Pir-E-Kamil: The Perfect Mentor

  'No, they married there of their own choice,' she replied very plainly. Salar could not hold back his amusement.

  'What's the matter?' she asked seriously.

  'Nothing. Are your daughters-in-law Europeans?'

  'No, they're Pakistanis but they live there. They used to work with my sons. But, why did you laugh?' she asked again.

  'It's nothing special.'

  'You didn't tell me...any girl friend...'

  Salar interrupted. 'No, Saeeda Amma, not even a girl friend.'

  'Mashallah, Mashallah!' once again, Salar failed to understand the context of this exclamation.

  'You have your own house?'

  'No, it's rented.'

  'Any servants?'

  'No live-in servants, just part-time ones to do the cleaning.'

  'And this car must be your own?'

  'Yes.'

  'And how much do you earn? What's your salary?'

  Replying mechanically to her queries, Salar suddenly stopped in his tracks. He didn't make out immediately the direction this dialogue was taking.

  'Saeeda Amma, why do you live here alone? Why don't you join your sons?' he changed the topic.

  'Yes, that's what I intend too. At first, I didn't want to, but once my daughter gets married, I'll go abroad. I'm tired of living alone out here.'

  Salar was now back on the road from where he'd picked up Saeeda Amma.

  'I'd picked you up from here. Now tell me which house is it on this road that you were visiting.' He had slowed down the car and was looking at the houses on his right.

  'Even if you don't know the number, you should be able to recognize the house.'

  Saeeda Amma was peering at the houses. 'Yes, yes... I can recognize the house.'

  She began to describe the house as vaguely as she had given her own address. They reached the end of the road and she had been unable to identify the house. Salar got Bilal's father's name and he started walking down the rode, enquiring about him and anyone who knew Saeeda Amma. Half an hour later, he had knocked at every door but no one responded to the names he had asked.

  'You do remember his name correctly?' he asked her. He was at the end of his tether.

  'Yes, of course. Why should I forget his name?' she felt insulted.

  'But no one by this name lives on this road, and nor does anyone here know you,' stated Salar, getting back into the car.

  Then let's look at the street there,' said Saeeda Amma, pointing to a street nearby.

  'But you said it was on this road.'

  'When did I say that?' she objected.

  'I had asked if you had turned anywhere from this road and you said you hadn't,' Salar reminded her.

  'Yes, I did say that, but what is a "turn"?'

  Salar despaired of her. 'Did you come here from another road or street, did you take a turn here?'

  'Oh! So that's what you mean,' she said, placidly. 'Why did I sit down here? I was exhausted, walking on and on. How could I get tired walking down this narrow lane?'

  Salar started the car. It had been a horrible day. 'From which street did you turn here?' The car moved forward.

  'I think...' She looked around in confusion. 'This one,' she claimed.

  Salar was convinced that it was not the one; nonetheless, he turned that way. It was confirmed that the day was going to be wasted in this fruitless search. For the next hour and a half, he kept searching the roads with Saeeda Amma, without any success. From a distance she would declare that she'd found the house. On driving up close, she'd say, 'No, no, no— not this one.' Finally, he left that colony and brought her back to the locality where she said her house was situated. Another hour or more were wasted searching, and it was evening now. All along, while he traipsed up and down, Saeeda Amma sat complacently in the car.

  'Found it?' she asked as he returned.

  'No, it's getting dark now and its pointless looking around. I'll report at the police station about you. Your daughter or your neighbors are bound to contact the police if you don't get home. They'll come for you,' suggested Salar as he started the car again.

  'Poor Amina must be worried.' Saeeda Amma expressed her concern for her daughter. Salar felt like telling her that his anxiety was greater than her daughter's, but he drove to the police station without a word. After filing the report, he got up and so did Saeeda Amma.

  'Sit down, please. You're going to stay here,' he told her.

  'No. Where will we keep her here? Please take her with you. If anyone contacts us, we'll give your whereabouts,' the inspector announced.

  'But I want to hand her over to you,' Salar objected.

  'Look here, she's an old lady. Should no one contact us for her, where will we put her up for the night? And if more days should pass...?' explained the inspector.

  Saeeda Amma did not let him complete his words. 'I don't want to stay here. Son, I'll go with you. Where do you expect me to sit around with these men?' she turned to Salar, who looked at her apprehensively.

  'But I live alone...' he was about to say, when he thought of Furqan's place. 'Very well, let's go,' he said, with a sigh.

  He came out to the car and dialed Furqan's mobile number. He wanted to arrange for her to stay there for the night. Furqan was still at the hospital; Salar apprised him of the situation. 'Nosheen's away at the village,' Furqan informed him. 'But that shouldn't be a problem. I'll be there in a while and I'll take her to my apartment. She's an old lady, not a young woman, so no need for concern. You're being too cautious.'

  'No, it's not that—I was concerned about her comfort. She shouldn't feel awkward,' Salar replied.

  'No, she won't, pal! Ask her—if she's uncomfortable, I'll put her up with Alam Sahib's family next door.'

  'Anyway, you get here, then we'll see,' said Salar and switched off the phone.

  'No problem, son—I'll stay with you. You're like my son; I trust you.'

  Salar smiled in response. He stopped at a restaurant on the way and picked up some food. He was ravenously hungry and he suddenly felt a pang of guilt that Saeeda Amma had been with him since afternoon and hadn't eaten. On the way home, he got some fresh apple juice for her. It was his first experience of spending time with an old person—it was not easy.

  He was having dinner with Saeeda Amma at his apartment when Furqan arrived. He introduced himself to her and joined them for dinner. In no time, he was happily chatting with her in typical Punjabi. Salar envied him—he had yet to see such a good conversationalist as Furqan—there was something in the way he spoke that the other person would take him into confidence in next to no time. In spite of his long friendship with Furqan, Salar had yet to learn the art of conversation from him.

  Ten minutes later, at dinner, he was a quiet spectator while Saeeda Amma and Furqan talked away. Learning that Furqan was a doctor, she was busy consulting him on various medical problems. By the time they had finished eating, she had persuaded Furqan to bring his bag and check her up.

  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.

  -------------------------

  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.

  -------------------------

  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.

  -------------------------

  'I have to speak to you about some important things, that's why I've called you.' Sika
ndar 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.'