Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor (48 page)

Furqan had not told her that he was an oncologist. Very patiently, he brought his bag and checked her blood pressure and then listened to her heartbeat with his stethoscope; then he checked her pulse and convinced her that she was in perfect health: there was nothing wrong with her heart or blood pressure. Saeeda Amma looked suddenly rejuvenated. Salar heard them talking while he washed the dishes in the kitchen. They were on the sofa in the lounge.

Shortly, the telephone rang and Furqan picked it up. It was Dr Sibt-e-Ali. After the usual greetings, he asked, 'Did Salar file a report about a lady called Saeeda?'

Furqan was surprised. 'Yes, she's right here with us.'

'Thank God,' said Dr Ali, spontaneously. 'She's my relative and we've been searching fro her for the past few hours. When we contacted the police, they gave us Salar's name and phone number.'

Furqan told him about Saeeda Amma and then gave her the phone to speak to Dr Ali. Salar also joined them in the lounge. Saeeda Amma was busy talking.

'She's Dr Ali's relative,' whispered Furqan to Salar.

'Dr Ali's relative?' Salar was amazed.

Furqan confirmed that she was, and Salar breathed a sigh of relief.

'Bhai Sahib would like to speak to you.' Saeeda Amma handed the phone to Furqan. Furqan quickly took the call and began to note some details on a piece of paper. Dr Sibt-e-Ali was giving him Saeeda Amma's address.

Saeeda Amma turned in surprise to Salar, standing in the doorway. 'And what have you been doing?' she asked, looking at his apron.

'Washing the dishes,' he replied, diffidently. He went back to the kitchen and took off the apron. The work was almost done.

'Salar, come on! Let's go and drop her home.' Furqan was behind him. 'This can be done later.'

'Get the car keys—I'll wash my hands and be with you.' Shortly afterwards, they were in Salar's car. Furqan sat next to him and Saeeda sat at the back, but he continued to talk to her animatedly. At the same time he was directing Salar.

In the next twenty minutes, they were in Saeeda Amma's locality, on her street. They parked the car at the entrance of the lane and then accompanied her to her house which was further in. She needed no direction now as she knew the street she lived on. In a rather superior tone, she pointed out the landmarks to Salar. 'The sweet shop...the cemented drain covers...Parvez Sahib's house,' she said triumphantly. Salar smiled in appreciation. He didn't tell her that her directions about the road were all correct—but she had taken him to the wrong locality.

'Amina, poor girl, must be so worried,' she said for the umpteenth time as they stopped before e red brick house. Furqan stepped out and rang the bell. Salar was looking appreciatively at the haveli before him. It must be quite old but had been well maintained and gave an air of elegance to the street.

'I will not let you leave till you've had some tea,' Saeeda Amma said very firmly. 'You've had such an anxious time on my accord, especially Salar. The boy drove me around all day,' she said, stroking his shoulder.

'Thank you Saeeda Amma, but not today. We're getting late, so we'll come some other day.'

'Yes, Saeeda Amma—no tea today. We'll come some other time and have dinner with you too,' Furqan added quickly.

'Be sure you remember,' she said.

'How can we forget? And that recipe you were giving me for palak gosht—you must cook that for us,' added Furqan.

They heard footsteps inside: it was Saeeda Amma's daughter coming to open the door; she had heard Saeeda Amma talking to Furqan. Without saying anything, she slid the bolt and opened the door ajar.

Furqan bid Saeeda Amma goodbye as she ascended the stairs. Salar had already turned back.

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They got into the car and while starting it, Salar said to Furqan, 'Your most disliked dish is palak gosht and yet you were asking for it?'

Furqan laughed heartily, 'What's the harm in saying that? But she may cook it so well that I may be compelled to eat it.'

'You'll go to her house?' Salar asked astonished as he turned the car on the main road.

'Of course, I will. I've promised her. And you?'

'I will not go,' Salar refused. 'I don't know her from Adam; how can I go to her house for a meal?'

'She is a first cousin of Dr. Sibt-e-Ali, and you know her better than I do. She is your find,' Furqan replied.

'That was another thing. She needed help and I helped her. Period. It would have been different if her sons were here, but I would never dream of visiting women who were living alone,' Salar stated gravely.

'I'm not going to go alone. I know it won't be proper for me to go alone to her place. I'll take my wife and children with me. Nosheen will also be pleased to meet her.'

'Yes, you go with Bhabi, that'll be alright,' Salar observed, satisfied.

'Only me....? You'll also have to come. She's invited you too.'

'I won't go, I haven't the time. You go, that'll be enough,' Salar said offhandedly.

'You are her special guest. It won't be much fun without you.'

His tone appeared somewhat strange to Salar. He turned and looked at Furqan, who was smiling.

'What do you mean?'

'I think she would like you as her son-in-law!'

'Don't be stupid!' Salar looked at him annoyed.

'You mark my words—she'll send you a proposal. Saeeda Amma likes you in every way. She's asked me all about you. And also if you had any plans to get married, and if so, when? I've told her that you'll marry as soon as you find somebody nice. Then she started telling me about her daughter. Now even if we discount fifty per cent of her daughter's virtues, the girl now, what was she saying her name was? Oh, yes, Amina would be excellent for you.'

'You should be ashamed of yourself. She's a relative of Dr Sibt-e-Ali, and you're talking about her like this,' Salar scolded him.

Furqan turned earnest.

'I'm not being flippant—it should be an honor for you to marry into the family of Dr Sibt-e-Ali '

'Just stop it, Furqan, this problem has been discussed enough,' Salar exploded.

'OK, we'll talk about it some other time,' Furqan responded coolly. Salar turned and stared at him.

'You're driving, concentrate on the road,' Furqan patted him. Salar somewhat annoyed turned his attention towards the road ahead.

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Their association with Saeeda Amma did not end there.

A few days later they were at Dr. Sibt-e-Ali's one evening when, after the lecture, he held them back.

'Saeeda Apa wants to meet you. She was asking me to take her to you. I told her that you would be coming here in the evening and that she could meet you here. You had promised go see her but, probably, you didn't.'

Furqan looked meaningfully at Salar, but he averted his gaze.

'Yes, we were thinking of going but being preoccupied, we couldn't,' Furqan tried to cover up.

The two of them went with Dr. Sibt-e-Ali to his dining room, where, after a little while, Saeeda Amma also appeared and immediately launched into a barrage of complaints. Furqan tried to cool her, whilst Salar sat by silently.

Furqan had told Salar that they would be going to Saeeda Amma's the next weekend, but Salar had to go to Islamabad and thence to the village. He disclosed his schedule to Saeeda Amma and got out of it.

After the weekend, on his return to Lahore, Furqan told Salar about his visit to Saeeda Amma's. He had gone there with his family.

'Salar! I also met Saeeda Amma's daughter,' Furqan suddenly sprung it on Salar, whilst relating about the visit. 'She's a very nice girl. Unlike Saeeda Amma, she's quiet. Just like you. Both of you will hit it off very well. Nosheen also liked her very much.'

'Furqan! It would be better if you limited yourself to the visit,' Salar chided him.

'I'm very serious, Salar,' Furqan persisted.

'I'm also very serious,' Salar countered. 'You know something, Furqan? The more you insist on marriage, the less inclined I get, and all this because of you,' Salar accused as he leaned back on the sofa.

'No, it's not because of me. Why don't you come clear and say it's because of Imama that you don't want to get married.' Furqan turned dead earnest.

'OK....I'll come clean. I don't want to marry because of Imama then?'

Salar stated coldly.

'This is childish,' Furqan came back, looking at him hard.

'OK, fine, it's childish, so?' Salar shrugged.

'Then you should get rid of it,' Furqan counseled gently.

'I don't want to get rid of it so?' Salar shot back.

Furqan, dumbfounded, looked back at him for a few moments.

'Don't ever mention Saeeda Amma's daughter to me again, and if she broaches the subject, tell her that I'm already married.'

'OK, I'll not speak to you about it, but you needn't lose your temper,' Furqan submitted, raising his clasped hands in surrender.

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'I have to speak to you about some important things, that's why I've called you.' Sikandar smiled and gestured Salar to sit down. He was sitting in the lounge with Tayyaba, and Salar had come to Islamabad on their behest.

Sikandar Usman looked at his third son appreciatively. A short while ago, he had had dinner with them, and now, having changed, had joined them. Even in an ordinary white shalwar qameez and ordinary black slippers, he looked very presentable. Perhaps, it was the dignity of his countenance, or perhaps, it was the first time after many years that he was taking a good look at him, that he was admitting to himself, that his son had become a man of substance and stature.

He had never thought that it was because of Salar that he would, in his circle, gain social prominence. He would be introduced with reference to Salar Sikandar, and he would be pleasantly surprised. In all his teen years, Salar had badly embarrassed and bothered him, and at that time the future of this son of his had appeared dark, in spite of his extraordinary capabilities. Sikandar's fears and misgivings had been proved wrong.

Tayyaba pushed the platter of dried fruits towards Salar who took some cashew nuts.

'I want to talk to you about getting you married.'

He stopped suddenly from popping the nut in his mouth; the smile from his face vanished. Sikandar Usman and Tayyaba had not noticed and remained elated.

'It's time you got married, Salar,' said Sikandar. Salar involuntarily put back the cashew nuts on the platter.

Tayyaba and I are surprised at the number of proposals that are being made for you. None of your brothers had ever got as many,' Sikandar announced happily. 'I thought we'd broach the subject with you.' He looked at them silently.

'You know Mr. Zahid Hamdani?' Sikandar Usman had mentioned the name of the local head of a prominent multinational company.

'Yes his daughter is my colleague.'

'Ramsha's her name, probably.'

'Yes.'

'What's she like?'

Salar observed his father: the question was very obvious.

'She's nice,' he replied after a pause.

'Do you like her?'

'In what way?'

'I'm talking about Ramsha's proposal,' Sikandar said in all seriousness. 'Zahid has been on it with me for the past several weeks. He has visited us along with his wife once or twice. We've also been to their place. Last weekend we met Ramsha too. Your mother and I found her very nice— she's very well-mannered and, also, she's quite good friends with you. They very much want, in fact they are insistent, that through you a relationship is established between the two families.'

'Papa! I am not friends with Ramsha,' Salar said quietly. 'She is my colleague, I know her, and there is no doubt that she's a very nice girl, but I don't want to marry her.'

'Are you interested in some other girl?' Sikandar asked him.

He remained silent, he did not reply. Tayyaba and Sikandar exchanged glances.

'If you are interested in some other girl, we have no objection. In fact, we'll be happy to take your proposal, and would not pressurize you otherwise,' Sikandar assured him gently.

'I have already married, a long time ago,' he said softly after a long silence, hanging down his head.

Sikandar did not find it difficult to understand what he was saying. His countenance turned dark. 'Are you talking about Imama?'

He remained silent. Sikandar looked at him unbelievingly for a long time. 'Is that why you've not married for so long?' Sikandar was shocked. He had thought that he had forgotten her. After all, that had happened a long time ago, some eight years or so back.

'By now she must've married and is leading a peaceful and comfortable life. Your marriage to her ended ages ago,' Sikandar tried to persuade him.

'No, Papa, my marriage to her has not ended,' he said, lifting his head for the first time.

'On the marriage deed, you'd given her the right to divorce I remember you had wanted to find her, so that you could give her a divorce,' Sikandar said, as though trying to remind him.

'I had looked for her but couldn't find her, and she does not know that she has the right of divorce. Wherever she may be, she is still my wife.'

'Salar! Eight long years have passed. It's just not one or two years. Maybe she realized that she had the right to divorce. It is not possible that she is still your wife,' Sikandar countered, in a disturbed manner.

'Nobody except me could have told her of this right, and I did not disclose this to her. Till such time that she remains married to me, I will not marry again.'

'Do you have any contact with her?' Sikandar asked in low tones.

'No.'

'There's been no contact with her for the last eight years, and if this remains so all your life, what would you do?'

He remained silent. He had no answer for this question.

Sikandar Usman waited for his reply for some time.

'You'd never told me that you were emotionally involved with her. All that you'd said was that you'd wanted to provide her momentary help, and that she had wanted to marry some other boy, etc., etc'

He remained silent this time also.

Sikandar Usman quietly watched him. He had never been able to understand his third son. He could never reach him. The depth of his feelings for the girl for whom he had sacrificed eight full years of his life, and for whom he was now prepared to sacrifice the rest of it, needed no words for expression. A long and uneasy silence gripped the room, when Sikandar Usman got up and went to his dressing room. He came back a few minutes later. After sitting back on the sofa, he pushed an envelope towards Salar. He looked at him with enquiring eyes and took the envelope.