The car was racing down the wide, almost empty road. There was hardly
any traffic. He had his right hand on the steering wheel whilst stifling a
yawn with his left and trying to beat the sleep. On the adjoining seat,
Imama sat quietly crying, of which Salar was aware. From time to time she
would wipe her tears and blow her nose, and continue weeping as she
stared at the road through the wind screen.
Salar, from time to time, glanced at Imama. He did not try to console her.
He thought she would herself settle down but, when even after half an hour
she didn't quieten down, Salar began to tire.
‗If you are so upset at running away from home, you shouldn't have done
so,' Salar said, breaking the silence. Imama did not reply. A little while later,
he suggested ―There is still time: most probably no one has yet noticed
your absence.'
‗I have no regrets,' replied Imama, after some time, in a choked but firm
voice.
‗Then why are you weeping?' he shot back.
‗There's no point in telling you.' she wiped her eyes again. Salar turned
around and looked at her curiously, then turned away again.
‗Where will you go in Lahore?'
‗Don't know.'
Salar was quite surprised by her response. ‗What do you mean? Don't you
know where you're going?'
‗Not now…'
‗Then why are you going to Lahore?'
‗Where else can I go?'
‗You may as well have stayed in Islamabad.'
‗Where in Islamabad? With whom?'
‗There's no one in Lahore either who could put you up permanently…other
than Jalal.' Salar stressed the last three words and tried to see her
reaction. ‗So you're going to him,' he said in a cutting tone.
‗No. Jalal is out of my life. How could I go to him?' Salar couldn't fathom if
there was more disappointment in her tone or more sadness.
‗Then where will you go?' He was intrigued.
‗That I can say only when I reach Lahore—where I go and to whose place.'
Salar looked at her doubtfully: did she really not know or did she not want
to tell him? There was silence in the car once again.
‗Your fiancé—what's his name? Oh yes, Asjad—he's a very nice person,
very handsome,' Salar broke the silence again. ‗And this other fellow, Jalal is nothing compared to Asjad. Haven't you been unfair with Asjad?'
Imama did not reply, but stared at the road ahead. Salar turned towards her
awaiting her response, and then realized that she did not want to reply.
‗I haven't been able to understand you…or what you're doing. Your actions
are weird and you're even more so,' he said after a pause. This time,
Imama turned to look at him.
‗Am I stranger than you and are my actions stranger than yours?' Imama
spoke in a soft but firm tone. Her words left Salar speechless.
‗What's strange about me and which action of mine did you find odd?' he
asked after a spell of silence.
‗You know which actions were strange,' she replied looking straight ahead.
‗You're referring to my suicide attempts, surely.' He answered his own
question. ‗Although I do not want to kill myself, I'm only trying to—I'm just
experimenting.'
‗What sort of experiment?'
‗I've always asked people this question but no one has been able to give
me a satisfactory answer. So I'm trying to find the answer myself,' he
continued.
‗What is your question?'
‗A very simple question, but everyone finds it hard to answer. What is next
to ecstasy?' he asked Imama.
She looked at him for a while, then said, ‗Pain.'
‗And what is next to pain?' he shot another question at her.
‗Nothingness.'
‗What is next to nothingness?' he asked in his typical style.
‗Hell,' she replied.
‗What is next to hell?' Imama watched him in silence. ‗What is next to hell?'
he repeated.
‗Aren't you afraid?' He heard her query in an unfamiliar tone.
‗Afraid of what?' he was surprised.
‗Of hell—the place which has nothing ahead…everything is left behind.
What remains after being condemned and destroyed that is worth your
knowing?' she asked sadly.
‗I fail to understand your argument—it's gone over my head,' Salar
declared.
‗Don't worry: there'll come a time when all this will make sense to you.
Then your laughter will end to be replaced by fear—fear of death, of hell
too. Allah will make it all clear to you…and you'll never ask anyone what is
next to ecstasy,' Imama said with composure. ‗Is this your prophecy?' Salar responded sarcastically to her remarks.
‗No,' she retorted in the same tone.
‗Experiment? Yes, I suppose so, because you too have tried to end your
life. I did it my way and you've done it in your way,' he said coldly.
Imama's eyes filled with tears again. She looked at Salar. ‗I've not done
anything to end my life.'
‗To leave home for any man is tantamount to suicide for a woman and that
too for someone who is not ready to wed her. Look here, I'm a broad-
minded, very liberal man, and don't see anything wrong with a girl running
away from home for a civil marriage with a man of her choice—but at least
the man should stand by her. To leave home for a married man…tsk, tsk! I
can't figure that and that too at your age—it's utter stupidity.'
‗I haven't left home for any man.'
‗Jalal Ansar,' he reminded her.
‗I haven't run away because of him!' she shouted suddenly. Salar's foot hit
the brake as he looked at her in amazement.
‗Why are you screaming at me? There's no need for it,' he admonished as
she sat looking out of the window.
‗You know, this religious theory or philosophy or point you've made—
whatever it is, I don't get it! What difference does it make if anyone follows
another prophet? There's more to life than these silly arguments—fighting
over religion, faith and sects—what rubbish!'
Imama gave him an angry glance. ‗It's not necessary that things which are
meaningless for you should be so for others. I do not want to continue with
the religion I was born into, or to marry a man from the same faith. It's my
right to do what I want. I don't want to argue with you over things that are
beyond you so don't make any comments on these matters.'
‗I have a right to say what I want: freedom of expression,' Salar shrugged.
Imama's response was to stare silently out of the window.
Salar drove on without a word, but a little later he broke the silence and
returned to his topic. ‗This Jalal Ansar…I was talking about him. What's so
special about him?' he glanced at Imama who looked straight ahead.
‗He's no match for you. He's not at all good-looking and you're a beautiful
girl—I'm amazed at your interest in him. Is he very intelligent?' he asked
her.
She was surprised. ‗Intelligent? What do you mean?'
‗See, people are attracted by one's looks, but I don't think it was his looks
that attracted you or his family background. I don't know about his social or
financial status, but I know that you have a very sound family background
so you could not have been attracted to him on that score. The only thing that remains is a person's intellect, his capability…so is he very intelligent?
Brilliant and outstanding?'
‗No,' she murmured.
Salar was quite disappointed. ‗Then what was it that drew you to him?'
She continued to gaze at the road ahead, lit up by the car's headlights.
Salar did not repeat his question; he just shrugged it off, focusing on his
driving. There was silence between them.
‗He used to recite naats very well,' she spoke under her breath, as if to
herself, after a while. Salar had heard her but it seemed unbelievable.
‗What?' He wanted confirmation.
‗He recited naats very well.' This time Imama's voice was louder.
‗Just for his voice…is he a singer?'
‗No. he recites only naats, and very beautifully.'
Salar laughed. ‗So you fell in love with him just for that! I can't believe it.'
Imama looked at him. ‗Then don't—who needs your conviction?' she said
brusquely. There was silence again.
‗Let's accept that it was his style of reciting naats that affected you so
deeply that you went to such lengths, but it's very impractical. It's right out
of a Barbara Cartland romance whereas you are a medical student with a
mature mind,' he said somewhat unkindly.
Imama looked at him again. ‗I'm very mature—to mature, and in the last
three or four years no one can claim to have considered things as
practically as I've done.'
‗I reserve my comments. Possibly my being practical is quite different from
your view of practicality. Anyway, I was talking about Jalal, what you said
about his naat recitals.'
‗Some things are beyond one's control…I have none either.' Her tone
reflected defeat.
‗I don't agree with you—everything is within our power; at least we can
control our feelings, our emotions and actions. We know when and why we
develop feelings for someone; and these emotions do not grow unless we
let it happen knowingly. Therefore I cannot accept that we have no control.'
While talking, he turned to look at Imama and was aware that she was not
listening. She was staring, unblinking, at the windscreen or the scene
ahead. She was somewhere far away, he couldn't say where. She looked
abnormal to him. After driving in silence for a fairly long time, Salar
addressed her again.
‗Besides reciting naats, what other qualities does he have?' His rather loud
tone startled her. He repeated his question.
‗All those qualities that should be present in a good human being, a good Muslim.'
‗Such as?' Salar raised his eyebrows.
‗And even if he had no other qualities, I would still prefer him over other
men because he has such adoration for the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH)
that this alone would have been enough for me.'
Salar smiled quizzically. ‗What logic! I can really not understand such an
argument.' He shook his head in disbelief.
‗Will you marry of your own choice or your parents' choice?' Imama's
sudden query took him by surprise.
‗My choice, of course! Parents's choice does not prevail in this day and
age,' he said nonchalantly.
‗You too will fall for some quality in the girl you choose to marry, or you'll
develop some understanding with her, won't you?'
‗Definitely.'
‗That's just what I am doing. It's a question of one's priorities—you'll marry
for the reasons you listed; I too wanted to marry Jalal Ansar for a similar
reason.' She paused. ‗It was my wish to marry someone who loved the
Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) more than me. Jalal was such a person and I
felt he was the one I should marry. But, as I told you, some things are
beyond one's control—there are some desires that one cannot be rid of…'
She shook her head sadly as she spoke.
‗And now that he is married, what is your plan?'
‗I don't know…'
‗I'll tell you what—find yourself another naat reciter and marry him,' he
laughed, mocking her. Imama stared at Salar: he was insensitive to the
point of cruelty.
‗Why are you looking at me this way? I was just joking.' He had stifled his
laughter. Imama looked away without a word.
‗Your father beat you?' Salar resumed the conversation after a while.
‗Who told you?' she asked without looking at him.
‗The maid,' he replied calmly. ‗The woman thought you had refused
marriage because of me so she conveyed your ―pitiable condition‖ in her
most melodramatic style. Did your father beat you?'
‗Yes.' She registered no reaction.
‗Why?'
‗I didn't ask him…perhaps he was angry, that's why.'
‗Why did you let him beat you?'
Imama turned around. ‗Because he's my father, he has the right to raise his
hand on me.' Salar looked at her in surprise. ‗Anyone else in his place
would have done the same thing in this situation. I did not mind it,' she said in an even tone.
‗If he has the right to hit you, he also has the right to marry you where he
wishes. Then why are you making such a fuss about this?' His tone was
sharp.
‗As long as it was to a Muslim, I would have married wherever he wished.'
‗Even if it weren't to Jalal Ansar?' he quizzed.
‗Yes…as if I'm married to him now.' Her eyes seemed to be moist again.
‗Then you should have told him.'
‗Of course, I did—you think I didn't?'
‗I'm really amazed by one thing: why did you decide to approach me for
help? In fact, how did you do this, considering that you actually disliked
me?'
‗I had no other option beside you,' she said quietly, pausing between
sentences. ‗None of my friends were in a position to help me the way a
man could. Other than Asjad, you and Jalal were the only men I knew, and
you were the closest whom I could have contacted immediately—so I did.'
‗You were convinced that I'd help you?'
‗No; I took a risk. How could I be sure of your help? As I said, I had no
choice.'
‗So you're saying that you were ready to exploit a situation to suit your
purpose?'
This comment summed up Salar's reaction and Imama was cornered into
silence. He was an expert at driving home a point, but he was not wrong in
saying so to her face.
‗Very interesting.' He was quite pleased with his observation. ‗I want to stop the car here for a while.' Salar looked at the dingy hotel and
gas station by the roadside. ‗I need to get the tyres checked. There's no
spare tyre in this car and a flat tyre would mean a real problem.'
Imama nodded. He pulled his car into the gas station. From some distant
mosque the call for fajr prayers came across. Except for the couple of hotel
staff, there was no one else around. Seeing the car drive in, one of the
workers came out; perhaps he had heard the car. Salar opened the door
and stepped out.
Imama leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes for a while. The
azaan became louder: she looked around and then alighted from the car.
Hearing the door open, Salar turned around.
‗How long will we stop here?' she asked him. ‗Ten or fifteen minutes… I need to get the engine checked too.'
‗I want to say my prayers; I need to perform the wuzu,' she said.
Before Salar could reply, the man said, ‗Baji, there's water in this drum if
you want it for wuzu.'
‗And where will she pray?' Salar inquired of the man.
‗In that room there—I'll get her a prayer rug. Let me do that before I check
the engine for you,' he said as he went towards the room.
Salar saw Imama move towards the drum and stand there looking
somewhat puzzled. Involuntarily, he approached her. The water was in a
large barrel that was once used once for road tar; it had a cover on it.
‗How can I get water from this?' Imama turned at the sound of footsteps
behind her. Salar looked around and seeing an empty pail, he brought it.
‗I think they use this to get the water,' he said as he dipped the pail in and
filled it up for her. ‗Let me help you,' he said. Imama looked somewhat
uncomfortable at first; then she rolled up the sleeves of her pullover and
taking off her watch, held it out to Salar, and squatted on her feet. As Salar
poured some water on her outstretched hands, she shuddered as if a
current had hit her and drew them back.
‗What's the matter?' he was taken aback.
‗Nothing—the water's very cold. But pour it, please.' She held out her
hands. Salar began to pour the water as she performed the ablutions. For
the first time, he saw her arms up to her elbows; for a while, he could not
take his eyes off her wrists and then he shifted his gaze to her face.
Without removing her chadar, she very carefully cleansed her hair, her ears
and throat, and Salar's eyes followed the movements of her hands. He
discovered for the first time too the gold chain swinging from her neck and
the pearl pendant on it. Every time Salar had seen her she had been
covered in a chadar—the colors would be different but she always wore it
in the same style. He had never thought about her shape, her figure.
‗I'll pour water on my feet myself.' She stood up and took the pail, now
nearly empty, from Salar. He moved back a few paces and watched her,
fascinated. His fascination came to an end when she had completed her
wuzu; he held out her watch.
They walked to the room indicated by the man. He had already spread out
the prayer mat in a corner. Imama moved forward quietly. There were a few
chairs and a small stool also in the room. Salar could not immediately
comprehend the use of this room; then he moved to the window-like
counter at the other end.
‗Get us two cups of tea,' he told a boy there who nodded obediently and
proceeded to light a stove. Salar then returned to the room. Imama had begun her prayers. He sat down on a chair and, stretching his legs to the
table across, he watched her pray. He thought that, considering her
predicament, she would collapse into tears in supplication—it was but
expected. But, to his disappointment, she did nothing of the sort. Hands
raised, she prayed quietly for a while, and then passing her hands over her
face, she stood up. Salar drew a deep breath and looked away.
about 6 months ago
Umera Ahmed Official
As soon as they entered the precincts of Lahore, Imama said, ‗You can
drop me off at any bus stand now; I'll make my own way.'
‗I'll drop you wherever you want to go. Waiting in this fog for any transport
will take a long time.'
The roads were quite deserted at this time in the early morning hour and
fog engulfed everything.
‗I have no idea where I'll be going, so how can I give you any directions? I
think I'll go to the hostel now, and then…'
Salar interrupted. ‗Then I'll take you to the hostel.' There was silence
between them as he headed towards the hostel.
At some distance from the building, Imama said, ‗Stop here; I'll walk over. I
don't want to be seen going there with you.' Salar stopped the car.
‗In the last few weeks, you have been extremely helpful towards me: I want
to thank you: if it weren't for you, I wouldn't be here now.' She continued
after a pause. ‗I still have your mobile with me—I'll need it for a while, but
I'll send it to you later.'
‗No need for that; you can keep it.'
‗I'll contact you after a few days; you can send me the divorce papers then.'
She added, ‗I hope you will not divulge anything to my parents.'
‗Need you say that?' His eyebrows went up. ‗If I wanted to, I'd have told
them long ago,' he said indifferently. ‗You had a very poor opinion of me—
do you still think in the same terms, or has your opinion changed?' Salar
suddenly asked with a knowing smile. ‗Don't you believe that I'm really a
very nice person?'
‗It's possible,' she uttered softly.
‗It's possible?' Her response shocked Salar. He gave a doubtful smile.
‗Even now, you say it's possible. You are really ungrateful, Imama—I've
done all that for you which no young man would be ready to do, and yet
you are not willing to admit any goodness about me.'
‗I'm not ungrateful. I accept that you have done me many favors and that
anyone else in your place would not have obliged…'
‗So that means I am good, right?' he interjected. She did not reply, but kept looking at him.
‗No. I know that's what you want to say; although an eastern woman's
silence is assent, they say, but your silence means refusal. I'm right, am I
not?'
‗We're getting into a pointless argument.'
‗Possibly,' he shrugged. ‗But I'm surprised that you…'
This time, Imama cut him short. ‗You have certainly done a lot for me, and
if I did not know you, I'd certainly believe you to be a very good human
being and even say so. But—I know you well so I cannot say you're a good
person.' She stopped. Salar stared at her steadily. ‗A person who attempts
suicide, who drinks alcohol, who has plastered his room with pictures of
nude women cannot be good.' She spoke bluntly.
‗If you had gone to a man who did none of these three things but did not
help you either, would he be good in your eyes?' Salar spoke angrily. ‗Like
Jalal Ansar?'
Imama's expression changed. ‗Yes. He did not help me but that doesn't
make him bad. He's a good man...I still consider him good.'
‗And I helped you, I married you, and certainly in your opinion, I am still a
very bad person?' He smiled sardonically as he said this. ‗What do you
think about yourself, Imama—that you're a very good girl?'
His tone was acerbic and, without waiting for her response, he continued. ‗I
don't think you're a very good person: you ran away from home for another
man…you deceived your fiancé…you ruined your family's honor.' He was
speaking without thinking of consideration and courtesy.
There was a hint of tears in her eyes. ‗You're right. I am not good, and I
have yet to hear this from many others. I could give you a lengthy
explanation but there's no point in doing so, as you can't appreciate these
things.'
‗Suppose I had taken you somewhere else instead of bringing you down to
Lahore, then? But I brought you here safely; do you realize what a favor
I've done you?'
Imama looked at him and said, ‗I was certain that you would bring me here,
that you would not take me anywhere else.'
‗You believed in me? Why? I'm a bad person, remember?' Salar chuckled.
‗I didn't believe in you—I believed in God.' Salar frowned at her words. ‗I
gave up everything for God and His Prophet (PBUH). It could never be that
I would be left helpless at the mercy of someone like you.'
‗Suppose it had happened,' he insisted.
‗Why should I presume something that did not happen?' She was equally
insistent. ‗That's to say that you don't give me any credit whatsoever?' he taunted
her. ‗What if I do not let you go now? What then? The car doors won't open
unless I unlock them, you know that; what will you do?'
She fixed her gaze on him. He went on. ‗Or I do this,' he said and picking
up the cell phone on the dashboard began to key in the numbers. ‗I call up
your home.' He waved the phone before her—her number flashed on the
screen.
‗I tell them where you are and with whom, and then I take you straight to
the police station and hand you over—what of your trust and belief then?'
He mocked her.
Imama watched him without a word. Salar felt very pleased with himself.
He switched off the phone and showed her the screen.
‗Do you see what a favor I have done you by not doing what I could have
done?' he asked, replacing the instrument on the dashboard. ‗Although you
were utterly helpless, last night, I could have taken you somewhere else—
what would you have done then?'
‗I'd have shot you.' she spoke one word at a time.
He laughed in her face. ‗Done what? ―I'd have shot you‖,' he mimicked her
as laughed hilariously, his hands on the steering wheel. ‗Have you eve
seen a pistol in your life?' he mocked her.
He saw her reach for her feet. ‗I think this is what they call a pistol.'
The smile was erased off his face. In Imama's hand was a small and costly
ladies' pistol. Seeing her grip on the weapon, he realized that she was no
amateur. He looked at her uncertainly.
‗You could have shot me?'
‗Yes, I could, but I didn't do so because you did not deceive me in any
way.' Her tone was composed, firm. She had not pointed the weapon at
Salar, but kept holding on to it.
‗The car's lock…' She did not say anything further. Salar unlocked the
doors. She placed the pistol in her handbag. There was no more
conversation between them; opening the door, Imama stepped out. Salar
saw her move swiftly towards a van that approached them and she got
aboard.
Salar prided himself on his keen power of observation: he could read a
person's mind by looking at their face. But, on that fog-engulfed road, he
had to confess that he had not been able to figure out Imama Hashim.
Hands on the steering, he sat there for many moments in a state of
uncertainty. This experience had augmented his dislike for Imama Hashim.
Regardless of the foggy conditions, Salar drove home at top speed. All the
way, his mind was in turmoil—where had she pulled the pistol out from? He was certain that when she was performing the wuzu and washing her feet,
there was nothing visibly strapped to her calf. He had watched her from
head to toe when she was praying and did not observe anything. She had
gone to the car and sat down when they had finished eating; he had
followed her a few moments later. Definitely, she must have had the pistol
in her bag, he figured.
He was in a foul mood when he got home. When he pulled the car into the
gate, he summoned the gatekeeper.
‗You will not tell anyone about the girl who was in the car with me last night,
do you understand? In fact, I did not go anywhere as far as you're
concerned,' he warned him in a threatening tone.
‗Yes, sir. I will not breathe a word to anyone about anything,' the man
nodded obediently. He was no fool to go around talking about such things.
Salar went to his room and slept peacefully. He did not intend to go
anywhere that day.