Marrying Ameera Page 5

  I didn’t dare ask Papa what was going on. I used to be able to talk to Papa, but he was a different person now. I yearned for the days when we had been close. He’d taught me Urdu and it had transported me into his world. He told me stories, and those stories had taught me everything I needed to know: how to behave, how to treat others, how to obey, and how I would have an arranged marriage. Papa said I was the princess in the stories, that I was as beautiful as the moon.

  I remembered the story of Punnu and Sassi. Sassi was beautiful and the astrologer said at her birth that she would marry a man from another faith. To save the community from such bad karma, her Brahman parents put her on the Indus river in a basket, and a Muslim washerman found her and adopted her. She married Punnu, a chieftain’s son from a faraway place. His family weren’t happy and his brothers abducted him after the marriage. Sassi wandered into the desert to find him. One night each could hear the other calling above the wind, but each believed it to be an hallucination produced by the desert. They didn’t know they were only a few yards apart, unable to see one another because of the driving wind and sand. And so Sassi and Punnu each died alone.

  My eyes always teared up when I remembered that story but it had become even more poignant now. Would Tariq have changed his life for me, like Punnu? Become a Muslim? But I wouldn’t expect that of anyone. I loved the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding—guess that’s because I could relate to it—but Toula’s boyfriend converted because he didn’t believe in anything. Tariq did, and he wouldn’t be who he was if he couldn’t practise his faith. Even if he changed, Papa had a thing about new converts. ‘It’s the family you marry, not the boy,’ he always said.

  It hurt not speaking to Tariq. He rang many times and left messages, but I didn’t dare ring him back and his calls gradually stopped. Maryam called to make a time to hang out but I said I didn’t feel like it. I felt awful. When she asked how I was I knew she was fishing but I couldn’t tell her about Tariq. I think she thought I was having a bad period and didn’t press for details.

  When Papa was at work, Mum allowed me to leave my room. I read books I didn’t have time for during the term and watched BBC DVDs Mum borrowed from the library. Papa still didn’t want to see me and it had been days. I knew that he believed his decisions concerning me were based on good parenting: ‘in your best interests’ and ‘because I love you’ were phrases he often used. I believed him, and no one could fault his concern for my welfare. But my personal wishes? They were never considered. When I was ten Maryam had given me a kitten. Papa had told me to give it back. ‘What a gift,’ he fumed. ‘I’m the one to pay for it.’ I was too young to point out that Maryam knew I wanted the kitten. If I’d said that, though, I would have been frivolous at best, disobedient at worst. Papa hadn’t spoken to me until the kitten was returned. I didn’t like remembering that; it made me feel disloyal and I prayed for forgiveness.

  On the fifth day Papa relented. I was asked to come down to breakfast. I checked his face as I tiptoed in. It was an awful feeling to be nervous of my own father. He seemed at peace; the anger was gone. If I had known why, I wouldn’t have relaxed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Abu ji, for causing you pain,’ I said.

  He looked gratified. Mum seemed surprised. It was a good sign, I thought, and hoped this would be the end of it. Christmas was in a few days; Mum would be glad to have this over before she celebrated with her family. But would I be allowed to go?

  I remember exactly what I was doing when Papa told me his ‘surprise’. I was pouring milk into my muesli. I missed the bowl, but was too shocked to get the dishcloth to wipe it up. Mum took the carton from me. Papa had to say it all again.

  ‘Your Uncle Rasheed said you can stay with them for a while. Your cousin Jamila is getting married. You can be involved in the wedding.’

  ‘But, Papa, they live in Azad Kashmir.’

  ‘Ji.’ Papa gave a half-smile. ‘It is a surprise I’ve been working on for some time. I know we’ve had this…little problem, but there is no reason why you still can’t go.’

  I looked at Mum. She didn’t seem very happy about the idea.

  ‘What about uni?’ I said. ‘Will I be back in time? Weddings can take ages.’

  Papa frowned. ‘It is just for some weeks. I’ve organised it all.’ He said this last bit as though he’d bought me a new car.

  Mum was studying him, trying to read between his words. Why the turnaround, I wondered. Why give me a surprise when I had disappointed him so badly? It didn’t make sense and I could tell Mum thought so too. Riaz’s face rose in my mind: how he had looked so sad for me and held me close. Then I realised: it wasn’t a surprise overseas trip; I was being sent away. How long for? As long as it took for the gossip in the community to die down? How many people knew I had ‘gone off the rails’?

  Papa’s smile was almost his old one. He looked at me as if he was about to deliver the best news in the world. ‘Your flight leaves tomorrow.’

  I stared at him in horror. ‘Tomorrow!’

  ‘Hassan, you never said so soon. She’ll miss Christmas.’ Mum’s voice squeezed to a squeak and then she burst into tears. ‘She’s my daughter too. How can you do this without any discussion?’ Then she stopped. ‘The elections. Have you thought, Hassan? She won’t be safe.’

  But Papa wasn’t listening to her pain, only the words. ‘Of course she’ll be safe—she’ll be with the family. This is for the best, the best for Ameera. She’ll have a nice holiday in Kashmir and see how to live properly the Muslim life. She’ll come back a true Muslim.’ He looked so pleased with himself.

  ‘Papa, I’m Muslim already.’

  ‘I mean, to follow God’s path. You only follow your own.’

  That was when I cried. The tears slid silently down my face. How could he say something like that to me?

  Mum pulled herself together enough to stick up for me. ‘Hassan, that’s too harsh. You know she tries hard for you.’

  ‘Then she won’t mind going to the family for a few weeks. Stop those tears, both of you. Anyone would think something terrible is happening.’ Papa passed me the ticket. ‘See? A holiday in Kashmir. Any Australian girl would jump at the chance.’

  I checked the ticket before passing it to Mum. The return date was in a month. I breathed out slowly. A month wasn’t so bad; I’d be back in plenty of time before uni started. I gave Mum a tentative smile. I would miss her and my friends. All those things we were going to do: movies, shopping, the beach. And Tariq…but I closed my mind to him.

  9

  Papa said he wouldn’t take me to Kashmir himself. ‘You will get to know your relatives better on your own. It will be good for you. Your uncle will meet you at Islamabad airport. You’ll go through Singapore—it’s the safest and shortest way. Just wait in the airport and wear your dupatta—no one will bother you.’ He had thought of everything.

  ‘Will Uncle Rasheed know me?’ I asked.

  Papa smiled. ‘I have sent last year’s school picture. He will see the family resemblance.’

  Only a day to pack. I went through my wardrobe. It was winter there; I had a thicker shalwar qameez I could take. Mum came and helped me.

  ‘Your father will pay for clothes when you arrive so you won’t need to pack much,’ she told me.

  She looked so sad that I stopped what I was doing and hugged her.

  ‘Are you okay with this, Ameera?’ she said suddenly. ‘You don’t have to go. We could get around it somehow. Leave the house or something.’

  I wondered why she was talking like that. How could we go against what Papa wanted? I would be worse than ungrateful. Maybe this trip would help everything get back to normal when I returned. I didn’t want anything to interfere with going to uni. I may even enjoy myself, I thought. I would see Meena again, though she’d married since I saw her last. And I could brush up on my Urdu, even though Uncle’s family were educated and also spoke English.

  I pulled away from Mum. ‘Why would we leave? Because he made a dec
ision without you?’

  Mum faltered. ‘It could lead to other things…’

  I knew Mum would never leave. She might argue with Papa but in the end she did what he wanted. I understood, for I was the same.

  ‘I’ll go,’ I said. ‘Papa wants me to. It’s just been so long since I was there.’ Then I smiled at her. ‘I wish you were coming too.’

  ‘I suggested that, but your father says you need to spend time with the family by yourself. If I went, we’d do things together, speak English.’ She frowned. ‘I guess it is only a month. If that wasn’t a return ticket…’

  Since I was leaving the next day I risked a message to Tariq. Leaving 4 pakistan in morning, was all I wrote.

  He rang immediately. There were none of his usual preliminaries. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Papa’s little surprise—a trip to Azad Kashmir for a month.’

  There was a short silence, then, ‘Pakistan.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you want to go?’

  I heard the hurt tone in his voice and hesitated. If I hadn’t met Tariq I would love to go to Kashmir for a holiday. ‘Papa really wants me to go. He’s been planning it for ages.’

  ‘I haven’t heard from you. You blocked my calls.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ What could I say? I decided to tell him the truth. ‘Someone saw me at Samuel Collinses party.’

  ‘I can come and explain.’

  He made it sound easy, but he didn’t understand what a traditionalist Papa had become.

  ‘No. That’s kind, Tariq, but Papa knows you were there too. Best you stay clear of him for a while.’

  There was a longer silence. I almost asked if he was still there. Then he said slowly, ‘So he’s still sending you on a trip. Is it a reward for finishing school?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Again I felt the unease that had come when Papa first told me about his surprise. Why was he rewarding me when I’d disappointed him so badly? I pushed away the feeling of being sent away in disgrace. Maybe he was sorry for what he’d said to me.

  ‘I don’t think Azad Kashmir will be the same since the earthquake,’ Tariq said. ‘Where does your family live?’

  ‘Muzaffarabad.’

  ‘Take your mobile. You can buy a prepaid phone card, and ringing from there is cheap.’ He paused. ‘I won’t ring you in case it makes trouble for you.’ There was another silence before he spoke again. ‘I’m glad for you. I hope you have a good time.’ I felt his words wash over me, warm and cleansing. ‘But,’ his voice quietened and I had to strain to hear, ‘I will miss you, Ameera.’

  His voice caught on my name and I knew he still cared. What had I been thinking of, not ringing him when I needed him the most?

  I echoed his words: ‘I’ll miss you too.’

  I should have said that I wouldn’t ring him again; that if Papa knew about this call I wouldn’t be getting a trip. But I couldn’t say it. He hung up while I sat with the phone warm in my hands.

  Mum came in when I was transferring my shampoo and conditioner into travel bottles. I’d already packed sanitary items that I mightn’t find in Muzaffarabad.

  ‘You can’t take any liquids into the cabin with you,’ she said. ‘Terrorism restrictions.’ She slipped me some money. ‘Your father said he’s sent money to your uncle for your keep, but you might not see it. This is in case you need anything personal.’

  ‘Mum, you’re a treasure.’

  We stood leaning against each other. ‘What are they like?’ I asked. ‘I can’t remember them much, except Meena.’

  Mum thought for a minute. ‘Your uncle’s an older version of your father. Your Aunt Khushida’s quite a bit younger than Rasheed—you’ll be able to talk to her. Then there’s your Aunt Bibi, your father’s big sister. He is very fond of her—she should be kind to you.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you,’ I said, giving her a hug. ‘What if Papa had married someone like Raniya’s mother? I’d have no one to talk to.’

  Mum’s tone was dry as she answered. ‘If he had married someone like her, he might not be acting like this now.’ She frowned and looked out the window.

  Raniya had said that too; was it true? Raniya’s parents were both practising Muslims but Raniya was allowed to make her own decisions. She just happened to make the right ones. Perhaps that was the result of growing up with two parents with the same faith and ideals.

  ‘Mum, you love Papa, don’t you?’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes. I always have.’

  ‘But you think he’s changed?’

  Mum sat heavily on the bed. ‘I don’t know what’s happened. When I met him he was so easy-going. He said he’d respect my faith, though our children must be brought up Muslim. I accepted that. It didn’t seem so different at the time. We both believed in one God, we had the same kind of morality and ideas about the world. He kept his word, but I didn’t realise how traditional he was underneath. His father had traditional ideals and wanted the women in his family to keep purdah.’ She sighed. ‘This last year Hassan’s not been himself at all. He’d hate to think he’s growing like his father. Many men change with added responsibility, go through some sort of mid-life crisis, but it seems more than that.’ She paused. ‘Sameena Yusuf told me that it can be difficult for traditional men in a Western culture. It gets to them after a while.’

  ‘Can you talk to him about it?’

  Mum shook her head. ‘He won’t talk, and won’t go to a counsellor. He doesn’t think he has a problem. Still, I feel he’s under some sort of stress. It’s not the business—he says that’s going well. I don’t know what it is.’ She turned to me. ‘Even though he’s difficult at times, he does love you and wants what’s best for you.’ She frowned again. ‘It’s just that we think so differently now about what’s best for you children.’

  I sat quietly. I thought I knew the reason for my father’s stress. It was me. He’d changed when I went into Year 11, as if he’d just realised he had to bring me up properly and how hard it was to do that in Australia. Maybe if I went away for a while, to Kashmir, where I’d be amongst his family, he could relax. Though I didn’t think he would totally relax until I was safely married. And that wouldn’t happen for years. First there was university.

  PART 2

  The Girl in the Mirror

  10

  Maryam came with us to the airport. After I hugged her, she gave me a small package to open on the plane. Her eyes were curious as I took it. Perhaps she was wondering why Papa had decided to send me overseas so suddenly. I smiled as I accepted the package, thinking how Mum would find a framed picture of me under her pillow later.

  ‘Have some puri halva for me in Muzaffarabad,’ Maryam said. ‘And jellabies.’

  ‘I will.’

  We were saying silly things. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was. It was the first time I had gone anywhere alone. My whole life I had been almost cloistered, except for school, and here I was being shipped ten thousand kilometres by myself.

  When we checked in, Papa ordered halal food for me on the plane and even asked for the stewards to be told I was travelling unaccompanied.

  ‘I’m seventeen,’ I hissed at him as the check-in attendant tied a label to my handbag.

  Papa seemed happy, almost his old self as he hugged me. ‘You will have a nice time, beti. You will thank me for this trip—it will be the making of you, the trip of a lifetime.’

  Mum and I stared at him. How could a trip to an earthquake-ravaged area be the trip of a lifetime? Maybe he meant that in Azad Kashmir I would get to see life in all its rawness and suffering. No doubt that would be maturing. He often said life was too easy in Australia.

  Riaz hugged me goodbye and whispered in my ear, ‘Remember: if a month is too long let us know. You don’t have to put up with something you don’t want.’

  I stood back and nodded at him, amazed at how he had changed so much in the last week.

  I hugged Mum the longest. Peo
ple were filing through the gate when I finally let go. ‘Keep in contact,’ she said quickly when Papa pulled me away from her. For a moment she looked frightened.

  ‘I’ll be okay, Mum.’ I waved, but then the line pushed me forward and I couldn’t see her any more.

  I found my seat inside the plane; it was near the stewards’ station with all the unaccompanied kids. A Chinese girl said, ‘Are you helping to look after us?’

  I let her think that, and all the way to Singapore I took kids to the toilet and the cockpit, and ripped open their refresher towels. Good thing Papa had pre-ordered my meal, for all the kids had hamburgers with bacon. I would have gone hungry.

  Maryam’s package made a bump in my handbag and I took it out and unwrapped it. How nice of her to give me a gift when I was only going on a holiday. Then my hands stilled. It wasn’t from Maryam. There was a note:

  Piari Ameera, you are the moon and I am but an unworthy star daring to shine in your glory. I made this for you to wear, and one day I hope to exchange it for gold. Tariq

  It was a necklace of wooden and ceramic beads, blue and purple. How sweet was that? I tied it around my neck. His reference to gold thrilled me. I knew his intentions now: he wanted to marry me. I would persuade Papa to accept Tariq when I was older. Papa loved me; surely he would want the best for me and what made me happiest? I sat staring out the window. Tariq and I were kindred spirits; it was as if we experienced the world with the same soul. I didn’t have to touch him to know he felt the same.

  Singapore airport was clean and ordered. I had five hours to wait there before my flight to Islamabad. Papa had booked my backpack straight through. I sat near a Pakistani family and hoped people would think I was with them. It didn’t stop a young man, about Tariq’s age, from approaching me. He took a seat nearby.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘Azad Kashmir.’ I wasn’t sure if I should be talking to him. He looked Pakistani and should have known better.