by Laki Khan
Until We Meet Again…
in Jannah
Laki Khan
© Laki Khan 2017
Laki Khan has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and
incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Dedicated to
Maryah Isra Khan
Aamilah Isra Khan
&
Soyodun Nessa
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
There are so many people I want to thank, so please bear with me! First and foremost, my mum and dad and amazing grandma – thank you so very much for sharing the wonderful stories that you did about your village and my ancestors. Little did I know that these stories would later become the inspiration for Until We Meet Again... in Jannah. My beautiful sister and wonderful brothers – what can I say other than thank you for the unquestioning support in all I do, and thank you for always having my back. Next, I would like to thank RK, all of my family and friends, and everybody behind the scenes from editing, formatting, cover designers and bloggers for all your support – it means so very much. I want to thank my beautiful angels for allowing me to have those precious minutes, and sometimes even hours, to work on my book, and thank you for teaching me the meaning of love every single day. And lastly, to you, dear reader – thank you for picking up this book. I truly hope you enjoy the journey from within as much as I have.
Much love
Laki
Prologue
Chapter 1 – Saira
Chapter 2 – Jahed Pur
Chapter 3 – Season of Bashonto
Chapter 4 – With Courage Comes Strength
Chapter 5 – The Shadow of Fear
Chapter 6 – Devastation of Barsha
Chapter 7 – Exiled
Chapter 8 – House Larger than Life
Chapter 9 – Ray of Hope
Chapter 10 – White Picket Fence
Chapter 11 – Memoirs of a Lost Village
Chapter 12 – Misconceptions
Chapter 13 – The Discovery
Chapter 14 – The Miracle that Never Came
Chapter 15 – Departing with an Angel
Chapter 16 – Untold Revelation
A few weeks later
Chapter 17 – Crossing the Distance
Chapter 18 – Nikkah
Chapter 19 – So Long, Gobind Pur
A few days later
Chapter 20 – Solace in his Arms
Chapter 21 – Something Old, Something New
Prologue
‘When you find the one, you will know. It will just feel right! True love is not perfect – you love them, despite their imperfections.’
I have lost count of the number of times people have said this to me – mostly women who, perhaps, were testament to the overall impact of such a statement – words only spoken to discourage and fall upon deaf ears. These were women who tried to improve on a system of belief they did not belong to, or that did not resonate with theirs.
I have heard and read about the kind of love that can ignite an awakening of your soul, leaving you wanting more. However, in my case, it was emblematic that it arrived at the conclusion of compromise and loss. I was well aware that some people enter your life as a lesson and some as a blessing, and he was the latter. He taught me to stand when I had succumbed to falling. He became more myself than I could ever be; and whatever we had been moulded from, we were one of the same – alike – two souls destined to connect.
Like small particles of a shattered mirror, I lay broken, irreparable, oblivious to what lay ahead; in the predicament of fate and of what had been unwritten. Sometimes things just happen, incidents that are terrible and unplanned, and they have consequences. They often change you from within – for better or for worse remaining undecided and unaccomplished.
Ultimately the fact remained that I was a woman of ill fate: dishonoured, disdained and unworthy of him and his love.
Chapter 1 – Saira
It was almost midday. Complete with the magical riches of autumn, orange, brown and gold in the month of September 1996, and I peered out of the window to see a lady holding on to her daughter’s hand tightly as they crossed the road, heading for pre-school. And, just like every other day, they were late again. The connection I felt with the little girl unsettled me because I wasn’t sure why. It made me hyperventilate. Perhaps the girl reminded me of something, or someplace, where I had been obliviously happy, safe, secure and loved, until the course of destiny changed my existence in its entirety. It galvanised me to become the person I now was. Misty clouds had covered the entire lead-coloured sky, as the golden-brown leaves flew up and then back down again. Our first-floor London apartment was beautiful, so airy and light. In many ways it represented a new beginning, one with a profound purpose and a new love.
My body came to a momentary halt as I smiled and indulged in the familiar mixture of aromas: a little musk, soft amber, light lavender, a little sandalwood, and the freshness of the ocean with a hint of spice and, of course, a little of his very own body scent; it was mystifying. I could always smell him right before he appeared within my peripheral vision. It was a scent I had become so fond of that when I couldn’t smell it I would long for it. In many ways he had become the representation of behaviour I was no longer able to express and words I could no longer speak. At once he wrapped his warm arms around me and I revelled in the safety of his embrace. ‘Morning,’ he said, brushing his cold cheek onto mine as I shrieked playfully. He was tall, lean built with a head full of short curly hair, and overtly handsome. There was a hidden solace, against that olive skin and, big golden-brown eyes that you could immerse yourself in till the end of time; and that smile that lightened his face like rays of sunshine.
‘I will stand by you forever…’ Those were words he had remained true to up until this moment, as if he were trying to replace the void in my heart and lessen the weight of my loss. His had become the shoulders that I instinctively reached out for; when I felt weak he gave me strength and when I felt fear he gave me courage. This was a bond, unbreakable beyond reason or explanation. We had been married nine months, and I could say with certainty that our bond was as special as they came – and one that was intricately complex.
‘Where did you go so early,’ I asked with curiosity.
‘I went to see Kareem. He asked about you, and would like us both to go for dinner one of these days,’ he replied with a smile. I became numb, but he looked into my eyes, threading his fingers through the tangles of my hair and reassuringly said, ‘No pressure. I told him soon, whenever you’re ready.’ Kareem and Omar were good friends, and Kareem was my only acquaintance; I knew nobody else here. I didn’t want to go. I had lost the courage to go anywhere, let alone for dinner. They had been business partners, only Kareem had given up working with Omar to become the sole carer for his father, who had unfortunately suffered a debilitating stroke a few months earlier. Kareem resembled Omar in many ways. Both were selfless and thought about others before considering their own needs. Although Omar was the owner of a successful real estate business, he chose to lead a life based on simplicity and was grateful for the smallest of blessings.
Just as I did every evening, I set the table for two, and today the flatbread had miraculously turned out round and fluffy as I had followed the steps of the method I had been taught. ‘Saira, remember to press down well with the heel of your palm,’ I recalled in remembered pain. A part of me felt guilty for not being able to move forward and was in constant battle at this most difficult time of day. I remem
bered when evening mealtimes used to give me so much joy that my stomach would ache from the discomfort of laughter. I reminisced about when Omar had held up the octagonal-shaped flatbread I had rolled; no matter how much I tried they were never circular. That evening the three of us had laughed so much that when I closed my eyes I could still hear the echo as if it were only yesterday. The irony being that now I had finally learnt to roll them round. Like the blink of an eye three had become two, and the pain shot through my internal being, pulling at the delicate cords of my heart so suddenly that I cried out. In trepidation his arms fastened around me in a protective embrace; and neither of us uttered a word as a ghastly silence ensued.
Today was the evening of Tara’s party; Tara was his cousin, and was captivatingly beautiful. She was one of two children belonging to his paternal uncle and aunt, who we only saw at the very few family gatherings that we attended. I was secretly relieved at the little contact we maintained with them as they always mistreated him. The party was in honour of Tara’s graduation. It would be a grand celebration and my instincts were almost warning a foreseeable calamity. I could see an uncomfortable grimace build up on Omar’s face whilst he told me about this, and I knew that he was concerned more for me than himself. I pondered whether or not I would be able to handle the insults and the leading questions I knew inevitably I would be subjected to. Staring into his eyes over breakfast I smiled; he had taught me to silence the world so that I could hear myself. He taught me love while others had violated, so surely I could tolerate one evening for him.
‘I’ve been meaning to give you this for a few days now, and today seems perfect,’ he said softly, unwrapping a small sparkly silver box. I watched in the mirror as he adorned me with a golden bespoke pendant that sat almost perfectly around the nape of my neck. It was a very pretty, delicate chain with an oval-shaped pendant attached right in the middle. I carefully held up the pendant which read ‘Saira and Omar till Jannah’. He whispered the words aloud.
‘I love this,’ I replied, now teary-eyed as we prepared to leave.
We were greeted at the door and they gestured for us to step inside. Just as I had expected she was embellished in her best attire, as if a trophy to be shown off; she looked absolutely beautiful. There were a lot of guests, and the inquisitively staring eyes dazed me almost to the verge of despair. The entire house sparkled with colourful lights, whilst a variety of food had been set up in a buffet style on a rectangular table that had been adorned with many intricately designed desserts; grandeur and opulence defined them. Omar greeted the ever-questioning onlookers with a subdued smile and not once did he leave my side.
As the evening progressed Chachi’s unkindly glares became more and more difficult to tolerate. My throat felt parched and my palms became sweaty, as I took deep breaths and smiled at Omar. Chachi, Tara and their friends continued to stare and in response my nervous system appeared to heighten every sense within me, sending me into a panicked frenzy of emotions.
Later that evening Chachi walked over to me and smugly said, ‘Saira, you’re wearing a sari today, you look almost unrecognisable.’
She was joined by Tara. ‘Oh Mum, I guess she has to follow the trends with her own life changes, or people may still mistake her as the maid.’ This infuriated Omar. In response I held his hand and looked into his eyes, preventing his retaliation, and he knew my subliminal message was for him to remain silent.
Just as we attempted to walk away Chachi shouted, ‘After all that we have done for you, and now you have rejected Tara for this orphan girl. What status does she have? She has turned you into what she is. Do you know how many men would line up to marry Tara?’ Silence ensued in the entire party, and everybody’s eyes were fixated upon us. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole; why were they so mean?
Omar took my hand into his, walked over to Chachi, pulling me gently behind him, and spoke in a strong, calm voice. ‘Your opinion makes no difference to me. I am just a man who loves my wife very much, and the sooner you accept that the better.’ Nobody whispered a word while Chachi glared at us with hostility. Omar looked at me and said, ‘We’re leaving now, Saira,’ as he led me out of the function and into the car, slamming the door shut.
‘Omar!’ I heard a familiar voice call out from behind our car. Much to my surprise the voice belonged to Tara who had the audacity to follow us out.
I stared, confused, as Omar glared at her unequivocally and said, ‘Have you not caused enough grief already?’
‘Does your wife know the truth?’ Tara shouted back, which only baffled me further. Truth? Which truth was Tara referring to, I wondered.
‘Tara, I am telling you for the last time, please move on with your life,’ he said, clearly frustrated, and then climbed into the car. He was visibly angry as the cold reality of this evening had been on a greater scale than expected; I felt the build-up of aggression in the manner of his driving increase and he avoided eye contact with me.
‘Omar, please say something,’ I pleaded.
‘What is left to say, Saira? This is why we never should have attended this function,’ he said in a raised voice. I could almost feel the dejection and failure that was apparent in his voice. I wanted to comfort him only I surrendered to silence, water to his fire.
We sat close together, engrossed in the plethora of dark emotions in our apartment; it appeared neither of us had the courage to discuss the night’s events. Only the word ‘orphan’ kept hovering in my mind. Almost as if it had awakened a storm that I had tried so hard to suppress, one that had resurfaced now, deep and strong, battling to stay afloat against the currents of the ocean. I looked over towards Omar, who sat hunched forward with his head between his hands, tense and preoccupied; the one thing I disliked was seeing him upset. I held him in my arms; only when I looked into his eyes I thought of Tara. I envisaged the way I had observed Tara looking at him; there was a longing in her eyes, a longing just for him, one that I could perhaps resonate with. I couldn’t comprehend why my mind began asking a thousand questions. I was fully aware that Tara and both her parents had wished for her to marry Omar; however, did a minute part of Omar ever want to marry Tara? And had I interrupted an incomplete love that had been present between them? Would they have considered marriage had I been absent from Omar’s life – and perhaps he would have been happier with her? I wondered if that was the truth that Tara had been referring to or perhaps this was a simple case of unrequited love. Although I knew very well that nothing about unrequited love was simple. These questions continued to inhabit my mind as I desperately sought clarity. Just then the sound of Omar’s voice overpowered my thoughts as he asked me why I looked so perplexed. ‘Can I ask you something?’ I said.
He immediately sat up, his back straight, looked into my eyes and replied, ‘Of course you can.’
‘Do you regret any of what’s happened with me and you? What I mean is, did I come between you and Tara?’ I asked in the most non-confrontational way that I possibly could.
‘What! Saira, what has got into you? Why would you even contemplate this sort of a question?’ he exclaimed. He was correct – I was unable to comprehend myself why these thoughts had invaded my mind. He held up my teary face with both his hands and said, ‘Saira, I have never regretted anything about you. Do you doubt my love for you?’
I took a step back, holding my hands over my mouth, breathed in and replied, ‘No, I’m not doubting you or your sincerity, and the last thing I want is to hurt you, but I saw the way that Tara was looking at you. I just need to know if all those things had not happened, you would not have needed to take my hand in marriage, and maybe…’ I trailed off, confused. A few moments passed and I felt the warmth emanating from his body onto mine as if he were trying to shield us both from this storm that was trying to capsize our lives.
‘I just need to be alone for a little while, please. I need space to clear my head, I need to think.’
‘I won’t leave you alone in this state,’ he said wi
th an intense look in his eyes.
I held his hand a second time and pleaded again until he agreed to leave, informing me that he would be with Kareem.
It was twilight as I looked up at the bespoke grey canvas in admiration, a reflection of my internal being: empty, dark and dejected. I had failed miserably to suppress the numbing pain in my heart. I missed her with every bone in my body and with every breath that I took. I curled up into a foetal position, closed my eyes and began to reminisce. I wanted to reflect and to remember everything. I wanted to relive every last emotion and feel alive again. I wanted to feel her touch, her smell, her presence, and so I pictured her smiling angelic face. In my mind I travelled back in time to how my life had been back in my beloved village, beside my mother.
Chapter 2 – Jahed Pur
My eyes opened at 5.30 a.m. and I rose to the melodic calling of the Imam of our village mosque, who was calling the Adhan for the early morning dawn prayer. Everyone in our village adored his voice, including me. It was tranquil and harmonious as the sound of his voice echoed through the open valleys. Everybody in my village began their day with prayer at sunrise; it was a beautiful and serene start to the day.
I sighed in contentment as the breathtaking, heavenly black canvas above, painted with a million sparkles, now gave way to a new day. Beams of light had begun to shine through as I stood mesmerised beneath the scarlet of dawn. Ammu was already out in the back courtyard performing the ablution. I quickly joined her and she handed me the small kholosh containing warm water that she had kept aside for me, whilst she used water that was cold. A traditional urn made out of a thin metal that almost every household utilised to transport water to and from their house, be it water to drink or water to cook and clean with. Ammu had brought me a small one to play with as a little girl and ever since then I had remained fascinated by them. She thought of and fulfilled my every need even before I had expressed it. We prayed together, ate together, and in the evenings we would sit in our back courtyard where I would narrate the stories about the day I’d spent with my wonderful pre-schoolers.
