And what a time to remember her. He tried to avoid looking at the pearl—he did not want to spoil his evening with Venus. He tried to smile back at her as she said, 'I find your eyes so attractive.'
'Your eyes are repulsive.'
A voice seemed to whip him; the smile vanished from his face. Pulling away his arms from around Venus, he moved back a few steps and picked up his glass from the counter. Venus was taken aback.
'What happened?' She asked, putting a hand on his shoulder in concern.
Salar did not reply; he just swallowed his drink in one gulp. Venus tried to fathom his silence as she looked on anxiously. It took just a few moments to kill his interest in Venus: he didn't know why her presence was suddenly so annoying. He had been dancing with her for the last two hours at a night club and was having a good time, and now, in a few minutes...
Salar tried to shake it off and moved towards the kitchen sink to wash his glass. Venus brought him the other glass. She stood there, arms folded across her chest, watching him as he washed the glasses. Her looking on was bothering Salar.
'I...I'm not feeling too good,' he said to her as he put the glasses on the shelf. Venus was somewhat shocked—in other words, he was asking her to leave. Her expression changed: Salar's attitude was insulting. She stared at him coldly, then picking up her handbag and coat, she stormed out slamming the door behind her. Salar sank on to the sofa, holding his head.
There was no similarity whatsoever between Venus and Imama; even the pearls they wore around their necks were different. Yet the sight of that pearl swinging from the chain around Venus' neck revived the memory of Imama with a sharp pang. Why? Why now? Why ever? He was agitated by the thought. It had ruined an enjoyable evening. Suddenly, he picked up the crystal vase on the coffee table and, with all his might, hurled it against the wall.
After the weekend, he happened to run into Venus again, but his attitude was cold and brusque. This was the only way to nip their relationship in the bud. He began to be irritated and put off by any female/woman who reminded him of Imama in any way and Venus had joined the list. She had been hoping he would apologise for his behaviour and invite her again, but she was disappointed and badly hurt. This was her first affair at Yale.
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During the next few months, he was terribly busy with his studies—so busy that he had no time to remember Imama or to try and find out what had happened to her. And this situation might have continued if he had not run into Jalal Ansar by chance.
Over the weekend, he had gone to Boston, where his uncle lived, to attend a cousin's wedding there. That evening, Salar went out with his cousin to a restaurant for dinner. His cousin had stepped out after placing the order and Salar was waiting to be served. Suddenly someone called out to him.
'Hello?' Salar turned around. 'Aren't you Salar?' the man asked. It was Jalal Ansar. For a minute, Salar couldn't place him. He looked different: he had shaved off his beard.
Salar stood up to shake hands with him, and the adventure of a year ago repeated itself in his memory. After the perfunctory greetings, Salar invited Jalal to join them for dinner.
'No, thank you—I'm in a bit of a rush. I came over to say hello when I caught sight of you,' said Jalal, glancing at his watch. 'How's Imama?' Jalal asked by way of conversation.
Salar thought he had not heard him correctly. 'Sorry?' he asked apologetically. Jalal repeated the question.
'I was asking about Imama—how is she?'
Salar looked at him, unblinking. Why was Jalal asking him about Imama?
'I don't know; you ought to know about her,' Salar replied, shrugging his shoulders quizzically.
'Why me?' Jalal was surprised.
'Because she's your wife.'
'My wife?' A jolt went through Jalal. 'What are you saying? How can she be my wife when I had refused to marry her? You know that very well because you were the one, who came to talk to me about this a year ago,' he reminded Salar. 'In fact, I had asked you to marry her yourself.'
Salar looked at him uncertainly.
'I approached you thinking that you may have married her,' Jalal explained.
'So you didn't marry her?' Salar queried.
'No... I had already spoken to you. How was that possible when I had clearly refused? I came to know that she had left home and gone away, and I supposed she was with you. That's why I came up when I saw you.'
'I have no idea where she is. I've been here for the last seven or eight months,' Salar replied.
'And I've been here last month,' Jalal told him.
'After meeting me, did she meet you or try to contact you?' Salar was perturbed now.
'No.'
'How can that be...that she should go to Lahore and not try to reach you?' Salar found it unbelievable.
'What would she have achieved by contacting me?'
'She left home for your sake. You should have gone to her.'
'No, she didn't run away from home for me. You know that very well. I had told her very clearly that I could not marry her, so please don't say that she did it for me.' Jalal's tone had changed. The whole affair was discussed with you.'
'You mean to say that she really did not approach you again?'
'Why would I lie to you? And if she was with me, then why would I ask you about her? Any way, I'm getting late,' Jalal said abruptly.
'Can I have your contact number?' asked Salar.
'No. I don't think that you and I have any need to keep in touch.' Jalal's response was blunt and candid. He turned around and left.
Confused, Salar kept staring at Jalal as he walked away. It was unbelievable that she did not meet Jalal again. 'Why? Did she really believe me that Jalal had married someone else?' Salar remembered lying to her; but how could she have trusted Salar's word when she herself had said that she did not believe him? His mind was in turmoil. He pulled up a chair and sat down again.
'If she did not go to Jalal, then where did she go? Was there some other man in her life about whom she had kept it secret from me? But, no—she would have told me to contact the other guy. Even if she had not met Jalal immediately, she should have gone to him after she got the nikah papers from Sikandar and got to know about her divorce rights.' Salar wasn't sure why he had spoken to her about Jalal's make-believe wedding. Perhaps he wanted to make her anxious or to see what she'd do next, or maybe it was because he was fed up with her constant requests to go talk to Jalal. Whatever it was, Salar was sure that Imama would go to Jalal for help. But now he discovered that, contrary to his expectations, that was not what she did.
The waiter served their order. Salar's cousin had also returned and they ate while they made small talk. But even as he was eating and speaking, Salar's mind was lost in thought about Imama and Jalal. Her memory had come alive after many months.
'Could she have gone back home?' The thought struck Salar; his mind seemed to be stuck in this groove, 'I'm sure she has...I talk to Papa and ask him—he would certainly know.'
Sikandar Usman was also in town for the family wedding. Late at night, when Salar found his father alone, he approached him.
'Papa, has Imama returned home?' he asked straightaway.
The unexpected question left Sikandar speechless for a while.
'Why do you want to know?' he asked sharply.
'Just like that.'
'There's no need to think about her or wonder about her fate. It's better that you should concentrate on your studies.'
'Please answer my question!'
'Why? What have you got to do with her?' Sikandar's temper flared.
'I met her boyfriend today—the one she wanted to marry.'
'So?'
'So why didn't they get married? He said that Imama never came to see him. I had expected that's where she'd go when she went to Lahore.'
Sikandar interrupted him. 'Whether she went to meet him or not, whether they got married or not—it's none of your business. You do not need to get involved in this affair!'
'Yes, I agree it's none of my business but I want to know if she came to you. How did you get the divorce documents to her? I mean, through whom were they sent to her?'
'Who told you that she'd contacted me?'
Salar was surprised by his father's question. 'I estimated that.'
'She did not contact me at all and if she had, I would have informed Hashim Mubeen about it.'
Salar kept looking at his father. 'I searched through your room and that's where I found the nikah papers,' Sikandar disclosed.
'When you made me come here, you said you'd send the divorce papers to Imama.'
'Yes, but that was in the situation of her getting in touch with me—and she didn't. Why are you so sure that she contacted me?' It was Sikandar's turn to query.
Salar was quiet for a few moments. Then he asked, 'Didn't the police find out anything about her?'
'No; if the police had discovered anything, she would have been home by now. They are still searching for her,' Sikandar answered him.
This is certainly decided, Salar, that you will not get into another drama about Imama. You should not wrack your brain about where she is or how she is, because you have nothing to do with her. As soon as the police trace her, I'll hand over those papers to Hashim Mubeen so that you're free of this hassle.'
'Papa, did she really never call for me?' Salar asked, not really paying attention to Sikandar's earlier remarks.
'Did she ever call you?'
'She called just once, and then I came away here. Maybe, she called again and you're not telling me about it.'
'She did not. If she'd called I would have sorted out many issues regarding your marriage. I would have completed the divorce proceedings on your behalf.'
'BTW how would you do that?' Salar appeared very calm.
'I had taken your signature on a blank paper when you were leaving. I have had the divorce papers prepared,' Sikandar declared smugly.
'Fake document. I didn't know you were getting my signature to file for divorce.'
'Do you want to start this mess all over again?' Sikandar flared up.
'I'm not saying that I want to have a relationship with her. What I'm telling you is that you cannot sever this relationship on my behalf. This concerns me and I alone will deal with it.'
'You should be grateful that you're living here safe and secure. The family that you'd taken on is so powerful that they would pursue you to the grave. It's entirely possible that they're keeping a watch on you here as well, waiting for you to feel confident enough to contact Imama so that they can bury you both alive.'
'You're making a futile attempt to frighten me. First, I'm not ready to accept that they have me under observation out here and that too after such a long time. The other thing is that I am not in touch with Imama as I really have no clue of her whereabouts, so there's no question of any contact.'
'Then why are you so conscious of her welfare? Let her be wherever and how ever she may be.' Sikandar was somewhat relieved.
'Please check my cell phone bills. She has my cell phone; she may be using it to make calls.'
'She's not using your cell phone. It's permanently switched off. The few calls she did make were to her college friends, and the police has already questioned them. In Lahore, Imama went to a friend's place but that girl was away in Peshawar and Imama left her friend's house before her return. The police were unable to trace where she went.'
Salar watched his father with a piercing gaze, then said, 'Hasan told you all about me and her?'
Sikandar had no answer to this. Only Hasan knew about Imama's having Salar's cell phone. Sikandar could not claim this discovery as a result of searching Salar's room, talking to his father, Salar suspected Hasan of having spilled the beans because Sikandar Usman knew minute details of this entire affair that were only in Salar's or Hasan's knowledge—there was no third person involved. Since Salar had not divulged anything to his father, undoubtedly it was Hasan who had apprised him of all that had taken place.
'What difference does it make, whether it was Hasan or whoever? It was not like I wouldn't have come to know—it was foolish on my part to have shrugged off Hashim Mubeen's accusations and to have believed you instead.'
Salar sat quietly, without a word, as Sikandar spoke, but his expression mirrored his displeasure and anger.
'Now that I have pulled you out of this unpleasant situation, you should not do anything that will...'
Sikandar's tone was gentler, but before he could even complete a sentence, Salar suddenly got up and left the room.
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The conversation with his father swirled round Salar's mind all night. For the first time, he felt a sense of remorse, unhappiness—he should have complied with Imama's request and divorced her at the outset. She would have gone to Jalal, married him and settled down. Despite the aversion he felt towards Imama, he had to admit he was at fault.
'She didn't contact me again. She didn't go to court to file for divorce. Her family hasn't yet been able to locate her. She didn't go to Jalal Ansar either—so where ever did she disappear? Could it be that she'd met with a mishap?'
He pondered, deeply and seriously, about her; for the first time he thought about Imama without a hint of irritation or annoyance.
'It can't be that she's living quietly somewhere as my wife, although she loathes me. Why has she made no effort to get in touch with anyone?' Worrying thoughts kept surfacing. It had been more than a year since the marriage: had she really met with an accident? He kept mulling over what could possibly have happened to her, but after some time, his thoughts were back on their usual track.
'Well...what can I do if something untoward has happened? She left home at her own risk—and anyone can be involved in such a situation. So why am I flogging myself when I have no further connection with her? Papa was right that I need not be concerned, especially about a girl who's ungrateful to the point of arrogance—she looks down on others and probably deserved what she got.'
Salar tried to shake her out of his mind. The repentant sobriety he had briefly experienced vanished: he wasn't particularly sorry now about such a trivial matter. He relaxed and closed his eyes—Imama was nowhere in his thoughts.
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'Have you ever been to Vandame?' asked Mike as he left the university with Salar. 'Once.' 'How's it?' 'Not bad.'
'We should go there on a weekend,' suggested Mike. 'Why?'
'My girl friend's very interested in that place—she goes there often.' 'Then you should go with her,' remarked Salar.
'It'll be more fun if we all go,' replied Mike.
'Who's all?' asked Danish, joining in the conversation.
'All of our friends—you, me, Salar, Sethi and Saad,' Mike explained.
'Drop Saad—he'll freak out at the mention of nightclubs or deliver a long sermon,' Salar interrupted.
'Fine; then it's just us,' confirmed Danish.
'Let's invite Sandra too.' Salar suggested his girl friend's name.
So they went to Vandame on a Saturday night and enjoyed themselves thoroughly. The next morning Salar slept late. He was fixing his lunch when Saad called.
'Have you just woken up?' he asked, hearing Salar's groggy voice. 'Must have stayed up till all hours, I suppose.'
'Yes—we'd gone out.' Salar deliberately avoided the word 'nightclub'.
'We meaning you and Sandra?'
'No, the whole group,' Salar said.
'The whole group? And you ditched me?' Saad was hurt and annoyed.
'We never thought of you.' Salar's plain talk really hit Saad.
'You're a creep, Salar, a very cheap guy...was Danish there too?'
'All of us, my dear, all...' Salar's tone was complacent, mocking.
'Why was I left behind?' Saad's annoyance increased.
'Because children aren't taken to such places...you're not mature enough,' teased Salar.
'I'll break your bones, you...! Then you'll
know.'
'I'm not joking, yaar—we didn't ask you because you wouldn't have gone there anyway,' Salar clarified.
'Why? Were you going to hell that I'd refuse?'
'Well, you would have called it hell. We went to a night club—would you have come along?'
'Why not?'
Salar was taken aback by this response. 'You'd have come?'
'Of course!' Saad affirmed.
'And what would you do there? You don't drink, you don't dance—so what would you do? Lecture us on our folly?'
'Not quite. So, I don't drink or dance, but it would have been a nice outing. I'd have enjoyed it.'
'Doesn't Islam forbid such activities—going to such places?' Salar's tone was acerbic.
After a brief moment of silence, Saad replied, 'I wouldn't be doing anything wrong, just enjoying the change of scene.'
Okay, we'll include you the next time we plan something. Had I known last night I'd have called you. We really had a good time.'
'Anyway...what's your programme today?' Saad was somewhat pacified. They chatted a while, then rang off.
'What are your plans this weekend?' Saad asked Salar. They were in the campus cafeteria.
'I'm going to New York with Sandra.'
'Why?'
'Her brother's getting married; she's invited me.'
'When do you return?' Saad asked.
'Sunday night.'
'Then let me have the keys to your apartment—I'll spend the weekend there. I have to work on some assignments, and all four of my flat-mates will be home this weekend. I can't get any work done,' Saad elaborated.
'Fine—you can stay there,' shrugged Salar.
Salar planned to leave with Sandra on Friday night. It was by chance that some work held her back and they had to postpone their departure till the next morning. Sandra was living as a paying guest so Salar had no choice but to go home for the night. He had given one of his keys to Saad and carried the other with him.
He got home after 11 p.m. and let himself in using his own key as he didn't want to disturb Saad's studies. The lounge was empty but the lights were on. Salar felt uneasy—he wanted to get to his bedroom, but stopped at the door. Sounds of conversation and laughter came from the other side—Saad had female company.