Until We Meet Again in Jannah

by Laki Khan

  He held my face with his soft hands and said, ‘You know there is no way we will ever forget Ammu. She will always remain cherished in our memories and in our hearts, but you need to stop blaming yourself for what happened. You did everything that you could for her and she knows that. If she were here today she would want you to be happy and to continue living your life, not to be sad and unhappy.’

  He was definitely correct; if Ammu was with us she would be unhappy and displeased that I had stopped living. ‘You’re right, as always,’ I agreed, choking back tears.

  ‘No, don’t do that again,’ he said, standing up and walking out of the room. He returned a few seconds later carrying a tiny box in which I kept small items of jewellery. He sat beside me, opening up the box, and then with his finger rubbed a teardrop off my cheek and placed it inside the box. I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, asking Omar what he was doing. ‘I am locking away this tear forever, so that sadness never befalls you again,’ he said softly. ‘I have captured all your tears in this box and will never return them.’ He closed the lid and I smiled and rested my head on his warm chest. I felt in a state of elation, a happiness that I had not experienced in a very long time. This was a moment that belonged to us only, a moment of love to be cherished and treasured. He had taught me that love was living the similarities and embracing the differences; together we made perfect the imperfect.

  I held on to him as tight as I could and asked, ‘You must think about Ammu sometimes too, I guess.’

  ‘I think about her all the time, in fact – she reminded me of my own parents. And you know what I loved about her the most? The love for life that she had and her strong spirit,’ he said looking into my eyes. I knew deep down that if she were here today she would be proud and definitely approve of Omar, as she had adored him as much as I did. Omar pulled my face up so I was able to look at him and said, ‘Shall we have some breakfast now?’

  ‘Of course, it’s almost time for lunch,’ I gasped, noting that it was midday already.

  ‘Let me cook breakfast today, Saira,’ he said. I laughed and recalled the previous time he had attempted to make egg bread and ginger tea and in the process had managed to set off the smoke alarm twice and burnt the bread. He soon joined in with my laughter as I figured he must have recalled the same event.

  ‘How about I make the breakfast,’ I told him, smiling.

  ‘Just in case I attempt to burn everything and beyond,’ he joked.

  It was Sunday; I liked Sundays as Omar would be home and more importantly with me the entire day. The day was still cold with patches of mild sunshine, which reminded me of my native land. I was finally beginning to feel content with life here, almost as if I had found a new hope, a new absolution to live and to want to live. We sat together for breakfast in front of our open fireplace. I looked at him and smiled, feeling fortunate to have a soulmate who loved unconditionally and selflessly. One who always saw past the differences; perhaps he had been the solace that God had prepared for me and chose to disclose to me at a time when I was able to embrace it wholeheartedly. We spent the afternoon immersed in conversation about our native land. I shared with him stories about my Abbuji and my childhood spent in Jahed Pur, which he knew very little about. I then disclosed to him the part of my identity that he had never met: my passion for teaching and how greatly I missed it.

  ‘That is the Saira I am very excited to get to know, the life of Jahed Pur,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘Have you spoken to Layla? How are they all?’ I asked.

  ‘They are very well and keen for us to visit soon,’ he replied. ‘I keep meaning to ask you, whatever happened to Khushi – she never returned,’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, of course, she chose to work in another house closer to her maternal village,’ he replied, taking me back to the open blue skies of Gobind Pur and the smell of the damp monsoon soil. I sat back into the sofa, leaning on his shoulder whilst my mind travelled back into the season of Bashonto. I couldn’t help but to think about the numerous colourful fun fairs I had attended with Sumayah devouring tangy, spicy hog plum chutneys; I still missed her and longed to see her. After Ammu she was the only other person I thought of as family. ‘What’s on your mind?’ Omar said, caressing my hair.

  ‘I was thinking about Sumayah, actually,’ I replied.

  ‘Has she been in touch with you?’

  ‘Oh no, I doubt she even knows that I now live here permanently, and besides, she won’t want to upset her father, and rightly so,’ I told him.

  He suddenly looked into my eyes. ‘I forgot to mention something.’ I sat up to listen attentively. ‘I received a message from Chacha apologising for the incident at the party,’ he said hesitantly.

  I smiled and said, ‘Omar, that’s great news.’ He appeared perplexed, which I thought may have been connected to Tara’s earlier visit. I took his hand in mine and explained. ‘This means there is a chance of reconciliation – after all, he is your family.’

  Omar seemed disheartened by my suggestion and unapologetically replied, ‘No, Saira I won’t ever allow a repetition of that party. I have accepted his apology and resolved the matter.’ I understood all too well the emotion of betrayal, so did not push the matter any further, sitting back into his embrace. He made this moment sweeter with his presence, and I thanked God for this life and for Omar.

  Later that night I was tucked up in bed next to Omar as he slept peacefully; I caressed his angelic face indulging in that scent. I almost felt euphoric and was finally able to think of Ammuji and smile; at long last I had conquered the sadness within me. I climbed out of bed and opened my closet quietly. I carefully took out her shawl and wrapped it around me as tightly as I possibly could, and then brought out my Abbuji’s prayer mat, placing it on the floor. I sat down in submission – in prayer. I prayed to the Almighty to take care of them, whispering, ‘Thank you Ammuji and Abbuji.’ I wanted to thank them for giving me life and for nurturing that life. For helping me to grow, to walk, to learn, to talk, and to fall and stand, for teaching me to be kind, caring and generous. I wished to tell them how they had shaped my life with principles and values that I now held in such high esteem. They taught me about the most beautiful things in life such as love, happiness and unity. I longed to thank them for teaching me to stand strong against the storm and for allowing me to follow my dreams. I wanted to tell Ammuji, ‘Thank you for standing by my decision, although the consequence for you proved to be dire.’ I wanted to embrace my Abbuji and let him know how much I loved him, and to thank him for allowing me the same opportunities as a son. My brave mother, who had stood against our entire village just so she could stand beside me, had praised me while others slandered and laid blame. She stood strong as my shield all the while protecting me from the horrid wrath of the villagers. ‘Abbuji and Ammuji, you have taught me everything I know and I promise that I will never ever forget or forsake the values and principles that you have instilled in me,’ I said defiantly.

  I wanted to free my captive soul from this pain, and forever hand over my Abbuji and Ammuji to God Almighty. ‘Ammu, I’m so sorry I couldn’t do more for you, I’m sorry you fell prey to bad words because of my ill-fated actions, I’m sorry that you lost your home and your precious memories. I hope that you are both together hand in hand, side by side in Jannah.’ And then I whispered, ‘I love you both with every beat of my heart.’ I sat in silence listening to the ticking of the alarm clock while I began to feel lighter emotionally and mentally. I thought about a saying I had heard: ‘Not everyone you lose is a loss’, and pondered whether there was an element of truth in that. I looked over to Omar and recalled something Ammu had once told me about an unmarried girl in our village who had been courting one of the young boys that lived nearby. She told her to save all her love for her future husband; now I was fully able to comprehend her message. All the love I had I was investing in the bond between me and Omar, which was pure and deep like the ocean and gave me purpose. A feeling deep down told me tha
t Ammu and Abbu would have been proud of our decision to marry; I knew Ammu was fond of him as much as Abbuji would have been. I got back into bed and snuggled up as close as I could to Omar and recalled my mother’s wise words: ‘When the right person comes along you will know, Saira.’ As ever, she was absolutely correct.

  It was daylight when I woke a few hours later. I climbed out of bed and opened the curtains to discover that the sun was shining. I figured Omar had left for work as it was Monday, and that was usually a busy day for him with back-to-back property viewings. I heard the sound of tapping as I walked into our lounge, and was surprised to find Omar still at home.

  ‘Good morning, did you sleep well?’ he asked, taking my hand into his.

  ‘Yes, I did, thank you,’ I replied. ‘I thought you would have already gone to work.’

  ‘I just need to complete some paperwork and then you have the house all to yourself.’ He laughed.

  ‘I’ll make you a sandwich before you go,’ I told him and walked into the kitchen. I peeped out through the small window and watched as parents dropped off their children at pre-school; this always made me smile, as it reminded me of my days of teaching and the amazing things the children used to do and say. I sat next to Omar as he ate. It was ironic to talk about having the house all to myself; in truth, I had nothing meaningful to do in this house or in this country, and had it not been for Omar’s continuous effort and encouragement I would never have ventured outside these four walls. In countless ways he made me feel alive again, and gave me strength and courage to continue, to smile and to live. He raised me up, and on his shoulders I could stand on mountains and walk the stormy seas. He raised me up to be more than I could otherwise ever be. Admittedly, at first I was dejected by the move to London. However, I now realised that it was necessary for me to gain a new perspective. Consequently, after a few months of sitting aimlessly in this apartment while Omar worked, perspective was what I had achieved. The walks that he had sent me on – some for milk, some for stamps – had all enabled me to reflect and evaluate, and today I felt finally able to move forward.

  ‘So, what’s on the itinerary for today?’ he asked, but I was still preoccupied with thoughts. He nudged me, saying, ‘Saira?’

  ‘Yes,’ I answered, startled.

  He put his arm around me, and I sat back to rest on his warm shoulder. ‘Do you want me to rearrange my viewings? I can go in a little later.’

  ‘Absolutely not, you have your day planned and there is no reason to change it. Besides, I want the house to myself,’ I told him, handing him his coat.

  ‘Are you sure you will be all right?’ he asked, caressing my face. I nodded, walking him to the door. After he had gone, I stared into our small, warm, cosy little abode and began to clean and tidy up, mostly to occupy my mind; these actions were reminiscent of my days as a maid back in Omar’s house in Gobind Pur. It was ironic that back then I relied upon Ammu for almost everything in my life, and today it seemed that she had assigned her role to Omar. Most days I would wait impatiently for his return as he had instilled me with confidence and filled my life with a much-needed love, reviving in me the will to continue.

  I decided that today for the very first time I would independently take a walk without Omar having to create a scenario around it. Today I fully embraced the cold windy weather, the polar opposite to my beloved humid native land. I smiled at my neighbour who was walking into her house with shopping bags. I had been living here a few months now and was not even on first name terms with my neighbours; this realisation astounded me. Since my arrival here I had been purposefully avoiding all human contact unless it had been declared a matter of urgency.

  I recalled walking down the riverbank of Jahed Pur with Sumayah, laughing and chatting in the blazing heat. I remembered the feel of the dry mud under the soles of my feet and the aroma of the fresh vegetables we would meander past, back when I had been happy, content, and had a profound purpose to life. This was almost an emblematic reflection of my being now; I saw myself in a moving car. I appeared aged and perished, and more importantly there was a lack of something – a purpose, a direction – something to call my own other than Omar. I continued walking in search of something meaningful when I noticed a group of parents gathered outside a bus painted with the colours of the rainbow; a few minutes later a smiling lady opened the door and one by one each parent collected their child. All of a sudden the street was filled with laughter and children singing and dancing while they descended from the play bus. I smiled as I walked past; I heard parents asking their children what they had done that day. Some replied singing, some said painting, some said jumping and various other playful activities. Somehow seeing this play bus ignited my passion to want to return to teaching, providing me with a new-found purpose to life, which I wanted to pursue almost immediately.

  Chapter 21 – Something Old, Something New

  I returned home, letting loose my wavy tresses which Omar had become so fond of, and began to make preparations for dinner. Today I anxiously awaited his return, excited to tell him my news. I looked in the mirror at my hair, recalling those humid, lazy afternoons that Ammu and I used to spend together beside our stream. She would massage my hair with black seed oil, which, back in our village, women believed revitalised the hair, making it shiny and silky smooth. When Sumayah arrived Ammu would massage her hair, much to her annoyance, because she disliked the oil’s distinct aroma. I smiled inwardly; I knew Ammu was secretly aware of how much I enjoyed those massages although I protested against them almost every time. Sumayah remained in my thoughts – my mind’s way of wanting something or someone who had been close to Ammuji, and in this case she fell into that category almost perfectly.

  I had begun to watch television here, although I did not find it amusing enough to enjoy. I looked out through the window as the day slowly began to turn into night. That was one of the things I missed most about my native land: the melodious call to prayer. I sat counting the blessings in my life, the foremost one being Omar. The very thought of him made me smile; I looked at the necklace around my neck, the very first item he had gifted me. We had married under such unfortunate circumstances that I had made it very clear to him I did not want a ring, which he had accepted. The gold necklace shone as I looked at it with adoration and read ‘Saira and Omar Till Jannah’, and smiled contentedly.

  I began to dust the aromatic display of candles on our fireplace; there was lavender, sandalwood, magnolia. Just then I heard the door open and close, followed by the sound of Omar’s footsteps. He appeared tired and I joined him in the lounge to find him slouched over the sofa; a part of me felt guilty about the way he had spent the previous night.

  ‘Are you not feeling well,’ I asked him, gently placing my hand on his warm forehead.

  ‘Hey, I was just wondering where you where,’ he said, smiling and shuffling over a little allowing me to sit next to him.

  ‘I’m sorry, you’re so tired because of me.’

  ‘That is a small price to pay – for that smile I would do anything,’ he replied. Once again, he made me feel unworthy of him and his love; he was gracious and thoughtful. This time I managed to hold back my tears of happiness, disguising them with a smile.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ I asked. Our hands intertwined as he asked me about my day. At once I told him about my walk and just as I expected he was shocked, although he soon pretended to act normally, which gave him away. ‘Omar,’ I said, and he locked his eyes into mine. ‘Are you not surprised that I ventured out of the house?’ I asked him, confused.

  ‘I am proud of you,’ he said with encouragement. I told him about the play bus I had encountered, as he continued to listen attentively.

  I served dinner and reflected on the day’s events. It seemed I had found the ultimate solace in his arms. ‘I think about her during dinner quite a lot too, Saira,’ he said, gently nudging my shoulder. It was completely pointless attempting to hide my emotional state from him, as he had developed the power o
f being able to read the thoughts in my mind like no other. ‘I thought I locked away those tears, so how did they escape?’ he said, softly caressing my hair, forcing me to let out a gentle laugh. We sat side by side after dinner drinking ginger and cinnamon tea; this cold, windy weather appeared to sweeten the distinctive bitter taste. We reached the topic of the play bus again.

  ‘Omar, I was thinking, you know seeing that play bus today, and those children. I don’t know how to explain it,’ I began. ‘I think I want to return to teaching,’ I blurted out.

  ‘That’s great news,’ he said.

  ‘I could maybe even work in that play bus,’ I told him. ‘I appreciate everything that you have done for me, and I also know that if it hadn’t been for you then I don’t know where I would be today, or even what state I would be in,’ I said looking into his deep eyes. ‘I just think I need something a little more meaningful.’

  ‘Saira, that’s a very good idea,’ he told me. ‘Is cooking and cleaning for me not meaningful enough for you then?’ He laughed.

  I smiled and said, ‘Every day with you is meaningful, and I hope to continue cooking and cleaning for you till we’re seventy, but I just need to find the part of myself that’s perhaps lost somewhere.’ In remembered pain the expression on my face weakened as I felt the build-up of moisture in my eyes again. ‘If it wasn’t for you then I would have been stoned and taken back to…’

  Before allowing me to finish my sentence he immediately placed his hand over my lips and whispered, ‘Shh. I will protect you with my life, whichever path you choose to walk on I will always be your shadow,’ and with the warmth of his hands he wiped away the tears that were decorating my cheekbones.

  I found comfort in him to the extent that not only was he my husband but he had also become my soulmate, my confidant, and the one I turned to for almost everything. Our bond had become deep and magnetic with no boundaries to cross. It appeared we had no dark spaces in our relationship to shield each other from. Our journey had begun from the moment that he had rescued me from the swaying of the bamboo bridge in the midst of darkness, until fate decided to bind us in marriage providing me with an everlasting guiding light to my life. We were now together hand in hand nurturing this infinite bond; he had truly become the absolution to my desolation.