Mehendi Tides

by Siobhan Malany

  “Why are you standing here alone?” Tariq leaned close to Kate and whispered in her ear.

  “Just taking it all in,” she said, happy that he sought her out. “Really, I’m exhausted.” She smiled faintly at him.

  “You should feel proud that you survived nearly eight weeks—the redheaded girl in India and Pakistan,” Tariq laughed. “And you managed to look pretty despite having to wear Indian clothing picked by my mother.”

  Kate laughed out loud.

  “Enough family and enough drama!” Tariq chuckled. “I’m looking forward to starting college in Chennai in a few weeks.”

  Kate looked seriously at Tariq.

  “That sounds exciting,” she said, hiding her disappointment.

  Of course the summer must end, she thought. Nasreen’s right.

  “You must miss your family.”

  “Yes. I miss my dad.”

  “Are you excited about your senior year in high school?”

  High school was the farthest thing from her mind.

  “Not really. Besides, Nasreen is spending the first semester at a law firm,” Kate pouted. “I will have to get used to her not being at school.”

  “If I forget to say later, I am glad you were here this summer. My uncles are staring at me standing with you,” Tariq added under his breath. “I have to walk away.”

  Kate watched Tariq walk toward his uncles.

  “Guess what?” Nasreen asked, startling Kate, who had not noticed her approaching. “Aunty Zehba is letting us keep the salwars she made for us. Isn’t that great? Now I have to find room in my suitcase for this thing,” Nasreen remarked sarcastically.

  Kate smiled faintly.

  “What’s up? My family is worried you aren’t enjoying yourself standing here alone.”

  “I’m tired. It’s been a lot of parties.”

  “I know. It’s exhausting,” Nasreen said, placing a hand on her glistening forehead.

  A few strands of soft hair had escaped her dupatta and clung to the side of her cheeks.

  “That’s why we get married as teenagers so we have enough stamina to withstand all the wedding ceremonies.”

  Kate snickered at the joke.

  “I hope we can get out of here soon. And certainly get out of these outfits.” Nasreen glanced down at her chest. “I don’t know what would feel more awkward, standing here in a slip or wearing this hideous attire.”

  “Now I am imagining you in a slip and a dupatta.” Kate muffled a laugh, her mehendi-painted fingers pressed against her lips. “Faiz might never leave you alone then.”

  Nasreen rolled her eyes. “Speaking of…” she began. “Faiz planned a day at Clifton Beach day after next. I told him it wasn’t a good idea, that we were leaving in a few days and I would probably be engaged soon.”

  “Why would you say that? Are you planning to get engaged when we return?” Kate asked, dismayed by Nasreen’s attitude.

  “No. Just ending any hope he had that there might be a future, which there is not.”

  As the walima ceremony dragged, Faiz started the rumor that Nasreen was getting engaged, which spread through the under-twenty guest list quickly before the end of the evening prayer. Faiz seemed to have dismissed Nasreen and was flirting with the sisters who danced at the wedding, which made Nasreen even more furious.

  “What is this nonsense that you are to be engaged?” Laila hissed at Nasreen. “Sana says everyone is talking about it.”

  “Sana is a child. She must have heard wrong,” Nasreen snapped back at her mother.

  “You are also a child may I remind you!” Laila scolded.

  Nasreen glanced across the room at Haseena, a girl of seventeen, sitting beside her husband—a glittering princess, her hands still clasping her matching clutch.

  “Yes, a child in waiting,” Nasreen responded.

  IN THE MORNING, the girls dressed slowly, their bones stiff from the floorboards. Kate watched in silence as Nasreen wrapped a black scarf around her head, meticulously tucking each strand of hair under the cloth. She scrutinized her work in the mirror. Kate thought Nasreen’s face looked puffy, unframed by her long dark curls, and was confused why Nasreen had decided to cover her hair. What did it mean? Would she continue to wear the headscarf after they returned home?

  Mumanijan must have sensed that the girls needed fresh air and a break from the formality and monotony of social engagements. She asked Mamujan to take the girls, Sameer, and Laila sightseeing. He abided by his wife’s wishes and drove the group to the outskirts of the city. Nasreen, Kate, Sana, and Laila were packed in the backseat of the Toyota, half sitting on each other’s laps, their bodies knocking together as the car jerked and weaved through the congestive streets. Even Nasreen’s dainty perfume could not hide the smell of Pakistan oozing from her pores. Every time Nasreen turned her head, the tail of the scarf brushed against Kate’s neck.

  Kate gazed out the window at the broken landscape, trying to fight the stupor of sleep hanging over her. Finally, Nasreen’s uncle stopped at Mazar-e-Quaid, the tomb of Quaid-e-Azam.

  Kate followed Nasreen at a distance around the four-sided National Mausoleum, an architectural icon merging Moorish arches with modern geometry. Inside, the girls leaned against the steel frame protecting the central casket. Here, visitors lingered to pay tribute to the Father of Pakistan.

  The tomb’s white marbled walls shouldered its massive dome. From the high platform, Kate had her first full view of the city. In the past five weeks, she had seen fragments of the city through car windows; whereas in India she had walked the streets daily, visited evey historical landmark, breathed the grit and dust, and listened to the moans of the city and various spoken dialetcs.

  Pakistani city life, on the other hand, Kate experienced at night at elaborate parties in ballrooms and from afar overlooking hotel terraces. It was a place mixed with deep religion, culture, and tradition, a place where an ancient people transported themselves into a modern city.

  The steps to the tomb were dotted with locals lounging, their chappals removed and set to one side. At the base of the stairs was a wide promenade bordered by palm trees that swayed in the unobstructed winds. The palms were lined in a row leading to the parliament building that appeared so small from Kate’s perspective that she could pinch the building between her thumb and forefinger.

  All Kate could think about as she gazed at the scene was their adventure in the Indian countryside, running through the murky lake and climbing the boulders. She thought about meandering around Fort Golconda and, most of all, sitting in the garden with Tariq at the tombs. Part of her longed to stay and be with Tariq, but the other part knew it was time to say goodbye and return home.

  Suddenly from behind, Kate heard the rhythmic pounding of boots. She walked under the arched passageway into the scorching sun. Sana ran up behind her and took Kate’s hand.

  The guards marched from the corners of the mausoleum into line formation. Nine guards and one soldier—who was branded with a red sash across his chest and a series of colorful badges pinned over his heart—stood forward from the line. The soldiers wore khaki uniforms with a wide white belt and red trim, a green plume struck forth from the red emblem on their green berets.

  Standing at attention, the men’s laced black boots pointed outward in a V. Each guard clasped his rifle firmly against his right pant leg, the open end pointing to the sky. For several minutes, the guards stood in formation. Time seemed to hover, suspended. Finally, the guards lifted their guns and marched back to their assigned stations around the perimeter of the tomb.

  “Get together,” Nasreen’s uncle said from the steps, a camera in his hand and waving for Nasreen and Kate to stand together for a photograph.

  He held his camera high in the air and motioned for them to stand beside the soldier. Nasreen sighed and looked casually back at Kate. The two cautiously strolled to stand on either side of the tall young soldier, who did not appear to be much older than they were. He continued to gaze straight
ahead. His boots looked oversized compared to the girls’ slender bare feet.

  Nasreen’s uncle continued to wave excitedly while adjusting his camera. Kate had chosen to not wear a salwar kameez today, but instead wore a pink blouse and khaki pants; her hair blew wildly about and whipped across her cheeks.

  Nasreen stood poised in a light-blue salwar. Her black headdress was bound tightly around her face. Not a strand of hair blew in the wind.

  THE TIME HAD come, and the servants were busy packing the girls’ suitcases for their return trip to the States.

  It seemed to Kate that she had been away far longer than seven and a half weeks. What she had experienced during the summer, many Americans would never experience in a lifetime. She passed the time before dinner parties alone writing in her journal, trying to capture every experience lest she forget, and trying to make sense of her weary teenage thoughts.

  “My uncle wants to take us to his farm. One last outing before we go,” Nasreen said as Kate was curled up on a cushion writing.

  “Your uncle has a farm in Karachi?” Kate asked.

  “Apparently,” Nasreen responded. “I have no idea who takes care of it as I’m sure it’s not Mumanijan,” she laughed.

  Mamujan borrowed a van that could seat up to twenty people and gathered the relatives for the trip to his farm in the country.

  “Are there animals on the farm?” Kate asked.

  “I don’t know,” Nasreen said, shrugging.

  Nasreen, Kate, Sameer, and the older cousins rode on the roof of the van. The aunts, uncles, and younger cousins sat inside. There were twenty-three people total. Three extra didn’t matter.

  “In India, you can always fit more people,” Nasreen said.

  During the drive to the farm, all Kate saw was sand in every direction. Tariq sat opposite her, the soles of their sandals touching. Outside the sprawling city of Karachi, they passed a shipping port at high tide. After a couple hours, the buildings and coastline disappeared, and the desert stretched for miles. Villages with houses made of tattered rags spotted the desolate landscape. Half-clothed children ran with sticks among a herd of cows, goats, and skinny dogs.

  Tariq pointed out a group of women and girls, their heads wrapped in scarves that extended long behind them. The ends of the scarves snapped in the whipping winds. Donkeys pulled two-wheeled trailers stacked with jugs.

  “They are getting water for the day,” he shouted above the sputtering of the diesel engine and the flapping rooftop tarp.

  “Where are they getting water?” Kate asked.

  “The rains fill pockets in the dunes. They collect what water they can,” he answered.

  The van labored along the sand-filled lane until the sand covered the road so high, the van came to a halt, its rear wheels sunk in a dune.

  The group piled out. The uncles investigated. The aunts and the girls stood in a circle except for Azra and Sana, who plopped down in the soft earth and drew lines in the sand. The women’s saris snapped in the persistent wind and darkened the sandy landscape.

  Kate dug her toes in the warm sand patterned in rifts by the winds coming down from Afghanistan, swirling angrily with winds from the Arabian Sea. She looked across the sand to see a man guiding his camel across the desert.

  One can vanish here, she thought. Just disappear into the blinding gray.

  The men, after much debating, pushed the van around the thickest part of the dune back onto the road. They congratulated themselves for a good effort and invited everyone to get back into the van.

  “Chelo,” Mamujan called.

  Eventually they reached the farm. Kate’s bones were rattled from sitting on the roof of the van as it dipped and veered through the potholes and sand dunes. She enjoyed sitting with Tariq even though they could not speak above the noise of the engine. He extended a hand to help her down.

  The small farm development had two cows, a hen, a rooster, three chicks, several short coconut trees, a large stone well, and a three-room hut made of thick burlap.

  Mamujan proudly showed them the chicken coop, a small barn, and a patch of herbs, cowpeas, and peppers. They picnicked under the large tamarind tree and the watchful eye of the hen and ate mangoes off the rind, the juice dripping down their chins. Nasreen and Kate reverted to wearing jeans and T-shirts. Nasreen had even forgone the headdress and laughed freely with her cousins while sucking mango juice.

  Sameer started a muddy water fight by hurling a bucket of cool well water at the group. The hen and her chicks fled the scene, balking loudly at the disruption. The thin dogs barked, excited to join. No one could resist the cool muddy water. The adults dodged away as the younger ones battled in the mud.

  After weeks of dressing in glitter and jewels, every strand of hair curled, twisted, braided, and pinned in place, the feel of the raw elements to Kate was a welcomed sense of youth and freedom. She playfully flung a handful of mud at Tariq, splattering it across his chest. He looked at her with shock and intrigue before flicking her with cloudy water from a bucket that a feral cat had happily lapped before scattering away. Kate hid her face and shrieked as the water sprayed her. Nasreen kicked the ground, spurting Sameer with chunks of mud, then ran for cover behind the tamarind tree as Sameer came after her with the pail of water he grabbed from Tariq.

  A truce was called after everyone was soaked and spitting grit.

  The van headed back to Karachi, bouncing along the sand-covered road. Kate rocked to the rhythm of the van. Tariq sat next to her on the ride back and her head rested gently on his shoulder. In her relaxed state, Kate didn’t notice a truck thundering toward them on the narrow lane. Their van veered to avoid a head-on collision, sending Kate teetering vicariously over the railing of the vehicle. Tariq quickly braced himself and grabbed her by the shoulders as the truck passed, its horn blaring. Kate clung to Tariq’s strong arms, her eyes wide with fear.

  “I got you,” he assured.

  “WRITE TO ME,” Tariq said to Kate.

  Kate stood in the shadows behind the front gate as the uncles loaded the suitcases into the van. Tariq straddled an idling motorbike. He held his helmet under his arm and squinted in the sun.

  “I start college at the University of Madras in Chennai next week,” Tariq said. “I don’t have an address. Ask Nasreen to mail your letter to my mother. I will get them.”

  He looked at her intently.

  “Yes!” she blurted. “I will write, Tariq,” Kate confirmed.

  “I’ll write back, I promise,” he said, smiling.

  He took her hand and her pulse quickened.

  “Good luck, girl with mehendi hair,” he said, leaning forward and kissing her gently on the cheek. “They are watching us,” he whispered in her ear.

  Kate shifted her eyes to the second-floor window and saw the curtains flutter.

  “Goodbye, Tariq,” she said. “I really…”

  He had pulled his helmet over his head and surely couldn’t hear her.

  He waved to her as the engine revved and spurted.

  In a moment, he was gone.

  Kate went inside and up the stairs to the main room where the aunts, uncles, and cousins were waiting to say goodbye.

  “Your father will be happy to see his daughter,” Aunty Samina remarked.

  “I’ll miss you,” Yasmine said, embracing Kate. “I will come to America someday to visit you.”

  Azra grabbed Kate’s leg and didn’t let go. Nanima touched Kate’s cheeks as she always did, and Kate bowed so the old women could kiss the top of her head. When Kate raised her head, tears streamed down her face.

  “My family will never forget you,” Nasreen said.

  “Thank you for sharing them,” she said, hugging Nasreen tighter than she ever had.

  She couldn’t feel Nasreen’s hair, only her dupatta.

  She knew they were different girls returning home.

  Chapter 23

  Legacy

  Chicago 1998

  November brought a new purpose. K
ate spent long hours in the lab. During the weeks following her transfer out of Dr. Schwitz’s lab, she was timid to walk the halls or attend seminars for fear of running into him. Eventually routine returned, driven by grant deadlines, class exams, and looming thesis defenses, and no one seemed to care whose lab she was in. The feelings of dread dissipated as she focused on the looming task ahead—to graduate.

  Kate had not spoken to Nasreen in two weeks since she ran from the wedding as her sari unfurled. She could hear Nasreen calling her name as she bolted out of the ballroom. The knowledge that Tariq had always cared for her brought a sense of peace. But he was to be married. At least she convinced herself in her mind that there was nothing to be done and focused instead on her research. Her heart still ached.

  Her new advisor, Dr. Crone, was an exuberant man. He was boisterous and cracked crass jokes. He prompted Kate to think on her feet. While her heart raced every time he caught her off guard, she felt purposeful and part of a team. Dr. Crone’s favorite pastimes included drinking pints of lager and playing pool. This meant lab meetings were held at the local grill called the Ravenwood on the corner of the pedestrian square. The bar had a dark decaying façade but was never as ominous as its name implied, constantly brimming with students, locals, and university professionals.

  At the Ravenwood, all the members of the Crone lab sat at one of the long wooden benches, the planks of the table warped from spilled beer. They went through stacks of napkins, using them as writing pads to jot down equations and schemes. When brainstorming and beer came to odds, the group turned to a game of pool.

  Kate enjoyed the camaraderie at the Ravenwood. It was cold outside and the gray city streets called for new snow. The Ravenwood’s windows were festively covered with frosty snowflakes and hanging red bulbs, smoked over from warm bodies and chatter inside. Kate procrastinated leaving but finally walked with a colleague back to her frozen car. It was a dark, cold night. After several attempts to start her car, the engine finally turned over.