'I am not lying, Papa' Hasan protested.
'Where in Lahore did he drop her?'
'On some road; she said she'd find her own way.'
'Do you think Sikandar and I are fools to believe that Salar would marry the girl, then drop her off on some road in Lahore? Don't try to fool us!' Qasim Faruqi was furious.
'I am telling you the truth. At least, that's what he told me. That he'd left her on some road in Lahore.'
'Didn't you ask him why he'd married her, if this is what he did?'
'Papa, he married her to help her out. Her family was forcing her to marry someone else against her will. She contacted Salar and asked for his help—he agreed. She wanted Salar to marry her temporarily, so that she could use the nikah papers to refuse her parents if they insisted on forcing her.'
Hasan could no longer cover up the reality and he decided to tell them whatever he knew.
'If she was held against her will by her parents, her release could be arranged through a bailiff. There's no question of a love marriage here because she's in love with someone else. If you read the nikahnama carefully, you'll see that she has retained the right of divorce, so that she can file for it without even getting in touch with Salar.'
'Is that it—or is there any more?' Qasim Faruqi asked Hasan, who just looked at them quietly, without a word.
'I do not believe a word of this nice little story, you've made up. I'm not a child to swallow it. You have to help Sikandar Usman reach Imama,' Qasim said in a final tone.
'How can I do that, Papa, when I know nothing of her whereabouts?'
'How? You have to find out. All I have to say is that you have to find her.'
'Papa, please believe that I know nothing about Imama. I had nothing to do with this except to help Salar with the nikah!'
'You were close enough to Salar to help him with this secret marriage, and now you say you don't know where his wife is after she ran away from home? I cannot buy this yarn, Hasan.' Qasim spoke curtly. 'Even if you don't know, you will have to find out where she is. Ask Salar, he'll tell you.'
'He keeps a lot of things from me, Papa.'
'I'm not concerned with other things he may or may not tell you; all I want to know is where Imama is. Do whatever you need to, but find out where she is. And do this without letting Salar know that Sikandar has knowledge of this secret wedding or that he has met you in this regard. If I learn that Salar has been told about this, then just remember what I'll do with you.
I've given Sikandar Usman permission to tell Hashim Mubeen about you.
Then it's up to Hashim to deal with you—directly or through the police. It's your choice now either to keep up your friendship with Salar or live in this house.'
Qasim Faruqi spoke with finality and determination.
'Papa, I will try somehow to find out about Imama. I'll talk to Salar without letting him know that Sikandar Uncle has forced this out from me,' Hasan said mechanically, parrot-like. This time he was trapped beyond his wildest dreams.
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Salar stayed house-bound for a few days but then he insisted and got his own way. He resumed classes at college. Hashim Mubeen and his family had moved heaven and earth in search of Imama. Although they tried to keep the whole business under wraps, Sikandar came to know of it though the police and the servants. The Mubeens were also trying to contact Imama's friends in Lahore.
Then Salar saw a 'wanted' notice in the newspaper, offering a handsome reward for information on the whereabouts of one 'Javaid'. Salar was familiar with the name as it was given by Hasan as Imama's husband to the lawyer. Surely, this advertisement had been placed by Imama's family, although the contact member given was not theirs. Salar was certain that the police had reached the lawyer who could not have provided 'Javaid's' details. Only Salar, the lawyer and Hasan knew that there was no real person by the name of Javaid Babar. Salar was a little relieved that he had succeeded in misleading Hashim Mubeen to some extent. Throughout this period, Salar waited for Imama's call. He called her several times on her cell phone but it was always switched off. He was puzzled as to where she could be-Hasan's frequent queries about her added to this anxiety.
At times he would react. 'How do I know where she is or why she doesn't get in touch? I feel you are more interested in her than I am.' He had no idea that Hasan's queries and anxiety were the result of pressure. Hasan was under a lot of stress, Salar believed Imama might have met Jalal and even married him, although he had lied to her about Jalal's marriage~but he was certain she didn't believe him. She must have approached Jalal again. Salar wanted her to contact Jalal or meet him, if only once. He wanted to know if Imama was with Jalal, but there was no way of finding out.
Sikandar Usman had Salar under watch round the clock and he was aware that he wasn't the only one keeping a watch on him; Hashim Mubeen Ahmed was doing the same. If Salar had decided to go to Lahore, his father would not let him go~and even if he did allow Salar, he would probably accompany him, which Salar did not want. As time passed, Salar was losing interest in this affair. Thinking back, he considered his actions and the adventure that cost him dearly to be foolhardy. Sikandar and Tayyaba were always home and he had to seek their permission to go out. Hasan hardly visited him. Salar was thoroughly bored with this situation.
That night he was surfing the net when he got a call on his cell phone. He picked it up casually and looked at the incoming call number—a bolt of lightning seemed to hit him. It was Imama, calling from the cell phone he had given her.
'So you remembered me after all.' And he whistled under his breath.
Suddenly, he was wide awake, fresh—the ennui that had plagued him a while ago had vanished.
'I was almost convinced you'd never call me: what took you so long?' he said.
I've been wanting to ring you up for quite a while, but just couldn't get round to it,' Imama replied.
'Why? What was the problem? You had my cell phone.'
'There was a problem.' Her response was brief.
'Where are you now?' Salar asked, somewhat mystified.
'Don't be childish, Salar. You know I'm not going to tell you, so why do you ask? Anyway, how's my family?'
Salar was taken aback by this unexpected question.
'Oh, they're fine—very happy, enjoying themselves,' he mocked her. 'You are a very good daughter indeed. You're so thoughtful about your family even after running away from home. How nice!'
There was silence on the other side. Then she said 'How's Waseem?'
'I can't say, but he must be okay, very good, I think. How can he be bad?'
he continued in the same taunting tone.
'I hope they didn't discover that you'd helped me.' Salar found Imama's tone rather odd.
'Discover? Imama, my dear, the police turned up at my door the same day that I got home after dropping you off in Lahore.' Salar's manner was derisive. 'Your father filed an FIR against me on charges of your abduction.'
He laughed. 'Just imagine, can a person like me kidnap anyone, least of all you, who'd shoot anybody, any where, any time.'
He continued, 'Your father's trying his best to land me in jail for the rest of my life, but I suppose I'm lucky to have escaped that fate. I'm being guarded on way from home to college and back. I get dumb calls. All sorts of things are happening. What can I say except that your family is making our life miserable.'
'I didn't think they'd get to you,' Imama said ruefully. 'I thought they'd never suspect you. I am sorry to have put you through all these problems. My intention was to first secure my position and then to call you. I am really safe now.'
Salar was listening to her with curious interest.
'I'm not going to use your mobile any more and I want to send it back, but it's not possible now. And I'll also send you some money to cover all the expenses you incurred on my behalf.'
'No need to send any money...and you can also keep the mobile and use it; I have another one,' Salar interrupted her.
 
; 'No, I won't because I don't need to use your mobile.' After a pause, she said, 'I want you to send me the divorce papers and along with them a copy of the nikahnama that I couldn't take from you earlier.'
'Where do I send these?' asked Salar in response to her demand. It suddenly struck him that she was asking for a divorce, she wanted the right he had granted her in the nikahnama as she had asked.
'You can send them to that lawyer you had hired, and give me his name and address so that I can get them from him.'
Salar smiled: she was being very cautious. 'But I have no direct contact with him nor do I know him, so how can I send the papers to him?'
'Then send them through that friend of yours who arranged for the lawyer.'
She was determined not to reveal her whereabouts.
'Why do you want a divorce?' Salar was in full swing. There was silence at the other end: she had not expected this question.
'Why do I want a divorce? This is a very odd question since it was agreed that I will divorce you,' she replied, a little surprised.
'But that was then—a long time ago—and I don't want to divorce you now,'
he said seriously. He could gauge that the ground literally shifted under her feet.
'What are you saying?'
'I'm telling you, dear Imama, that I don't want to divorce you, and I will not.'
He gave her another shock.
'You have already given me the right of divorce,' she retorted.
'When? Where? How?' Salar spoke calmly.
'You should remember that before the nikah I had told you clearly that I
want the divorce clause retained in the nikahnama. Even if you don't divorce me, I can file for divorce,' she claimed.
'You could have exercised this right if I had given it to you—but I did not. You saw the nikah papers when you signed them; there's no such clause there. Anyway, you must have seen them; otherwise you wouldn't be talking to me about divorce.'
There was silence again on her part. He had taken a chance, a shot in the dark, but it was on target. Imama had certainly not bothered to read the papers carefully before signing them. Salar was getting a kick out of this situation.
'You have deceived me,' he heard her say after some time. 'Yes, just as you deceived me by pulling a gun on me,' he retorted. 'I think you and I can have a great life together. We both have so many shortcomings and failings that we complement each other quite nicely.' His tone was sober once again.
'Spend a lifetime together, Salar, and that too with you? Impossible! 'I should quote Napoleon that the word "impossible" does not exist in my dictionary. Or perhaps request you to join me in making the impossible, possible.' He was joking again.
'You have done me countless favors, Salar...Do this last favor and divorce me.'
'No. I am tired of being kind to you and cannot do it any more, and especially this favor that you ask, it's not possible.' He spoke seriously. 'I'm not your type, Salar. Our lifestyles are very different; otherwise, I could have considered your offer, but in the present situation it cannot be. Please divorce me,' she said in a soft, almost pleading voice. Salar felt like laughing out.
'If you promise to consider my offer, I'll change my lifestyle,' he said gently. 'Try to understand...we have nothing in common: we are totally different, our philosophy of life is different. We can't live together.' Imama was exasperated.
'No, I don't think so. Our philosophy of life is actually very similar. You need not worry about this—even if there are some differences, they can be overcome with minor adjustments.' He spoke as if talking to his best friend. 'Otherwise too, what do I lack? I may not be as handsome as your ex-fiance, but I'm not as plain as Jalal Ansar. You know my family fairly well, and you have no idea how bright my professional future will be. I'm better than Jalal in every way.' Salar stressed his words. His eyes were sparkling and a naughty smile played on his lips as he teased Imama who was irritated by his comments.
'No one can replace Jalal in my eyes—least of all, you—never.' Her voice reflected her annoyance.
'Why?' he asked with mock innocence.
'I don't like you! Why can't you understand this? If you don't divorce me, I'll go to court,' she threatened him.
Salar burst out laughing. 'You are most welcome! You can do so whenever you wish. What better place can there be to meet and talk face to face? It will be such fun!' He was enjoying this sparring.
'You'd better remember that not only I, but your parents will be there too, in the court,' he warned her.
'Salar, there are enough problems in my life and these are growing by the day. At least you don't have to add to them.' Imama spoke sadly,
despairingly, but Salar was gloating at her plight.
'Adding to your problems? My dear, I am wasting away trying to make your life easy, sympathizing with you. Just consider what a secure and happy life you can have with me,' he pretended to be serious.
Imama's response was brutally honest. 'You know why I put myself through all this, Salar. Do you believe that I will agree to spend my life with a man who has indulged in all the cardinal sins our dear Prophet (PBUH) has condemned? Good women are the partners of good men, and evil women are for evil men. I may have done wrong things in my life, but I am not so bad that someone like you should be part of my life. I could not marry Jalal,
but I will certainly not spend my life with you.'
Imama spoke bitterly.
'Perhaps, that's why Jalal did not marry you—because for good men there are good women, not someone like you.'
Salar's words were like cold steel. The silence on the other side was interminable—till Salar queried 'Hello? Are you listening?'
A choked voice responded. 'Salar, divorce me!' Her anguish gave him a strange thrill.
'Then you can go to court for it, as you said you would,' he concluded and heard the phone being switched off.
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In these last few months, Hasan claimed he had tried his best to worm some information about Imama from Salar but without any success. He refused to believe that there was no contact between them, but had failed in his attempts to call Imama on her mobile.
Sikandar had told Salar to apply for admission to various universities in the USA—he knew that Salar's academic record would ensure his entry to any one of the best institutions.
Imama did not call Salar again, although he thought she would. Then he would tell her that he had already ceded her the right of divorce in the nikah papers and would send them to her. He'd confess he was just joking. But she did not contact him, nor did he bother to see the marriage documents again. Had he done so, he would have learnt much before that his nikaahnama was missing.
The day he got home after his last examination, he found Sikandar waiting for him.
'You'd better pack your stuff. You're leaving tonight for the US, to stay with Kamran.'
'Why, Papa? This is very sudden! Is everything OK?' 'Yes—everything except you,' his father retorted acidly. 'Then why are you packing me off like this?'
I'lltell you on the way to the airport tonight. Now go and do your packing.' 'Papa, please tell me why you're doing this? It's all so sudden,' Salar protested weakly.
'Didn't I say I'll tell you? Now go and pack up or else I'll leave you empty-handed at the airport, Sikandar threatened. Salar watched him quietly, then turned towards his room.
His mind was in a turmoil as he put his belongings together. Why had Sikandar Usman taken such a sudden decision? A thought struck him like a bolt and he began to rummage through the papers in his desk drawer. He could not find the nikah papers—where were they? He could now understand his father's strategy. He regretted his own carelessness in leaving those papers lying around. They were in possession of no one other than his father, because no one else would dare to go through his belongings, except Sikandar.
Salar felt no more confusion, no more anxiety. He quietly packed his bags. All he thought of was what his father would tell h
im on the way to the airport. When they left that night, only father and son were together; Tayyaba did not accompany them. They spoke dryly, without emotion. Salar too did not raise any queries. As they got to the airport, Sikandar took a sheet of blank paper from his briefcase and giving Salar a pen, said, 'Sign here.' 'What's this?' Salar looked at the blank paper with surprise. 'Just sign it. Don't ask questions.' His father's tone was brusque. Without another word, Salar signed the paper. Sikandar folded it and put it away in his briefcase. He then turned to his son.
'After whatever you have done, there's not much point in talking to you. You have lied to me constantly, time after time, thinking that I'll never get to know the truth. You know, instead of sending you off to America, I feel like handing you over to Hashim Mubeen so that you realize what a fool you have been. But my problem is that I am your father—and I have to save you. You have been taking advantage of my weakness, but no more. I am going to hand over the divorce documents to Imama and if you ever contact her again or even try to do so, you will regret it, I promise. You have no clue of what I'll do then! You have created enough problems for us, Salar, and this has to stop now—do you understand?'
Sikandar was furious and upset. Instead of replying, Salar kept looking out of the window. He seemed strangely content and carefree: Sikandar was incensed. Here was his son who had an IQ of 150+, but anyone looking at him would have wondered if he had any IQ at all.
END OF CHAPTER FOUR
Chapter 5
The next few months spent in the US were the most trying days of Salar's life. Earlier too he had been to the US and Europe on holiday with his family; but the way Sikandar had packed him off now not only infuriated Salar but also created many problems for him. His friends who had completed A levels with him were enrolled and studying in various universities across the US. Likewise, his cousins and other relatives, and even his own siblings, were in different cities there. He wasn't all that attached to his family nor was he homesick, but the sudden forced move left him restless and miserable.