Imama, lost in thought, her hand still on her cheek, looked at him. It was the first time in her life that he had hit her, his favorite child—she could not believe it. Tears began to roll down her cheeks.
'You will not be allowed to marry anyone else except Asjad. Even if you are interested in someone else, you have to forget him...Now! Never, never, never, will I let you get married anywhere else! Now get back to your room, and if I see you near the telephone again, I'll break your legs!' He was trembling with rage.
She returned to her room without a word and flinging herself on her bed, burst into tears. She could not get over her father's violent reaction. After crying a long time, she got up and, mindlessly, began to look out of the sealed glass window panes. Beneath was the garden of her own home and its lawns. Her glance fell across the wall at Salar's house. His room was on the ground floor; she could see some movement there and gauged that it must be Salar.
It hit her like a flash! He could help her—if she confided in him and got him to contact Jalal, her problem could be solved. But how was she to get in touch with him. She concentrated and recalled his mobile number painted across the rear screen of his car. She repeated it and scribbled it on a piece of paper for reference. Then at three in the morning, she tiptoed down to the lounge and called Salar.
Salar was asleep when his cell phone began to beep. As the tone continued, he woke up and groped around his bedside table with considerable annoyance.
'Hello,' he said drowsily. Imama recognized his voice. 'Hello?' he said again.
'Salar, it's me, Imama' she said.
He was about to say 'Imama who?' but he sat up with a jolt. Along with the name, he recognized the voice too.
'I'm Waseem's sister.'
'I know.' He switched on the lamp and reached for his watch. It was ten past three. There was silence at the other end of the line. 'Hello,' he said again.
'Salar, I need your help.' He frowned, trying to understand. 'I saved your life once and I want you to save my life now.' He listened to her. 'I need to contact someone in Lahore, but I can't.'
'Why?'
'Because no one's picking up the phone.'
'At this time, you want...'
She interrupted, 'Please just hear me out. I can't call during the day and perhaps not even tomorrow night—I'm not allowed to... I want you to note this number and address and to contact Jalal Ansar. Ask him if he has spoken to his parents, and if so, what their response is; and tell him that my parents have fixed my wedding date and will not let me leave Lahore until I get married.'
This was interesting: Salar sat up in bed, pulling his blanket over his knees, and listened to Imama dictating the telephone number and address. He did not write it down—he didn't need to.
'And what if I get no response either?' he asked.
'Then please go to Lahore and meet him.' She was pleading now. 'This is very important for me.'
'If he should ask me how I come into the picture...'
'Tell him whatever you want—that doesn't interest me. I just want out of this mess.'
'Wouldn't it be better for you to talk to him?' Salar said.
'I've told you that he's not answering the call now, and I may not get another chance to call him,' she replied. Salar was silent and she hung up, feeling hopeless.
Salar switched off his phone and tried to piece the jigsaw together: Imama Hashim...Jalal Ansar...contact...talk to parents...forced marriage. He hadn't asked Imama, but was trying to figure out her relationship with Jalal. It was interesting that a girl like Imama should be involved in such an affair—and that despite her aversion for Salar, she should be seeking his help.
'What's this female trying to do? Use me or frame me?' he wondered. He lay back and tried to sleep, but could not. He had known Waseem and his family for some years now and had also seen Imama fleetingly, but had never really looked at her. He really didn't know much about her. Compared to his own family, Waseem's family was quite old-fashioned so he could not visit them as freely as he went to other friends' homes. It did not bother him as he felt that people have their own traditions, but he had some idea of Imama's moods and temperament. However, Imama's call had shocked him and he tossed about restlessly.
'To hell with Imama and the rest,' he muttered as he pulled his pillow over his head in an effort to get back to sleep.
Imama returned to her room and sat down. She could feel knots in her stomach—her life had been overturned in a few hours. She hadn't slept all night. She did not come out for breakfast—her appetite had vanished.
Around ten thirty, she heard cars start and drive out of the porch. Her father and older brother must have left for their office—she was waiting for them to leave. She emerged from her room half an hour after Hashim Mubeen's departure. Her mother and sister-in-law were in the lounge. Imama reached for the phone, but her mother called out.
'Your father has said that you are not to use the phone.'
'I'm calling Asjad.' Imama looked at her mother who asked her why. 'I want to talk to him.'
'And tell him the same rubbish you were talking last night?' her mother retorted.
'I am speaking to him in your presence...let me speak. If I say anything improper, you can cut off the call.' Imama's voice was steady and calm. Her composure seemed to reassure her mother.
Imama dialed but it was not Asjad's number: the person who received the call was Jalal. A current of joy raced through Imama.
'Hello, this is Imama,' she said confidently, without naming Asjad.
'Why did you leave for Islamabad without telling me? I went to the hostel to meet you,' said Jalal.
'I came to Islamabad yesterday, Asjad,' she continued.
'Asjad? Who are you talking to?' Jalal was surprised.
'Baba told me last night that the wedding date has been fixed.'
It was as if a bolt of lightning had hit Jalal. 'Wedding date?' he muttered, but she continued to speak calmly. 'I want to know if you've spoken to your parents. I do not want to marry anyone other than you, so talk to them and let me know.'
'I could not...' It suddenly dawned on Jalal that someone was around Imama—that was the reason for her calling him Asjad. 'I'll talk to them. When will you call me?'
'You tell me when.'
'Call tomorrow. What date has been set for the wedding?' There was concern in his voice.
She was not aware of the schedule, but he reassured her that he would sort out the matter with his parents. Imama thanked him and said goodbye. She was relieved that neither her mother nor her sister-in-law had suspected that she was speaking to someone other than Asjad.
This wedding has been arranged by your father and Azam Bhai, and they're not going to postpone it for you or Asjad,' her mother said in a more relaxed tone.
'Ammi, I'm just going down to the market—I have to get some things for myself,' Imama said instead of responding to her mother.
'It's one thing to allow you to use the telephone, but you are not to go out of the house. Your father has warned me and the chowkidar too not to let you out.'
'Ammi, why are you people treating me this way? I haven't refused marriage—I'm only asking to be allowed to complete my house job.' Imama sat down helplessly.
'I fail to understand why you are delaying the wedding—the date has been brought forward but this match isn't against your will.' Imama's sister-in-law tried to reason with her. 'The whole house has been plunged into tension since last night just because of you. You surprise me, Imama—you were never so stubborn. What's come over you? Something has happened ever since you've been to Lahore...'
'And our wishes will make no difference, let me tell you. Your father has made up his mind,' her mother added.
'But at least you could have tried to reason with him,' protested Imama.
'Why? I'd have spoken up if there was something to object to—but that was not the case,' her mother replied. Fuming, Imama returned to her room.
-------------------------
/> Uncharacteristically for him, Salar woke up late. When he saw the time, he decided not to go to college. His parents were away in Karachi and he was alone at home. He was watching TV when the servant brought in his breakfast.
He remembered something and asked for the maidservant, Nasira, who came in shortly. 'I need you to do something for me,' he told the middle-aged woman. 'Your daughter works in Waseem's house, right? What time does she go there?' Salar put down the remote control and turned his attention to her.
'Yes, she does....she is there now.' She looked at him, a little taken aback. 'Why? What happened, Salar sahib?'
'Nothing. I just want you to go there and give this mobile to her. Tell her to give the phone to Imama.' Salar casually held out the cell phone.
Nasira was confused. 'I did not understand you, sir.'
'Give this phone to your daughter and tell her to give it to Imama without letting anyone know,' he repeated firmly.
'But why? And what if someone gets to know?'
'You don't need to know why,' he said sharply, 'and people will find out only if you or your daughter opens your big mouths. And will be in big trouble if you do so...But if you don't then it will remain a secret and you will benefit too.'
Without a word, Nasira picked up the phone. Salar warned her again. As she was about to leave, he stopped her. Taking some money from his wallet he gave it to her and she took it with a slight smile. This was a familiar situation in the homes of the rich people she worked for—she knew of the secrets their children had and keeping them hidden was a nice way of making extra money. She concluded that Salar and Imama had something going and the cell phone was a gift. She was surprised at herself—how come she hadn't discovered this, and then Imama...wasn't she getting married? Then why was she up to this mischief? 'And to think that I always thought she was such a good girl!' Nasira was appalled at her ignorance of this development.
'Abbu, I want to talk to you about something.' That night Jalal went to his father's room.
'Yes, come in. What is it?' He looked up from the files he was studying. Jalal pulled up a chair and sat down, but he did not speak up. Ansar Javaid, looking at his son's worried expression, realized that something was amiss.
'I want to get married.' Jalal came to the point without any fuss.
'You want to what?' This was hardly what he expected to hear from his son. Jalal repeated his statement.
'How come you took this sudden decision? Till yesterday you wanted to go abroad for specialization,' he smiled.
'Well... the situation is such that I had no choice but to talk it over with you.'
His father became serious; Jalal continued with some hesitation after a pause. 'Have you seen Zainab's friend Imama?'
'Yes. Are you interested in her?' His father asked and Jalal nodded in agreement. 'But they are very wealthy people. Besides, they are not Muslims.' Ansar Javaid's tone had changed.
'Abbu, they are Qadianis, but she has converted to Islam,' Jalal explained.
'Do her parents know?' his father asked, and when Jalal's answer was negative, he sharply rebuked him. 'Do you think they will accept this proposal?'
'Her parents' permission is not needed—we want to go ahead without it,'
Ansar Javaid was livid. 'Have you lost your mind? I cannot allow this under any circumstances.'
Jalal was crushed, but he persisted. 'I have a commitment...'
'Did you do so with my permission? At this age people have many commitments, many interests, but that does not mean that you should ruin your life. I know how well-connected that family is—they'll ruin us if they get to know.'
Jalal pleaded with his father but Ansar Javaid was adamant that he would not entertain any wedding plans for his son until he had completed his specialization. When Jalal made it clear that Imama was his sole choice, he advised that she should speak to her parents in this regard: if they agreed, then Ansar Javaid would give his blessings too.
'Abbu, please try to understand her problem—she's a very nice girl and she wants to marry a Muslim, but her parents will not accept her decision. She needs our help.' Jalal deliberately did not mention her engagement to Asjad.
'I am not interested in others' problems and nor should you be. You should be thinking about your future. Many people have problems and need help—can you help them all? Besides, there's a huge difference in their status and ours. I'm not going to earn their enmity nor am I going to lose face among my own people by bringing a non-Muslim into our family.'
'I told you she has converted.' There was annoyance in Jalal's tone. 'This was even before we met.'
'Were you a witness?' his father was not convinced. 'Even if this is true, then she should sort out her problems; why does she want to involve you?
Only if she takes her parents into confidence and they agree, will your mother and I consider your marrying Imama. We're not going to have a runaway daughter-in-law.'
No amount of persuasion or argument in favor of religious sentiment could move Jalal's father.
'Don't drag religion into this! You're not the only Muslim who must find a solution. Be realistic. It's all very well to be aware of your moral responsibility but you also owe it to your parents to respect their wishes. It is incumbent on you to obey us.'
'Supposing you do marry her, what next? You'll go off abroad in six months or so and she'll have to stay home. I cannot afford to educate your siblings, pay for your studies abroad and for her education as well,' he continued. 'How long will she sit home? Besides, what if her family sues us? We can be convicted and even be jailed. What becomes of your sister then?'
Jalal had no answers to his father.
'Think coolly, rationally, instead of being so emotional,' his father reiterated. 'If her parents do not approve of you, then tell her to marry someone else. You'll come to know how damaging your decision in her favor could be.'
-------------------------
'Baji, shall I do your room?' the maid, knocking at the door, asked Imama.
'No! Go away,' Imama waived her off. The maid, instead of leaving, shut the door behind her and stood before Imama.
'Did I not tell you to ?' Imama started, but choked on her words. The maid produced a cell phone from her chader. Imama was taken by surprise.
'Baji, my mother has given me this. She said that your neighbor, Salar Saab, has sent this for you.' She quickly held out the phone to Imama, who snatched it. Her heart raced.
'Listen, you're not to tell anyone that that you've brought me a phone or anything,' Imama cautioned her.
'No, Baji, don't worry—I won't tell anyone. In fact, if you want to send something for Salar Saab, you can give it to me.'
'No, I have nothing to send. You can leave,' she said, regaining her composure.
Imama hastily locked the room as the maid left. With great trepidation, she took out the phone from the drawer and began dialing Jalal's number, as she wanted to talk to him in detail. Jalal's mother picked up the phone.
'Beta, I'm afraid Jalal's not home and he'll be back at night. You could speak to Zainab. Shall I call her?'
'No, thank you, Auntie! I'm in a bit of a rush, actually. I'll speak to Zainab later. I'd asked Jalal for some books and I wanted to find out about them. I'll call again,' Imama said as she hung up.
Imama did not eat that afternoon either. She was waiting for the night when Jalal would be back home and she could speak to him. In the evening, the maid informed her that there was a call from Asjad.
When she went down to the lounge, only Waseem was sitting there. She totally ignored him and moved to the phone. As she picked up the phone, she heard Asjad's voice at the other end. It made her blood boil, even though she knew that her father, rather than Asjad, was instrumental in arranging this match. Asjad was enquiring after her welfare.
She was furious. 'Asjad, why have you deceived me?'
'What deceit, Imama?'
'Fixing the wedding date why didn't you speak to me?' she asked, fuming.
/> 'Didn't Uncle talk to you about it?'
'He did and I'd told him that I did not want to marry just now.'
'Whatever, now it is too late and what difference does it make if you get married now or some years later?' Asjad responded with some indifference.
'Asjad! Whether it affects you or not, it certainly makes a difference to me. I don't want to get married till I've completed my studies And you know this very well too.'
'Yes, I know, but in this whole affair I'm nowhere involved. Let me tell you that this whole marriage is being arranged at Uncle's insistence.'
'You have it stopped.'
'What are you saying, Imama. How can I have it stopped?' Asjad exclaimed.
'Asjad, please!'
'Imama, I can't do it. Try to understand my position. Moreover, the wedding cards have been printed, both the families are preparing for the wedding and '
Imama abruptly banged down the receiver. Waseem had not interfered in the whole conversation. He had quietly listened but when Imama broke off, Waseem said, 'You are quite unnecessarily making a terrible issue of the whole thing. Eventually, you'll have to marry Asjad, then why are you creating problems for yourself. As it is, Baba is very upset with you.'
'I did not ask for your opinion so mind your own business. You've hurt me enough!' Imama stormed back to her room.
-------------------------
That evening too she did not leave her room, but ate the food the servant had brought her. Towards eleven o'clock, she phoned Jalal who himself picked up the phone. Perhaps he was expecting her call. After some brief preliminaries, he came to the point.
'Imama, a short while ago I spoke to Abbu.'
'Then?'
After a few moments, Jalal said, 'Abbu is not in favor of our marriage.'
Imama's heart sank. 'But you were saying that he would have no objection.'
'Yes, I'd also thought so, but he has a lot of reservations. He feels that there's a lot of difference in the social status of our families ... and he knows about your family, and his biggest objection is the fact that you want to marry me against your parents' wishes. As such, he is afraid that your people will create problems for us.'