Chapter 49
49
I entered Saliha’s driveway to find Mum lingering near her doorstep, phone pressed against her ear.
‘I’ll call you back soon,’ she said in Urdu, hung up, and then gave me a death stare. ‘Why are you so late?’
‘I don’t have to answer to you any more,’ I replied in our mother tongue, digging in my pocket for Saliha’s house keys. ‘You kicked me out, remember?’
‘Stop ruining your life,’ she hissed. ‘Don’t you have any self-respect? After all the things you’ve been doing, I thought you would’ve died of shame, but here you are carrying on as normal.’
‘What kind of a mother are you?’ I responded dully, sick of this. ‘One that wishes death upon her child because they made a mistake? Don’t all children make mistakes? You had three children. Now you have none. Notice a pattern here? I don’t think I’m the only one to blame. In fact, if things at home had been better, it’s unlikely that any of this would’ve happened.’
‘Yes, yes,’ she cried sarcastically. ‘Of course, your parents are the only ones to blame. The ones who’ve been working day and night to provide you with a roof over your head and food in your belly.’
I rubbed my temples. ‘It’s not enough to do just that. You need to give your children unconditional support and love, let them make their own life decisions and mistakes. Otherwise, there’s no point in working so hard to run a house for them because they’ll want to leave to find a real home the first chance they get.’
She laughed derisively. ‘So we should let you do whatever you want, huh? And what do we get in return? Insolent children that make us look bad in front of everyone we know?’
Mum looked around the street pointedly, as if eavesdroppers and gossipmongers were hiding nearby. I wished she’d just stop already. For her own sanity as much as mine.
‘Maybe if you stopped caring so much about what people think, you’d finally get to have a family .’ I paused as I reached Sal’s doorstep. ‘You’re childless. And we’re all orphans. What can be sadder than that? To lose your children without them dying. And to feel like an orphan while your parents are still alive.’
She was speechless.
I opened the door and left her there with her mouth hanging open.
After sharing warm greetings with Saliha’s family, who were watching TV together in the living room, I went up to the bathroom and locked myself in. As lovely as the Begums were, as grateful as I was to have shelter here, this wasn’t my home. I was a guest and I couldn’t stay forever. And the truth was that I did miss my parents, that I’d always, always love them.
My strength slowly crumbled.
I curled into a ball on the floor and cried. I hated talking back to Mum like that. I knew I’d hurt her, and I didn’t want to cause her any pain, but I just couldn’t hold in how I really felt any more.
Although I hadn’t planned to, I found myself carrying out ablutions in preparation for prayer. After all that had happened, I didn’t feel pure or good enough to stand in front of God, but I wouldn’t let that hold me back. After all, sinners needed God too. Probably more.
Since Imran’s dad’s funeral, I hadn’t prayed. I hadn’t felt the urge or need to. But something inside me was pulling me towards it. Perhaps I knew it was the only place I’d find peace right now.
I went into Sal’s room and grabbed her prayer mat, faced it in the direction of the Kabaa and stood on it. I used my phone to check which prayer it was time for. Isha – the last prayer of the day. And, without overthinking, I started.
As I recited the words about God’s forgiveness and guidance, emotion broke out of me so suddenly that I was barely able to keep praying in the set routine I’d learned as a child. But I kept going, fumbling and weeping my way through it. I realized I was crying because this was my one safe space: in front of the one true judge, I felt no judgement.
When I finished praying, I remained kneeling on the mat and made a decision. I either had to hang on tightly to my family or let go of them completely. This limbo was unhealthy for all of us.
I phoned Aisha baji first.
‘Dad has told you to come over tonight with your whole family. It’s urgent. He should be home soon, so please come as quickly as you can.’
She pestered me for answers, but I hung up quickly and then called Farhan bhai with the same message.
I remained seated on the mat, praying for strength and guidance, right up until I heard Dad’s car pull in. Then I stood and walked to the window so I could get a glimpse of him. His face was grim as ever, even when he was alone; his brows furrowed heavily, as though he was always angry at the world. It looked like an exhausting way to live – in fact, it was no way to live at all.
‘Zara? Is everything OK?’ Sal closed the door behind her.
‘Yes,’ I said, turning to face her. ‘I’m just going over to meet my family tonight. We have a lot to discuss.’
Her face fell. ‘It’s going to be safe, right? Your mum … hit you.’
‘Don’t worry.’ I smiled reassuringly. ‘It’ll be fine. I need to do this.’
I turned back to face the street. Sal came to stand next to me, an arm curling around me protectively.
‘When all of this is over,’ she said, ‘you have to tell me what happened between you and Imran after I left.’
I nudged her, smiling deeply. ‘You’re the queen of gossip. Who knows, maybe you’ll replace Mr Ex someday.’
‘Hell no,’ she replied tightly. ‘I’m officially a hater now. OK, I’m not saying I’ll never stalk his socials again, especially since you’ve started making an appearance on them, but I’ll do it with my eyes squinting in outrage and disgust.’
Although my insides were churning with nerves, I laughed a little.
Farhan bhai’s car pulled up at the same time as Aisha baji came into view. Farhan bhai had brought Morowa and Zain. Aisha baji had come with Abbas and Saniya, but her husband was nowhere in sight, which was a relief. He wasn’t really family.
‘It’s time.’ I sighed, and Sal gave me a little squeeze before letting go.
‘I love you,’ she reminded me.
‘And I love you.’ I gave her a quick hug and left.
Before either of my siblings could reach the front door to knock, I slipped past them, murmuring my salaam, and used my keys to let everyone inside. As we entered the living room, Mum and Dad stood up and looked at us in complete and utter shock.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Mum demanded.
Aisha baji looked confused. ‘Zara told us that you needed us urgently.’
‘We didn’t invite any of you over. Nor do we need anything from you.’ Mum glared at me. ‘What is this so-called urgency, Zara?’
‘ This ,’ I responded loudly in Urdu, gesturing to the space between us all. ‘It’s been years since we all gathered like this. And we’re a family.’
Dad made a disapproving sound.
‘I know I’ve made mistakes,’ I began, ‘but we all have. I know that Allah has forgiven me – he’s forgiven us all – so why can’t we forgive each other?’
A cynical laugh escaped from Dad’s mouth, wounding my heart. ‘Is that really what you think? That Allah would forgive you for your shameless actions that are plastered all over the internet?’
I looked him dead in the eye, something I’d rarely had the guts to do in my life. ‘Yes, I really do think that. When you ask for forgiveness from the heart and your intentions are right, God forgives. This is our faith. So, here’s my question to you: if God has forgiven me, if He doesn’t consider me to be a worthless, shameless girl, why do you?’
Dad looked dumbstruck.
He’d always used Islam as a tool to control us. It seemed he’d never imagined me using it as a tool to question him.
‘You all need to get out of my house,’ Dad roared suddenly, then looked at Morowa with disgust. ‘Coming to this country has corrupted you. You’ve all been led astray by the Devil. Allah’s curse is on people like you.’
Morowa flinched. She couldn’t understand the language we were speaking, but it was obvious enough how Dad was talking about her. Zain was in her arms and cooed cutely, but it didn’t seem to melt Dad’s heart at all. It left me burning.
‘No, Allah’s curse is on people who are racist, sexist and full of ego.’
‘Don’t you dare,’ Dad screamed, pointing at my face. ‘You’re such a rude and disrespectful child. The worst of my children. At least the others admit their mistakes.’
‘I don’t admit to any mistake,’ Farhan bhai said. ‘Marrying Morowa was the best decision of my life.’
Dad’s eyes widened so much it frightened me. He muttered some swear words in Urdu and made to leave.
I blocked the door and stood firm. ‘No one is leaving this house until we’re either a family again or we choose to stay away from each other for good.’
He attempted to pull me out of his way, but I stood my ground and shook my head.
‘Running away isn’t going to work today; only the truth will.’ I looked at his enraged face, searching for some real emotion in it. ‘I’ve felt so miserable and alone in this house for so long. It’s exhausting. Can’t we at least try to communicate?’
‘Why would I communicate with someone who has no self-respect?’ he spat at me.
‘How can you hate us so much, Dad? We’re your children . We’re sorry if we’ve hurt you but –’
The slap came so suddenly I didn’t have time to prepare. My neck twisted to the side sharply.
‘Dad!’ Farhan bhai shouted.
‘I have nothing to say to any of you,’ Dad hissed. ‘Get out of my way before I strangle you to death or burn the house down with all of you in it.’
Aisha baji’s sob cut through the ensuing silence, and then I was crying too, no longer able to keep myself together.
‘Fine!’ I screamed. ‘If you prefer violence so much then just kill me. I’m not going to do it, so if you want me dead so bad you should just do it.’
I opened the door, raced to the kitchen and came back with the first knife I could get my hands on.
‘Take it,’ I cried, thrusting it into his hand. ‘This is what you want, isn’t it?’
‘Hai Allah,’ Mum breathed, touching her temple as though she felt like she was losing her mind. She wasn’t the only one.
‘It’s impossible to live with you,’ I raged. ‘And it’ll be impossible for me to live without you. Because despite everything, I love you. I want to work hard and accomplish things for you. I want to make you proud. I want to be there for you as you grow old.’
Dad’s grip on the knife tightened but his lower lip quivered. I didn’t know whether it was with anger or something else, but it opened something inside me – a window of hope. Perhaps the man I’d always seen as devoid of all emotion also felt things such as sadness, loss, fear.
‘What is it that you’re holding on to so tightly?’ I asked. ‘How much you care about what your family in Pakistan are saying? What the people in our community here think of us? Is honour and respect seriously more important to you than the life of your family ?’
‘These are the words of a selfish fool who thinks only about their own filthy desires,’ Dad barked.
A sinking feeling began in my stomach and expanded throughout my body. My own father would always see me as impure now, and there was nothing I could do about it. I felt stupid for thinking I could communicate with him and bring our family together.
‘Whatever we are,’ Farhan bhai said, ‘we are your family. Your so-called relatives in Pakistan are not even there for you when you need anything. We are. We will always be there.’
‘I don’t see my son doing anything for me.’ Dad wheeled to face him, and I suddenly felt stupid for having handed him a knife.
‘The only one keeping this family apart is you,’ Farhan bhai shouted, a finger at Dad’s chest. ‘Your obsession with your so-called honour and people who don’t really give a shit about you are the reasons you’re going to grow old alone.’
‘Oi!’ Dad shouted.
Farhan bhai scoffed. ‘I’m not a child any more. I’m not scared of you, even with that weapon in your hand. I just feel sorry for you. You’re so misguided and you’ll never change.’
My brother took a step forward, and the face that I’d always seen relaxed and happy was twisted with hate.
‘The closest I’ll ever be to you again is probably when I perform your ghusl before your burial. And I might not even do that. I doubt any of your relatives from Pakistan would bother to make the trip, the same relatives you’ve been sending all your money to, money that was meant for raising your family here . They wouldn’t even use your own money to attend your funeral; if that doesn’t open your eyes to how one-sided your relationship with them is, I don’t know what will. What a way to go – to be buried by strangers.’
Dad jerked as though his son had just slapped him.
This had hurt him deeply, and we could all see it.
Perhaps it was the fact that Uncle Sayyid’s funeral had taken place so recently that made the reality of this so raw, so unbearable. Farhan bhai’s words were a reminder of how far we were drifting from each other, how close we were to becoming strangers permanently.
Farhan bhai turned to me. ‘I don’t want you staying here with Dad waving a knife around. Pack your things. You’re coming with me and Morowa.’
‘She’s not going anywhere,’ Mum said firmly.
‘I thought you wanted me gone,’ I replied, staring at her in disbelief. Then understanding struck. ‘You don’t want to be all alone in this house, do you? You want your children here with you. Why don’t you go ahead and just tell Dad?’
Mum looked at Dad, and I recognized fear in her eyes.
‘Why are we all afraid of you, Dad?’ I cried. ‘How the hell are we supposed to love you if we’re so scared all the time?’
He looked down at the knife in his hand. Or maybe he just couldn’t meet my eyes any more.
Aisha baji approached Dad, and I was instantly overcome with protectiveness. I didn’t want Dad hurting her in any way; she’d suffered enough.
‘Baji,’ I warned, but she ignored me.
She kept going until she was standing right in front of him. Gently, gradually, she removed the knife from his hand and threw it on the floor violently, as though she was throwing away a lot more than just that, and then she hugged Dad and cried into his chest like I’d never seen anyone cry before.
And then Farhan bhai was hugging Dad. And then Morowa and Zain were. And then Saniya and Abbas. And Mum. And me.
We made a circle of love around him, a cocoon of vulnerability, refusing to let him go, to let his honour and ego tear us apart, to let his hard heart remain hard forever.
Dad was always so strong and stoic, so I didn’t have the courage to look up and watch him cry. But I felt his shoulders shake, I heard his sharp intakes of breath, and when I reached for his hand I felt him hold on so tightly I was sure he’d never let go.