Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor by Umera Ahmed
The police had contacted Sabiha's family but they were not aware of the fact that she had sought refuge in her house on her arrival from Lahore. The fact that Sabiha and her family had at that point been in Peshawar threw them off the scent. Mariam too had not confided in Sabiha and continued to play the part that she too was confounded by Imama's disappearance.
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Having lived some weeks in the security of Dr Sibt-e-Ali's house, Imama was convinced that she was safe; that no one would be able to follow her to this place. She decided to call Salar and ask for the marriage certificate. It was now that she was horrified to learn that Salar had neither allowed her the right to ask for divorce nor was he prepared to divorce her. She felt the ground slip away from under her feet.
This was the first time that she had used the mobile phone since her arrival in Dr Sibt-e-Ali's house; that too to call Salar and without informing anyone. She began to be aware of her folly. She should never have trusted a man like Salar. At the very least she should have read the nikahnamah or kept a copy of it for herself.
As the realization grew that Salar could become a real problem in her life, she began to rue all her earlier decisions. Had she ever imagined she would meet a man like Dr Sibt-e-Ali, she would never have committed the folly of getting married—and that too to a man like Salar.
Had she known that Dr Sibt-e-Ali would help her regardless, she would have told him the truth about Salar. Surely, he would have found a way out for her. But now that she had so convincingly lied about the fact that there was no man involved in this enterprise, how could she back out of it? And then, that she was married to the very man she had badmouthed about.. .the very man against whom her family had filed an FIR with the police on charges of abducting her. Should she now come clean and confess everything to Dr Sibt-e-Ali? She feared if she did so she may lose the only refuge she had; and at this moment she did not want to do that.
In her worry and apprehension, Imama lost all appetite; she could neither eat nor drink. The future seemed bleak and dark. As for Salar Sikandar...she had developed such a hatred for him that if he were before her she would have shot him. A myriad of fears and anxiety began to prey on her mind. Earlier, she was afraid of her family; added to that fear now was her dread of Salar. She did not know which way to turn. Always quiet by nature, she now slipped into complete quietude. She began to lose weight and became listless and lethargic. The change was not lost on Dr Sibt-e-Ali and his family. One by one, they spoke to her to find out what was worrying her but she managed to fob them off.
'What is the matter Imama? You have always been quiet, but now you look as if a great worry is pressing down on you.' Mariam was the first to approach her.
'It's nothing Mariam. Just that I miss home,' Imama tried to make light of the situation.
Mariam was not to be misled so easily. 'Why now? You have been here for sometime now but it is only over the last few days that you have stopped eating. You are looking pale, you have circles under your eyes as if you have not been sleeping well and you have lost weight. If this goes on you will soon fall ill.'
Imama could not deny Mariam's observations. She knew that anyone looking at her could gauge the extent of her anxiety and perhaps also that it was due to recent developments. But she was helpless—she could not confide in Mariam about Salar, nor could she confess to her marriage with Salar.
Again she tried to put Mariam off. 'I have been thinking more of my family lately. The more time passes, the more I seem to miss them,' she said softly; nor was this a complete lie because she was missing them intensely.
She had never been separated from her family for such a length of time. True, she lived in a hostel in Lahore but she made it a point of going home at least once a month. Her father or brother would also often drop by to see her; and then there was the telephone; she spoke to her folks nearly every day. But now she felt as if she was adrift on an endless sea with no one in sight. Those beloved familiar faces were now hers only in her mind and in her imagination.
Mariam, seeing that Imama was not willing to share her fears with her, changed the subject and began to prattle on about other things, hoping to distract her from whatever it was that was worrying her.
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Dr Sibt-e-Ali was blessed with three daughters. Mariam was the youngest of the three and was completing her medical studies. The two older sisters were married and living in cities other than Lahore. Incidentally, soon after Mariam came to Dr Sibt-e-Ali's house, the sisters came home one by one to visit the parents.
Mariam found in both sisters the same love and kindness that she had come to associate with Dr Sibt-e-Ali and his family, but on both occasions she was greatly reminded of her own sisters and the love and affection they had lavished on her. She thought of her home, her father, her older brother, Waseem, and Saad...Saad who was not related to her by blood. Saad had been adopted in keeping with her community's practice of adopting homeless boys and by giving them security and love, creating a new member for the community. In keeping with this principle, Hashim Mubeen had adopted Saad when he was very little and Imama was in her last year of school. The coming of a stranger into her house had been a new experience for Imama.
'We have adopted Saad as an expression of our gratitude to Allah, who has given us so much; by doing this we hope to establish a chain of kindness,' her mother had explained to Imama on the day she brought Saad home. 'You should regard him as your younger brother.'
Imama was very proud of her parents that day; that they were willing to share the blessings God had given them with those less fortunate than them. She did not stop to think that her uncles had done the same as had some other prominent families she knew. It was only much later that the true nature of these adoptions came to light.
Saad and Imama shared a bedroom and, from the very beginning, Saad became attached to her. Once Imama joined medical college and accepted Islam, she began telling Saad stories about the Holy Prophet (PBUH) on her trips home for the weekend. Since Saad was too young to reason, she would simplify her rationalization by saying 'As God is one, our Prophet (PBUH) too is unique. There is no one like him and there can be no one like him.'
While talking to Saad she would always ask him to not repeat their conversations to the rest of the family, but she well knew that that would not happen. She was aware that Saad was already deeply influenced by the family and the community, and by the regular religious gatherings he attended. She had also thought that once she completed her education and started living her own life, she would take Saad with her; though again she was well aware that that would not be an easy thing to do.
When leaving home, she had contemplated taking Saad with her, but she knew that such a step would increase the danger of her getting caught. Albeit many times since she had found shelter in Dr Sibt-e-Ali's house, she wondered if she could have brought Saad along. Although she had broken off ties with her family and was determined to pursue the path she had chosen for herself, this did not in any way diminish the love she still felt for them or for Jalal Ansar.
All night in the privacy of her room she would cry for them. Initially, no one knew how unhappy she was. When she would appear at the breakfast table with swollen eyes, she would shrug off the hosts' concern by saying she had had a sleepless night. However, one night Mariam came into her room unexpectedly. Since it was very late, Mariam, assuming that Imama would be asleep, did not knock on the door. Imama was in bed but not asleep; wrapped in a blanket she had been crying with a deep anguish born of hopelessness. As Mariam turned the handle to enter, Imama quickly covered her face with the blanket. The movement alerted Mariam to the fact that Imama was not sleeping.
'Imama?'
No reply.
'Imama, are you awake?' Mariam walked to the bed and pulled the blanket off Imama's face. She was horrified to see Imama's tear-stained face. 'Imama! No wonder you look so exhausted.' Making up her mind in a minute, she pulled Imama off the bed
Quietly Imama followed Mariam to her room; she was too ashamed to say anything. From that day on Imama slept in Mariam's room. As a result, she stopped crying in the nights but she still had no control over sleep; and there were still nights when she lay sleepless till the early hours of mornings.
When she would look at the medical books in Mariam's room, Imama would be filled with a deep melancholy. She knew she had left that life far behind and there was no return to it.
In the mornings, once Dr Sibt-e-Ali would leave for work and Mariam for college, Imama would go and spend time with Mrs Sibt-e-Ali whom she called Aunty. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Perhaps it was Aunty who would not leave Imama alone; she kept her busy all day so she would not have time to brood. Despite Aunty's efforts, there were times when Imama would fall into a reverie oblivious to the world around her. She made no effort to get in touch with Salar again. She knew nothing would come of it except an increase in her worries.
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Three months had passed since she had come to stay with Dr Sibt-e-Ali and family. One day he called her to his study.
'Imama, it has been a while now since you left home. Your family, while not having given up the search, has lessened their efforts to locate you. Have you given any thought as to what you would like to do next?' he asked.
'I would like to continue my studies,' Imama replied quietly.
Dr Sibt-e-Ali considered her reply; overlooking her answer he asked,
'Have you given any thought to your marrying?'
'Marry...? I do not understand...' Imama stuttered, completely taken aback by the question.
'Given your circumstances the best way out of this situation would be marriage. If you were to marry into a nice family, it would provide you with the security you so lack now,' Dr Sibt-e-Ali broached the subject that was obviously on his mind. 'I know a few boys from very good families; I wish for you to marry one of them.'
All colour drained from her face, Imama watched Dr Sibt-e-Ali. It was the same conclusion she had come to so many months ago, the thought that had led her to Salar Sikandar and to folly.
Had she not been married to Salar, she would have accepted Dr Sibt-e-Ali's proposal with alacrity. She understood that marrying into a well established family would give her sanctuary from many problems she now faced. She had always lived a sheltered life depending on her family for all her needs. It frightened her that now she had no one to turn to. How long could she go on like this? But her hasty marriage to Salar was like a bone stuck in her throat—she could neither spit it out nor swallow it.
'No, I will not marry.'
'Why not?'
She had an answer to Dr Sibt-e-Ali's question but not the courage to give it. What would Dr Sibt-e-Ali think of her if she said the truth? That she was a liar and had been living in his house for so long under false pretences. Or, perhaps he would think that she left her house in order to marry Salar and all the rest of it was a pack of lies. And what if, on knowing the truth, he refused to help her any further...or asked her to leave the house...then what? Or what if he decided to contact her parents? She had lived for three months in Dr Sibt-e-Ali's house and she had realized he was a good and kind person, but she herself was too scared, too intimidated by her circumstances to put implicit trust in anybody; she could not afford to run the risk of trusting anyone so completely.
She had reached a conclusion; she could not let anyone into her secret.
'I would rather finish my studies first. I do not wish to be a burden on anyone; I want to stand on my own feet. If after getting married there are issues, I want to be able to support myself. There is no way of knowing how things will be after marriage; I may not have the opportunity to study.' Imama spoke at length after a long silence.
'Imama, we will always be there to help you. We do not plan to cut ties with you if you get married. We are not trying to get rid of you. For me you are like my own daughter, my fourth daughter.'
Imama's eyes welled up.
'I am not putting any pressure on you Imama. This was only a suggestion.'
'Let a few years pass and I will marry whoever you tell me to. But not now, not immediately,' Imama spoke aloud but in her mind she was thinking, 'For now, I have to get rid of Salar. I must find a way to get a divorce.'
'Which city would you like to study in?' Dr Sibt-e-Ali dropped the idea of marriage.
'Anywhere—I have no preference,' Imama replied.
When she had left her house, Imama had taken all her documents, plus as much of her jewelry as she could. When Dr Sibt-e-Ali called her a few days later to inform her that he had decided to admit her to a college in Multan she went to her room and fetched a small bag from her suitcase. She returned to Dr Sibt-e-Ali's study and opening the bag took out the envelope containing the necessary documents and handed it to Dr Sibt-e-Ali. Then she took out another small container from the bag and put it on the table.
'This is some of my jewelry that I have with me; it is not much, but if I sell it, it can cover the cost of my education for some time,' she said.
'No. Don't sell the jewelry; you will need it when you get married. As far as your education goes, I am responsible for you and it is my responsibility to take care of your needs...' About to say something more, Dr Sibt-e-Ali stopped suddenly startled by something he saw gleaming in the open bag in Imama's hand.
Slightly ashamed of herself for hiding it from him, Imama pulled out the little pistol out of the bag and put it on the table. 'This belongs to me. I brought it from home. As I had said earlier, I needed Salar's help and he is not a good man...' She was unwilling to give more information than this.
Do you know how to use it?'
Imama gave a sad smile. 'Yes, I had trained with the NCC in College. Also my brother Waseem used to go the Rifle Shooting Club regularly and I would often go with him. I had begged my father to buy me this pistol. It is gold plated.'
Dr Sibt-e-Ali picked up the pistol. 'Do you have a license for this?' he asked.
'Yes, but I did not bring it with me.'
'In that case, leave it here with me. Do not take it with you to Multan. As for the jewelry, let's put it in a locker.' Imama nodded her head in agreement.
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A few months later Imama found herself in Multan. A city she had never even given a second thought to in her life. But then so much had happened to her that she never imagined could happen. Could she ever have imagined that at the age of twenty, she would be restarting her studies; this time with a view to taking a B.Sc. degree...at an age when most girls have completed their B.Sc...?
Could she ever have imagined that she would have willfully abandoned her desire to be a doctor...?
Could she ever have imagined that she would be the cause of so much hurt and humiliation for her parents...?
Could she ever have imagined any other man in her life other than Jalal...? And that she would be so desperate to marry that man...?
Could she ever have imagined, given her failure to marry the man of her choice that she would end up marrying a man like Salar Sikandar...? And that too of her own volition...?
Could she ever have imagined that having given up the security and comforts of her own house she would end up with a family as kind and caring as Dr Sibt-e-Ali's?
She had no experience of the outside world, and she had had no need of it, either. When she left home, she had prayed earnestly for her own safety—that she may not need to go from pillar to post in her struggle for survival. She was not bold enough to fend for herself and take on the odds. She really did not know that she would now have to manage everything on her own or how she would deal with strange men and all kinds of people— and that too when she had no family to fall back on.
It was a different matter to study in a medical college in Lahore and dream of going abroad for higher studies, when in the protec
She was lucky that on leaving home she did not have to face the kind of problems she had feared. Salar Sikandar had dropped her to Lahore and Dr Sibt-e-Ali's family had given her sanctuary. Since she had been at Dr Sibt-e-Ali's she was fortunate that all concerns, big or small, were taken care of. Her change of name, admission in college in Multan, a place to stay in the hostel, the expenses involved with her education—all had been handled by Dr Sibt-e-Ali—and she was profoundly grateful to God for it. At least she did not have to face the daily strife for survival in a hostile world.
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She left for Multan. This was the beginning of a new life for her. A difficult life. She felt herself all alone in the hostel. Sometimes she would miss her family and the home in Islamabad with such intensity that it took all her willpower to stay where she was and not run back to them. Often she would cry for no reason at all. Sometimes she thought of getting in touch with Jalal Ansar. She still longed for him.
A number of girls who were studying with her were those who wished for admission in Medical colleges but who failed to get the required grades in their F.Sc. exams. They were now sitting for their B.Sc. in the hopes of doing better and entering the field of their choice.
'Medical college...doctor...' For a long time these words were like daggers twisting in her heart. She would look at lines etched in her hands in amazement. What was it in her fate that was turning to dust all that she cherished? Often she would recall her conversation with Javeria.