Revolt

by Shahraz, Qaisra

  ‘What? Which Salma, Jennat Bibi dear?’

  ‘Salma, the quiltmaker’s daughter, who else! The one who lives with her mother whilst her husband is away working in Dubai,’ Jennat Bibi spat out. ‘Miscarried three times! You’ve dealt with her miscarriages yourself … The wicked girl has not left my Faiza alone! Just yesterday she was here, hugging my Faiza! I saw her with my own eyes … Can you believe it, Birkat Bibi? Everything in this house is now soaked in her perchanvah, her evil shadow.’

  Birkat Bibi tactfully kept silent. She knew only too well about Salma’s problem and it was she who had suggested that Salma see a city gynaecologist. Familiar with the superstitious beliefs of some of the village women that she had to work with, at times she despised herself for pandering to their whims by her silence and geniality. As a trained midwife and a local nurse, her credibility would be in question if she started to believe in some of their ideas. However, it wasn’t in her business interests to argue with them as they were her prospective employers and likely to financially reward her for her services, and often very generously.

  She felt sorry for Salma, knowing that she had been made the scapegoat for the tragedy in this household. Faiza had quietly told her about the fall, but had pleaded with her not to tell her mother-in-law. Nodding her head, Birkat Bibi left soon after, promising to return in the morning to offer a hot-oil body massage. For the rest of the night, Jennat Bibi sat in vigil by Faiza’s bed, her eyes staring in the dark.

  ‘You thought I was crazy and that these were only old wives’ tales!’ Jennat Bibi jeered at her husband when he returned from the mosque after saying his fajr morning prayers. ‘Now see what has happened in our house – lost our grandchild within one day of that woman being in our house. You ridiculed me and my beliefs, saying that I spouted nonsense! Now I suppose you will say it’s all a coincidence? But don’t you agree that it’s strange that our healthy daughter-in-law suddenly miscarries the very next day after hugging a woman doomed with an evil shadow? Do you still think I spout nonsense, Javaid-ji?’ her shrill voice accused.

  Bemused by the whole episode, Javaid-ji didn’t reply. There was nothing to ridicule. He didn’t believe his wife’s ideas but, on the other hand, how strange that his daughter-in-law had miscarried at this time. Were these women right after all about amulets, tweez and so on? Wryly shaking his head, he strode out of the room.

  The male guests, of course, couldn’t discuss the matter openly, though guessing correctly as to what had transpired in the middle of the night. They had come, expecting to spend a few pleasant days in Javaid Salman’s house, and therefore did not relish the cloud of doom now hanging over the household. With Faiza confined to her bed, they were wondering whether they would be served proper meals or if the breakfast of carrot halva they had been really looking forward to from Faiza would materialise that morning.

  Staring politely at each other, the guests sat quietly around the courtyard in the morning. The only audible sound was that of the raucous cawing of the black crows perched on the veranda wall.

  At nine o’clock, straight after supervising the breakfast served by the maid, Jennat Bibi pulled on her outdoor chador and hurried out on her important errand after collecting her best friend, Neelum, from the neighbouring street, dragging her away from her morning household chores. ‘What, right now! Not swept my floor yet,’ her friend had gasped.

  *

  The village quiltmaker, Zeinab, was brusquely clearing away breakfast dishes in the bavarchikhana, when they were disturbed by a thudding sound on the outside door. Mother and daughter exchanged alarmed glances.

  ‘Who can be knocking like this? The postman has already been, Salma.’

  Zeinab opened the door offering the customary Muslim ‘Bismillah, Bismillah,’ greeting to the two female visitors. Straight away she was struck by Jennat Bibi’s stiff demeanour and hostile expression, standing tall under the veranda.

  ‘Is everything all right, Sister Jennat Bibi?’ she gently asked.

  ‘No!’ Jennat Bibi exploded. ‘Our Faiza miscarried last night.’ She pinned her full hostile gaze on Salma, who appeared to shrink back against the broomstick she was holding.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Sister Jennat Bibi, I truly am!’ Like everyone else, she knew how precious the baby was for Jennat Bibi’s family.

  ‘So you should be, Zeinab.’ She deliberately omitted to say the complimentary word ‘sister’. ‘Your evil daughter has been after my Faiza since the day she conceived. Just because she keeps miscarrying herself, she made sure that our Faiza couldn’t have a healthy baby, either.’

  Zeinab’s parched mouth opened and closed three times before she found her voice. ‘Hang on, Jennat Bibi!’ She, too, had dispensed with the word ‘sister’. ‘This is utter nonsense! What has my Salma got to do with your Faiza’s miscarriage? It’s her body, nothing to do with my daughter. How dare you say such things? I have tolerated your superstitious ways about perchanvah and chillah rubbish, but this is madness.’ Zeinab was fuming, her chest under her shawl heaving and falling, pigmented cheeks now fiery red with anger.

  ‘Huh! Sister Neelum, are you listening to this woman? Don’t you think that it’s a great coincidence that I saw Salma, in my own home, hugging the life out of my Faiza, and the very next day that poor girl loses her baby? I suppose you think that I imagined all that? Didn’t you go to our house yesterday, Salma, you witch? Speak up, girl!’ Jennat Bibi took an aggressive step forward and her vindictive pointed stare demolished Salma who was leaning for support against the veranda pillar.

  ‘Did you, Salma?’ her mother screeched, flabbergasted, turning her wrath on her daughter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘Oh!’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  ‘What fall?’ she blustered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  CHAPTER 11

  The Goorie

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