colleague here.‘
‗Yes…so I came.‘ Imama had not yet touched the coffee. It was still too
hot for her liking. She watched Jalal Ansar, the man she had once
idealized. She believed he had all those qualities that a man should have;
all those qualities that she would want in a husband. She was sure he was
the same man still. That he did not have a beard could not mean that he
did not revere the holy Prophet (PBUH) as much as he had before. He was
still singing praises of his hospital and Imama could recall the voice that
had so many years before made a difficult decision easy for her.
She was happy to hear him talk of his success. It was for this very
reason he had rejected her eight and a half years ago. Now he had
achieved all his desires. There should be no more obstacles to his marrying
her now. There should be no difficulty now.
‗Are you married?‘ He had suddenly changed the topic of conversation.
‗No.‘ Imama replied softly.
‗So where do you stay? Are you with your parents?‘ Imama could now
sense the concern in his voice.
‗No.‘
‗Then where…‘
‗I live on my own. How could I return to my parents?‘ She was still
speaking very softly. ‗And what about you?‘ she continued, ‗Are you
married?‘
‗I was. I am divorced now. I have a three year old son. He lives with me.‘
Jalal‘s tone betrayed no emotion.
‗I am sorry to hear that,‘ Imama commiserated.
‗Don‘t be. It is a good thing it ended. It was not a marriage, it was a
mess.‘ Jalal put the coffee cup back on the table. For a time silence
engulfed the room.
‗Many years ago I had asked you to marry me,‘ Imama broke the silence
at last.
Jalal looked at her without saying anything.
‗I had then requested you to marry me. Can I make that request again?‘
She looked at him as his face changed color.
‗Circumstances have changed since then. You are no longer dependent
on your parents, they cannot object to your marrying of your own free will,
nor can my parents interfere in any way.‘
Imama stopped to wait for Jalal to answer. There was no reply. The
silence stretched on straining her nerves. ‗Perhaps he is worried I might
object to his son living with us.‘ She tried to rationalize his lack of response.
‗I should clarify that I have nothing against his first marriage nor having his son with us.‘
‗Jalal, I have no problems with…‘
‗This is not possible, Imama…‘ Jalal cut her short.
‗Why is it not possible? Don‘t you love me?‘
‗This has nothing to do with love, Imama. Much time has passed. In any
case, I do not wish to marry again so soon after the failure of my first
marriage. I want to concentrate on my career.‘
‗Jalal, you should have no concerns about our marriage failing; you know
I will not let that happen.‘
‗Still, I do not wish to risk it.‘ Jalal was curt.
‗I can wait…‘
‗It will be of no use Imama,‘ Jalal said with a deep sigh. ‗I am not in a
position to be able to marry you.‘
She looked at him sadly.
‗I married of my own free will last time. It was a failure. I do not wish to
make the same mistake twice. This time I will marry where ever my parents
tell me to.‘
‗Then tell your parents of me. Perhaps they will approve,‘ Imama spoke
with a sinking feeling in her heart.
‗No. I cannot tell them. Look Imama, there are some realities both you
and I must face. I respect your feelings towards me and I will admit that
there was a time when I was interested in you. Or, to put it more correctly, I
was in love with you. Even today you have a special place in my heart and
you will always have that place in my heart. But Imama, life is not based on
emotions alone.‘
He stopped speaking for a moment. Imama watched his face through the
haze of the smoke steaming from the cup of coffee.
‗Those many years ago I had begged you not to leave your house. You
did not listen to me. You did as you pleased. Instead of trying to convince
your parents to allow you to marry me, you put pressure on me to marry
you on the sly. I could not have done that nor would it have been the right
thing to have done. Religion was one factor, but it is not the only factor. We
cannot discount the society we live in and the obligations social life puts on
us.‘
Imama could not believe it that Jalal should be saying these things to
her.
‗You disappeared; but do you have any idea of the scandal you created
by your action. Your parents were careful to not allow the news to reach the
press but everyone in the college knew about your disappearance
nevertheless. The police carried on a thorough investigation and questioned most of your friends. Zainab too was interrogated. Luckily we
came out unscathed.‘
He got up in agitation. ‗I have worked hard to reach where I am now. I
am not brave enough to marry you and have people pointing fingers at me.
I move in the community of doctors and marrying Imama Hashim will mean
reopening the scandal that rocked the medical community eight years ago.
If I marry you I will have to avoid everyone. Where were you all these
years? How did you live? These are pertinent questions. My parents will
not believe what you say and I have my reputation to safeguard. You may
be a very nice girl but you have a sullied reputation. I cannot marry a girl
with a tarnished reputation. I will not have people say my wife is a woman
of ill repute. I am sorry Imama I hope you can understand my position.‘
The coffee in the cup had turned cold. There was no more smoke
through which she could view Jalal Ansar‘s face, yet his face was clouded
as if behind a smokescreen; or perhaps it was her eyes misting over that
caused Jalal Ansar‘s face to cloud over and disappear. Holding the arm
rests with both hands Imama forced herself to get up. ‗Yes, I understand.
Goodbye‘ she said leaving the room.
‗I am sorry Imama…‘ Jalal was trying to apologize. Without looking at
him Imama left the room.
It was past seven in the evening. Darkness had fallen. The street lights
were on and neon signs flashed their advertisements. The traffic on the
street was heavy. This was a street that had clinics and hospitals on both
sides. She recalled the time when she had hoped to have her own clinic on
this road; to have her name precede her qualifications on hospital boards—
like Jalal Ansar‘s; like so many others on this road. All was possible; all had
been possible, all was within her grip had she not left her house eight years
ago.
For long she stood outside the hospital watching the flowing traffic, her
mind a blank. She could not think clearly; what should be her next step?
She turned around to face the hospital again. She saw the flashing neon
sign advertising Dr Jalal Ansar‘s name in the centre of the building‘s
facade.
‗You may be a very nice girl but you have a sullied reputation.‘ Jalal‘s
words rang in her ears.
For the first time she realized that she had lived her life in an illusion. Her
love for Jalal had been one-sided. Jalal had never loved her—not eight and
a half years ago, not now. He had needed her, he had needed all the things
she could have given him—her family background, the position and
influence her family had in society, the connections, and the wealth— all he would have achieved overnight had he been able to marry her. In one leap
he would have crossed the borders to mingle with the elite in the city. And
she…she had been living with the illusion that he was in love with her. She
did not expect him to cast aspersions on her character. She was so sure
that he would believe that whatever she did, she would not choose the
wrong path; but again she was wrong in her assumption. For him she was
a girl with a sullied reputation, one for whom he had no words to defend her
in front of his family and friends.
When she left her home eight and a half years ago she knew that people
would cast aspersions on her character. She knew she was choosing a
path that would be thorn-strewn, that would be full of poisonous tongues
and sarcastic looks but she had never imagined that Jalal Ansar would
have been one of those accusing her. She would not defend herself before
Jalal Ansar or present proof of her innocence. How could she? His words
had for the first time in eight and a half years truthfully turned her into an
outcast. He had thrown her out onto the burning sands of the desert.
‗So this is what you are Imama Hashim. A stigmatized woman of ill
repute. What illusions did you have of yourself?‘
Slowly she began to walk down the road reading each hoarding, each
neon sign. She knew many of the names here. Some were her class
mates, others her juniors, and some her seniors. And where was she?
Nowhere!
‗Wait and see Imama what will become of you. You will get nothing; you
will gain naught,‘ her father, Hashim Mubeen, had warned her. She felt
tears carousing down her cheeks. The bright lights were beginning to hurt
her eyes. Jalal Ansar was not a bad man, but he was not she had thought
him to be. He was not that which had attracted him to her. What an illusion
she had been living in despite the fact that she had her eyes opened wide.
He had a materialistic outlook, completely materialistic. But this was the
first time she had realized it. He was not a bad man; that was simply his
outlook and he lived by those rules. Today he had just exposed his outlook
to her. For the first time since she left her home had she faced such
humiliation and mortification—and that too from the one she had idealized.
And what was she in the eyes of that model of perfection? A girl who had
fled from home…a woman of ill repute!
It was a flood of tears that was pouring from her eyes and that flood was
washing everything away. Everything… severely she rubbed her eyes dry
with her hands and then wiped her tear-drenched face with the end of her
chador. She hailed a passing rickshaw and got in.
Saeeda Amma opened the door; she ducked in quickly so that Saeeda Amma should not see her tear-stained face.
‗Where were you Imama? It is so late. I have been worried. I was just
about to go next door to ask the neighbour‘s boy to go to your office and
find your whereabouts,‘ Saeeda Amma said shutting the door and following
her to her room.
‗No where Amma. There was work at the office and so I got delayed.‘
Imama replied without looking back.
‗You have never been late at the office before so what happened today
that makes you come home so late in the night. What was the work that
delayed you so late in the night?‘ Saeeda Amma was not satisfied with
Imama‘s explanation.
‗What can I say to that, Amma? I‘ll be careful not to be so late again,‘
Imama replied still keeping her face averted. She moved towards her room.
‗Should I heat the food or do you want to eat later?‘
‗I don‘t wish to eat now, Amma. I have a headache; I want to sleep for a
while.
‗Why is your head hurting? Saeeda Amma followed her into the room
really worried now. ‗Shall I get you some medicine? Or make you some
tea?‘
‗Amma! Please let me sleep. I don‘t need anything; if I do I will ask you
for it.‘ Imama did have a splitting headache by now.
Saeeda Amma finally realized her concern was only causing Imama
more trauma. ‗Very well; you rest then,‘ she said as she turned to leave.
Without switching on the light, Imama shut the door to her room. Pulling
the blanket on her she lay down on her bed and covered her eyes with the
crook of her arm. She wanted to sleep. She did not wish to recall her
conversation with Jalal Ansar, nor did she wish to think of ought else. She
did not want to cry. She did not want to think about her future prospects.
She only wanted to sleep.
Her wish was granted. She did not know when or how but soon she was
in a deep sleep.
===========================