Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor by Umera Ahmed

  Her second encounter with him was at Zainab's house when she accompanied her home from college. Zainab had been asking her friends over but everyone else declined with one pretext or another, so Imama went along. She used to feel an inexplicable sense of peace in Zainab's house—perhaps, it was the association with Jalal.

  Imama was waiting in the drawing room while Zainab went to get the tea.

  Jalal walked in and was surprised to see Imama; he did not expect to find her there. He greeted her in his usual manner and Imama responded, shyly.

  'Did you come with Zainab?' he asked. 'Where is she? I needed to talk to her.

  I didn't know she had company,' he excused himself and turned around.

  'You recite naats very well,' said Imama spontaneously. He stopped in his tracks.

  'Thank you. Where did you hear me?'

  'When I had called Zainab one day and was waiting for her...and then Zainab told me about the competition. You had recited that naat...' She went on and Jalal was at a loss—should he feel happy or surprised?

  He thanked her for the compliment—this tall, slim chadar-clad young woman whose dark eyes had a strange impact on him. Many people had praised his skill but this girl's praise was remarkable, and more so was her expression of it. He walked away from the drawing room. Speaking to girls was not his forte, much less to one whom he barely knew.

  Imama sat there in a state of ecstasy—she could not believe that she had spoken to Jalal Ansar. So close—facing her. She stared at the spot where he had been standing a while ago, and in her mind's eye she could still see him there.

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  Their next meeting was at the hospital. If Imama had been to Zainab's house by choice, then this meeting was by chance. She had accompanied Rabia who wanted to meet a friend there. She missed a heartbeat when saw Jalal in the corridor with a group of Final Year students. The corridor was too crowded for Imama to move towards him and she realized then how hard it was for her to stop herself. Even as she sat in the room, her thoughts were out there with him.

  When Rabia and Imama came out after more than an hour, the students had dispersed from the corridor; she felt a pang of disappointment. Rabia was busy chatting when going down the stairs and they came face to face with Jalal. Imama felt an electric wave run through her.

  'Assalaam Alaikum, Jalal Bhai! How are you?' Rabia greeted him.

  Jalal replied politely, then asked what brought them to the hospital. Rabia explained the reason while Imama stood looking at him quietly.

  Dastgiri meri tanhai ki too ne hi to ki

  (You have been my saviour in my loneliness)

  Me to mar jata agar sath na hota tera

  (Were it not for you, I would have been dead)

  His voice seemed to send her into a trance. Seldom had she heard anyone speak such chaste Urdu, and every time he spoke, his voice reminded her of the same beautiful naat she had first listened to. She felt curiously proud, and envious looking at him.

  Speaking to Rabia, Jalal had perhaps realized Imama's concentration and turned to her with a smile. Imama looked away. For a moment she had an irrepressible desire to get closer to him. She looked away from him, and glancing about her, recited 'la- haul' under her breath. 'Maybe Satan wants to lead me astray,' she thought to herself, but despite her supplications to ward off evil, there was no difference in her feelings: she still felt the same attraction.

  Despite the years-long engagement to Asjad, she had never felt drawn to him this way. Standing there that day, she feared Jalal for the first time. 'What will I do if I lose control of myself every time I set eyes on him? I was never so weak. What is it about him that melts my will?'

  -------------------------

  Zainab knocked on Jala's door and entered.

  'Are you free?' she asked, then continued. 'I have a request from a friend: can you record some naats in your voice on a cassette?'

  Jalal was surprised and looked enquiringly at her.

  'It's for my friend Imama. She requested me and I agreed.'

  Jalal smiled—he was reminded of his meeting with her. 'Isn't she the same girl who was here?' he asked.

  'Yes. She's from Islamabad but studies here. She lives in the hostel. Her father's a big industrialist, but she's very modest,' Zainab divulged.

  'Seems to be very religious, from what I saw of her with you,' observed Jalal.

  'The college environment has not affected her.'

  'Yes. She's always been wearing a chadar since she came and I think her family's very conservative. But they're all very well-educated, her brothers and sisters too. She's the youngest among them,' Zainab went on. 'So you'll record the cassette for me, won't you?'

  'You can have it tomorrow,' he replied. Zainab left the room and he returned to his reading.

  -------------------------

  Their next encounter was in the library. Imama's reaction was spontaneous when she saw him there: she went up and greeted him. 'I wanted to thank you.'

  Jalal looked at her, confused.

  'For the cassette.'

  He smiled at her. 'I had no idea that such a request would be made of me.'

  'You're very fortunate,' she said softly.

  'In what way?'

  'In every way... you've been blessed with so much.'

  'So are you blessed,' he replied. She looked at him with a wistful smile and he suspected her eyes were moist. She lowered her gaze.

  'To begin with I had nothing, but now I do,' she intoned with the same softness. Jalal was trying to give meaning to her words. 'You have such veneration, such love for the Prophet (PBUH) when you say his name....' she stopped midway, but Jalal waited for her to complete her words.

  'I envy you,' she said. 'Not all people feel the same way as you do. Nor can they express their adoration for him like you—in a way that leads the listener to fall at the Prophet's (PBUH) feet. Hazrat Muhammad (PBUH) must love you too.' She looked up at him, clear eyed.

  'Perhaps, it was a misconception on my part,' he thought, then spoke up. 'If it is so then indeed I am very fortunate. All I know is that I do feel a deep love and respect for our Prophet (PBUH) and that is a blessing indeed for me.

  Allah blesses few with this feeling.'

  Jalal spoke with sentiment and Imama could not take her eyes off him. She had never felt as insignificant before as she did now.

  'Perhaps, I may recite naats some day, but never with the passion of Jalal Ansar. My voice will never move people the way his rectal does,' she thought despairingly as she walked away from the library.

  After those meetings with Jalal, Imama tried her best to avoid him—even avoid thinking about him. She tried to distance herself from Zainab too, but it was all to no avail. Her helplessness increased with each passing day and she was brought to her knees.

  'There's something about him that breaks all my defenses,' she conceded. Perhaps it was this admission that turned her attention towards him again; this may have been an unconscious act earlier on, but now she consciously put Jalal in Asjad's place in her life.

  'What is wrong with my seeking the company of someone whose voice compels me to return to the presence of my Prophet (PBUH)? Why should I not desire a man whose love for the Prophet (PBUH) is more than mine? Why should I not pray that our fates should be intertwined, that his name should be my identity? He is someone I know, someone I envy for all that he's been blessed with.' Imama had all the justifications, all the answers to validate her emotions.

  She began to find ways of being where Jalal would be. She'd call up Zainab when she knew he would be home too, as he often received the phone. The random conversations between them became longer and purposeful and finally they began to meet. Javeria, Rabia and Zainab were unaware of the growing friendship between Imama and Jalal. He was doing a house job and Imama often went to his hospital. They had not declared their love but were fully conscious of their sentiments for each other. He knew that her feelings for him were stronger than just attract
ion just as she too was aware of his feelings for her.

  Jalal was so religious that he never expected to find himself thus involved with a girl or that he would be meeting her this way, but it all happened involuntarily and gradually. He did not mention his feelings for Imama to Zainab; had he done so, she would have told him about the engagement to Asjad. Had he known, he would have been very careful and would not have allowed the relationship to grow to this degree.

  During one of their meetings, Imama came up with a proposal, much to Jalal's amazement.

  'What do you plan to do when your house job's finished?'

  'I'll go abroad for specialization.'

  'And then?'

  'Then I'll return and set up my own hospital.'

  'Have you thought about marriage?' Her question caught him off guard.

  'Everyone thinks about marriage,' he smiled.

  'Who do you plan to marry?'

  'That remains to be seen.'

  After a pause, Imama asked, 'Will you marry me?'

  Jalal was too stunned to reply.

  'Did I offend you?' she asked as he sat in shocked silence. She repeated her question, shaking him out of his stupor.

  'It is a question I should have asked you. Will you marry me?'

  'Yes.' She was composed, collected. 'And you?'

  'I...I ...yes, of course. Who else would I marry?' He saw a glow on her face as he completed his words. 'When my house job's done, I'll send my parents to your family formally.'

  She was quiet for a while, then said, 'Jalal, how could I marry you without my parents' approval?'

  He was surprised. 'What do you mean?'

  'It could be that they may object to our marriage.'

  'Haven't you told them about us? How would you know their reaction?'

  'No,' she said. 'But I know them.'

  Jalal was perplexed. He had not expected any resistance on the part of her parents, but she knew otherwise. 'Will you still marry me, despite their opposition?'

  He pondered the situation and his silence pushed her into turmoil. At last, he spoke. 'Yes. Even then, you'd be my only choice. I cannot think of marrying anyone else. I'll try to convince your parents to agree, but if they refuse then we will go ahead all the same.'

  'Will your parents agree?' she asked.

  'Yes, and I will persuade them if they don't. They never refuse me,' he said with a hint of pride.

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  'Hello!' Imama turned round at the call. It was Salar, standing a few feet away, as casual as ever with his shirt unbuttoned and hands thrust into his jeans' pockets. Taimur was with him too. For a moment, Imama did not know how to react.

  'Come, let me introduce you to the young lady,' said Salar when he saw Imama at the bookshop.

  'This chadar-clad person?' Taimur was taken aback when he saw her. 'Who's this?'

  'She's Waseem's sister.'

  'What do you have to do with them? Waseem and his family are very conservative, so why do you want to meet her?'

  'I'm not meeting her for the first time...I've met her before, and anyway, what's the harm in talking to her?' Salar ignored Taimur's objections.

  Imama's eyes moved from the magazine to Salar and to his friend. 'How are you?' he asked, seeing her look towards them.

  'Fine,' she replied.

  Salar introduced Taimur, saying he was also Waseem's friend. 'Waseem's out there.' She gestured towards the shopping center.

  'But we're not here to meet him, said Salar. She looked at him seriously.

  'We're here to talk to you.'

  'I hardly know you, so what's there to talk about?' she replied coldly. She did not like the look in Salar's eyes—he never spoke to people with his eyes lowered, she thought, especially not to girls. She began to flip through the magazine.

  'You don't know me?' he sneered. 'I live right next to your house.'

  'You certainly do, but I don't know you "personally",' she clarified, eyes till fixed on the magazine.

  'Some months ago you saved my life,' he mocked her again.

  'As a medical student, that was my duty. I would have done that for anyone dying in front of me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am busy.'

  Salar did not budge even though Taimur tugged at his sleeve; he had some regard for Imama because of Waseem. Salar freed himself.

  'I wanted to thank you for that night, although your treatment of me wasn't altogether professional,' Salar said seriously and Imama looked up at him.

  'If you are referring to my slapping you, then it was unprofessional and I am sorry (although I'm sure you deserved more),' she said swallowing the half unsaid words.

  'I didn't mind that. I meant something else,' he replied nonchalantly. 'You bandaged my wrist very sloppily and you weren't even able to check my blood pressure properly,' he said, popping a stick of chewing gum into his mouth.

  Imama felt her earlobes turning red. She stared at him without blinking. He continued to mock her. 'What a shame that you could not even do what any untrained person can be expected to do.'

  'I am not a doctor: I'm a just a medical student. And as for being unprofessional, there'll always be a next time since you are in the habit of making such attempts. I can keep practicing on you to make myself perfect.'

  But Salar was unfazed. He smiled at her saying, 'If you are trying to embarrass me...'

  'I will fail as you are not embarrassed,' she completed his statement. 'I know that because embarrassment is a trait found in humans.'

  'And what am I in your opinion?' Salar asked in the same tone.

  'A vet may be better able to answer that question,' she retorted. Salar burst out laughing.

  'Every dictionary defines a bi-ped animal as a human being. I walk on two feet'

  'From a bear to a dog, animals can walk on two feet if required to or if they desire to.'

  'But I have only two feet and I use them all the time.'

  'Well, you're lucky not to be four-legged; that's why you should go to a vet— he'd be able to explain better.' Imama's tone was cold. She was disgusted, but Salar was not to be put down.

  'You know so much about animals that you'd have made a great vet. I'm very impressed by your knowledge.' Imama's face turned a deeper crimson. 'If you become my vet, I'll come to you for treatment and perhaps you could even do research on me. What fee will you charge?' He talked in a serious tone and Imama was at a loss. Getting into a conversation with him was inviting trouble.

  'Waseem will inform you,' she said, trying to ward him off.

  Salar joked about that suggestion despite understanding the threat in her voice. Taimur tugged at him again. 'Come on, Salar! I have work to do.'

  'OK, yaar—don't pull at me!' He then turned to Imama. 'I was just joking—I really wanted to thank you. You and Waseem were a great help. Bye!'

  Imama breathed a sigh of relief seeing them go away. This fellow was truly crazy: she was surprised that a person like Waseem could be friends with him.

  'Did Salar come to see you?' It was Waseem. He had seen Taimur and Salar from a distance. 'What did he have to say?' Waseem was curious.

  I'm surprised how you can have such friends—I have yet to meet someone as rude and obnoxious as him.' Imama was very annoyed. 'He had come to thank me and at the same time to tell me that I could neither bandage properly nor check blood pressure.'

  'Forget it,' Waseem smiled. 'He's crackers.'

  'I felt like landing a few more slaps on his face...just turning up with his friend who's no better. By the way, he said he was your friend too,' she remembered.

  'Not exactly—just an acquaintance.'

  'How can you keep company with such boys? Look at the way they dress, their appearance, the way they talk! You should have nothing to do with them.'

  Imama began to walk out and Waseem followed her.

  'I'm amazed though how he could have noted that the bandage was not applied correctly or that I had a problem checking his blood pressure. He was flailing about so m
uch—how could he have observed what was going on?'

  Imama was compelled to think.

  'He was right,' Waseem noted with a smile. 'You did have a problem.'

  'I know, I was very nervous,' she conceded. 'I'd never seen such a case before, and all that gushing blood really scared me. And his attitude, to top it all...I've not seen a suicide case behave this way.'

  'And you aspire to be a doctor, a competent and renowned one—it's unbelievable!' he said.

  'I didn't tell you all this for you to make fun of me,' she protested as they walked to the parking lot.

  Imama noticed a change in Zainab and Jalal over the last few days—it was in their attitude. They seemed abrupt; there was a tension between them and her. She tried calling Jalal a couple of times at the hospital, but the answer was always the same: he was busy. When he came to pick up Zainab from the college, he did not stop to meet her as before. And even if he came across Imama, it was a perfunctory greeting.

  She thought first that it was just her suspicion, but when this attitude became more pronounced she decided to confront him and turned up at the hospital.

  Jalal's reaction was cold and indifferent—not even a smile crossed his face when he met her.

  'It's been a while since we met—so I thought I'd come over,' she said, trying to shake off her fears.

  'I've got to go, my shift is about to begin.'

  Imama was shocked. 'Zainab told me your shift ends at this time, which is why I came now.'

  Jalal was quiet for a few moments, then he replied. 'Yes, that's right, but I have some other work today.'

  Imama tried to understand what he was thinking. 'Jalal, are you upset with me about something?'

  'No. I'm not upset with anyone,' he replied curtly.

  'Can you come out for ten minutes and hear me out?'

  Jalal looked at her and, with his coat on his arm, came out without a word. He glanced at his watch as if to give her a cue.