'I have informed her of my decision.'
'She wants you to review it.'
'That's not possible.'
'She's a prisoner in that house, in custody of her parents, her family. If you cannot commit yourself permanently, she wants you to make a temporary commitment and get her released with help from a bailiff.'
'How can that be when she's being held captive?' queried Jalal and Salar said the nikah could be conducted over the telephone.
'No, I cannot take such a risk—I don't want to get involved in such matters. My parents will never allow this and they are not prepared to accept her anyway.'
Jalal's look was fixed on Salar's ponytail—he disapproved of Salar the way Salar had disapproved of him.
'She's ready to enter a temporary arrangement,' Salar reiterated, 'so that she can leave her home. You can divorce her afterwards, if you wish.'
'I think I've said clearly that I can't help her. Why don't you marry her if it's just a temporary arrangement? After all, you're her friend, aren't you?' Jalal said pointedly. 'If you can come all the way from Islamabad to Lahore to help her, surely you can do this too.'
'She didn't ask me to marry her, so I didn't think of it,' Salar shrugged. 'In any case, she loves you, not me.'
'What's love got to do with a makeshift marriage? You can divorce her later on.' Jalal suggested a solution.
'Thank you, I'll convey your advice to her,' replied Salar seriously.
'And if this is not possible, then tell Imama to find some other way out. In fact, why don't you go to a newspaper office and tell them about her predicament...how her parents are holding her against her will. When the media highlights this issue, her parents will be compelled to set her free, or you can go to the police and procure her release.'
Salar was surprised: Jalal was talking sense—why had Imama not thought of this herself? This was a safer way out.
'Fine, I'll convey this too.'
'Please don't come to me again and also tell Imama that she's not to contact me in any way in the future. As it is, my parents are planning my engagement.' Jalal added this revelation.
'Very well—I'll tell her all that you have said,' replied Salar casually. Jalal said nothing more and stepped out of the car.
If Imama had any hope that Salar would be able to convince Jalal to marry her, it was a great mistake on her part. Salar had no sympathy for Imama nor had he entered this tangle out of any desire to do a good deed; it was just an adventure for him, and Imama marrying Jalal was not part of it. If he had to justify their marriage the only justification he had was that they loved each other, but this was rejected by Jalal. Salar could not cite religious or moral reasons to persuade Jalal because he himself was so distant from the concepts of religion and morality. Above all, why would he get into a lengthy argument for Imama's sake, with someone whom he disliked at first sight?
These thoughts crossed his mind as he drove back from Lahore to Islamabad. It was curiosity that took him to Lahore in the first place—what did this guy Jalal look like? How would he react to Imama's request? He had conveyed her message verbatim and now he was taking back Jalal's response. It was an amusing scenario for Salar. What would Imama's reaction be? She was not going to marry Asjad and Jalal was not ready to marry her; she could not leave home and there was no one else who could come to her aid—so what would she do next? Usually, girls chose to take their lives in such circumstances.
'Oh yes, she'll come to me asking for poison or a revolver. Suicide...very exciting,' he thought, in a perverse fashion, contemplating the possibilities. 'After all, what else can she do?'
-------------------------
'Will you marry me? By nikah, on the telephone?' A shock hit Salar—he was speechless.
On returning from Lahore, he had repeated Jalal's response to Imama. He thought she would burst into tears and ask him for a weapon to end her life. Instead, she was quiet for a few moments and then sprang the question which left him stunned and silent.
'I need your support just for a few days so that my parents cannot force me to wed Asjad. Then you can get me out of here with a bailiff's help. I will not need you after that and I'll never disclose your name to my parents,' Imama explained.
'OK, I'll do it, but this bailiff business is tricky—there are many legalities involved—hiring a lawyer and...'
Imama interrupted him at the other end. 'You can get your friends to help you—they must be experts in doing such things.'
Salar frowned with annoyance. 'What sort of things?
'These sort of things,' she replied calmly.
'How do you know?'
'Waseem tells me that you don't keep very good company,' blurted Imama and then there was silence. She regretted having said that—it was inappropriate.
'My company is very good—at least, better than Jalal Ansar's.' There was sharp irony in Salar's tone. Imama was quiet. 'Anyway, I'll see what I can do. But you should remember that this is a very risky course of action.'
'I know, but it's possible that my parents may throw me out when they discover that I have married; then there'll be no need of a bailiff. Or they may accept my marriage, in which case, I'll divorce you and marry Jalal.'
Salar shook his head with disbelief—he had never met anyone so stupid. This girl could be crowned the Queen of Folly.
'Anyway, let's see what can be done,' he said and hung up.
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'I want to sign a marriage contract—a nikah.'
Hasan stared at Salar and burst out laughing. 'Is it a new adventure or your last adventure?'
'The last adventure,' Salar replied in a serious tone.
'So you're going to have a wedding?' asked Hasan as he took a bite of the burger.
'Who's having a wedding? I just want to go through a nikah with a girl who needs help—I want to help her.'
Hasan looked at him intently. 'Are you joking?'
'No, not at all. I didn't call you here to joke with you.'
'Then what's this nonsense about a nikah and...helping a girl?' Hasan was annoyed. 'Are you in love or something?'
'My foot! Am I crazy to go falling in love and that too at this age?' Salar scoffed.
'That's what I was wondering...why are you doing this?'
Salar spoke to Hasan in detail about Imama and her problem but he did not tell him that she was Waseem's sister because Hasan knew Waseem quite well. However, Hasan immediately asked about the girl's identity.
Salar took a deep breath. 'She's Waseem's sister.'
'What?' Hasan literally jumped up. 'The one who studies in a medical college in Lahore?' Salar nodded in assent. 'You must be crazy to do such a senseless thing. You'd better tell Waseem about the whole situation.'
'I'm asking for your help, not your advice.' Salar was upset.
'What can I do to help?' Hasan was unsure.
'You arrange for a nikah registrar and some witnesses so that the nikah can be read over the phone,' Salar came to the point.
'How's this going to benefit you?' Hasan wanted to know.
'In no way, but then I'm not doing this for any benefit.'
'Damn it, Salar! Why are you getting into this mess and that too for Waseem's sister...'
Salar cut him short. 'Just tell me if you'll help me or not? You need not bother about other things.'
'OK, I'll help you, I'm not refusing you. But you'd better think twice because this is a very dangerous step.' Hasan seemed to have given up.
'I've thought about it. Now tell me the details.' Salar was more relaxed now. He popped some French fries into his mouth.
'There's one more thing—what if your parents find out?'
'They won't—they're not here, they're in Karachi and will be there for some days. It would have been tough for me if they were here.' Salar tried to appease Hasan. They continued to munch on the fries, but Hasan's mind was somewhere else. Salar, however, was not too concerned on that account. Hasan was not worrying about the situa
tion—he was figuring the best strategy. Salar had no fears about Hasan: he was Salar's best friend.
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Hasan made all the arrangements very smoothly. Salar gave him some funds and three witnesses were arranged for while he himself was the fourth witness. The nikah registrar had some apprehensions that something was amiss about this whole affair, but apart from a handsome fee he was also given a clear warning, and he quietly obliged.
It was late afternoon when Hasan came over with the registrar and the witnesses. They all went into Salar's room and the nikah papers were filled out. Salar had already informed Imama and at the appointed time the nikah contract was read out over the telephone. Salar sent the nikah forms over to Imama through the maidservant. As soon as she received the papers, Imama signed them swiftly and sent them back to Salar. The maid brought them back to him but the mystery was killing her—who were these people in Salar's room? What were they doing? What were these papers that Imama had signed?
She had a suspicion that Salar and Imama were getting married, but she could not control her curiosity. Handing the papers to Salar, she put on an air of innocence and asked 'Salar Saab, what are these papers?'
'How do they concern you? Mind your own business,' he told her off sharply. 'And understand this very clearly that you are not to talk about this to anyone. You'd better keep your mouth shut—it's best that you do so,' he warned her sternly.
'Why should I go about talking, sir? I was just asking you. You can rest assured Salar Sahib, I won't breathe a word to anybody.' She was petrified. As it was, Salar had an abrupt and terse manner and she was scared to approach him. He gestured imperiously for her to leave. He did not worry about the maid telling everyone what was going on—even if she did, so what?
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'Please meet Jalal once again...please,' Imama was pleading to Salar over the phone.
Salar was irritated by her request. 'Imama, he does not want to marry you—he's said this so many times. Why can't you understand that there's no point in talking to him again? He said his parents wanted him to get engaged...'
'He's lying,' Imama intervened, 'just so that I shouldn't contact him again. His parents can't fix him up so soon.'
'Well then, if he doesn't want to marry you; doesn't want you to contact him, then why are you wasting yourself on him?'
'Because it is my fate to be wasted.' She was crying.
'What does that mean?'
'It doesn't mean anything...you won't understand. Just go and tell him to help me. He holds Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) in such high esteem, tell him to marry me for the Prophet's (PBUH) sake.' She broke into sobs.
Salar was unmoved by her tears. 'What logic is this? Will he marry you for saying this?' But Imama did not reply, she was weeping uncontrollably. Exasperated, Salar said 'Either cry or talk to me.'
Imama hung up. Salar called back at once but she did not receive the call. After about twenty minutes, Imama called again.
'I'll talk to you if you promise not to cry again...otherwise hang up,' he said when he heard her voice.
Instead of replying, Imama asked, 'Then you'll go to Lahore?' Salar was amazed by her determination—she was tough and she stuck to her stand.
'All right, if you say so,' he conceded. 'Have you told your family about the nikah?'
'No, not yet.' She had regained her composure.
'When will you tell them?'
'I don't know. When will you go to Lahore?'
'Soon enough. I have some work here or I could have left immediately.' This time Salar was lying: he had no work as such and he did not intend to go to Lahore either.
'What do you plan to do once the bailiff helps you leave your house? I mean, where will you go, since Jalal may not be willing to help you?' he tried to distract her attention.
'I'm not assuming any such thing—he will help me,' Imama asserted. Jalal shrugged.
'You're not ready to make any assumptions otherwise I'd have told you that things won't turn out the way you want them to. What will you do then? You'll again need your parents' help so it's better for you to stay put—don't get into the court and bailiff tangle because ultimately you'll come back here.'
I'll never come back, under no circumstances.'
'That's being emotional,' he observed.
'You can't understand these things.' Imama repeated her pet phrase.
Salar was cheesed off. 'Do what you please,' he said and hung up.
'Your nikah with Asjad and the rukhsati will take place tomorrow evening,' Hashim Mubeen came to Imama's room that night and announced gruffly.
'Baba, I will refuse. It's better that you do not force me into this marriage.'
'If you refuse, I'll shoot you on the spot. Keep that in mind.'
She looked up at him. 'I have been married, Baba,' she announced. 'This is the reason for my refusal.'
Hashim Mubeen's expression changed. 'You're lying.'
'I'm not lying: I got married six months ago.'
'Who did you marry?'
'I can't disclose that.'
Hashim Mubeen had never imagined that this child would be the cause of such misery. In a fit of rage, he sprang upon Imama and began to hit her left and right. She tried to cover her face with her hands but to no avail. The noise from the room drew in Waseem, who got hold of his father and pulled him away from Imama. She stood against the wall, weeping.
'Baba, what are you doing? This matter can be resolved peacefully.'
The other family members followed Waseem into the room.
'She has married someone.' Hashim Mubeen was in a state of anger and despair.
Waseem did not accept that. 'Baba, she's lying—how could she have done this when she hasn't been out of the house even once?'
'She got married six months ago.'
Imama did not look up. Waseem could not believe she'd do such a thing—he knew too well. Imama looked at him with blurred eyes and quietly said, 'It's true—I am married.'
'What's the proof? Do you have the nikah papers?' he asked roughly.
'Not here, they're with my things in Lahore.'
'Baba, I'm going to Lahore tomorrow to get her stuff. We'll see then,' he declared. Imama regretted having said that—what could they find among her things?
'Even if you are married, it makes no difference. I will get you divorced and then marry you off to Asjad.' Hashim Mubeen spoke with finality. His face was red with fury as he walked out of her room. Gradually, all the others left too. She sat down on her bed—she knew now what a trapped bird must feel. It was a coincidence that they did not send her a copy of the nikahnama; even if she had it, she could not have shown it to her father as Salar's name was on it. It would be child's play for Hashim Mubeen to get to Salar and get rid of him. On the other hand, if they did not find the nikah papers in her belongings, then no one would believe her statement.
Imama locked the door and called up Salar: she told him everything.
'Go to Lahore once more and tell Jalal about me...I cannot live here any longer—I have to get out of here and there's nowhere else I can go but to him. Hire a lawyer for me and tell him to file a case against my parents on my husband's behalf for unlawful confinement.'
'You husband? Meaning on my behalf?'
'Don't give the lawyer your name. In fact, it's better if one of your friends hired a lawyer and filed the appeal—you can ask them to use any fictitious name. If my parents get to know about you, they'll get you and I don't want that to happen.'
Imama did not reveal the extent of her fears to Salar and he didn't try to probe. The next day, around 11 a.m. a lawyer called up Hashim Mubeen and spoke to him about Imama; the lawyer also informed him about the case being filed against him by Imama's husband. Hashim Mubeen needed no further proof. Erupting with rage, he stormed into Imama's room and beat her up badly.
'You'll see how you are destroyed, Imama...you'll be deprived of everything. Girls like you who gamble away their pare
nts' honor and dignity deserve to be treated so! You have dared to take us to court when we've done so much for you—you have been thankless. Daughters like you should indeed be buried as soon as they are born.'
Imama endured the beating quietly. She could understand the state of her father's feelings but she could not explain her own emotions and thoughts to him.
'You have left us without a shred of honor—we cannot face anyone. You have literally buried us alive.' Salma had followed her husband into the room but made no attempt to stop him.
'You have destroyed our confidence,' her father continued. 'I wish you were not my daughter—not born in our family—or that you had died at birth or that I had killed you with my own hands.'
Today, Imama did not weep at his words or at his beating: she just took the blows and accusations without a word. Hashim Mubeen, exhausted, stopped hitting her—he was breathing heavily. Imama stood silent before him.
'You still have time—leave everything behind. Divorce the man and marry Asjad: we'll forgive you everything, forget it all.' This was Salma speaking firmly.
'I did not accept Islam to revert to the old ways. I will not return to your faith.' Imama spoke softly but with determination. 'Just set me free, let me leave this house.'
'If you leave this house, the world will kick you around. You have no idea of the world outside—people are waiting like crocodiles to swallow you up. The man you have married, and insulted us, will make your life miserable. He must have married you for our money and status, but when you are turned out with nothing to your name, he'll ditch you. You will have no refuge, no shelter.' Salma tried to frighten Imama by painting a grim picture.' There's time yet Imama—you still have time.'
'No Ammi, I have no more time—I have made up my mind, I have told you my decision. I cannot accept this life—please let me go. If you want to cast me out from the family, do so. If you want to disinherit me, do so—I have no objections. But I will do what I have said—I have chosen a path for my life and neither you nor anyone else can change my decision.'