The Holy Woman (44 page)

‘Well, she came and went on her knees and begged for your mother’s forgiveness. Oh, it was quite an act. You missed a treat, Khawar. Anyway, my sister has forgiven her and is now thrilled and ready to have her here in this home as your wife. Do you know what your mother said? She said that Firdaus was your fate and that she holds your destiny in her hands.’

‘I see. It looks as if my mother is indeed a changed woman,’ the young man said thoughtfully. ‘Well then, if she desires it so much, who am I to refuse? If her heart is bent on Firdaus, I will have to start battering on my own, I am afraid.’ He laughed. ‘To wake it up!’ He patted his chest with one hand.

‘Huh. Your heart was wide awake already,’ Sabra teased him. ‘What do you take me for? It was all a pretence anyway.’

‘No, Auntie. It wasn’t a pretence. My anger allowed me to forget her. I am still angry with her, but if that madam wants a proposal, we’ll see what we can do.’

There was a sparkle in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He also looked much more relaxed. Sabra was
happy for him. Just as he was about to move away, she pulled his head down and kissed him on his forehead and cheeks.

‘We will not let you go until there is a bride in this house, Aunt,’ he vowed and kissed her on the cheeks in return.

‘I have no intention of going until then,’ she said tartly. ‘But you had better get a move on. I have already been here for over two months. My own family is
getting
restless now. Oh Khawar, I cannot wait for your wedding. This home will be happy once again, at long long last.’

‘What about Aunt Fatima?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Oh, don’t worry about her. Your mother and she are getting on like a house on fire. You will have no thorns in your flesh from any quarters, I promise you my son,’ she ended, letting him go.

She immediately went up to see her sister. Kaniz looked up expectantly at her, feeling nervous all of a sudden.

‘It is all right – he will propose to her. You can relax.’ Sabra gave her a reassuring smile.

‘You are a wonderful sister! I don’t know what I would have done without you. What did he say?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about. He is very happy, and he wants to marry very soon.’

‘Oh Sabra, I am so happy!’ Kaniz stood up and reached to embrace her sister. They remained locked together for a long time. Tears of joy and relief streamed down Kaniz’s cheeks.

‘Thank you for everything, and I thank Allah Pak for giving me this blessing. Do you know what I am going to do before the wedding, Sister Sabra? I am going to hold a big religious gathering, and invite all the village
women to it. We will ask Zarri Bano to lead the special prayers.’

‘I don’t know if she’ll still be here in the village, Sister, I gather she is getting married herself soon. Have you not heard? She will be marrying her late sister’s husband. I have never seen her closely, but they say that she is very beautiful.’

‘Well, my Firdaus is very attractive.’

‘Isn’t she short and dark any more?’ Sabra teased her sister, winking at her.

‘Don’t you dare say that about her! I was just being catty and vindictive then. Her colouring is good, she is almost as fair as you and me, and her height is that of an average woman. Let anybody comment on that and I will pull out their tongue.’

They both burst out laughing. Later, Kaniz insisted on Sabra going to their large storeroom and looking in their steel cases. There was so much to do and to buy. At least they could see if they had enough rolls of fabric for the engagement presents to be given to Firdaus and her family.

A
WEEK HAD PASSED
since Fatima had visited Kaniz in her
hawaili.
Khawar still had made no effort to get in touch with Firdaus. He kept promising his mother and aunt that he would do it very soon. Firdaus, for her part, waited nervously for news from him every day. By the fifth day she had given up.

‘Well, Mother, I told you, didn’t I?’ she said
cynically
. ‘Chaudharani Kaniz may desire this match, but
the groom obviously doesn’t. If he really wanted to marry me he would have contacted me by now. I find it very humiliating. I told you earlier that he has no intention of marrying me. He has still not forgiven me.’ She was rueful.

‘I doubt it, my dear. Yet I am a little surprised myself. Never mind, give him another day or two, and then I will intervene.’

‘No, Mother. Please – no intervention,’ Firdaus begged.

‘Whatever you wish, my daughter.’ Fatima waved her hand in defeat. Her eldest daughter’s
rishta
had given her more headaches and heartaches than her other two daughters put together. She was sure that she was going to die of palpitations before ever she saw Firdaus’s hands painted with wedding henna patterns.

Next morning, much to the delight of Firdaus’s entire family, a young boy from Kaniz’s
hawaili
came with a message. ‘Master Khawar wishes to talk
privately
with Madam Firdaus, if that is OK with Auntie Fatima and Uncle Fiaz, of course? Would she be so kind as to meet him by the old well, just outside the village, later this afternoon. The well where they used to play as children,’ the boy elaborated.

Firdaus’s first instinct was to refuse. ‘Let him sweat it out. Who does he think he is?’ she told her mother heatedly.

‘Again, I feel duty bound to drill it into you, my headstrong daughter,’ Fatima snapped back, ‘that you are in no position to let him sweat it out, as you say. On the contrary, he is teaching you a lesson. Letting
you
sweat it out. He is calling the shots, my dear,
not
you.’

As much as she would have liked to call his bluff, Firdaus eventually set out for the old well.

It was a bright sunny afternoon and the black crows were merrily cackling away in the trees. Firdaus had dressed herself with care; her sisters had excitedly helped her to choose the colour and pattern of her suit. They also insisted on curling the ends of her
raven-black
hair so that it fell like a heavy bouncy curtain around her shoulders. ‘We want you to sweep Khawar off his feet,’ they teased her.

Draping a
dupatta
casually over her hair and
shoulders
, Firdaus left her home. She walked through the cobbled village lanes, skipping over the pools of water where the stones had gone missing, then she followed the path through the fields towards the old well. She let the
dupatta
fall to her shoulders as the breeze blew it off.

Nobody was around in the fields. The serenity of the surroundings, the greenish-yellow carpet of the rape fields brought a smile to her lips. This was what she had missed in the bustling, polluted city of Hyderabad – the clean fresh air and utter tranquillity.

Under the shade of a mature tree with its gnarled dry roots spread across the path was the old village well. It was now redundant in use, apart from drawing water for the fields using the buffalo plough. In the old days, it was the focus of the village social activity, as women made daily journeys to it from their homes to draw water. Filling their large earthenware pots, they then swung them up in the air to prop them neatly on their heads, and walked back home, gossiping vivaciously amongst themselves.

Brushing down the one-foot thick edge of the well with an old rag lying nearby, Firdaus sat down on it
and peered into the water. It was a long time since she had been to this spot. Her mind flew back to those childhood days when she, Zarri Bano, Ruby, little Jafar and Khawar used to meet and chase each other around the large tree next to the well. A cool breeze flowing through the branches swept her hair in front of her face.

She looked up when she heard the sound of horse’s hooves. Khawar and his white horse were a few yards away. Firdaus turned to look down into the well again, feeling very shy all of a sudden.

‘Meditating, Firdaus?’ Khawar climbed down from his horse and tied it loosely to the tree.

‘No, waiting for you to push me in, as you almost did twelve years ago!’ She resented the fact that he had not smiled at her or issued a pleasant greeting. Just offered two cold words like a douche of icy water from the well in the winter.

He walked over and, picking up the sturdy chain with one hand, he threw the well’s silver bucket down into the water. It fell with a thud, hitting the dark surface. Khawar pulled the bucket out, now filled with water, and with the plastic container left on the flat well edge, he began to rinse his hands and face.

‘Is this your new bathroom? Have you been thrown out of your home?’ Firdaus asked cheekily, letting her eyes scan his face, his hair and neck visible from his shirt collar.

‘As you well know, I have lots of bathrooms, Madam Firdaus, but there is nothing like drawing water from a well. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Village wells and a Madam Principal just don’t go hand in hand together these days, do they?’

Firdaus didn’t miss his personal dig nor his scathing look. ‘Nobody draws water from a well these days,’ she
said steadily. ‘I was brought up in the village, as you well know, but I have never carried a water-jug. They were from our grandmothers’ days. People have showers and running hot water now, even in the village. So don’t try to make me feel guilty, please!’

‘I was just commenting.’ He wiped his face with a large handkerchief, his eyes in turn moving over her face, hair and clothes, noting everything and not
missing
a thing.

‘You must admit, however,’ he continued, ‘that this is an appropriate place for our meeting. You obviously received my message. It isn’t by chance that you are here, is it?’

‘No. I am here because Your Majesty demanded my presence.’

‘And you, Madam Principal, deigned to obey. I am honoured indeed,’ he said with a laugh and sat down on the brick ledge next to her. His eyes flickered over the neat profile of her face – her chin, her nose, her high cheekbones.

‘You know why I wished to see you,’ he stated quietly. His face was now very close and she could almost feel his breath on her face. ‘You requested that I propose to you myself.’

‘Not if you don’t want to!’ Firdaus said stiffly.

‘What do you think I want, Firdaus?’ he asked and waited for her reply, but she had none to give him. ‘Well?’ he prompted her, but still there was no response. ‘The articulate Principal is known to have a sharp tongue – has a snake bitten it out now?’ His voice was thick with laughter.

She turned and smiled, shyness spilling out of her eyes. He looked deep into them and understood. ‘OK! I will spell it out for you, just in case your female
modesty has clamped your tongue, for once. I want you, Firdaus. Just as I have always wanted you for nearly a decade. I wish you to be my wife. You wanted a
personal
proposal, so this is it. Now, what is your answer? Are you going to be churlish and throw it back into my face, just for the sake of revenge?’ he challenged.

‘No, of course not! On the contrary I happily accept, but only if you give me the assurance that it is really what
you
want, and that you have truly forgiven me for what happened recently.’ Colour crept into her cheeks. ‘I am afraid you will be marrying
brass
– is that what you want? Dross in fact.’

‘It is up to you, Firdaus, to prove that you can turn brass into the gold I first had,’ he replied, his face serious.

‘Tell me, Khawar, or my female pride will not let me rest otherwise; are you really marrying me for your mother’s sake or do you personally want to?’

‘You are a very persistent young woman. I thought I had already made myself very plain. Once again I will spell it out to you. No, I will demonstrate it.’ As he spoke, he turned and took her hand in his. ‘Look at me, Firdaus. I want you to marry me. I desire that very much because I love you. The fact that my mother desires it also is an added bonus. Now, have I made myself perfectly clear?’

‘Crystal clear.’ She drew her hand away and stood up. They were not married nor engaged. It wasn’t right to be so physically close. She moved, placing a modest distance between them.

‘What will you do about your job?’ Khawar asked. He needed to know – his happiness rested on her answer.

‘I will give up my job in the city,’ Firdaus answered promptly, her eyes steady before his.

‘I cannot let you do that. I know it is a good job for you,’ he objected.

‘Jobs aren’t everything, Khawar Sahib. Anyway, I would love to return to the village, and if the village school management committee can find me a teaching job here, I’ll be happy enough.’

Khawar laughed. ‘The job of a headmistress is still yours. The other one is only temporary. The village will be so happy to have you back, my dear girl.’

Suddenly Firdaus spotted Baba Siraj Din coming down the path from his cattle byre. Her cheeks grew very warm.

‘Tell your mother she can begin the arrangements. I happily accept.
Khudah Hafiz
! I must go. Baba Siraj Din is here!’ She quickly pulled her
dupatta
over her head, out of respect for the old man. He had never seen her hair all open and draped around her shoulders.
Blushing
she ran off, taking the path leading back to the village.

As Khawar waited for Siraj Din to approach, he untied his horse from the tree.

‘
Assalam-Alaikum,
my son. How are you? That was Firdaus, wasn’t it?’ Siraj Din asked, pointing to her disappearing figure with his walking stick.

‘Yes, indeed it was, Baba Jee.’

Siraj Din had missed nothing. Even from a distance he had seen them sitting and talking together.

‘Am I correct in thinking that now your two families are reconciled, we will soon be hearing some good news concerning you and Firdaus? There is a rumour around the village that your mother is preparing a magnificent wedding for you.’

‘Yes, Baba Jee.
Insha’allah.
With your prayers and blessing, it seems that the feud between my mother and
Auntie Fatima is over. Firdaus and I are getting married –
al-hamdulillah.’

‘
Mubarak,
my son! I am very pleased for you both. Your mother has come a long way. She is to be praised and indeed congratulated. I will visit her. Let me know when the wedding is.’

‘Of course, Baba Jee. We cannot do anything
without
your presence, guidance, and supervision, and of course your blessing and prayers. We have only just started the ball rolling.
Allah Hafiz.
’

Khawar climbed back onto his horse and cantered towards the village.

As Baba Siraj Jee watched him go, his thoughts turned to his own granddaughter, Zarri Bano. He prayed that she would settle down happily with Sikander!