Mehendi Tides

by Siobhan Malany

  “It’s amethyst,” Raji chirped.

  “Isn’t that your birthstone?” Nasreen asked.

  “Yes,” Krishna whispered in a raspy voice then promptly cleared her throat.

  “So you are from Montreal?” Kate detoured the conversation from talking about the necklace, an apparently uncomfortable topic for Krishna.

  “Yes. My parents are originally from Delhi. They immigrated to Canada when I was five. I moved to Chicago last fall on a student visa to get my master’s degree at Columbia.”

  “You speak French?” Kate inquired.

  “Ah, oui,” answered Raji. “I can speak Hindi too, just not as well as French. I miss Montreal a lot, but I have met a lot of interesting people in Chicago and my brother is coming next week for Diwali. Hey, Krishna, what are you doing for Diwali? I am having friends over. If you are free…”

  “My father and I are having Diwali at the house with family,” Krishna stated unemotionally.

  Kate could see the dejection in Raji’s eyes.

  “Well, if you have a chance to come over later in the evening, all of you,” Raji said, looking to Nasreen and Kate, “you are more than welcome.” She smiled a faint smile.

  The waitress approached with the tray of tea.

  “Thanks for the invite,” Nasreen replied, filling the pause.

  “Two chai teas,” the waitress announced and plunked the mugs of tea on the table while she balanced the tray full of drinks with the other hand. She grabbed two spoons from her apron pocket and dropped them with a clink against the mugs. “Enjoy.”

  Kate wrapped both hands around the mug of piping hot liquid and brought the cup to her lips, closed her eyes, and breathed in its sweet aroma, almost burying her nose in the cup. She sat in a huddled position, as if curling her body around the tea mug offered intimate comfort and a way to shrink from the awkwardness at the table and the unexpected meeting.

  The corner café was becoming increasingly loud as customers came and went. The air filled with Asian and Middle Eastern languages intermixing.

  Kate smiled and drank the creamy colored liquid that drained through her chest, thawing her veins.

  “How is the tea?” Nasreen asked.

  “Not the same as Rahmsing’s. But good.”

  Chapter 20

  Dance in the Pines

  Karachi 1987

  From a platform in the Sheraton Hotel marriage hall drifted the rhythmic, mellifluous taals of classical Pakistani music. Four men and a boy sat cross-legged on the platform in silk vests the color of pink flesh. The man in center stage strummed a lute instrument. The boy to his side strummed the strings on an old board. One man thumped the cow-skin base of the tabla, another blew into a small bagpipe, and the other player pumped a harmonium. The melodic, saccharine sounds of the percussion rose and fell, and at times, to Kate’s untrained ear, carried the whine of a goat awaiting sacrifice.

  Despite the fatigue settling in Kate’s bones from staying up too many consecutive nights until the early morning, she felt elated that Rahim’s nikah ceremony had finally arrived. The preparations and the gatherings filled with traditions and customs had converged at this moment when Rahim and Haseena would share the wedding platform side by side.

  Rahim’s baraat had finally arrived nearly two hours past the scheduled time at the Sheraton Hotel. Haseena was in a separate room with family and friends accepting her marriage to Rahim. Four weeks of ceremonies and dinner parties and they were still apart!

  Kate loved her crimson rose sari. Finally she was able to wear the sari that she had purchased during the first few days in India. The border was embroidered almost entirely with golden thread and imprinted with a paisley motif. The outline of the elliptical shapes resembled the leaves of the banyan tree in Nanima’s garden.

  Aunty Samina and Nanima had pleated the skirt of the sari tightly and tucked it into the petticoat, accentuating Kate’s waist. The remaining yards of material were wrapped across her bosom and slung over her left shoulder. Mumanijan had lent her a necklace of gold teardrops each with a ruby eye and earrings that hung from her lobes like miniature chandeliers. Yasmine had pinned her hair in a fine loop to show off the jewelry.

  Kate stood beside Rahim as Nasreen snapped a picture. Her shoulder pressed against his, crushing the cream banarasi silk of his sherwani suit. His head was bound in a cream and gold turban with an ornamental fan.

  “Faiz, make yourself useful,” Nasreen teased. “Take our photo.”

  Nasreen, dressed in a shimmery midnight blue sari, handed the camera to Faiz and wrapped an arm around Kate.

  “You two look exquisite,” said Yasmine.

  “Absolutely,” Arwah added.

  After all the pictures, a curtain of flowers was attached to Rahim’s turban. More than a hundred strings of white gardenia balls, fuchsia carnations, and gold tinsel with pieces of metallic blue hung the length of his body to the curled toes of his jutti embroidered shoes. He was a walking, sweet-smelling botanical shield.

  Entirely dependent on family and friends, Rahim was guided to his place on the wedding platform. The shield of flowers was parted enough to reveal his narrow nose and beard. There he was perched for the night, a strange white gleaming bird waiting for his arranged mate.

  Nanima, jewelry-less, colorless, unlike the rest of the baraat dressed for wealth, remained untransformed. She was curled in the corner of the wedding platform, sinking into the cushions and glancing nowhere in particular. Aunty Zehba fussed with Rahim’s headdress that blinded him from the room.

  Rahim’s father sat by the band waiting for the marriage ceremony to begin. Dinner simmered in warming containers, the staff stood in the shadows. The percussion taals floated timelessly through the hall as guests mingled, and children dressed like miniature brides and grooms grew restless and chased each other through the rows and rows of chairs.

  “Come on,” Nasreen whispered in Kate’s ear as she promptly scurried toward the door behind Yasmine and Arwah. “Follow me.”

  Nasreen waved urgently for Kate to join, leaving Faiz standing alone.

  Kate trailed the girls as they walked quickly with purpose through the richly decorated lobby of the hotel, past elegant shops selling westernized salwar kameezes and accessories. She followed them past the dining hall filled with foreigners puffing on cigarettes and sipping cognac and aged whiskeys. Except for the turban-clad doorman, who bowed as the girls promenaded through the foyer and out the tall brass-handled doors, there was little to remind Kate that she was anywhere but the center of Karachi.

  The night air breathed steamy across their faces and attempted unsuccessfully to sway their hair, heavy with aerosol, or their clothes, weighted by thick auric threads. The girls tiptoed down the steps at the back of the hotel into the grand gardens. Without hesitating, Arwah chose the path to the left that led between the rows of trees. The path to the right led to the lighted tennis courts, and the central path curved to a circular water fountain with four symmetrical arches of spray illuminated silver blue under the moon.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Shhh!” Nasreen spun around to face Kate. “Arwah is meeting someone.”

  “We don’t have a lot of time,” Yasmine said. “Hurry!”

  Time? Kate thought. Time is what they seemed to have too much of. They were always waiting, waiting to be escorted to the next moment of their lives.

  “I can’t walk that fast in a sari!” Kate cried.

  The path was covered by a canopy of blackened branches. The lights from the garden filtered through the manicured trees just enough to light the path. Ahead of them a figure stepped out onto the gravel. Arwah quickened her step. From behind, by the tilt of Arwah’s head, Kate could tell she was grinning widely. Arwah greeted the figure with formal salaams. From the little light that sprayed across the path, Kate could see the young man’s profile. He had a skinny neck that showed his protruding larynx; it bobbed awkwardly as the two spoke rapidly in Urdu.

  Arwah int
roduced Nasreen as her cousin and introduced Kate as the “friend from America.” He nodded cordially; his hands remained clasped behind his back. Kate could see he had bad skin but was otherwise very pleasant.

  The two of them smiled widely at each other, and even in the shadows it was evident that Arwah was blushing. Nasreen nudged Kate and continued further down the path.

  “Let them talk,” she whispered.

  “Who is he?

  “Someone she met in school. They want to get engaged, but it has to be their parents’ idea. So their parents cannot know they have met,” she stressed.

  “Then how do they make it their parents’ idea?” Kate asked naively.

  “It’s complicated, but there are ways,” Nasreen responded confidently. “Anyway, I am glad to get away from the party and avoid Faiz.”

  “I thought you liked his attention.”

  “He is being a nuisance lately.”

  They came to the end of the tree line and the path opened again into the lighted gardens.

  “I’m glad we are returning to Chicago soon. I am tired of all this wedding stuff. I will be too busy in my internship for these insolent men!”

  “Internship?” Kate asked, confused.

  “I have to tell you,” Nasreen said, her tone softened, “I got an internship at a law firm first semester.”

  Kate stopped. Her mouth dropped open.

  When Nasreen turned around her face was in complete shadow; only her dark curls were lighted by the garden spotlights.

  “I’ll be around on weekends, promise. You will be so busy and…”

  “Nasreen!” a male voice barked.

  Nasreen spun back around, startled by the sound of a voice. It was Sameer. He was joined by Anees and Tariq.

  “Where have you been?” Sameer snapped at his sister.

  “Getting some air. What’s it to you?”

  “The ceremony is about to start. Come on!”

  “Is Arwah with you?” inquired Anees. “Her mother is looking for her.”

  “I’m here,” Arwah answered, suddenly appearing beside Kate.

  Kate looked at her bewildered and glanced around, but the pimply-faced boyfriend had disappeared. Nasreen and Arwah grinned coyly.

  “Let’s go,” Nasreen said as she hurried in the direction of the fountain.

  Kate hesitated, confused by the situation. Nasreen and the others were already at the end of the path. She could no longer see Tariq. Was he avoiding her?

  “Wait!” Kate cried as she gathered the sari material around her legs to avoid tripping and hurried to catch up.

  As she came to the point where the path blended into the open garden, Tariq stepped out of the shadows of the trees.

  “Oh!” Kate gasped.

  “Shh,” he whispered pressing a finger to his lips.

  She looked at him for a long moment.

  He took her hand and spun her around. For a brief and wonderful moment, they danced in the filtered light from the garden, the sound of cascading water from the fountain in the background. Then Tariq took a step back, releasing her hand. Kate’s arms floated as if he were still guiding her.

  “You can hear the music from the wedding hall,” Tariq said softly. “Close your eyes and listen.”

  She closed her eyes and let the moment wash over her. She could hear the faint strings of the lutes and the subtle sweet harmonium. She swayed and the gravel path crunched under her feet. Then she felt his breath and his wet lips brush hers with feathery lightness. She was wrapped in warmth and the smell of him. She stood there savoring his kiss and reaching out to him before the smell of pine and sassafras returned. She opened her eyes, and he motioned for her to follow.

  Kate touched her lips then grabbed the skirt of her sari and hurried along the path, following his silhouette past the fountain and through the balcony doors. She followed the sound of the drums, harmoniums, and lutes to the matrimonial hall. As soon as Kate passed through the wide decorative doors into the grand room, she saw his figure. His back was to her, and he turned toward the doors. His eyes engulfed her.

  “There you are,” Nasreen said quietly. “I thought you were right behind me. The ceremony is about to start,” she whispered as she grabbed Kate’s elbow and led her to sit next to Laila and Aunty Samina.

  The music fell silent and the band players sat still, their heads bowed. Kate was certain that the room could hear her heart pounding as loud as the drums.

  Aunty Zehba and Rahim’s father stood on the platform next to Rahim, giving consent for the marriage of their son in the presence of a thick-bearded man who held the Qur’an.

  Rahim signed a certificate and a verse from the Qur’an was read. Somewhere in another room, the bride signed herself into wifedom. Nanima sat wedged in the corner of the sofa, her forefinger pressed against her upper lip. Another wedding, another time.

  Then a joyous murmur filled the room. Aunty Zehba clasped her hands together.

  “Mubarak!” she exclaimed.

  The guests followed Aunty Zehba’s lead, issuing congratulations to all those around them. Rahim bowed respectfully to Nanima, careful not to bury her in his headdress of garlands. Aunty Zehba stepped down from the platform and embraced family members, squeezing the faces of little nieces and nephews. Her duty as a mother was complete.

  In her mind, Kate was still dancing in the night with Tariq.

  “What are you daydreaming about?” Nasreen teased.

  “Nothing,” Kate responded breathlessly.

  “Look, here comes the bride.”

  The guests organized into rows once again, all eyes on the bride’s procession. Haseena, in full ceremonial garb, was led down the walkway toward the platform and her new husband. Her brother, father, Faiz, and other male cousins walked as pillars at her side, supporting the weight of thousands of crystal stones scattering the lights from the multi-tiered chandeliers. Haseena’s father pulled one side of the garland so the bride could see one step ahead, her head bowed.

  Kate glimpsed the bridge of her nose and the red of her lips as she was slowly led to the platform, lifted slightly up the steps. Haseena, her head bowed, only a rouged cheek, the tip of her nose, and her full lips visible under the garb, sat slumped next to her husband, exploding in vibrant red like the heart of a pomegranate.

  The percussionists picked up their instruments and began to play, this time with a faster tempo. The bagpipes’ haunting sound filled the room. Aunty Zehba clapped her hands together. The two pretty sisters Kate recognized from the mehendi parties joined in the dance. The chimes that clasped around their dainty ankles shook violently and sounded a pitch higher than the bagpipe and harmonium. The dancers’ sheer lavender dupattas twirled around their slender bodies.

  Nasreen spied Faiz walking toward her and dodged away and joined Arwah, Yasmine, and several other girl cousins clustered together marveling at the dessert table.

  Kate continued to watch the girls dance, fascinated by their fluid arm movements like petals of a tulip. Eventually Anees strolled over to stand next to her.

  “My brother is married,” he said in a deep voice.

  “Finally,” Kate responded, surprised by Anees’s appearance at her side.

  Kate had managed to avoid Anees most of the time since he had arrived in Karachi.

  “And to think, the parties are just starting.”

  “More parties?” Kate rolled her eyes at him.

  “Oh yeah. Don’t you think this is all crazy?” he asked her.

  “Nasreen is the one who seems crazy right now,” Kate remarked, agitated.

  Anees chuckled. “She will seem crazy until she is engaged.”

  Kate shuffled her feet and searched the room looking for a way to escape Anees’s company.

  “It’s hard for girls,” he said. “They are so…restricted. And Nasreen, she is from this world but belongs to another. She is American, raised American. She is a deeply devoted person but not someone who will sit around waiting for someone to tell her
what to do, not like many Pakistani girls.”

  “Why are you telling me this, Anees?” Kate said, losing her patience.

  “I have lived in the US for three years,” he continued, “but even I have a rough time keeping both worlds separated.”

  “You have a rough time keeping a few things seperated!”

  Anees looked at Kate, shocked.

  “What issue do you have with me?” Anees clenched his jaw.

  Kate looked at him flabbergasted.

  “You know,” she hissed. “You’re lucky she is not…fat.” Kate glanced around to see who was within earshot.

  Anees was visibly perspiring. He looked at her with sad eyes.

  “Nasreen is lucky to have you as her closest friend. I care a lot about her too. Don’t be so quick to judge,” Anees stated and walked swiftly away from Kate.

  What? What did he mean by that? Kate thought standing alone, fuming.

  “Hey. Are you okay?” Tariq asked as she approached her.

  He gently touched her arm and she jumped.

  “What is it? What is the problem between you and my brother?”

  Kate looked at Tariq, troubled. She visualized Nasreen crying in her bedroom back home, fearing she may be pregnant.

  “I can’t…say.”

  “Oh,” he said, dejected. “Well, finally dinner is served! I have been starving all night waiting for these two to be married!”

  Tariq turned his back to Kate and headed toward the dinner line. Kate wanted to call out to him. Tell him everything. Be comforted by his touch.

  Suddenly, Nasreen pulled at Kate’s thick salwar sleeve.

  “It’s time for family pictures,” she announced.

  “Me?”

  “You are part of the family now. You followed us across the world!” Nasreen laughed, spreading her arms wide. “You too, Tariq. Picture time.”

  Tariq moaned, realizing dinner would still have to wait.

  Kate followed Nasreen’s lead and stepped onto the platform. She walked around the arm of the sofa where Nanima remained sitting. Nanima reached out and touched her hand like the brush of a fluttering dupatta. Aunty Samina had the task of holding the bride’s dupatta and garlands from her face so she could see. Laila sat between Aunty Samina and Nanima. In the back row stood Arwah, Kate, Yasmine, Nasreen, Azra, and Sana on one side and Sameer, Tariq, Max, Hari, and Anees on the other side. The young men all wore golden cream sherwani coats matching the groom. Yasmine’s salwar was fuchsia, Nasreen’s midnight blue, and Arwah wore dark purple. The girls’ dupattas were folded and pinned high on their shoulders and all were adorned in full jewels, chintaaks, kanphools, and satladas. Kate posed with this Indian and Pakistani family for a photograph, her body wrapped in a thousand strands of silken gold and tattooed with mehendi in peacock pattern.