She had received inestimable love from both Dr Sibt-e-Ali's and Saeeda Amma's families and she was very careful not to say or do anything that would upset them or cause them to scorn her. This is something she had never had to do living with her own family. Being discreet and tactful was a new trait she had learnt.
The day Saeeda Amma disappeared Imama was at work. The house was locked when she got home. This was not worrying since Saeeda Amma, being as social as she was often out visiting when she got home. Imama unlocked the door and went in. This was around four in the evening. But when the late evening call for prayers was sounded from the mosque, Imama began to worry. It was Saeeda Amma's habit to come home by sundown. Imama went to the neighbour's house to inquire. She was told the neighbour's son had accompanied Saeeda Amma to Bilal's house. Since Imama was well acquainted with Bilal's family she rang them up to ask about Saeeda Amma. She was told that Saeeda Amma had come but that she had left around noon. She rang up all her neighbors and friends to find out where she could be. She drew a blank everywhere; now she was really worried. She rang up Dr Sibt-e-Ali and told him that Saeeda Amma was missing.
What really caused her worry was that Saeeda Amma was completely unfamiliar with the city. She was used to her own neighborhood and the confines of the inner city; but once out of familiar surroundings, she was lost. If she wanted to go outside her neighborhood she would ask either one of the neighborhood boys or Imama to take her.
Salar, on the other hand knew the entire city of Lahore with the exception of the inner city. Had he even some idea of the inner city, he would have been able to help Saeeda Amma home despite her vague directions.
It was late in the night when Dr Sibt-e-Ali rang up Imama to tell her that
Saeeda Amma had been traced through an acquaintance and that she would be home soon. Imama breathed a sigh of relief.
An hour later when the bell rang, Imama went rushing to the door. She opened the door. A good looking man greeted her and turning around said goodbye to Saeeda Amma who was standing behind him. She hardly noticed the other tall man, with his back to her. The two men walked away as Imama hugged Saeeda Amma fervently.
The next few days Saeeda Amma spoke often of the two young men who had come to her aid—Furqan and Salar. Imama did not connect Salar with Salar Sikandar. Dead men do not come back. In any case, Salar Sikandar was not the type to aid anyone nor did he have any of those glowing qualities that Saeeda Amma was so enthusiastically extolling.
A few days later Furqan came with his wife to visit Saeeda Amma. Imama got to meet him for the first time. She liked both Furqan and his wife. Over the next few months the two would often come over and they became quite good friends.
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It was now two years since Imama had been working. Perhaps life would have continued like this, had she not one day passed a street on which Dr Jalal Ansar had built his hospital. His name was emblazoned on the outside. Imama stopped involuntary. She stood there for a while looking at his name, then she determinedly walked away. She promised herself that she would never come down this street again. Jalal was married; that she had learnt when she left her house. She did not want to ever be a part of his life again. But as fate would have it, this decision was not to be a lasting one.
A fortnight later she bumped into Rabia while at work. Rabia was there on an errand. Seeing her standing before her, Imama fell into confusion. She did not know whether to greet her or not. Rabia solved her problem.
Embracing her warmly she said, 'Imama where have you been? Your disappearance created quite a stir both in the college and in the hostel.'
Imama smiled weakly. 'I left home; why I did so must be known to you.' Imama did not wish to elaborate.
'Yes, I have an idea why you left but I have not discussed it with anyone. We really got into trouble when you disappeared. Me, Javeria, Zainab...the police really grilled us but we had no idea where you were. There were many rumors though about you and much gossip in the hostel and the college.'
Rabia rambled on, sitting in the chair in front of her. 'Did you go alone?' she asked suddenly.
'Yes.' Imama switched on the intercom to ask for tea.
'But where did you go?'
'No where. I was here in Lahore. But tell me more about yourself, and Javeria...and the rest.' Imama was eager to turn the conversation away from herself.
'I have my practice here in Lahore; Javeria is in Islamabad. She is working there. She is married to a doctor. I got married to Farooq. You remember Farooq? He was in our college.'
Imama smiled. 'And Zainab?' Her heart began to beat fast.
'Zainab is in London these days, doing her residency with her husband. My husband Farooq has his practice in her brother's hospital.'
'In Jalal Ansar's hospital?' Imama could not stop herself from asking.
'Yes. In Jalal's hospital. Jalal set up his hospital after completing his specialization. He is such a nice person but unfortunately he has his troubles. He got divorced recently.'
'Divorced... why?'
'I don't know why. Farooq did ask him but he only said that he and his wife could not develop an understanding with each other. She was very nice too—a doctor. We got very friendly with them and would often go to their house. I could never have imagined there was any friction between the two of them. He has a three year old son who stays with him. His wife has gone back to the US.'
Changing the subject in the same breath, she continued, 'But now tell me about yourself. I can see you work here, but what about your studies? Did you complete your degree?'
I did my Masters in Chemistry.'
'So, are you married?'
'No, not yet.'
'And your parents? Have you patched up with your parents yet?'
'No.' Imama spoke in a soft voice.
Rabia sat for a little more and then left. For Imama the rest of the day was tedious. She could not stop thinking of Jalal Ansar. She had never really forgotten him—it was just wishful thinking. She could not really put him out of her life; today she once again realized how much she really cared for him. She had put him out of her life only because she did not wish to cause any complications in his life, nor did she want to be a source of trouble in his marital affairs. Now, he was single again. She thought of her life those eight years ago when she had cried like a baby because she could not marry Jalal. There were too many obstacles in the way—hurdles that she could not overcome and obstacles that Jalal had no power to remove.
Now, time had intervened. Those barriers no longer existed. That he had been married and was now divorced was of no concern to her; nor the fact that he had a three year old son.
'I should go and see him,' she resolved. 'Perhaps he still thinks about me. Perhaps he has recognized his error.' Imama was ready to forgive him for the hurt he had caused her the last time they had talked on the phone. Anybody would have done the same. After all one does not risk everything for the sake of a girl. He had his career to think of; and his parents who had so many hopes and dreams associated with him. How could he have abandoned all? Like me, he too was helpless, she reasoned to herself. The sharpness of his words those many years ago was forgotten now; they did not cause her to pause and rethink her decision to go see Jalal Ansar.
'I should go and see him. Perhaps Allah is giving me another chance. Perhaps all my prayers are finally being answered. Perhaps Allah has had pity on me now. Otherwise why would Rabia have popped up in my life so suddenly now? Why would I have found out that he is now divorced? Perhaps, if I were to meet him again... ' She had made up her mind. She was going to meet Jalal Ansar.
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'I wish to see Dr Jalal Ansar,' she said to the receptionist.
'Do you have an appointment?' the receptionist asked.
'No.'
Then I am afraid you cannot see him. Dr Ansar does not meet patients without an appointment.' The receptionist was dismissive.
'I am not a patient. I am a fr
iend.' Imama spoke softly putting both hands on the receptionist's desk.
'Does Dr Ansar know you were coming to see him?"
'No.'
'Let me just ask him then,' the receptionist said picking up the phone. 'Your name please.'
When Imama did not reply, she repeated her question. 'Can I have your name please?'
'Imama Hashim.' Imama could not recall the last time she had said her name aloud.
'Sir, there is a Imama Hashim to see you,' the receptionist spoke on the intercom. Then turning to Imama with a smile she said, 'You are to go in.'
A patient was just leaving the doctor's room. Imama walked in. Jalal was standing behind the desk, astonishment writ large over his face. She could feel her heart beat in her ears. It had been more than eight years since the two had met, when exactly she could not recall.
'Imama, what a pleasant surprise!' Jalal greeted her warmly, coming forward to meet her. 'I can hardly believe it. How are you?'
'I am well. And you?' She was staring at him—at the face she had been unable to forget in eight years. She was listening to the voice she had not forgotten in eight years.
'I am just fine,' he said indicating the chair in front of his desk asking her to be seated. He went and sat behind the table.
She had always known that meeting Jalal again would be a cause of great happiness but this excitement that she felt...she had not anticipated it would be thus.
'What will you have? Tea? Coffee? A soft drink?' he was asking. 'Whatever you wish.'
'Right then we will have coffee. You always liked it.'
He spoke to the receptionist to ask her to send out for some coffee. Imama saw the changes wrought in him through the years. He no longer sprouted a beard; his hairstyle and changed and he had put on some weight. On the whole he looked far more confident and self contained than he had before.
'So what are you doing nowadays?' he asked putting down the receiver.
'I work in a pharmaceutical company.'
'Did you complete your medical studies?' he inquired.
'No. I did an M.Sc. in Chemistry.'
'Which company are you working for?'
She told him.
'That is a very good firm.' He spent the next few minutes praising the company. She watched him intently.
'I went abroad to specialize...' He was now telling her about himself. She sat quite happy just to be looking at him. Sometimes it is enough for a person to just be there she was thinking to herself. 'It has been a year since I started this hospital and I have a good practice going.'
He was still talking when the coffee was brought in.
'How did you find out about me?' he asked picking up the cup of coffee.
'I saw your name outside on the panel of doctors. And then Rabia also told me. You know Rabia? Zainab knows her well.'
'Rabia Farooq? Yes I know her well. Her husband Dr Farooq is my colleague here.'
'Yes...so I came.' Imama had not yet touched the coffee. It was still too hot for her liking. She watched Jalal Ansar, the man she had once idealized. She believed he had all those qualities that a man should have; all those qualities that she would want in a husband. She was sure he was the same man still. That he did not have a beard could not mean that he did not revere the holy Prophet (PBUH) as much as he had before. He was still singing praises of his hospital and Imama could recall the voice that had so many years before made a difficult decision easy for her.
She was happy to hear him talk of his success. It was for this very reason he had rejected her eight and a half years ago. Now he had achieved all his desires. There should be no more obstacles to his marrying her now. There should be no difficulty now.
'Are you married?' He had suddenly changed the topic of conversation.
'No.' Imama replied softly.
'So where do you stay? Are you with your parents?' Imama could now sense the concern in his voice.
'No.'
'Then where...'
'I live on my own. How could I return to my parents?' She was still speaking very softly. 'And what about you?' she continued, 'Are you married?'
'I was. I am divorced now. I have a three year old son. He lives with me.' Jalal's tone betrayed no emotion.
'I am sorry to hear that,' Imama commiserated.
'Don't be. It is a good thing it ended. It was not a marriage, it was a mess.' Jalal put the coffee cup back on the table. For a time silence engulfed the room.
'Many years ago I had asked you to marry me,' Imama broke the silence at last.
Jalal looked at her without saying anything.
'I had then requested you to marry me. Can I make that request again?'
She looked at him as his face changed color.
'Circumstances have changed since then. You are no longer dependent on your parents, they cannot object to your marrying of your own free will, nor can my parents interfere in any way.'
Imama stopped to wait for Jalal to answer. There was no reply. The silence stretched on straining her nerves. 'Perhaps he is worried I might object to his son living with us.' She tried to rationalize his lack of response. 'I should clarify that I have nothing against his first marriage nor having his son with us.'
'Jalal, I have no problems with...'
This is not possible, Imama...' Jalal cut her short.
'Why is it not possible? Don't you love me?'
This has nothing to do with love, Imama. Much time has passed. In any case, I do not wish to marry again so soon after the failure of my first marriage. I want to concentrate on my career.'
'Jalal, you should have no concerns about our marriage failing; you know I will not let that happen.'
'Still, I do not wish to risk it.' Jalal was curt.
'I can wait...'
'It will be of no use Imama,' Jalal said with a deep sigh. 'I am not in a position to be able to marry you.'
She looked at him sadly.
'I married of my own free will last time. It was a failure. I do not wish to make the same mistake twice. This time I will marry where ever my parents tell me to.'
Then tell your parents of me. Perhaps they will approve,' Imama spoke with a sinking feeling in her heart.
'No. I cannot tell them. Look Imama, there are some realities both you and I must face. I respect your feelings towards me and I will admit that there was a time when I was interested in you. Or, to put it more correctly, I was in love with you. Even today you have a special place in my heart and you will always have that place in my heart. But Imama, life is not based on emotions alone.'
He stopped speaking for a moment. Imama watched his face through the haze of the smoke steaming from the cup of coffee.
Those many years ago I had begged you not to leave your house. You did not listen to me. You did as you pleased. Instead of trying to convince your parents to allow you to marry me, you put pressure on me to marry you on the sly. I could not have done that nor would it have been the right thing to have done. Religion was one factor, but it is not the only factor. We cannot discount the society we live in and the obligations social life puts on us.'
Imama could not believe it that Jalal should be saying these things to her.
'You disappeared; but do you have any idea of the scandal you created by your action. Your parents were careful to not allow the news to reach the press but everyone in the college knew about your disappearance nevertheless. The police carried on a thorough investigation and questioned most of your friends. Zainab too was interrogated. Luckily we came out unscathed.'
He got up in agitation. 'I have worked hard to reach where I am now. I am not brave enough to marry you and have people pointing fingers at me. I move in the community of doctors and marrying Imama Hashim will mean reopening the scandal that rocked the medical community eight years ago. If I marry you I will have to avoid everyone. Where were you all these years? How did you live? These are pertinent questions. My parents will not believe what you say and I have my reputation to safeguard. You may
be a very nice girl but you have a sullied reputation. I cannot marry a girl with a tarnished reputation. I will not have people say my wife is a woman of ill repute. I am sorry Imama I hope you can understand my position.'
The coffee in the cup had turned cold. There was no more smoke through which she could view Jalal Ansar's face, yet his face was clouded as if behind a smokescreen; or perhaps it was her eyes misting over that caused Jalal Ansar's face to cloud over and disappear. Holding the arm rests with both hands Imama forced herself to get up. 'Yes, I understand. Goodbye' she said leaving the room.
'I am sorry Imama...' Jalal was trying to apologize. Without looking at him Imama left the room.
It was past seven in the evening. Darkness had fallen. The street lights were on and neon signs flashed their advertisements. The traffic on the street was heavy. This was a street that had clinics and hospitals on both sides. She recalled the time when she had hoped to have her own clinic on this road; to have her name precede her qualifications on hospital boards— like Jalal Ansar's; like so many others on this road. All was possible; all had been possible, all was within her grip had she not left her house eight years ago.
For long she stood outside the hospital watching the flowing traffic, her mind a blank. She could not think clearly; what should be her next step? She turned around to face the hospital again. She saw the flashing neon sign advertising Dr Jalal Ansar's name in the centre of the building's facade.
'You may be a very nice girl but you have a sullied reputation.' Jalal's words rang in her ears.
For the first time she realized that she had lived her life in an illusion. Her love for Jalal had been one-sided. Jalal had never loved her—not eight and a half years ago, not now. He had needed her, he had needed all the things she could have given him—her family background, the position and influence her family had in society, the connections, and the wealth— all he would have achieved overnight had he been able to marry her. In one leap he would have crossed the borders to mingle with the elite in the city. And she...she had been living with the illusion that he was in love with her. She did not expect him to cast aspersions on her character. She was so sure that he would believe that whatever she did, she would not choose the wrong path; but again she was wrong in her assumption. For him she was a girl with a sullied reputation, one for whom he had no words to defend her in front of his family and friends.