I wished I could float away forever but there were still games to be borne at Aunt Bibi’s. All their immediate family members were squashed into an entertaining area. First I was introduced to Shaukat’s three younger brothers, their wives and children. My brain was so muddled I didn’t have a hope of remembering their names. Shaukat and I sat on another sumptuous couch and Aunt Bibi placed a tray of milk and water on a coffee table before us. Then she dropped in a ring. ‘Find it,’ she cried in glee. I cared little about the game yet I found the ring and Shaukat smiled. Apparently whoever found the ring first would prove to be the dominant partner. No wonder he was amused.
Then Aunt Bibi brought in a bowl of kheer, a rice dessert. Shaukat put his right hand into the bowl and fed me kheer with his fingers. His fingers were smooth and deft: he didn’t spill any pudding on my skin. A bowl of water was brought then. Shaukat wiped his hands and, to my horror, kneeled before me, took off my shoes and washed my feet. I didn’t know about that custom. One of his relatives took the dirty water and sprinkled it in every corner of the house, for good luck. I knew what these games were for: they were to make us feel more intimate. I began building a retaining wall inside me.
One of his brothers sang a song accompanied by another playing a tabla. It was a Rumi song Tariq would have liked:
May these vows and this marriage be blessed.
May it be sweet milk,
this marriage, like wine and halvah.
May this marriage offer fruit and shade
like the date palm.
May this marriage be full of laughter,
our every day a day in paradise.
May this marriage be a sign of compassion,
a seal of happiness here and hereafter.
May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,
an omen as welcome as the moon in a clear blue sky.
How beautiful the song was, and how sad that I couldn’t enter into the spirit of it for this was the wrong marriage. At the end of it I caught Shaukat regarding me with that faint smile. I hung my head so he wouldn’t see my regret.
After this, the whole family—or so it seemed—took us into a bedroom. It was decorated with beautiful carpets and the bed was covered in cushions, richly red and gold. The whole room shouted one word: bride. All the clothes Aunt Bibi had bought for me in the bazaar were there. So were Shaukat’s clothes for the next day. Appalled, I stared at his freshly ironed suit hanging on the wardrobe. I’d imagined we’d have separate bedrooms.
Aunt Bibi said how glad she was to have me as her daughter and hugged me so tightly that I thought I’d suffocate and my problems would be solved there and then. No one had talked to me about being with Shaukat on this night. It was all left for me to find out by myself. My friends and I had giggled about sex but we hadn’t discussed the serious stuff. I had never dared ask Natasha what it was like. How I missed Mum; she would have told me what to do.
Shaukat was taken out of the room and Fozia helped me out of my bridal outfit and put me in a soft shalwar qameez. She took down my hair, then, with a reassuring smile, she left. I didn’t like the qameez she’d chosen—it was transparent and I had no underwear on. I decided to change it. I had my back to the door and my arms in the air, painfully struggling into a new top, when Shaukat walked back in. I was mortified. The tears welled up as I tugged in vain at the shirt.
‘Ameera.’ His voice sounded concerned. He stopped me and examined my exposed back, putting experienced fingers on my bruises. It was a professional touch and I calmed myself.
‘Who did this?’ As he spoke he pulled the qameez down so I was covered and guided me to face him.
I wondered what he would say. So many men thought that if a woman got a beating she deserved it. ‘Haider.’
He tensed slightly, and although his next words were even, I could tell more depended on my answer than his tone implied. ‘Did he do anything else?’
‘No, he just beat me.’ I was too ashamed to mention the kiss. Shaukat stared at me and I felt unnerved, scared he’d question me further, so I babbled on. ‘I tried to run away.’
Shaukat’s forehead creased in confusion. I was suddenly struck by how much of it could be seen without his turban. His hairline had receded as much as Papa’s. Now was the time, I decided, to tell him how it was. ‘When I came I didn’t know about the wedding.’
‘What?’ His face jerked as if I had slapped him. ‘Your father didn’t discuss it with you?’
‘Never. I’m sorry but I didn’t want to be married today. I tried to refuse so you wouldn’t have to be upset, but no one listened. It’s nothing against you,’ I added quickly. ‘I’m just too young, I want to go to uni, I want to live in Australia. And I miss my mother.’ It all tumbled out and I had just enough presence of mind to stop before I mentioned Tariq.
Shaukat stood staring at the floor, rubbing his hand slightly on his shirt. Then he reached for me. Maybe he wanted to comfort me but I wasn’t taking any chances. I stepped out of his way and delivered my wounding shot: ‘And I don’t feel married at all. I feel like a prostitute—bought.’
He stared at me, the creases between his eyes deep cuts. I had finally pricked that poised veneer. ‘I am sorry you feel like that.’ He sat heavily on the bed. ‘I never intended this. I thought you wanted the marriage. I have been looking forward to it for two years. I feel I know you.’
It was my turn to be shocked. He half-smiled as he looked up at me. ‘I have seen all your family videos since you were fifteen. You were lovely even then.’
My mouth fell open. ‘Those horrible videos. Even the ones at the beach?’
‘The very ones. Your father sent copies to Mother. She made sure I saw them. I was willing to wait until you grew up, until you finished university. You were just going to visit this time, and we would meet. It was to be a surprise from your father. Then I was going to visit you when you were older—the engagement would have been in Australia.’
The thought of someone knowing so much about me—as if through some spyhole in the sky—was unnerving. It was unforgivable of Papa. The shock made me sharper than usual. ‘My father stands to gain from this marriage, doesn’t he?’
Shaukat glanced at me. ‘That’s the way of all marriages here in Pakistan.’ He frowned as though I should already know that.
‘But this one?’
Shaukat sighed. ‘Your father’s business is failing.’
‘That can’t be true. Papa never told me that.’
‘He told me,’ Shaukat said firmly. ‘He needs money to expand—more stock, a bigger building, he wants to import more, hire workers. Apparently Riaz doesn’t share his passion.’
‘What do you get?’
Shaukat raised his eyebrows. ‘I get you, that is all I wanted. And the possibility of a visa to Australia should we wish to live there.’
‘Through marriage with me?’
‘Yes, but I chose you for other reasons. You are the daughter of my favourite uncle. Your father and my mother have a close relationship.’ He stopped. ‘I still can’t understand why he didn’t involve you in the preparations.’
I knew why but I wasn’t going to tell him about Tariq and the party.
‘Ameera.’ He stood in front of me. ‘This must be difficult for you, coming straight from Australia.’ He touched my hair and stared at it falling over his fingers. A sigh escaped him as if he’d made a decision. ‘Even if you had wanted to be married today we wouldn’t necessarily—how shall I say this—do what they think we are doing.’ He indicated out to the entertainment area and grinned at me. He was so different from Haider that I smiled. He sobered immediately. ‘You are beautiful when you smile. I’ll wait as long as it takes for you to be ready.’ Then he added with a wry grin, ‘Within reason, of course. I’m looking forward to a family.’
Dismay made my smile vanish. ‘A…a family?’
‘Isn’t that why people marry?’
Another thing I hadn’t thought about. ‘Not yet,’ I sai
d without considering his feelings.
‘No.’ He crossed to a chest of drawers and took out a letter. ‘Your father gave me this. It was opened—I hope you will forgive me for reading it as I needed the information to prepare my wedding gift.’
Gift? I had no gift for him, not even the traditional one he was expecting when I was ‘ready’.
He handed me the letter. It was from SATAC: my matric results and acceptance into the University of Adelaide for a Bachelor of Education. I sank to the bed to read it.
‘Your results are good, but not quite good enough for medicine.’ He was teasing.
‘You know I didn’t want to do medicine?’
‘Your father talked to Mother about it one night—he was worried.’
What didn’t Shaukat know about me? Tariq; he didn’t know about Tariq. I would never tell him and at least I would have something of my own.
‘This is my gift.’ He handed me a piece of paper and joined me on the bed. ‘I took the liberty of enrolling you in the university here in Muzaffarabad. It’s one of the best, a beautiful campus and there’s a student teacher centre. When we live in Islamabad, it will be easy to transfer.’ I sensed he was watching me. ‘Your father said this would please you the most.’
I stared at the entrance slip to the University of Azad Jammu and Kashmir.
‘You can stay with Mother when classes start,’ he added. ‘I’ll return on weekends while I still have the clinic.’
Tears welled in my eyes. So Papa had tried for me, but it was Adelaide University I wanted, not Muzaffarabad, and Shaukat couldn’t give me that. He expected me to be happy and I tried to smile. ‘That’s kind.’ I was still too shy to say his name to his face. Then I thought, Won’t I be gone by the time lectures start?
‘Even if you fell pregnant, you could still study,’ he said. ‘Mother would love to look after the baby.’
This was a big concession, I knew, but I stiffened. Twice now he’d mentioned children. I knew that in Pakistan the bride was expected to produce a boy by the first anniversary.
He ran his forefinger around each of my eyes. ‘You are tired.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll come back later and sleep on the sofa bed. No one need know what we have decided.’
‘Thank you.’ This time I truly was thankful; I smiled at him and meant it. He drew me up and put his arms around me. I tensed, but felt nothing. It was like being hugged by Papa.
‘Ameera, there is plenty of time for us to know each other. If I’d known you weren’t happy, I would have postponed the wedding until you were older, but now it’s done. We will make it work, for, whatever you may be thinking, we are a match.’
I sat back on the bed as he took a packet of cigarettes from a cupboard and left the room. I didn’t even think then about the fact that he smoked; I could only think of how he would have called the wedding off. All I had needed to do in order to go home was to meet him before the wedding. No wonder they wouldn’t let me see him.
30
The next day we returned to Uncle Rasheed’s for a family dinner. Papa was still there; I wasn’t sure of my feelings towards him any more. One moment I remembered how I loved him; in the next, anger rose up at what he’d done. He looked at me keenly, then said, ‘Are you all right?’ I couldn’t work him out. Why not ask me that before the wedding? Comments like that showed he loved me, yet he had married me against my will. He could slap me one moment and hug me the next. It was so confusing. I told him I was fine. He smiled benignly at Shaukat. I was married now; no doubt they all presumed I wasn’t a shy virgin any more and that was the most embarrassing thought of all.
Everyone ate together: another concession to my married state. Dadi jan laid her hand on my head as I sat beside her. Even Meena’s husband, Haroun, was there. I had never met him before, and when he smiled at Meena I could tell he was gentle and loved her. He wasn’t much older than Tariq.
I wished I had a gift for Meena and told her so. ‘You helped me so much yesterday. I don’t know what I would have done these last few weeks without you.’
She hugged me. ‘You’re my favourite cousin. Be happy. That would be the best gift you could give me.’
She said it as if I had a choice. If I didn’t love Tariq, could I be happy with Shaukat? I looked over at him, laughing with the older men. He fitted in well with them. Would he grow strict like Papa? A movement at the door caught my attention. It was Haider. He walked in slowly, his expression surly. My stomach clenched and I glanced at Shaukat. He was watching me, his eyebrows raised, the faintest of smiles teasing his mouth. I understood: there was nothing to worry about now—Shaukat was the eldest cousin and I was his wife. When I glanced back at Haider I saw what I hadn’t noticed at first. He had a black eye and made no sudden movements. He didn’t offer any congratulations.
After the meal, I went to my old room to finish packing. Zeba came with me. ‘I will miss you,’ she said.
I hugged her. ‘I’ll miss you too.’
‘Can I come for a holiday?’
I paused. I hadn’t let myself think too far ahead, but if this were a normal marriage, these were the things that would happen. What would Zeba be told when I disappeared? That I was an evil runaway bride to hurt Shaukat and the family so much? I stared at Zeba in dismay. I would dishonour Shaukat, dishonour all the men in the family.
‘Ameera? Can I?’ Zeba said.
‘Of course.’
She was satisfied and ran off. Asher came in then. He watched me zip up my backpack. ‘Shaukat is a lucky devil.’
I tried not to smile at his pseudo-adult talk. He walked further into the room until he faced me. I hadn’t realised before how tall he was: he was almost the same height as me. Then he cleared his throat and uttered this amazing speech: ‘Now I will be your brother, your happiness is my happiness, your sorrow, my sorrow. You only have to tell me if Shaukat hurts you and I will help you.’
I stared at him, wordless. I could imagine Riaz saying that, but why would Asher think it was necessary?
The wedding dragged on. It was a festival for the guests, but a funeral for me: the death of my dreams. Frank was my only hope to resurrect them.
The party at Uncle Iqbal’s and Aunt Bibi’s the next day was lavish. I wore an outfit not unlike the one I had on the night I first saw Aunt Bibi and Uncle Iqbal: churidar pyjama, high strappy shoes. The qameez had a bodice that sparkled with pearls and zircon and was like a dress with a full skirt that would have flared if I twirled. Only Shaukat now would see me twirl.
I was slightly in awe of Shaukat’s public reserve. Though he said we were a match, I couldn’t see what we had in common except genes and looks. I yearned for Tariq’s warmth, his humour, the stories we shared, the music. I doubted Shaukat would approve of Junoon, and what about David D’Or and the Idan Raichel Project? Papa would have had a fit if he knew I listened to Israeli music, but Tariq believed music should transcend cultural differences. Papa didn’t like any modern music: he said it put too much emphasis on love and distracted people from their faith. Like Papa, Shaukat probably admired traditional raag singing and sitar playing.
Papa was tender towards me at the party. He could afford to be: I had done what he wanted. ‘I’ll be leaving tomorrow, beti,’ he said, then paused. ‘There is some sacrifice in marriage, especially at first, but I know you will be safe now.’
What was I to say to that? Dadi jan had said it took a year for her to love my grandfather. Would that happen to me? But if all went to plan I wouldn’t be here in a year. Shaukat and I would stay with Aunt Bibi for a while and then Frank would come for me. I tried not to think about what would happen then; instead, I concentrated on how what Papa had done wasn’t right. Even Shaukat had been shocked when I told him—surely he’d understand why I had to leave. The word ‘dishonour’ reared its terrifying head again, but I pushed it into the attic of my mind and locked the door. If I thought too much about it I’d be lost. I had never entirely understood Papa’s preoccupation with honour and shame and how
the balance worked. How could my choices possibly affect a whole family of strong and independent men like Papa, my uncles and Shaukat? But I felt the flutter of fear all the same. I had witnessed Papa’s anger whenever he thought his wishes may be flouted.
Be strong, Frank had said. But he knew nothing of my family. Tariq had wanted me in Australia, but would he still want me at the expense of my family’s shame? He understood honour and he wasn’t even Pushtun. But would he put it above love for others as Papa did?
I had plenty of time to think, sitting on yet another gorgeous couch next to Shaukat in Aunt Bibi’s garden. This was the day the whole community was invited to congratulate us. My thoughts were interrupted by a girl’s voice. I looked up: it was Gulshan from the bus.
‘I’m so happy to see you,’ she said. ‘Are you well?’
I nodded.
‘I am glad—that day on the bus I was worried. Your cousin looked so…severe.’ Then she glanced at Shaukat. ‘You must be very happy.’
I could tell she was curious: why had I been on the bus when I had a marriage to look forward to? Did she remember me saying I was going home?
‘So it worked for the best?’ she went on.
‘Yes, thank you.’ I didn’t want Shaukat hearing this. She took the hint and moved towards the food tables.
A young man approached to give us sweets. They were in bags made from old exercise books. I glanced up quickly; yes, it was the young man from the gold shop. He didn’t even look my way, nothing to arouse suspicion. Did he know I wanted to run away? Anyone who looked at Shaukat would never suspect it. I opened my bag—there was a folded note inside. I didn’t dare wait till later to read it for the sweets would be taken from us and given away. My dupatta acted as a screen and I opened the note.
Dictated for Mr Frank: Coming within three days to groom’s home. Eat this note, it is rice paper, sorry about the ink.
I grinned at the humour the scribe had managed to capture. It sounded like Frank. I pulled out a piece of sweet with the paper underneath and took a bite.
Marrying Ameera Page 16
