An hour and a half before sunrise, everyone arose for the pre-dawn meal of suhur to start the first fast of Ramadhan. Despite being free to suspend fasting as travelers, Abdul Latif, Saleem and Sikander elected to fast anyway. As Rabia had been in her monthly cycle for the past five days, fasting or praying were not permitted. She would have to make up for the lost days after Ramadhan was over. Rabia did, however, discreetly join her husband for the suhur. After the meal, she would simply avoid the fasting niyyah normally uttered prior to fasting each day.
They filed into the dining room, where Abdullah had laid out a sumptuous spread. Rabia’s face lit up as she marveled at the beautiful way the food had been presented along with its appetizing aroma. Part of her was once more cataloging Arif’s fascinating home with a view to emulating aspects of it at some time or other in her own future nest.
Those that needed to, quietly and privately declared their fasting niyyah and everyone went back to sleep until mid morning. Once awake again, they busied themselves preparing for the final leg of the trip—the ride home. After zuhr, Rabia and Sikander wanted to dress appropriately for the homecoming. Whatever was needed was removed from the Pajero before it was re-packed and everyone finally piled in. Thankfully, Saleem would not be driving now that Arif’s driver, Zaffer, was at their disposal.
Before long, the vehicle was heading down Lalazar Avenue toward the Zarghooni masjid. Seeing its approaching minarets unleashed a flood of memories in Sikander, goading his heart to a faster pace. He was almost home. His head swiveling right and left, Sikander strained to discern any meaningful changes in the neighborhoods he had called home until almost two years ago.
The streets are a little quieter, he reflected, before recalling that the slightly slower pace of life during Ramadhan might be sufficient explanation. On Lalazar Avenue, as they passed the Zarghooni, the asr azaan began booming from its bullhorn loudspeakers. Minutes later, Zaffer brought the Pajero into J-block and pulled up to the black metal gate of Sikander’s home.
The gate swung open almost immediately after Zaffer sounded the horn. Jamil was there to welcome them and as soon as the vehicle came to rest inside the covered carport, Sikander hopped out to greet his elated brother.
“Jameeeel!” he cried, hugging him warmly.
Initially overwhelmed, Jamil was finally able to utter “Bhai-jan!” He turned his head toward the rest of the house and called out, “Ammee! It’s Sikander bhai! He’s home! Bhai-jan’s home!”
Tentatively, Rabia, Abdul Latif, and Saleem stepped out of the Pajero and absorbed the peaceful seclusion. Despite the home’s warm, inviting quality, its scale and unfamiliarity were intimidating.
Rabia took care to avoid any soiling of her nice clothes by picking up the hem as she stepped forward. Seeing her, Jamil exclaimed, “Bhabhi!” and embraced her. Although unfamiliar with the word, Rabia was sure of its friendly meaning and embraced him back.
In short order, everyone approached the door.
“Sikannnderrrr!” hailed a voice. Rushing to greet her son, Sofie hurriedly approached Sikander, bringing him close to her bosom, absorbing his presence with her motherly love. She uttered silent prayers of gratitude and when her eyes met Rabia’s, a fresh smile broke onto her face as she reached for her new daughter-in-law. Without hesitation, she laid a hand over Rabia’s head, stroking gently before pulling her in closer to herself. Sofie would have to know her better for this feeling to transform into genuine, heartfelt love, but there was no reason not to expect that to happen soon.
Abdul Latif and Saleem watched the scene politely. Though of course they were both welcome, they felt the stiffness of being first-time visitors and of not belonging.
Seeing them in their unease, Sofie apologized as she released the two newlyweds while drawing her dupattha forward. She invited the men to come into the lounge to take a seat. Before they moved, Sikander began the introductions.
“Ammee, this is Abdul Latif bhai and Saleem bhai. They took me in, saw to my needs and, with only a little pressure, helped me to decide to fight for their cause, alhamdulillah!”
Sofie politely repeated her gesture for them to enter the lounge. Sikander followed them in while Sofie led Rabia. Rabia tried to embrace being in her future home and avoid feeling like a guest but quickly abandoned the attempt. It was too soon and too big a transition for her to make. As soon as she did let go, she became more at ease.
“Where’s Abba-jee?” asked Sikander. A loving stare cast at his mother lasted longer than the question warranted.
“Your father was prepared to spend the day at home but at noon he got called away to deal with a customer who couldn’t wait, bettha. He wanted so much to be here for you but—” Sofie shrugged wistfully, “his customer was inflexible.”
“A customer is a source of a living,” Abdul Latif remarked, attempting a constructive comment.
“Indeed, Brother Abdul Latif, indeed,” acknowledged Sofie with a polite smile and, she wrongly believed, with more meaning than Abdul Latif could possibly have known given the family’s crisis of a couple of years earlier.
“He should be home soon. He called just before you all arrived and said he won’t be away from home any longer than absolutely necessary.” Sofie’s mind switched gears as she realized the time. “Please pardon the impoliteness, but may I know if you are fasting today?” she asked.
Several nods came in response, clarifying the absence of any need to offer water or refreshments, while prompting her next question. “And does anyone need to pray asr?”
The men affirmed. Sikander went to the prayer room behind the lounge to see if all was in order. Indeed it was, as was the rest of the house, in obvious anticipation of his return. He indicated to the men to join him.
Meanwhile, Sofie focused on Rabia, studying her, admiring her natural beauty. She mentally rehearsed dressing and decking her in jewelry as a young girl might imagine playing with a doll.
“Your first time in Pakistan?” Sofie asked.
“Yes,” responded Rabia. Her mother-in-law’s presence, the strange surroundings, and her new status as bahu of the household, imposed a level of shyness on Rabia, insurmountable even by her.
“And how does it feel?” asked Sofie, hoping to elicit more than a conversation-killing syllable.
Although she bravely dealt with the obvious contrast in living circumstances between Laghar Juy and this home, Rabia was filled with new admiration for her husband. Throughout his time in Afghanistan, he never succumbed to drawing arrogant comparisons between their two worlds.
“I haven’t seen very much yet, but what I have seen appears to me to be very pleasant. Sik—,” she hesitated, not knowing if saying her husband’s name was an accepted or frowned upon behavior. Mercifully, it took only a moment to recall Sofie’s own reference to Javed by his given name. “Sikander has told me many wonderful things about you all, and about Pakistan.” Rabia paused, supposing that was enough to say before inviting her mother-in-law to speak.
“Rabia, please relax. This is your home now. You are not our guest but our new daughter.” As if the word had been a cue, Sameena entered the lounge. She had been in the shower, taking longer than was reasonable to get herself ready for the family homecoming. At fifteen, Sameena had started developing rebellious tendencies around her mother, but today the adolescent was on her best behavior as she too was filled with a sense of wellbeing. Besides, she was curious about her new sister-in-law.
“Salaam Ammee-jan—Oh, Rabia bhabhi? Assalaamu ‘alaykum!” she offered, her eyes brightening upon making contact with Rabia’s.
“Wa ‘alaykum assalaam, Sameena,” Rabia responded, returning the smile. Given their small age difference, Sameena held the potential to be someone she might come to befriend.
“Here, Sameena.” Sofie gestured to a seat beside Rabia.
The men returned to the lounge from prayer, taking the same places as before. Sameena sprang to her feet to greet the brother she hadn’t seen or spoken to in almost t
wo years, exclaiming “Bhai-jan!” as she rushed to hug him. Sikander barely recognized his little sister. He had missed her embarking upon her journey into womanhood. As Abdul Latif and Saleem stepped aside to make room for the reunion, Sikander pulled Sameena toward him. Being much taller than she was, his bearded chin rested over her head as he held her and allowed a tear to roll down his cheek, while softly and more than once, he uttered her name.
The greeting concluded, Sameena resumed her place next to Rabia with more warmth than before. She, too, was filled with expectancy over the possibilities that a new relationship with a female companion of similar age might offer. After some harrowing times, the family ship was finally settling upright.
“Sarwat!” Sofie called out. Sarwat, had replaced Sairah as the family maidservant. She entered the lounge and was asked by Sofie to start preparation of that day’s iftar.
“Brother Abdul Latif and Saleem, we’ve made complete arrangements for you to stay with us for as long as you like but at the very least for the next few nights after your long journey,” offered Sofie.
“That’s generous of you, Sister,” replied Abdul Latif. “But we have accommodations up in Jamrud and we should be leaving soon.”
“Not at all, brother,” Sofie insisted. “You must stay with us, at least tonight. We would be honored and you can no doubt tell my husband about your experiences in the war. He’ll certainly be interested.”
“If you insist,” Abdul Latif responded with appropriate deference. “It will be we who will be honored.” He turned to Saleem to discuss what should be done about Zaffer and the car. “We have to return the car to our host in Jamrud. We—”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” assured Sofie. “We can supply you with our own car and driver if you need transportation over the next day or so. Let your driver go. Please.”
Saleem was dispatched to release Zaffer, who set off back for Jamrud.
The absence of an unfamiliar vehicle in the patio area left Javed uncertain as to his son’s arrival. Sofie arose as soon as she heard the vehicle pull into the carport, and proceeded to the door to greet her husband. Hastily explaining who else her husband should expect to find in the lounge, and that Javed should be on his best behavior, she dusted off his business suit and adjusted his tie, neither of which he was accustomed to wearing.
Thus prepared, Javed eagerly entered the lounge. He was about to see his son after so long and his bahu for the first time. He barely stepped into the room before Sikander, Abdul Latif, and Saleem were on their feet.
Sikander came forward, impatient to embrace his father.
On this occasion, even uttering “Abba” was more than Sikander could handle and he simply grabbed his father around his chest to give him a long, silent hug. Javed, for his part, was only able to say his son’s name. He hugged him back and, overwhelmed with joy, repeated to himself his thanks to Allah for returning Sikander to him unharmed while conferring upon him the elevated stature of having fought and won in an honorable jihad against the Soviet empire.
It was almost a minute before Sikander let go of his father, allowing an introduction of the two other men in the room and, of course, Rabia. Abdul Latif, more relaxed now that the head of the family was home, greeted Javed warmly and offered several complimentary comments regarding Sikander’s character, intellect, and strength.
Finally, Sofie gestured to Rabia to rise and be greeted by her father-in-law, which she did and which he reciprocated with full propriety. Feeling blessed that Allah had brought him and his family to this point, a genuine delight at having a daughter-in-law radiated from Javed.
As the sun set, everyone gathered for the iftar, which being on Sikander’s first day back, was auspicious. Javed was not a deeply religious man, but did see himself as God-conscious. Now, with his son back home, he felt it necessary to make a positive gesture to his Creator. In line with custom in such situations, the Hayatabad butcher’s shop was asked to slaughter two goats and distribute the meat among the local indigents as well as at a refugee camp outside Peshawar.
After iftar, Javed announced he was going to the Zarghooni for that night’s taraweeh, inviting the other men to join him.
In the mosque’s sonorous prayer hall, Sikander glanced at Abdul Latif and Saleem to recall this place of their first meeting almost two years earlier. They had been strangers then. Now, they had witnessed death, faced mortality, and forged a bond of marriage. Now, they were more than family.
The following day Abdul Latif and Saleem went to Jamrud market to buy provisions and sundry items to take back home. The two men came back in time for iftar and once again performed the taraweeh at the Zarghooni before spending the last night of their visit with Sikander’s family.
That evening, Javed and Jamil relaxed with Sikander, Abdul Latif, and Saleem, captivated as they listened to war experiences, particularly of Batawul, Scotland, and Arghandab. Abdul Latif led the discussion of every topic but Scotland.
The following morning, as the suhur food was laid out and the niyyah of fasting undertaken by all present, the mood was jovial enough but deep down, everyone steeled themselves for the parting to come. It all became real after fajr.
Jamil and Sikander brought the baggage out into the dew-filled dawn air and set it down on the patio. Under Sikander’s bare feet, the bricks were still warm from the previous day’s heat. The aromas were as rich as the birdsong was cacophonous. Apart from a thin strip of slowly widening reddish blue on the eastern horizon, the early morning sky was dark with stars still visible, but a poor imitation of the splendor of the Spin Ghar nights. The moon, having yet to reach its first quarter, was below the horizon, delighting its audience half a world away with a beautiful new crescent.
The good humor subsided and with the vehicle loaded, Rabia looked upon the long face of her normally cheerful uncle standing next to it. He had no daughter and she had long been a surrogate, but especially so after his brother’s death. Leaving young Rabia with her new family was an unfamiliar, bittersweet experience for him. But the anguish was eased considerably by knowing he had let her go into Sikander’s respectable, well-to-do, and God-fearing family.
Javed tried to inject a little cheer. “Brother, please do come back with the rest of your family. The same for you, young Saleem.”
Saleem gave a polite nod, breaking from his otherwise glum expression. Sofie emerged onto the patio bringing a couple of last-minute gift packages and two envelopes. “Brother, please convey these to Sisters Noor and Razya. I’m longing to meet them.”
“Rest assured, Sister,” responded Abdul Latif, unable to bring himself to pronounce Sofie’s name. “They’ll be delivered. Please make du’a for us to have a safe return.” Finally he turned to Sikander.
With his eyes locked on Sikander’s and lips quivering, Abdul Latif tried to say something but couldn’t. He shrugged as his arms engulfed Sikander before wiping the dampness from his own eye. He turned next to Rabia, gently bringing her head to his bosom, as she too made a futile attempt to speak while fighting back a stream of tears. The stream won as she remained to see the men finally enter the car and drive off. Stepping outside the metal gate in the dawn air, the family group didn’t stop waving until the car turned the corner and disappeared.
Their departure allowed Rabia and Sikander to move on in their own hearts. Rabia had already begun to adjust herself to being in the place she would call home. Sikander, meanwhile, home at last, felt safe and able to relax in a way he hadn’t experienced for a very, very long time.
Home. The word had acquired new dimensions in Sikander’s mind. He wanted to swim in its welcoming warmth. It was a warmth that penetrated the coldest, darkest recesses of his consciousness, which even in the short span of his life thus far had needed to accommodate memories of conflict, death, and friends lost. But now an integral part of who he had become, no matter how painful, such memories could never be excised from his psyche.
Chapter 11
Wahid Electric
RAMADHAN OF 1988 CULMINATED in a joyous ‘Eid-ul-Fitr, a joy amplified by the commencement just a few days earlier of troop withdrawals by the Soviet Union from Afghanistan. The Soviets were leaving Najibullah Ahmadzai in charge as the nominal president, but most people didn’t give him good odds at surviving many weeks beyond the last Soviet troop departure. They were wrong.
In Pakistan, the situation for refugees hardly improved around Peshawar. They were still amassed near the city at Nasir Bagh to the northwest and Azhakhel to the east. They needed basic facilities, which were hard to provide, and even those needed for the army of NGO and foreign aid workers engaged in relief operations were lacking. From a business point of view, Javed was busier than ever. In fact, in the almost two years his son had been fighting in Afghanistan his company had quadrupled in size and now had over a hundred employees in a handful of cities in the northern half of Pakistan.
Their electric pumps, motors, and generators were always in demand and not simply to meet refugee camp needs. Pakistan’s electricity grid was less than adequate for the demands of its exploding population and load shedding was a daily occurrence. Generators were essential items for most businesses, threatening viability if not installed. Wahid Electric Supply Company was in a strong position to capitalize on this trend.
In early June, the company moved to a new, larger wholesale warehouse and headquarters in the Industrial Estate district to the northwest of Hayatabad. With Sikander now safely home from the fighting, Javed was a transformed and optimistic entrepreneur.
Sikander and Rabia were in the process of settling in at home, and the family began adjusting to the resumed presence of its elder son and his bride. Sikander was able to reconnect with Hamid—though not to the same degree as before—and his other friends from school. Hamid had finished school, landed his much-desired PAF commission, and was about to start his second year at the Pilot Academy in Risalpur, not far from Peshawar, near Nowshera. Sofie meanwhile maintained a good relationship with Rubina.
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