A Pair of Jeans and other stories (8 page)

She kept a low profile as she crossed the courtyard, drawing her clothes around her body. She let her long linen shawl drape down to her ankles, in an attempt to cover the wetness of her
shalwar
.

In the bathroom, her hand trembled as she worked on the string,
nallah
, holding the
shalwar
in place around her waist. Once opened, she glanced down at her body, her heart full of dread and expectations.

She closed her eyes, feeling faint. It was what she had feared. She leaned against the tiled wall and shower head. What did one do in this sort of situation? Go and squat on the toilet bowl or go and lie down. She found the former option distasteful. If she went to lie down, she would draw attention to herself. She didn’t relish that. They would ask as to what was the matter with her. Oh God, above all, she couldn’t let her mother-in-law find out.

For a few minutes, she stood against the bathroom wall with her eyes closed, and her heartbeat accelerating by the minute. She didn’t want to spell out the words in her mind - that she was losing the baby. It couldn’t be! God couldn’t be so unjust! Then she remembered the guests.

She washed herself, and changing into different clothes, she returned to the kitchen to finish making the remaining
chapattis
. She then whispered into Kaniz’s ear that she was tired and wanted to lie down.

“Of course, my dear, go and lie down. You should have told me earlier, Faiza darling.” Kaniz looked at Faiza indulgently. The look cut Faiza to her soul. Oh God she doesn’t know and she wants the baby so much. Please God help us.

Quietly Faiza slid away to her room and lay down, not bothering to change. Putting on an old sheet on the bed, and an extra layer of quilt padding in the middle, Faiza lay and waited. She was still getting wet.

Her husband, Ali, having returned from a visit to the city, came to visit her. She pretended to be asleep. He went away and returned later and lay on the single bed in the room and went to sleep, having switched off the light.

Through the window she saw the stars in the sky. Three of the guests had wanted to sleep in the courtyard in the open on
charpoys
, wooden cane beds, especially as it was so warm. One elder gentleman was still puffing away at the
hookah
, its base still making a gurgling noise in the silence of the night, as he half reclined on the
charpoy
. The other, in the nearby
charpoy
, was snoring away.

Faiza tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. Then at about three o’clock in the night, her abdomen wall seemed to somersault into action as she felt a strong spasm of pain. Before she knew it she had let out a high-pitched scream. It broke through the silence of the night awakening everybody with a start.

She clamped her hand on her mouth, but it was too late. Lights were switched on everywhere, and the shuffling of feet could be heard. The first person to appear at her bedside was her husband, and then came her mother-in-law, standing near the bed, shock and concern mirrored all over her face. Her father-in-law switched on the light. They stared at her sweat-beaded face and her bent body.

“Are you alright, my dear? What is the matter?” Kaniz’s voice shook with fear.

Faiza shook her head and pointed to her lower body.

Kaniz’s eyes widened in shock and horror, her mouth dropping open. She shook her head from side to side, one hand held against her chest. Then collecting her wits about her, she gestured to her husband and son to leave the room. After they had gone, Kaniz stared pointedly at Faiza’s pain-racked face.

Gingerly, and with trepidation, Kaniz lifted the quilt off Faiza and glanced down at her body. Then she dropped it as if it had burnt her. She stepped back in horror and shock, with one hand clasping the back of her head and the other at her throat. Then before her eyes, Faiza bent double with pain, and she let out another scream.

Through clenched teeth, Kaniz called her son to go and call the
dhai
, the village midwife.

She perched herself on one corner of the bed and rocked herself back and forth as if in a trance. Then she came to herself. She reached out to Faiza, and gently massaged her head and shoulders to soothe her.

Rocking Faiza’s body against her own, Kaniz began to cry, as the reality of the situation dawned on her afresh. All her hopes, wishes gone to the clouds. There would be no grandchild. The ache in her heart was devastating and unbearable. Faiza too began to cry. Not so much for the baby and herself, but for her mother-in-law’s sense of loss.

When the midwife arrived, Faiza lay in Kaniz’s arms, her eyes closed, her body weakened by the contractions of her womb. Birkat Bibi, the midwife, began to work quickly, apologising to Kaniz and expressing her sorrow at this misfortune. Normally she found her role as the local midwife very rewarding, particularly when she delivered healthy, bouncing boys. It meant that her own payment would be topped up by lots of other presents, and she would be personally congratulated on her work. On occasions like this, however, she kept a very low profile, and felt guilty for receiving any payment for the help, care and treatment, that she gave to the woman miscarrying or delivering. She felt very sad for this mishap. Like everybody else in the village, Birkat Bibi knew how important this baby had been for the family.

Having seen to everything, and with Faiza refreshed, washed, and resting in another bed Birkat Bibi accepted some tea and biscuits. It was then that she asked Kaniz, what had happened and had she any idea why Faiza had lost her baby?

Kaniz had been hovering in the room, lost in her sorrow. At Birkat Bibi’s words, her head shot up. She was struck by pain, like a bolt of thunder.

“That
charail
, that witch, Salma! She’s been after Faiza, since the day she learnt of my Faiza’s pregnancy.”

“What? Which Salma, Kaniz dear?”

“Salma, the baker’s daughter, who still lives with her parents”, Kaniz spat out. “She has miscarried three times, as you well know, in the last two years. You have seen to her, haven’t you? She has not left my Faiza alone. Just yesterday she was here and actually embracing Faiza. Can you believe it Birkat Bibi? Everything in this house is soaked in her
perchanvah
.”

The midwife tactfully kept silent. She knew what Salma’s problem was. She was the one who had suggested that she see a gynaecologist in the city. At the same time, she knew all about some women’s beliefs and superstitions. She, herself, didn’t believe them. As she had to work with these women and to provide a service for them and was often generously financially rewarded by them, it wasn’t in her interest, therefore, to argue with them. She often found herself irked by her pandering to their whims and superstitious by her silence and geniality. As a midwife and nurse, her creditability would be in question if she started to imbibe and perpetuate some of the women’s beliefs.

She felt sorry for Salma, knowing that she had been made the scapegoat for this miscarriage. She had already found out why Faiza had miscarried, by asking her whether she’d fallen. Faiza had told her but had pleaded with her not to tell her mother-in-law. Thus Birkat Bibi maintained her silence. She left soon after saying she would return in the morning to see Faiza.

For the rest of the night Kaniz sat in vigil near Faiza’s bed. Her eyes full of anger and pathos. When her husband came into the room in the morning, having said his morning prayers in the mosque, she gave him a crooked bitter laugh.

“You thought I was crazy. That it was only old women’s tales. See what has happened in this house. We’ve lost a grandchild within one day, since
that
woman has been in our house. You think that I spout nonsense. You ridiculed me and my rituals. I suppose you are going to say it was all a matter of coincidence. Isn’t it strange that our healthy daughter-in-law suddenly miscarries the very next day after embracing a woman with a
perchanvah
. You think I talk nonsense, Javed-ji.” She raised her voice as she said his name.

He didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. He was very bemused by the event. There was nothing to ridicule. Just a sense of utter disbelief. He didn’t believe his wife, but on the other hand, it was all so strange. Were these women, after all, right about amulets,
tweez
and so on. He shook his head sorrowfully and left the room.

The guests, of course, though they didn’t discuss the matter openly, knew what had happened in the middle of the night. They had come to spend a few pleasant days in Javed Salman’s house. Now a cloud of doom seemed to have enveloped the household. Everybody sat around the courtyard in hushed silence; the only sound audible was that of the black crows from the tree in the courtyard.

By nine o’clock, after supervising the breakfast prepared by the woman helper for the guests, Kaniz couldn’t wait any longer. She put on her outdoor
chador
, and left the house. She collected her best friend, Neelum, and made her way straight to Salma’s house.

In Salma’s house, her mother, Zeinab, was clearing away the dishes in the
bavarchkhana
, the kitchen, while she was sweeping the veranda floor with a
boker
, a broomstick. They were suddenly disturbed by the thudding sound of the outside door. Mother and daughter exchanged surprised glances, thinking who could it be at this time of the morning. The postman had already been.

Zeinab went to open the door, with the words of greeting “
Bismillah
” on her lips, as she let the two visitors in. She was taken aback by Kaniz’s whole manner and the expression on her face, as she stood tall and erect in the middle of the courtyard, her whole body seemed tense, as if ready to spring.

“
Khair Hey,
Sister Kaniz? Is everything alright?” She asked.

“No, everything is not alright!” Kaniz exploded, taking advantage of the cue offered by Zeinab’s question. “Our Faiza miscarried last night”, she said, pinning her full gaze on Salma.

“Oh, I am sorry, Sister Kaniz. Oh I am!” Like everyone else, she knew how precious the baby was for Kaniz’s family.

“So you should be, Zeinab.” She deliberately omitted to say the complementary word: Sister. The omission was not lost on the others. “Your daughter has been after my Faiza since the day she conceived. Just because she keeps miscarrying herself - she made sure that Faiza couldn’t have a healthy baby too.”

“Hang on, Sister Kaniz. This is utter nonsense. What has my Salma got to do with Faiza’s miscarriage? Miscarriages are a medical, physiological matter. In Faiza’s case to do with her body and not my daughter. I have tolerated your superstitious ways and whims about
perchanvah
and
chillah
, but this is ridiculous. It goes beyond the pale of reasoning and rationality.” Zeinab ended, with her cheeks red with anger.

“Huh, Sister Neelum, listen to this woman. She thinks it is nothing to do with her daughter. Don’t you think that it is a great coincidence that I saw Salma in my own home, embracing the life out of Faiza, and the very next day my daughter-in-law loses her baby? I suppose you think that I imagined all that? Didn’t you go to our house yesterday, Salma?” Kaniz turned once again to Salma, who was standing awkwardly near one of the pillars supporting the veranda, her mouth dry.

“Did you, Salma?” Her mother asked, her voice coming out in a screech.

“Yes, Mother.” Salma’s voice came out low; she was utterly distressed by the whole affair.

“You see! If I were you I would keep your
namoush
daughter under lock and key, until the right amount of time has expired. Rather than letting her go gadding about and spreading her
perchanvah
, shadow on healthy pregnant women.” And so saying, she swished her
chador
shawl over her head and shoulders and made a dramatic departure, with her friend, Neelum, following in embarrassed silence.

For a few seconds, mother and daughter stood on the spot as if turned to stone; overcome by the cruelty of Kaniz’s remarks and accusations. At last, Zeinab sat down on the
charpoy
and looked at her daughter, who seemed to have shrunk against the pillar. Zeinab was angry with her daughter, but also distressed on her behalf, knowing what she must be feeling.

“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 some of these village women do. They have imbibed the concepts and beliefs right to their souls. No amount of argument or reasoning will persuade them otherwise – least of all Kaniz. Why did you go yesterday? And why, of all things, did you have to go and embrace Faiza? You have just played into Kaniz’s hands.”

“It wasn’t me, Mother, it was Faiza. She embraced me, when I told her about me seeing the doctor and that everything was now going to be alright. It had nothing to do with me, Mother. She fell yesterday, right before my very eyes.

“What? Why didn’t you tell Kaniz?”

“I was too shocked and horrified to tell her. I am sure that Faiza hasn’t told her.”

“But this is an outrage!” Zeinab shot up from the
charpoy
. “
Allah Pak
, that woman is going around spreading rumours that you have caused her daughter-in-law to miscarry, when it was her fall that did it. I’ll not let her get away with it. Come on Salma, get your
chador
. She will not victimise you any more, or make you a scapegoat. I’ll see to it.”

“Where are we going, Mother?” Salma’s eyes mirrored her horror, her lips quivering in distress. She didn’t want to be drawn into the unsavoury limelight any further.

“We are going to Kaniz’s house to sort out this matter once and for all.”

A few minutes later, the mother and daughter left for Kaniz’s home. Zeinab’s wiry body was erect in anger, whereas Salma, since learning of the miscarriage, had lost all confidence in herself. She recalled Kaniz’s vindictive word
namous
, evil, as she had called her. Perhaps she was. Perhaps if she hadn’t gone to see Faiza, she might not have slipped and thus lost the baby. Perhaps there was something after all in the concept of
perchanvah
. Perhaps it did affect women. How could her mother persuade the woman to believe otherwise?