The Night's Mourning

Today I’d like to read to you the story of a boy whose first experience with life was watching me take his mother away.

Allow me a moment to find the correct page; this book is quite old. These pages would crack if I browse through them too quickly.

Ah. Here it is.

It’s named: The Night’s Mourning. I’m sure by the end of this reading, you’ll find it quite aptly named.

This is the story of a boy named Kamil and how his first act was mourning his mother.

At 22, Rukhsana decided to leave home for the first time. She lived in a small village near Hyderabad. One afternoon, she wondered: What if she left the place where she was born and raised, the place she met her husband, and the place she was enduring an unwanted pregnancy?

The first time I met Rukhsana, she was 7, swinging from a tire her father hung for her brothers. She thought she could swing higher, besting her brother's record—until she just… couldn’t. She visited me for three minutes that day, but alas, it wasn’t her time. So I couldn’t keep her.

I digress.

That afternoon, Rukhsana, with all 38 weeks of her pregnancy in her womb, decided to take a chance. Umair, the merchant, was going to go to Hyderabad, and from there, his wife would travel to Karachi to meet her father. Rukhsana knew that if she ever wanted to leave and live in the city, pursue her dreams of building a life that was greater than carrying pails of water and knitting scarves, she had to take a chance.

This chance.

It was 47℃ that day. I remember it well, for I rarely sweat, but on that day I felt as if I was running from time itself. The sun was scorching the very dirt that Umair’s cart was parked in. I completely forgot; even his mule was sweating that day. Though Rukhsana could not care about the heat or the hardship that she would face. She only cared about waiting until her mother-in-law went in for her afternoon nap and convincing Umair to let her hide in his caravan. Around 2 in the afternoon, once the men had come home from prayers and finished their meals, Rukhsana prepared her mother-in-law's tea and gathered the few belongings she had accumulated over the last 22 years of her life.

In the purse she had been gifted on her wedding day, a purse that belonged to her mother-in-law until she purchased a better one; she put all the money she had saved up, two scarves, a single shalwar and kurti, and the tiny white socks she had knitted for her child. That was all she owned, and that was all she needed to start her adventure.

Umair was not difficult to convince, as all he asked for was half the money from her purse to take her, and the other half to not tell anyone she had asked. With no choices left, she accepted his benevolent offer and got into the back of his cart. It took her trusted donkey and her accomplice 3 hours to get to Hyderabad. She had never been further than 2 kilometers from her village, let alone around 60.

This brings about the second time she and I met, or well, she and I were oh so close to meeting, but she just scathed by. Rukhsana was with Umair’s wife, and they were preparing dinner for Umair. A rather large and gnarly man. The only thing Rukhsana could stand less than the odor secreted from his body was allowing her husband to ever touch her. They prepared every morsel of meat and every source of fat they could find. The meat was cooking over the stove, with onions and tomatoes mashed into it. They call it masala. Simply put, they take garlic, onions, and tomatoes, and chop them all up really finely. Then they cook it over a high heat until the oil in the pan and the moisture of the vegetables separate, and they are left with oil sitting on top of the mixture. That’s when they put the meat in. Rukhsana was in utter shock with the sheer volume of meat that was added just to feed one man; in fact, she said to Khadija, “My village eats this much meat over a week.” She chuckled, but I could tell Rukhsana was not making a joke. After boiling potatoes and making several rotis, they fed Umair. They both sat on the floor next to him as they ate the bitter lemon stew prepared in the afternoon.

“Khadija, aaoo, I need to speak to you.” He said as he called her into their bedroom. “You take her with you in the morning to Karachi. Make sure she gets to Lyari safely. I have some friends over there who will take care of her.” His wife knew those friends. His wife did not like those friends.

“Are you sure? She can come and stay with my mamu until she can figure things out.” She offered, and the sight of a raised hand sent her eyes darting down and her opinions straight to the trash. “Okay,” She whimpered.

Rukhsana heard this conversation; she was not a stranger to placing her ear by the door and listening in. It’s the only way she knew that her baby was going to be given to her husband’s friend in exchange for two cows.

Greed really does disgust me.

Hesitant and afraid, Rukhsana remembered every promise every man had made to her. She did not trust a single one of them. Umair had been paid, and he owed her nothing. She knew that. She knew that life is not fair and that she is the furthest thing from lucky. So she grabbed her belongings and ran. She ran out through Umair’s home and into the plot next to it. She ran past her trusted accomplice and towards a large field. There was nothing but maize growing, so she went and hid. She knew Umair would come looking for her; she knew something was wrong. How she knew that is something I could only refer to as a mother’s instincts, because she was right.

Unequivocally so.

That night, she ran until her feet bled; she ran until she could no longer take another step. Luckily for her, she had found her way to the city’s botanist. Khizar was known as a man with strong morals in Hyderabad. On many occasions, people would visit him not just for advice but for just about everything. That day, a few hours before Rukhsana rang his doorbell, he had helped his neighbor deliver the city’s newspapers because his son was ill. He did not take a single rupee for his labor, unlike Umair.

She rang and rang his bell, she knocked to little avail, until his daughter opened the door. Confused, she asked Rukhsana who she was. Though with quick haste, she let her in. Rukhsana’s labored breath and her blood-covered soles left no secret of the assistance she required, and Khizar’s daughter had been taught better than to ask questions when she sees a woman in need of help.

As she led Rukhsana in through to the living room, she told Rukhsana, “Baba’s in a meeting, his book society is having its weekly meeting in the dining room. I’ll go tell him you are here.” Rukhsana simply nodded, shame and fear running amok in her mind.

“Thank you.” She said as the little girl disappeared behind the mahogany doors.

Not even a moment. That’s how long it took for Khizar to come running out. “Are you okay, bhaaji?” He asked. The sincerity in his voice was the first warmth Rukhsana had felt in her entire existence.

She nodded while he sat on her sofa, took her chapals off, and told his daughter to bring a pail of water. “Don’t forget the kapra.” He said, but she knew that a rag was necessary for this job. They cleaned her feet and wrapped bandages over them. “How long till the bacha comes?” He asked, looking at her stomach.

“Any din now.” She replied, the fear in her face clearly depicted by her furl of her brow.

He helped lift her as he gestured her to go to the dining room, “come bhaaji, my society is having a meeting, and we would love you to join.” They walked together through those mahogany doors. His pristine white shalwar kameez and ring-clad fingers lent a certain air to him. A strong and kind one. That was something she and I both had noticed.

She sat in complete silence in an empty chair next to Khizar. Her silence lingered so long that a man whose face she did not even look at asked her, “bhaaji what are you thinking about, if you don’t mind me asking?” She waited a few more moments, in what appeared to everyone as contemplation, and then gently let out, “What do you do here?”

They all broke out in laughter, an atmosphere that made Rukhsana smile as bright as the day she was born. “We read, and we talk about books?” He said. Her smile disappeared. “Please don’t make fun of me.” She replied, afraid of what the reception of her words would be. “Oh, bhaaji, we are not joking.” She just couldn’t believe it. How could a bunch of grown men just sit, laugh, and talk about books?

“Okay, everyone! We’re closing in ten minutes.” Khizar announced as he poured tea into everyone’s cups. “Last call.” He said as they all laughed.

As they each funneled out, one at a time, they greeted Rukhsana as if she were a part of their secret society all along. They each wished her the best of luck with her child and gave their salams as they walked out.

“Let me take you to a bed auntie.” Khizar’s daughter pulled at Rukhsana’s kameez and guided her up the stairs. “I don’t think I can walk up the stairs.” She said, gazing at her belly. “Thank you so much, please tell your baba I will leave now. I will never forget your hospitality.” Rukhsana kept walking towards the main door, her purse once again clenched under her armpit.

…

Knock

Knock

…

“KHOLO DARWAZA,” someone Khizar could not recognize yelled out. “Baba, what is he saying?” His daughter asked, hidden under his wing. “He wants us to open the door.” Rukhsana and Khizar’s eyes met. “It’s Umair.” She whispered under her breath. Her panic was apparent. The tears streaming down her face sent chills down Khizar’s daughters.

“Please don’t open the door, bhai,” Rukhsana begged Khizar. He walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob and the other locking the chain right above it. “Let me see what he wants.” He said as he creaked the door open.

BANG.

“BABA.” She screamed, running to her father. “BABA!!” She held him in her little arms. “BABA, wake up.” She sobbed into his chest.

“COME OUTSIDE, OR I’LL KILL THE CHILD,” Umair shouted.

Rukhsana clutched her purse and walked to Khizar’s daughter. “Beti, where’s your mama?” She asked. “Mama w…ill commm...meeee in the m..mo..morning, she’s at daaa..dadi’s house.” She barely got the words out of her mouth. Her mother would be home from her grandmother's soon. With that knowledge and seeing the little girl completely destroyed, knowing the pain that she had caused, Rukhsana began walking to the door.

She unchained the lock and opened the door. Umair and his wife stood in front of her. “Chalo.” He indicated for her to come with him. “People are expecting you. You wanted to go to Karachi, right? People are waiting to receive you.” His smile was so sinister as he spoke. “My husband will kill you when he finds out,” Rukhsana screamed. “The same husband you hate? The same husband who was selling his child? The same husband whom I told you ran away to Lahore?” His grin grew, “No one is looking for you.”

Just then, she wailed.

The time for our meeting grew closer.

She collapsed on the pavement, right outside Khizar’s house.

I shall end the story here. As the story of the birth of Kamil is now complete.

As the sun began to rise. The morning mourned the night.