‘What’s your brother doing now?’ she asked. ‘How’s his life?’
‘My brother is rich,’ Janpary replied. ‘He has nine sons and lives in a villa.’
The woman asked how her brother had become so rich, and Janpary explained that when her parents died her brother had inherited everything. ‘Men are so lucky. He took all the land that my father left and now he lives a comfortable life with his wife and children.’
‘But Janpary, listen carefully, you must ask for your part in your family’s inheritance!’
Janpary didn’t understand what Bibi meant and asked how she could do this. Her mistress was educated and recited the Aayat from the Al-Nisa chapter of the Quran: ‘Men shall have a share in what their parents and closest relatives leave and women shall have a share in what their parents and closest relatives leave, whether the legacy be small or large: this is ordained by God.’
‘But Bibi,’ Janpary said, ‘you know how it is with daughters; in our culture no one gives them anything from their meeras (inheritance). I know my brother will get very angry if I ask.’
‘If you don’t ask for your rights, he’ll never give you anything; and he should help you, anyway, because he’s the one responsible for your hardship.’
She sat down on the floor next to Janpary.
‘All this cleaning and washing you do in houses like mine won’t help you for ever. You’ll get pains in your hands and legs and after a while you won’t be able to do the work. I think you’ve already suffered enough. You should be proud of yourself for working so hard and for being prepared to do whatever is necessary to look after your children. This strength that I can see in you will make it possible for you to take your share from your brother. It’s your right. God, in our holy book the Quran, says you should ask for your right.’
Bibi’s words gave Janpary strength. Before leaving the house she went to find Bibi.
‘I’m so happy to have met you. You’ve shown me a way out of my situation. I now feel able to ask my brother for the meeras. My father left behind things for both of us. You’re right, if I don’t ask my brother he’ll keep his eyes closed and will carry on eating my children’s food.’
Janpary left with food for her children and money for the work she had done. On her way home, she stopped at a shop to buy oil, flour, sugar and rice. It was the first time for a month that Janpary was able to buy food. She felt so strong and proud of herself for being able to do this. She hurried back to her home carrying two plastic bags of food. Her daughter saw her in the street and ran towards her calling for her mother.
‘My child,’ Janpary said, handing one of the bags to her daughter, ‘we’re going to cook lots of bread and tasty food for you. You won’t have to go to sleep hungry any more.’
Her daughter smiled. ‘But, Mother, you forgot to buy my red sandals.’
Janpary laughed and told her that she would buy them soon but couldn’t buy everything with her first day’s wages.
That day, Janpary’s body didn’t know what tiredness was. She was so happy and excited to be able to provide for her children that she went straight to the kitchen and began baking bread and cooking rice and vegetables.
Early the next morning, she got her children up and told them to hurry because she wanted to pay a visit to their cousins’ house. Her eldest son asked why they were going to their uncle’s house so early.
‘Naqib, my son, I want to ask your uncle for what is rightfully ours. We’re living in hardship and poverty and he may be able to help us.’
Janpary’s brother was surprised to see his sister and her children at his house so early.
‘Janpary, salaam. How are you?’
Janpary greeted her brother and told him that she was there to ask him for help. He sat on the charpoie while she and her children sat on the floor. His wife offered them all green tea. She and her husband were impatient to know what Janpary was going to ask.
Janpary began by explaining how poor she was. ‘Brother, you know how difficult it is for women to earn money. Since my husband died I’ve been finding bits of work here and there to feed my children – some washing and cleaning – but it’s not enough. I was wondering if you …’
She paused. Her brother looked at his sister and her four children and laughed out loud. ‘Janpary, come, come; you know I have an even larger family than you to look after. How can I possibly help you too?’
Her brother’s wife joined in: ‘We can’t feed any more people. Where do you think the extra money will come from?’
‘I’m not asking for charity,’ Janpary replied. ‘When did I ask for that? You haven’t let me finish what I was trying to say.’
Her brother and sister-in-law were surprised to hear Janpary sound so confident and became alarmed at what this might mean.
‘I think you both know what I’m going to ask.’
Janpary still had her burqa covering her head but her words were coming out loud and clear. ‘Brother, I’ve come to ask for my share of our father’s inheritance. He left some land, which at the moment you have. If you give me my share, it would be a great help to me and my children.’
Janpary’s brother could no longer contain his anger and got up from the charpoie. Her words were like bullets shot into the back of his head. His wife was first to respond. ‘Janpary, where is your shame? How can you ask your brother for the meeras?’
Janpary’s brother came and sat near her. ‘Look, my dear sister, you know that in our culture no woman – I mean, no decent woman – asks for meeras. What our father left behind belongs only to your brother. You got married a long time ago.’
‘Oh, I swear to God, I swear on my children’s lives, that if I had some money or an income I wouldn’t be here. If I was able to feed my children I wouldn’t ask you for anything.’ Janpary began to sob. ‘Please, brother, have some mercy on my fatherless children; don’t force me to beg on the streets. Just give me what you can. I’m not asking for all that I’m due.’
The more Janpary pleaded the angrier her brother became. He said he would look into a way to try to help her but that she must now leave his house. By now Janpary and all her children were weeping. They were upset to see their uncle angry and shouting at their mother and their mother’s helplessness.
Janpary’s sister-in-law came close and whispered in her ear. ‘Woman, I’m telling you: forget all this nonsense about your meeras.’
‘Have you no shame?’ Janpary replied. ‘You’ve taken the whole of my family’s inheritance. If I ask for my share, you think it’s shameful, but when you don’t give what is rightfully mine, it’s not?’
Her sister-in-law faced her directly. ‘Woman, I’m telling you to stop dreaming about getting even half a rupee. You’re just a shameless widow. Go back to your begging and don’t bother my husband any more.’
Even through her tears Janpary found her voice. ‘Whatever you say about me, I’m not weak. I’m not taking anyone else’s right. Yes, I know I’m a widow and I’m well aware that I’m not allowed to live like other women whose husbands are still alive – I lost this right when my husband died. I know widows are not allowed to express their feelings; but I’m also a mother. I realise I embarrass you – I have to think twice before I go out, be careful about what I say and everything I do is judged. Since I lost my husband I haven’t worn new clothes; Eid and festival days are closed and dark occasions for me, but pay attention to who I am. I am your sister. I can’t wish anything bad on you because your husband is my brother. I wish my brother every happiness and pray that God will direct you in the right way. I can’t even curse you because I don’t have the malice in me to wish that you were in my situation. If I did that, I’d be no better than you. I don’t know where your sense of justice has gone and I don’t understand where my brother’s kindness has gone.’
Then Janpary took hold of her daughter’s hand and walked out of her brother’s house followed by the rest of her children.
As they walked away Naqib said, ‘Mot
her, I wanted to beat my uncle when he shouted at you like that.’
Janpary was shocked. ‘My child, you’re too young; you mustn’t talk about beating people up. I’ll sort this out and make sure we get our share from my brother.’
Janpary took her children home and then left the house for work. She wept as she walked through the streets, her burqa like a curtain closing her off from the world. She was anxious to see Bibi and tell her what had happened. Her children had cried with her but they were young and couldn’t help. She needed a friend to share her pain with. Janpary marched straight into the kitchen, took off her burqa, tightened her scarf around her head, rolled up her sleeves and began washing a large pile of dirty dishes. Next, she sat on a small wooden stool and began to scrub the dirty pots. She splashed them with water as the tears continued to flow down her face. She blew her nose on her sleeves and tried to stop crying but the pain her brother had caused and the fear of poverty made it impossible. Somehow she found the energy to scrub and give a perfect shine to the black pots. She rubbed sand over the bottom of them where they had been scorched with heat and took them out into the sun to dry. She moved quickly to finish her jobs but her mind was stuck on how her brother had treated her.
When Janpary went upstairs to see Bibi, she was just finishing her late breakfast. She greeted Janpary and noticed her red and puffy eyes. She asked if anything was wrong. This one question was enough to start Janpary crying again.
‘Bibi jan, it’s nothing much. I knew my brother would say no to my request.’
Bibi invited Janpary to sit next to her. Then she said, ‘Too much crying robs you of your energy. It tears you apart, and after many hours of crying, no help comes. It only comes if you try hard for it.’
But Janpary couldn’t stop crying and she told Bibi how she felt humiliated by her brother. She said he and his wife had cursed her in front of her children when she made the mistake of asking for her rightful meeras.
Bibi said, ‘Of course, your brother was going to do this. If he were a decent man, if he was a good Muslim, he wouldn’t let you be in this situation in the first place. You’ll have to plan and fight for your share.’
Janpary asked how she could do this.
‘We have a law and a government. You must go to the courts and speak to a judge. Don’t worry, I’ll take you there.’
Janpary felt so relieved; it was as though someone was giving her a mountain to lean on. She prayed for a long-lasting and happy life for Bibi before finishing the rest of the jobs in the house.
In the late afternoon Janpary returned home to feed her children. When she saw their faces it was clear they were still upset and worried for their mother. Janpary tried to lighten their mood by telling them that she had brought them something to eat, but her daughter ran up to her mother and said, ‘Auntie is here.’ Janpary was surprised and asked which auntie. ‘Auntie Naseema, uncle’s wife.’
Janpary guessed that her sister-in-law had come to further insult and humiliate her but the two women greeted each other politely. Janpary told her daughter to bring tea for her auntie but Naseema insisted she didn’t want anything apart from a quick word with Janpary. Naseema and Janpary sat opposite each other. Naseema was wearing clean cotton clothes and her face and hands were soft and smooth. Janpary wore a large grey scarf around her body, marked with sweat and grime; her hands were red and calloused after scrubbing pots all morning; her face was dark from the sun and it looked as if it was a long time since her hair had been combed.
Naseema cleared her throat. ‘I know you’re really an honourable woman. You’re a Pashtun woman so it doesn’t suit you to do shameful things like this. Do you know of any Pashtun woman who has done this sort of thing? You’re going to embarrass your brother in front of the whole village, so I’m asking you to change your mind. I’m offering you the opportunity to come and live in our house. We’ll give you and your children a room in the corner of the house. In return, you can look after the place, so instead of cleaning strangers’ houses you can clean mine. Your children can also help. As you know, my children are at school all day and I’m left at home with too many chores to do.’
Janpary could barely believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t look at her sister-in-law while she was speaking and had been drawing lines on the floor with her fingers, but now she faced her.
‘Naseema! Why don’t you have any feeling of kindness towards me? I’m a woman and a mother just like you. The only thing I have is this small house, and now you want me to leave this to come and be your servant?’
‘Yes, I want you to be my servant! Do you expect me to treat you like a queen?’
At this, Janpary began crying and shouting. ‘Naseema, be scared of God’s anger. Look at my children. I have hopes for them. I too want to send my children to school but you want them to become your servants?’
Naseema said, ‘For a young woman who roams around other people’s houses all day, surely it’s better to stay out of sight in your brother’s house. It must be preferable to serve your brother and his children rather than wash a strange man’s dirty shalwar!’
‘The sister of a shameless brother like mine has to wash strangers’ shalwars. If my brother, who lost his sister in a bet, doesn’t feel ashamed then why should I? If my sister-in-law is trampling all over me and my four children then why should I be their servant? It offends me to call you my family. Shame on you, woman, shame on you!’
Naseema seemed so angry it looked as if she was about to tear her own clothes in rage. ‘You faihsha (whore)! Go and sleep with the men you work for because you didn’t get enough attention from your gambler husband. You’ll do anything to shame your brother in the village.’
Janpary’s children started wailing. Janpary had to restrain herself from lashing out at her sister-in-law.
‘Naseema, I came to you in private to ask your husband for my share but now I’m forced to go to court to claim what is mine. I’m going to take every rupee I’m owed by you and your family. God has given me this right.’
At this Naseema stood up. ‘Listen to you! Who do you think you are? Where have you got all this talk of court from? It’s from those men you spend all your time with. They must have filled your head with this nonsense.’
Janpary’s face went red and then pale. ‘For God’s sake, woman, don’t insult me just because I’m poor and a widow! How dare you say these terrible things in front of my children? Have you no fear of God? Islam has given me this right.’
Janpary went up to Naseema and grabbed her chin – a sign of pleading. ‘Please don’t insult me. I beg you!’
Naseema pushed Janpary’s hands away. ‘Janpary, I’m not stupid. I know you had no idea about this meeras nonsense. You’re obviously one of those women who sleep around with men. One of your men must have shown you these kind of shameless things.’
Janpary gripped Naseema’s hand tightly and told her to leave her house immediately. Naseema shoved her back hard. ‘I’ll be telling your brother what you’ve done today. Just you wait and see what’s going to happen to you.’
After her sister-in-law had gone, Janpary sat on the floor in the middle of the room, surrounded by her four children. ‘God, do you ever listen to a widow like me?’ she implored. ‘What should I do? Please show me a way out.’ She and the children all sobbed and hugged one another.
Naqib said, ‘Mother, I’m not going to let Auntie Naseema come here again. I don’t like how she talks to you. Is it true what she says about you meeting men?’
Janpary was shocked and upset that her own son now appeared to be questioning her. She told him that he would have to wait until he was grown up before he could understand his mother’s situation. ‘I hope I’m still alive when that day comes,’ she said, mournfully.
Naqib fell silent. He and his brothers and sister were tired. Janpary, too, was exhausted but it was a long and lonely night for her as she worried about what to do.
Early next morning Janpary rose to say her prayers and to
start cooking the children their breakfast. She went into the room where they were sleeping and gently kissed each one on the forehead. At that moment, Janpary decided to take her meeras from her brother no matter the personal cost.
Janpary began her cleaning while Bibi was still asleep, impatient for her mistress to wake up so she could get some more advice. At about nine o’clock Bibi finally surfaced. Janpary made tea for her and began to explain how her sister-in-law had insulted her. Bibi said Janpary should go to the police station in the city and get legal advice, offering to send the guard with her. Janpary was frightened at the prospect of doing this but she daren’t refuse because she was determined to fight for her right. She had made that decision and was going to stick to it.
Janpary promised Bibi that she would finish all her work when she returned and got into the car with the guard. They had to pretend that they were brother and sister because if the Taliban had found out she was out of the house with a man she was not related to they would consider it haram – something that is forbidden in Islam. The Taliban believe you must have a legal and Islamic relationship with the man you are with on the street; they call that man mahram.
This was the first time in her life that Janpary had gone to an official place for legal advice. She was nervous about talking to officials about her meeras. She sat on a wooden chair, which had been placed in front of large desk in a dark and dusty room. A Talib with a small black turban, a long beard and with eyes that had been underlined with kohl looked at her, and asked, ‘What is it you want? Why are you here?’
Janpary’s hands were trembling. She had heard stories of how the Taliban had beaten up women on the streets. Her voice could barely be heard since her head was facing the floor and was hidden beneath her burqa.
‘Mullah Saab, I need to get my meeras from my brother. We are Muslim and I have asked him for my share of our inheritance. I’m poor and a widow and have four children. I only have a few more days’ work left and after that there’ll be no more money so I don’t know how I’ll feed my children.’
Dear Zari: Hidden Stories from Women of Afghanistan Page 19
