Faateh Nasir
Rudely awaken from one of the scant durations of sleep which she has been accustomed to calling a slumber, Shazia shuffles to find her feet as the soft wails of her son (Shams) land on her ears much like bombs being dropped across the coastline of the Eastern Mediterranean Sea. As she frantically searches for her slippers under the delicate and termite infested wooden frame of her makeshift bed, there is a loud thump, followed by an eerie silence which is all too familiar.
She is firmly instructed to pay no mind to the ramblings of a child that is no more than a mere reject and a blight on her husband’s name and family. She has suffered enough insults over the past six years of her twenty-five year old life on this green earth to recognise the raspy yet unrelenting voice of her elderly sister-in law (Bilqees). She has learned that sharp retorts will earn her no favours in her own house, but rather lead to coerced apologies on her part.
The charpoy on which Shams finds a few hours of respite, from the agony of stomach cramps and abdominal discomfort, is positioned strategically next to the door of Shazia’s master bedroom. The door is left ajar to accommodate the seven-year old child’s frequent visits to his parents during the dark hours of the night.
Ignoring the command given to her earlier, Shazia proceeds to gently lay her bruised hands on Shams’s forehead and recites certain magical words taught to her by her late mother-in-law, the meaning of which she does not know, but only that her ailing son finds comfort and respite as soon as he hears them.Although she allows half a smile to grace her rather expressionless face, hesitation rules over her heart as she removes her hand to prepare herself for a long day ahead.Motherly love allows her to roll up her sleeves and almost sprint towards the kitchen to concoct a humble breakfast for her child and place a lid over the pan to prevent any adulteration of her prince’s meal by ghastly flies that occupy the settlement which Shazia calls her muhalla.
Shazia quietly brushes past her sister-in-law but briefly retreats to poke her head inside the lounge to remind Aasia that she needs to feed Shams and provide him with his medicines in the afternoon. Aasia lets out a grunt and with that every-day ordeal put to rest, Shazia exits the baramda to start her day. The lingering stench from the trash lining the shanty boundary of her house momentarily annoys her, but a few steps lead her to the main street where she finds herself insignificant amongst the zooming of motorcycles, the street cries of fruit and vegetable vendors, and a loud procession taking place near the main chowk of the road, from where she takes her bus to work.
As she approaches the bus stop, she is beset by the sight of a crowd of men and young boys. While she is eager tocatch the 9:15 bus to her mistress’s house, she notices something odd as the crowd gets nearer: none of the members of the group have anything in common. While she tries her best to gather the slogans being chanted, the appearance of these people had no uniting factor: everyone had different sets of clothes, most did not have any long beards, no skullcaps in sight, above all there was not even a semblance of the usual suspects who are often part of such processions in her part of town. As the chants grew clearer,her heart sank, and a single thought possessed her mind: her head was uncovered.
Never had fear been greater nor had she felt such an innate sense of danger. She clutched her dupatta and draped it across her head, leaving the partition of her hair visible, while she firmly fastened he bag to cover her torso in a defensive manner. With the thumps of their march and every utterance piercing the noise of motorcars and horse carts, images of a woman trapped in Ichhrabazaar played before her eyes. Whilst she blankly stared at her feet as she neared the bench where she waits for her bus, she was prompted to briefly raise her head.In that moment her eyes caught the relatively innocent, sympathetic and slightly ashamed expressions of a boy who could not have been more than two years older than her own son.In his eyes she saw a natural disapproval of the movement that he was partaking in, yet it appeared that he had been possessed by Descartes’ demon to announce his presence and throw his hands in the air.For this poor soul, the desire to reach the metaphysical could not have been greater, yet mired in the controversies of the world, somehow he found himself promoting a cause the zealousness of which he might not even comprehend.She understood his struggle but had neither the time nor the patience to dwell on the misfortune of this boy. She returned to conscious reality and briskly walked across the main road while trying her best to avoid any unwarranted collisions with the angry gentlemen, to nestle herself into the seat from which she observes the various paan-stained patterns formed on the wall adjacent to the foot path where a poorly constructed bus stop rests.
A forty five minute journey brought herto the culmination of her life’s journey, which was a house in a relatively posh suburban area, where Shazia was kept in the employ of a socially upstanding house-wife by the name of Aneela. A woman well in her forties, Aneela has grown bitter over the years, partially due to the neglect of a husband who’s attention is demanded by two occupations–an executive position within a telecommunications company and golf. Shazia quietly brushes past the first checkpoint within the house – a monstrosity of a gate to separate the small oasis of civilisation from the anarchy beyond –and opens the mesh-screen door to the grease kitchen.
To recover from her eventful morning, Shazia opens the cabinet which has been graciously stocked with steel cutlery and glassware for the house-helpand retrieves a cup to pour some refreshing yet slightly salty water from the kitchen tap. She squats ever so gently to take a gulp of water, when suddenly she is startled to find Aneela standing before her with a furrowed brow. Her mistress proceeds to scold her with indignation for being late and reminding Shazia of her purported incompetence. Shaziaconveys her sincerest apology, while studying the expressions of her mistress. She is then pardoned and ordered to start cleaning the lounge. Shazia places the vessel of water at once and almost skips towards the lounge.
While she makes her way to the lounge, Shazia’s eyes are graced by the sight of a creature huddled up in one corner of the room with an array of crayons and markers scattered on a hand-knotted Persian carpet. Shazia’s heart floods with love, she squints and smiles while letting out a soft whisper, “Ahsas.”A flash of chestnut brown hair followed by the emergence of a round rosy face and a loud whelp “shaaaazuuuuuaapi,” enables a re-affirmation of the close bond that Shazia had formed with her ward. Shazia studies the features of her young mistress as she is embraced and discovers a sense of longing in those dazzling hazel eyes. When asked what young Ahsas was occupied with, Shazia is promptly apprised that preparations were taking place for 8th March. After all, the posters and placards needed colour and what better artist could be equipped than the little mistress.
This re-union was briefly interrupted by a now-thoroughly annoyed Aneela, who would not have any further delays to the all-important task of housekeeping. Despite being paid well-below the provincial minimum wage, Shazia receives a sharp rebuke in the form of a reminder that her services are not worth what she is paid and that if she does not get back to work immediately, she will be out of a job by the next day. A high-pitched voice interrupts Aneela’s onslaught“Mama she works for us day and night, she looks after me and cares for me whenever you are gone, please stop.” These words embalm some of the wounds inflicted by Aneela’s remarks, yet Shazia is chilled with the thought that a few more years under Aneela’s tutelage would do well to rid the child of any sympathy towards anyone lesser than them. Therefore, Shazia silently retreats to the small closet next to the kitchen and retrieves her paraphernalia to complete her daily chores.
A brief sift through the closet results in the location of the broom and Shazia proceeds to sweep the marble floor of the lounge. Engrossed in this mundane task, she feels a tuck on one corner of her kameez and she finds Ahsas behind her, asking her whether she would join them for the March. Before Shazia could offer an answer, Aneela interjects by reminding Shazia that there is a lot of work to be done at the house on that day. Aneela almost brags and taunts Shazia, querying whether there would be any point for Shazia to be amongst those demanding their rights.Her lip quivers and she fights nobly to hold back the torrent of emotions that push tears to her eyes, yet she fails in this quest and small pearls of rebellion fall to the ground as she sweeps and sweeps away.
At the end of her arduous day, she timidly approaches Aneela who is now laying on her plush seven-seater sofa, to allow her feet to dangle and massaged by Rakhshanda – her lady-in waiting. Shazia has been contemplating the next moments for the past three days and she carefully looks to Aneela with a view of informing her that all her tasks are now complete and that she would like an advance of Rs. 4,500 for Shams’s medicines and groceries. Aneela shoots an irritated look at Shazia, and outright rejects her request. Shazia’s voice starts to shake and she implores Aneela to grant her request, to which her mistress raises her hand to silence Shazia. In an act of benevolence, Aneela begrudgingly agrees to give an advance of Rs. 2,000 and also orders Shazia to come in for work on Sunday as remuneration for this favour. Shazia almost chuckles as she recalls a simile her mother-in-law would often use: “If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.” She quickly regains her composure and accepts the charity which Aneela offers.
It is now Maghrib and Shazia rushes to reach home, before making a brief stop at the pharmacy. Shazia’s haste results in her barging through the front door, where she finds Shams standing in the middle of thebaramda looking at the star-filled sky above. She leaves her bag on the ground and rushes to kneel before her shahzadawhile planting kisses on both his cheeks. Her jubilance is marred by a thunderous clap from the kitchen. She instructs Shams to go and look out for the north star on the terrace. She then darts to the kitchen to find a tall burly figure standing next to the counter-top. A thorny voice echoes throughout the chamber, “where is the money?”. Shazia feels parched all of a sudden, she can no longer muster any courage, and with it no voice to offer a response. Although her vision falls on the brown tiles of the kitchen, she is suddenly grabbed by the shoulders and shaken violently, all the while being scolded for not getting the money from her mistress. She tries to break free, while fighting her own instinct to scream, not to alert Shams.She almost falls in her attempt to wrest control which she should’ve sought sooner, yet she is finally thrown to the ground by her very own beloved, Sajjad.
Recalling a similar moment during her pregnancy, Shazia collapses and unties the knot of her pallu to produce a 1000 rupee note which had been kept for an emergency like this. Sajjad snatches it out of her hand and walks out, without saying another word. He was never like this, she thinks to herself, the first three years of their marriage had been happy ones, she had been treated much like a delicate rose in the midst of the desert – cherished and adored. Ever since, Bilqees had introduced Sajjad to the pleasures of hashish to treat his back pain, he had become addicted to the point where he could not function without it. Without it, he would become rabid and forget that Shazia was the same woman to whom he had promised the world.
Shazia stares blankly, while straightening her kameez to retrieve whatever composure she had left, and entered her bedroom to lay down. While looking towards the wall adjoining her bed, she slides her hand beneath her pillow and retrieves a small object, which could not be bigger than a thimble. She turns to her side with her back towards the door to shieldthe object from any sight. She then begins to delicately place the object in her palm, and admires the smoothness of the white marble, while dragging her fingers across the indentations which formed a face and arms, while admiring the miniature gold ornaments chiselled into the figure. This figure is the only thread that connects her to the life before all of this. A life from which she was taken away, the day she transitioned from Shazia Bhagwandas to Shazia Sajjad. While attempting to pray with whatever knowledge she had retained, she cannot help but feel desperate. Many a times, she has thought of ending it all, for every day she dies only to live another miserable day. Yet she looks to the charpoy and remembers, that while she has virtually killed the woman that was once Shazia, she has to live as Mama, Begum, and Bhabhi.
