Until We Meet Again in Jannah

by Laki Khan

  She giggled as I nodded in agreement and said, ‘It would be an honour.’

  The excitement of the evening made it extremely difficult for me to wind down for much-needed sleep. I sat up slowly and quietly as Ammu slept. My body was wounded with fatigue while my mind was full of worry. I thought about the occurrences of the day, starting with my conversation with Sumayah and then about Ammu, and then the gown. My head and heart began to ache with the weight of this burden I carried. How could I disclose my dilemma and anguish to Ammu? How selfish would it be of me to want to destroy the happiness I had witnessed on her face today? I thought about Abbuji and how much love they’d had for each other. My interpretation of marriage was that it was a partnership based on love, trust, respect, mutual understanding, growth, communication, and the constant pursuit of keeping all of those things alive. This was what I had witnessed in my parents’ marriage, and perhaps this was what I was in search of.

  The next morning, I woke up feeling tired and overburdened with a mind full of racing thoughts. I prayed with Ammu and left for school. I taught the children how to say names of fruits in English as a continuation from my last class. At the end of the session one of the children asked me a question that left me feeling nonplussed: ‘Teacher, after your wedding, who will teach us? You will be in the kitchen cooking like my Ammu does.’

  I stood and stared at him in silence until he tugged at my hand, bringing my attention back to his question. I locked away my emotions, touched his worried, angelic face, and said, ‘Don’t you worry. There is another teacher who will teach you many different things, and who is much more fun – you will be laughing every single day, I promise,’ I reassured him, and he smiled.

  That afternoon I reached home and took comfort in sitting in my usual place. I felt so disconnected that I hadn’t realised my sandals were almost floating away into the stream. My Nikkah was now only a few days away and worry had now given way to panic that was brewing like a storm inside me. I had captured the little boy’s angelic face in my mind, and many questions now surfaced that had been triggered by his. Although he was a small child, even he had observed the ritualistic behaviour of life in our village and reached the conclusion that women refrained from work outside the home after marriage, in order to shoulder the responsibility of the smooth running of the household and more importantly to bear and raise children. I wondered if that was the life I wanted to subject myself to. Was I really and truly physically, emotionally and psychologically ready to commit myself to Hamid and surrender all my goals in life for a responsibility I somehow felt obliged to undertake, due to the societal traditions of my village? My mind flew back to Sumayah; it felt as if my thoughts were clearing like a dark cloudy sky slowly turning pale blue and bright. I had come to the realisation that I was not physically attracted to Hamid, although this was something I was prepared to work on, and this will gave way to a new determination, almost like a light that shone the brightest in darkness.

  Just then I heard Ammu’s voice. ‘Saira, are you in the back?’

  ‘I’m coming,’ I said, loud enough for her to hear me. I quickly dried my feet on the muddy ground and hurried inside. Ammu was carrying a load of bags and appeared exhausted, so I offered her some water to drink.

  ‘Saira, let’s eat first, and then I have a few things to show you,’ she said. I sat through dinner silently cursing myself at the mere thought of how I had even contemplated disappointing her – the most precious person in my life. I quietly sat beside her after clearing the dishes, and Ammu began unpacking items that appeared to be to do with my Nikkah.

  ‘Look at this, Saira,’ she gushed, as she held up a beautiful bronze-coloured necklace covered with shiny stones that reflected beautifully against the light. I held it up in my hand as the beauty of it continued to captivate me. Ammu informed me she had travelled to Sylhet Town, where they had many antique jewellery stores, just so she could purchase a matching necklace for me to wear with my perfect gown. She looked at me with pride and joy and said, ‘Saira, this is going to be one of the most prominent days of your life, and I want you to enjoy it and look like the princess that you are.’ I began to choke on my own tears as she buried me deep into her chest in a maternal embrace. I was filled with panic and I needed to somehow stay composed; I gave a weak smile.

  In that moment I surrendered my physical being, my mind and my soul to Hamid, with whom I would very soon be forming the most intricate bond in life. Whether this was a compromise or a sacrifice I remained unaware; however, I silently took an oath of determination to make this work no matter how difficult the struggle ahead may be.

  Just as planned, my Nikkah took place. I was adorned with sweet-smelling fresh marigolds that had been intricately tied to both my wrists, ankles and around my forehead in the form of a crown. There was an intimate ceremony, followed by a gathering in our courtyard for the entire village to attend, where food and traditional Mitai were served on cut-out banana leaves to everyone in attendance. I held my mother’s hand one final time against the beat of my heart as I bid her a devastating farewell, forsaking the heaven that lay beneath her feet, before handing her over to the custody and care of the villagers. Although this broke my heart, I felt assured she would be safe as I made my journey to begin this new chapter with Hamid and his family in a neighbouring village, completely and utterly unaware of what was to ensue.

  Chapter 5 – The Shadow of Fear

  It was Friday morning, the day when all the men in the village attended Friday Jummah prayer at the local mosque, Hamid being one of them. It was my third month here in my marital home as a newly wedded bride, and I sat plucking the first of the three slaughtered chickens in front of me in preparation for the feast hosted every Friday lunchtime for extended family. I was not familiar with plucking chickens, as with many things here – things that did not resonate or appeared nonsensical no matter how many times I ruminated over them. One of these was my husband, who appeared to hibernate during the day and would roam the village at night, as if in search of something he clearly knew he would never attain.

  ‘These need to be cooked and ready for serving by two o’clock,’ said my authoritarian mother-in-law Amma, sourly. I scurried into the kitchen, gathering whatever pieces of firewood I could muster, and placed them deep inside the stove. Then I returned to my uncompleted task of plucking chickens. I detested the feel of the rubbery skin against mine, but I ploughed on bravely. I dissected the three chickens, ensuring they were in small pieces according to Amma’s instructions. I then macerated them in a large pot with some onions, a little salt, a little oil, and a little more water; Amma shouted if I used any more than two teaspoons of oil, often accusing me of using too much and increasing the household expenses. I then carefully added Amma’s selection of spices along with crushed garlic and ginger, ensuring the flavours blended well. I just remembered to garnish it with the aromatic fresh coriander as Amma had told me; she was extremely pernickety.

  I still had the mundane task of making a dozen samosas. In a hot pan I added the soft white coconut pulp that I had grated earlier into small thin pieces and began to cook it in its own sweetness until the mixture had turned a golden brown. Kamla, the lovely young girl who worked in the house and was my helping hand, began to roll out the dough in thin circles, and I quickly placed small portions of the coconut mixture inside them, folding them in half and then pinching the sides into half-moon shapes. I panicked at the thought of not having enough samosas so Kamla helped, enabling me to complete the task in the nick of time. I then prepared and set out the finest cutlery the family owned and headed upstairs to wipe off the accumulation of beads of sweat that now decorated my face.

  They did this every Friday. I knew it would be an extremely long and exhausting day; I would be expected to serve food, followed by tea and snacks, and then the vital task of cleaning after everyone had dispersed one by one would await me. All this while my taskmistress stood over me imposing her authority. I failed to understand the
traditions of this family, which had no correlation with mine. Some things baffled me, such as the men being served the entire meal that had been prepared while the women would eat only after they had finished, and only what was left over, if anything. One Friday, while I was cleaning, I watched curiously as Hamid took out a plate of rice and chicken that he had apparently kept aside for me, without the knowledge of anybody else. He would have been penalised for expressing even an inkling of humanity or affection towards his spouse.

  I entered our room as quietly as I could; as expected, Hamid lay fast asleep amongst the plastic flowers that had been used to adorn the newly wedded bed. Reclusive was the word that best described him and, as for our relationship, I was dumbfounded. I was perplexed, unable to comprehend the change I had witnessed the very evening Hamid had brought me here as his newly wedded wife. I remember coming back to an empty house with him and his parents, minus the wedding procession, fancy lights or decoration. The house was dark and unwelcoming, and I was left alone on the first night of our marriage. Secretly I was grateful for this, although I did wonder where Hamid had disappeared to. The suspense continued when I later discovered his nocturnal behaviour; he spent his nights loitering around the village and slept during the day. I often wondered whether or not this had been his lifestyle out in Dubai, although I couldn’t muster the courage to ask about it as we had failed to even establish a bond of friendship let alone lay the foundations of a solid marriage. I felt guilty, mostly about my poor mother, who I had only seen the once when she had visited me the previous month for the first time. Miraculously, that day Hamid became once again the lovely gentlemen he had portrayed during our introductory meeting, and suddenly his parents became loving and kindly spoken, together creating the most perfect ambience and harmonious matrimonial home I could have wished for. That day Ammu was convinced that all was well, so I took care to maintain the facade and hide what was in fact my horrid reality.

  I continued living submissively in that mysterious house, although I questioned many things, such as, why did Hamid marry me? And what was the mystery behind this charade of hosting luncheons when they were all living in complete misery, or at least that was what I had gathered from my short period of living there? Hamid appeared to be detached from his parents in every sense possible. My father-in-law spent his days sleeping and his waking hours smoking tobacco from his brass hookah. However, Amma appeared completely oblivious to the behaviour of her son and husband, dictating every last task and decision in the house from the breakfast menu down to how many onions would be required before the next monthly visit to the local bazaar. She was a woman spent, taxed in every way, and on a mission to change the inevitable, it seemed.

  I looked away as Hamid turned over in my direction, eyes half open now, and we both heard the chatter of the guests who had begun to arrive one by one. ‘Saira, can you begin with the snacks first,’ called out Amma. As usual Hamid said nothing; he just stared into my eyes for a second and then looked away. For that second it almost felt as if there was something he desperately wanted to tell me; only an unknown dark force prevented him, a force that perhaps, if revealed, would provide the sense within this nonsensical household.

  I went downstairs adorned in a pretty sari and matching bangles, as wearing anything else would be deemed unladylike. It was traditional to greet the extended family members, consisting of aunts and uncles, in this manner. They were extremely backward in many ways, believing that women should bow down to the dictatorship of men and have no voice at all. ‘Assalamualaikum,’ I said politely, and they all stared back, evaluating me. They expected me to serve them while they sat and watched me pander to their every need.

  The previous Friday, I had clearly overheard them whispering something about ‘the previous one’, and ‘if there had been any news’, only they discontinued the whispered conversations whenever I was around. They engaged in whispered conversations with one another often, which left me wondering about what the mystery was. I had become so confused following this that I even approached Kamla. However, when I asked her, a terrified look appeared on her face and she squeezed my hand so hard that it hurt. ‘Please don’t ask me this ever again, both of us will be in danger,’ she said. Danger! I thought out loud; clearly she must have been exaggerating. Admittedly this family was extremely odd and reclusive; however, I did not feel that they posed any threat or danger, or at least that was what I thought.

  I served everybody snacks; the huge number of coconut samosas that I had fried earlier had begun to repulse me now. The abhorrent luncheon continued as I served them the main meal, and silently watched them devour it all without so much as a thank you or even an inkling of gratitude. It almost felt as if Amma needed the approval of these people to create the image of herself that she aspired to, and the only way that she was able to achieve this was through hosting these grand gatherings. Perhaps it was an attempt to conceal something deep and dark on a much larger scale. Every so often the ladies would stare at me then break away whenever I stared back, and then talk amongst themselves as if evaluating and critiquing a conspiracy known only to them. As I stood sweltering in the intense heat like the melting wax of a candle, I cursed myself first and then my surroundings.

  All the guests had finished lunch and gathered out in the open courtyard, some in the shade beneath the towering betel nut trees, and some of the women lounging on the small, humid kitchen floor. Kamla and I sat down for lunch, as I knew it would soon be time to serve tea followed by more savouries. I offered Hamid lunch as he entered the kitchen; however, as I expected he declined, leaving the house as the guests condemned his behaviour. It almost appeared that he was the ugly duckling of the family, and that there was something more to him than met the eye.

  There was hardly any food left over for Kamla and I, so I gave her the last of the chicken and she smiled. I collected water to brew the tea; thirty cups of tea required several pots, something I had learnt the hard way a few weeks before when Amma shouted at the sight of half-filled cups. I went to gather a few more pieces of firewood, which was piled up in a shaded corner of the back courtyard, and I heard a very hushed whisper: ‘Have you asked Saira about it? It’s been a few months – she should have been pregnant by now.’ I was now on full alert, my nerves tingling, and I peered round to discover Amma talking to one of Hamid’s aunts. They very quickly walked away as Kamla followed outside with the kholosh. This baffled me to such an extent that I was unable to comprehend what I had just witnessed. Why would this question even arise at a gathering such as this? Pregnant? Surely if Hamid wanted children he would have spoken to me about it. Surely he understood that in order to reproduce, a certain level of intimacy was required? I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  I began serving the women tea with their savoury snacks as each one stared at me. It was now late afternoon and much to my relief the luncheon was finally coming to an end, and I began to bid them all farewell individually. I watched as one of the ladies said to Amma, ‘Maybe next week you will share some Mitai.’ In response Amma just laughed uncomfortably, attempting to disregard the comment in its entirety.

  ‘Everything needs to be cleaned, Saira,’ said Amma with a scowl across her face as she disappeared into her room for her late afternoon nap. I sat down to rest my exhausted feet and sore hands, while I tried to connect the dots of all the strange happenings. Only none of it connected, nothing appeared to fit or make sense.

  I heard Kamla piling up the pots, so I walked over to her, sat her down and told her about what I had witnessed. ‘Kamla, I know you know something. Tell me, please, what does all this mean?’ I demanded.

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ she said, petrified.

  ‘Please, Kamla, you have to help me, what’s going on here?’ I pleaded with tears streaming down my face.

  ‘Okay, but you must promise never to mention my name,’ she said quietly.

  This revelation was one I could not have prepared for in a million years; it shook the ground be
neath my feet, it was cruel and callous and premeditated in every way possible. I stood, shell-shocked and broken, as Kamla informed me that I was in fact Hamid’s third wife, and that his parents had insisted he remarry a young girl so she could produce an heir, which the other wives had been incapable of. Amma in particular found this to be shameful and a disgrace, and was continually taunted by the extended family members; the luncheons were her way to stay integrated and to remove the tarnish. Hamid had been an only child and Amma’s ultimate goal was for him to produce an heir for their family; I had been specifically selected for the completion of this task. I felt betrayed and disgusted in every way possible by this cold reality, but when I turned around to ask Kamla where the other two wives were, she had disappeared. I felt as if I was in a state of mourning, as if I had lost a piece of my identity and integrity. Did I not matter? Had my feelings and emotions been reduced to this level of inhumanity, I questioned, as I cleaned the kitchen.

  I sat on the cool muddy ground beside the stove lost in deep thought as I reflected on when I had mentioned to Hamid about teaching in the nearby school. His response had been, ‘You’re still a new bride, Saira.’ I figured what he had meant was that that would defeat the purpose of my being here. A sudden fury overtook me, mainly at myself and then at Hamid; why had he deceived me so callously? I decided I would no longer submit to this anguish no matter what the consequences.

  I walked upstairs to find Hamid preparing to leave for his nightly adventures. ‘I need to talk with you,’ I told him.

  ‘It will have to wait, Saira, I am on my way out,’ he replied in another attempt to brush me off.

  ‘No, it cannot. How dare you deceive me like this?’ I said sternly in a raised voice. He stood up to look me in the eye, now giving me his undivided attention. ‘How dare you conceal from me that this is your third marriage. I have been nothing but good to you and your family, and you forget to mention that I have been selected as an object to reproduce an heir for you and your family,’ I blurted out. Crying uncontrollably, I sat on the floor, dejected.