Children of a Lesser God
by Saima Habib

(Children of a Lesser God is her first short story in English which she dedicates to those children of the third world countries who are victims of child labor and violence)

With careful and stealthy steps, a child was moving towards a shabby coat that was hanging from a nail. He put his hand into one of the pockets of the coat and took out a knotty handkerchief. After opening its knots, he started counting the money inside it. A hundred and ten rupees. A sum equivalent to $2 made his eyes gleam with excitement. Only a little more money was required. He tied the knots again and carefully placed the handkerchief in the pocket of the coat. He applauded himself for having thought of such a fine place to hide his meager savings. His drug addict father couldn’t possibly think of it.

His mother and sisters had gone to condole with a distant relative on the death of her mother. As his little brother accompanied them, he was alone in the house.

After counting his money, he lied down on the dilapidated bed and day-dreamed. His dreams were different from those of a twelve year old. In his dreams, he always forgot that he was Afzal—a twelve year old motor mechanic who had to support a family of seven people-who had seen nothing in his life except abuses and suffering and who had nothing to look forward to. He dreamed himself wearing the new shirt he was saving the money to buy. A radiant smile came on his face. He dreamed of being the owner of the auto workshop in which he worked as a semi trained mechanic. He thought that if he were the owner, he would never have yelled abuses at and hit the children working in his workshop as the owner did. He dreamed of being the owner of an elegant and plush car. Some day, when he would be the owner of a car, he would come to the workshop for getting his car repaired and would yell at the owner for not fixing his car properly like the elegantly dressed man had done the day before. His thoughts wandered to the man who had come the day before to get his car repaired. He recalled that the man had said that he had come from America. Afzal imagined himself leaving Pakistan and moving to America which to him was a heaven of prosperity and happiness.

A shrill sound brought him back to the real world. Terror seized him as he recognized the sound. The dilapidated door of the house had been kicked open .It could be no one but his father. In an instant he jumped down from the bed and tried to hide himself under it. He heard the bang of the door in the other room. His father must be there and looking for all of them- and for money. He knew that in no time his father would be in the room he was in. There were only two rooms in the house. He crouched under the bed. The door of the room flung open and he saw his father’s face. He noticed that his father had grown a beard and had become weaker in two weeks-that was since they had seen him for the last time. He thought that his father was growing weaker and weaker since he had started taking drugs. He was a gambler and a drug addict and came home only when he was in a desperate need of money.

His father went straight to the box in which his mother kept their clothes and fumbled for money. There was nothing except shabby clothes in it. There was a stove in a corner of a room and some utensils were placed on a mud shelf. Ashraf lifted the utensils and fumbled for money. He knew that his wife mostly hid her small savings inside the steel dishes. But there was no money there too. He moved towards the bed. For a moment Afzal’s heart ached as he thought of his hard earned money that he had saved by starving. The next moment, the thought of the ruthless battering he had often received from his father made him forget about it. Trembling from head to toe, he closed his eyes and hoped that his father would not discover him and would go out of the house. The next moment, the firm grip of the bony hand crushed all his hopes. His father took him out of his sanctuary. “Where have you bastards hid the money?” He shouted. “Nowhere.” He replied. “There is no money to hide. Where will the money come from?” “You are lying to me, you son of a bitch”. A tight slap on his face and he fell to the floor. His head hit against the wooden part of the bed and blood oozed out of his forehead. “Where is that whore?” He shouted. Although Afzal was terrified and weak, he could not bear this word for his mother.

“My mother is not a whore. You are a pimp”, he shouted back. His reply made his father furious. He started beating him ferociously with slaps, kicks and fists. He was being battered when the front door opened. His mother and siblings had returned. The voices of the screams made his mother realize the situation instantly. She rushed toward the room and flung open the door. “Leave him, leave him. I implore you.” With all her might, she was desperately trying to free him from his father’s grip. He let him go and caught her instead. “Where is the money? Give me the money”. He started hitting her with his full strength.” There is no money. I am telling you honestly. ”She burst into tears. Blood drops falling from her face were staining the mud floor. Her other five children were watching their mother being battered, crouching, trembling and cuddling with each other. Soon Ashraf was exhausted. Breathing heavily, he left her. Increasing doses of heroin were debilitating his strength. Before he started taking drugs, he would batter anyone who came in his way for hours whenever he was in a bad mood.

Yelling abuses at all of them, soon he left the house. Afzal’s mother went straight to him and hugged him tightly. He clung to her breast, staining her shirt with his blood. Trembling and shivering, his other siblings also joined them. Forgetting their wounds and the pain for some time, they all cried as if tears would wash the ugliness off their fates.

His mother was the first one to regain her control. “Bandage your brother’s wounds.”She said to her two elder daughters. Wiping their tears off, they got up quietly and went to the mud shelf. They mixed turmeric powder in some oil, tore off apiece of cloth from the old clothes to be used as a bandage and bandaged their mother’s and brother’s wounds after applying the paste on it.

He lied down on the bed-the same bed on which he was dreaming an hour ago. He was feeling too week to stand up. Soon he dozed off. His mother was sitting on floor beside his bed, crying silently. “There is only one day of rest in the whole week for my poor child and the damned being had to come on it too.” She was talking to her daughter who was busy in preparing meal or maybe to herself. She was looking passionately at him, carefully caressing his cheeks so that she might not disturb him in his sleep. “Look at his hands. They are so rough.” She touched the palm of his hand. “I would never have sent him to work if there were a least chance of survival without his salary. I wish I could make enough money from sewing. I wish I could work as a mechanic in his place. ” Tears rolled down from her cheeks and fell on his hands. But she was helpless. She was a woman and the community she belonged to consider it a sin for a woman to be employed outside her home. The pittance he got and the little money she and her daughters made by sewing clothes was barely enough to keep them alive.

Afzal was feeling very week until night. Although he got more than the others’ share of the meager meal of wheat bread and onions, it did no good to restore his strength.

His mother did not wake him up the next day. It was midday when he got up.” Why didn’t you wake me up?” He asked in a fearful tone. “You are too weak to go to work. I doubt that you could have walked to the workshop. Take rest today.” She rolled her fingers in his hair.” Amma, the owner will deduct three days’ salary for it.” He said annoyingly. She could not reply him. Her maternal instinct had forced her not to wake her sick child up in the morning and send him to work in the scorching heat .But since morning she had been thinking of the money would all be deprived of and how she’ll make both ends meet without it. “I was thinking that you should find some work for Akram too.” She said. “Working outside is not a piece of cake. It’s too difficult and Akram is too young.” he replied. “He is ten and you were also ten when you started working.” she replied.

“We do need more money, Afzal. I have to save a lot of money for your sisters’ marriages. I wish I had more sons instead of these daughters.” She looked at her daughters who were busy in doing household chores. “The sons would have shared my burden instead of putting more burdens on my shoulders.” She sighed.

He took rest the whole day….rested, thought and planned. He thought that he would not let his mother receive the inhuman battering the next time. He was her eldest son and it was his responsibility to protect her. He looked at her pale face of his mother who as embroidering a shirt for a neighbor. He looked at the bandage around her forehead and vowed to himself. The next time his father would lift his hand on her, he would hit him. The next time, he wouldn’t let that happen.

He was again on his way to workshop the next day. He was sweating because of the scorching heat and the sweat made his wounds hurt unbearably. Soon he was out of the residential area of the poor in which he lived. Now he was passing through the plush building of a school. It was an institution for the aristocratic children. He saw the children with happiness on their faces, wearing impeccable uniforms, disembarking from elegant cars.

Seeing these children always raised several unanswered questions in his mind. Why were they so happy? Were their no worries in their lives? Didn’t they have fathers to create problems for them? Maybe they had fathers, but their fathers were somewhat different--fathers who earned and provided living to them. Although this perception of a father was strange for him, it made his heart ached. He imagined his father bringing money home instead of taking money away from them. He pictured himself wearing the same uniform and attending the school. The next moment the school bell rang. It meant that he was getting late for work. The bell usually rang when he was past the area of the school. He rushed to the workshop.

Everything was like everyday when he reached the workshop. His fellow children looked at his bandaged forehead without any particular response. They did not ask him how he got his wounds. They looked into his eyes, he looked into theirs. They understood and said nothing. It was not something novel for them—a part of life they all had to undergo. He thanked God that the owner was away and so his being a few minutes late went unnoticed and unpunished. But he was absent from work the day before and that according to the norms of the workshop, was not a mistake that could be over looked. When the owner came back, the first thing he said was about his absence. “So the prince has come to work today.” He laughed loudly. “Why didn’t you bring your damned face here yesterday, you bastard?” A kick in the stomach and the pangs of pain went through his whole body. “Where were you yesterday, serving your mother’s mate?” The abuses went on and on but he could say nothing. This time he couldn’t say, “My mother is not a whore. You are a pimp.” By now he knew the price of this sentence.

When the owner’s heart was contended with verbal abuses, he ordered him to get back to his work. The whole day, he tried his best to concentrate on his work neglecting the pangs of pain emanating from his whole body.

Considering what he had to face at work, he was thinking agonizingly about his younger brother. He didn’t want Akram to get out of the house, lose his childhood and become an adult at the age of ten like he had become. He thought that his father was enough to give them an idea of the misery they all had to face in the world. But when he thought about his sisters, he saw the urgency of putting Akram to work. His eldest sister was already past her prime marriageable age. In a society where marriages were arranged by the parents, mostly without any consultation from their children, and where the expected dowry from the girl was given a high importance while deciding whether to ask for her hand, the daughters of a drug addict had a little or no hope.

“Come out of your nirvana, philosopher.” Twenty year old Hameed who was his boss’s distant relative patted on his shoulder. Everybody around them laughed. They all called him philosopher because of his habit of remaining absorbed in thoughts for hours. “I was thinking of finding some work for my younger brother.” He replied in a low voice.

“It seems as if your highness has been considering this matter for hours. So what conclusion has your highness have reached?” Everyone laughed again. “I will talk to the boss about your brother.” He became serious instantly. He had a habit of becoming serious in the midst of a laughing scene. Afzal looked up at his face. “In this workshop?” he stammered.
“Can’t you find work for him at a better place?”

“Don’t worry. We’ll find work for your brother in a multinational where he will sit in an office, wear a suit and give orders to his subordinates.” Hilarious laughter around him made him realize the idiocy of his wish. “Try to live in your own world, Afzal and come out of the dream world you are living in.” He was instantly serious again. “I’ll talk to the boss about your brother.” Hameed patted on his shoulder and left.

Although Afzal got leave from his work at around ten o’ clock in the night, he always took the longer route to reach his house that passed through the bazaar. He would always enter the shops and look for new white shirts---it was his favorite color. He spent most of his free time imagining himself looking elegant in a new and impeccable white shirt.



The sales men of the shops always frowned at the ragged boy entering their shops. They knew that he could possibly not be their customer. He always noticed their expressions but their humiliating looks gave him an eccentric kind of a joy. Their looks didn’t make him feel bad like everyone else’s did. One day and that day was now not too far, he thought, he would enter their shop boastfully as a proud customer who possesses money to make a purchase. He would then have a careful look at all the shirts and would buy the one that would look best to him. This dream had the power to bring a gleam in his eyes and a smile on his face even in the worst of the circumstances. He was absorbed in the thoughts of his shirt on his way back home.

As usual, only his mother was awake when he reached home. As usual she cuddled his stinking body into her arms and kissed his unkempt hair. She felt the bones on his back and noticed that he had become weaker. A tear rolled down from her cheeks and was absorbed in his hair. She brought the meal of wheat bread and pepper for him. He was gulping it down with water when she asked about Akram’s employment. “Amma, it will take some time. It’s not that one day you ask for work and you get it the next day.” “The sooner he gets the employment, the better it is. I want to save some money for your sisters’ marriages. As you know, the dowry….” “I know Amma,” he said with a sigh.

But despite his mother’s insistence, he was unable to find work for Akram. The owner of the workshop had said that there was no need of another boy in the workshop. But his mother had other sources too. She had talked to a woman in the neighborhood and they had found work for him as a household servant.

Akram’s employment and the small money he got as a salary had no apparent effect on their condition. They lived in the same way, eating their poor and insufficient meals and wearing tatters. May be the additional money was being saved as his mother had planned, he thought.
In his life of a continuous toil, Sundays were the only days of rest for him in the whole week. The only luxury he knew was to lie in his bed and this was something he could manage on only Sundays. One Sunday when he was dreaming as usual of his new shirt, the door of the house kicked open. Fear pangs ran through his body as he saw his frail father coming into the house. Silently, he revised his vow of protecting his mother and came out of the room into the small veranda. He was shocked to see that his father was accompanied by three devilish looking men.
“Your husband has lost three thousand rupees to me in a gamble.” One of the men told his mother. “We have got nothing to do with him. Receive your money from whom you have won. ”She replied.

“You might have hot nothing to do with him. But his children have got a lot to do with him.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a piece of paper. “Read it if you can.” He flung it in front of her eyes. It says, “I’ll give you three thousand rupees in two weeks and in case of my inability to do so, will give my daughter’s hand in marriage to you.”

“It bears the thumb impression of your husband.” He said. “One week has already passed, on is left.” He emphasized on “one”, ogling at her daughter from head to toe.

His mother was stunned. In utter disbelief she was holding the dilapidated door of the room as if she would fall on leaving it. She looked at the man whom her husband had destined to be her son in law. He was older from her husband and the fact that he was a libertine was evident from his looks. They were scrutinizing her daughters from their dirty looks and this was unbearable for her.
“Get out, you devils.” She shouted. “Get out or I’ll call the police.” “The police!!” One of the men mocked. “As if police would listen to the complaints of paupers like you. Go to the police and I’ll eat my hat if they listen to you.” The truth of his statement made her realize the idiocy of hers. “We’ll come next week. Get one of the things ready .Money
or … .”He ogled at her daughter again. They all left.

There was the voice of a painful moan and she sat on the floor on her knees. “Oh God! I had to see this day too. Why did I not die before this day? What sin have I committed to deserve this?” She was beating her breast and crying loudly. Her daughter was standing still, her eyes fixed on some distant spot. Afzal’s emotions were quite impenetrable for him. He was raged and terrorized at the same moment. While his other three sisters were trying to soothe his mother, he was terrified, thinking of what lie next.

His mother knew the limitations of her choices. Seeking any legal help was out of question as she knew that the legal system has never had any support for a person with no powers and no money. Since her husband had left supporting them, all the relatives had turned their backs toward her. The voice kept echoing in her ears. “Money or…..”

Afzal passed the next week making elaborated plans of eliminating those people and rejecting them because of faults in their viability. He thought of stabbing them to death by stealing one of his workshop tools but they were more than one and so he couldn’t be successful that way. He thought that if he could win the support of some guys in the workshop or in the neighborhood, then they would beat these men until they bleed to death. But the idiocy of this plan was evident to him as he knew that nobody would come to his support. He knew his worth.

Although his mother tried to appear normal, her swollen eyes and sleepless nights spent in silent crying exposed her apprehensions. Sometimes when he thought over all this, he felt angered at his mother. Why wasn’t she thinking of teaching them a lesson. She was old and experienced and maybe she could find a way if she seriously thought over it. He didn’t know that her experience had taught her her limitations in the society.

The week passed slowly and with a painful silence. Sunday came and brought the painful experience of dealing with those rascals again whose bones she wanted to tear apart and feed to dogs. She considered these so called companions of her husband were responsible for his drug and gambling addictions and the consequent ruin of her life. But when she finally had to deal with them, she handed over their required sum to them without saying a word as if she was dumb.

“Wow! Ashraf is so lucky to have such a rich wife.” One of them winked at the others. They all laughed. “This is the last time I have given you anything. From the next time, receive your money from your debtor. Even if you kill him, I am not bothered.” She said in an authoritative tone. They all laughed again. “She is not only rich but very gutsy too.” She looked at her aggressive husband who was listening to the remarks on his wife as if he didn’t understand them. Laughing and passing remarks, they all left.

His manhood woke up as soon as they had left. “You bitch.” He moved toward her. “You had so much money and you couldn’t give your husband a single penny just a month ago.” He caught her by her hair and shoved her to the floor. She couldn’t say that it was the money her children had earned by toiling day and night and she had saved it by starving her children and didn’t want to throw it away.

“You are not bothered even if they kill me. I won’t let you remain alive for uttering such bullshit again.” He kicked her with all his might.
Afzal saw this with terrified eyes. A lot of things mingled in his mind- his vows to save his mother, his plans to kill those men and their viability. The voice echoed in his mind. “I won’t let you remain alive.” In a state of furious rage, he went to the room, managing to escape his battering father. He quickly cast a glance at everything in the room, lifted a pestle and with his full force struck it on his father’s head from behind. His father caught his head with both his hands. Uttering a loud scream, he fell to the floor. His bruised mother got up from the floor. “What have you done, Afzal? How could you imagine doing this to your father?” Forgetting her wounds as usual, she ordered him to fetch some water and started rubbing her husband’s hands and feet.

His mother’s attitude was beyond his comprehension. She was trying her best to help that person regain his conscious who might have even killed her. “Amma, you said that you didn’t care even if they killed them.” He asked shockingly. “I said it in rage and to discourage those rascals who have led him astray. He is my husband and your father. Whatever he does, we are bound to respect him.” She said amongst tears This concept was unfathomable for him that a man who had given them nothing but battering and suffering, who was about to kill his wife and sell his daughter was “respectable”. Still, he obeyed his mother and silently did whatever she asked him to do.

His father spent that evening with them. Till the night, because of the unavailability of the drugs he was addicted to, he condition was miserable. He fell to his wife’s feet and asked for money. “There is not even a single penny left. All the money I had saved by depriving my children of food for my daughters’ dowry has been taken away by those rascals.” She wailed. But her husband was in no mood of listening to her grumbles. Staggering, he left his house and was lost in the darkness.
Their days become sadder after this episode. His mother’s silent crying became more frequent and the dearth of dowry for her daughters was the only topic of conversation she had.

In this sorrowful life, his much longed happiness was about to come. After he had saved his secret share from the going month’s salary, he had enough money to buy a good shirt. In his life span of twelve years, this was his only dream that was coming true and he wanted to cherish his joy. He thought of what and how would he tell his mother about it. Then he decided that he would come home in his new outfit and he would be looking so graceful like those school children and she would be so happy to see him that she would not scold him on saving the money secretly. He was thinking of a suitable day to make the purchase. He got free from work at night and he thought that night was not a suitable time for a thorough examination of colors. The only viable option for him was to take a day off from the work shop. He knew that he would be punished for that but punishments no more mattered to him.

When he came home from work the next day, he pretended to be suffering from a severe head-ache. His mother was really worried for him. She massaged his head and touched his forehead to see if he was suffering from fever. After some time, he said that he was better so that she would go to sleep. He was so enthusiastic that he could not sleep the whole night despite the fact that he was very tired. The whole night his heart was beaming with joy.

The next day, when he intended to go out after the breakfast, his mother prohibited him from doing so. “I am Ok. I’ll be back soon.” He said and stepped out. He fumbled in the pocket of his shabby shirt to feel the money. The very touch of those currency notes gave him endless joy.
Soon he reached the market. He entered into a shop of shirts and started examining them by touching and picking. “What do you want?” The salesman frowned like all salesmen did when they saw him. “I want to buy a good shirt.” He emphasized on every word. The salesman looked at his shabby clothes and he could see the disbelief in the salesman’s eyes. “I have the money.” Even the uttering of those words gave him delight. The salesman said nothing and started showing him the shirts. He chose one of them. It looked best to him and it was of his favorite color---- white. He loved white color because he thought that it was the symbol of elegance and neatness and he loved these attributes although he was not lucky enough to have a touch of them in his miserable life. But his new shirt was about to bring that desired touch, he thought.
He paid for it and came out of the shop.

His heart was beaming with ecstasy. Clutching the shopping bag that contained his shirt closer to himself, he was almost dancing his way back home. When he passed through the school, he looked at the plush building and smiled. For the first time, looking at the building didn’t arise any complex in him. He was too busy celebrating his little, innocent joy. He envisioned himself in that shirt and the perception brought a huge smile on his face.

Just as he was crossing the road, an excessively speedy car came on the road from the wrong way. On seeing him, the driver of the car tried to apply the brakes but it was too late. The car hit him and as he fell on the road, crossed over him at full speed.

The driver of the car succeeded in escaping like the drivers of most of the cars do. His deformed body was lying on the road, in front of the school building, with his new shirt by its side. His blood had changed its color to red.

Like Cattle
Saima Habib

Repeated knocks at the door forced Zarmeena to get up from in front of the stove. Every joint of her bruised body was aching as she walked toward the door. She had hardly unbolted the door when her neighbor, Gulzareen rushed in “Zarmeena”. Gulzareen was short of breath by excitement. “You know, some women from city have come to our village. They say that they are working for women rights and collecting data about our mores like honor killing, exchanging women to end feuds, selling daughters for marriages etc. They say that thee are not traditions but social evils”. She paused for breathing. “Social evils! Can you imagine? Look at the word”. Gulzareen laughed hilariously. “And they say that their aim is to uproot these traditions form NWFP and from the whole of Pakistan”. Without paying any attention to whether she was being listened to or not, Gulzareen continued her brattle.

“Zarmeena, I wish you were allowed to go out of the house. They are interviewing women. You were also given to Hassan lala to end up a feud. We would have gone and gotten your interview recorded.” What Gulzareen’s enthusiastic narration got in reply was an empty stare from a pair of eyes devoid of any emotion.

“What happened, Zarmeena?” Gulzareen came nearer and looked at her carefully for the first time since she had come. “Why are you all black and blue?” The next moment, she realized the absurdity of her question. As if she had never been black and blue all her life. “ Zarmeena, don’t stand for too long. Come here and sit down. It’s not two months since you had your miscarriage.” The word made her glacier like friend melt and burst into tears. “I am sorry, Zarmeena. I did not look at your condition and kept babbling about stupid things.” Zarmeena’s head came to her friend’s shoulder. Gulzareen patted her affectionately. “Nothing matters to me know, nothing”. She said amongst sobs. “Not the pain. Not the battering. I am so used to both of them.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “My hopes have been shattered so many times that I don’t want anything form life. I don’t want love. I don’t want happiness. But the baby, Zareen! The baby!” She moaned. “Can any man be cruel enough to kill his baby with his own hand”. Zarmeena’s question met with silence form her friend. Men can and men do. She thought. There were so many instances of miscarriages due to battering in the village. Almost every woman had undergone the trauma at least once. Zarmeena is worrying maybe because she is too young and her husband is too old. Zareen sighed and tried to calm her. For her, a child was no valuable treasure. At the age of twenty four, she was a mother of six children and sick of her perpetually pregnant life. “God will give you children. He is very generous in giving children to the poor”. Zareen laughed mirthlessly. “Zarmeena, try to get used to your life.” Gulzareen said in a low voice. “I am used to with my life.” Zarmeena replied. “You are not. You are not internally satisfied”.

Internally satisfied with what? Thought Zarmeena. No girl in the world would be “ internally satisfied” if she is married to a fifty seven year old man at the age of sixteen, and that also, to a man like Gul Hassan Khan. Ruthless battering, verbal abuses and hatred all came to her in retrospect. Gul Hassan Khan had been married twice and both his wives had died. He visited the local brothels regularly. For him, there was nothing new in a sixteen year old except virginity, which she had lost on the first night of her marriage. He thought that she was like all other women he had slept with and deserved the same brutal treatment to keep her disciplined. “Women are born idiots”. He used to say whenever he was in a good mood. “Like cattle, you have to beat them regularly to keep them disciplined. Otherwise, they get out of their way.” He always laughed at this evaluation of his. These words kept echoing in Zarmeena’s mind, “Like cattle, like cattle”. She thought that her worth in her husband’s or maybe in the whole society’s esteem could be best described by these two words “ Like cattle.”

Zareen left but Zarmeena was absorbed in thoughts for hours. Preparing meal, sweeping the house, washing clothes, whatever she was doing, she was doing with a mind wandering into the past. Her thoughts wandered to her life eight months ago, when she was full of hopes and dreams. She thought of the days of her maiden life when her only apprehension was that nobody would buy her and she would die an old maiden. She belonged to a frontier tribe that sold their daughters for marriages. Whenever she was too worried, she would stand in front of the mirror and carefully looked at herself. Her long hair and emerald green eyes gave her some satisfaction. “I am pretty.” She always thought. Prettier than Meenagul who was sold for Rs. 50,000. Prettier than Gulrukh whose price was Rs. 60,000. But I am certainly not as pretty as Mahgul.

Mahgul, the eldest of Zarmeena’s four sisters was the prettiest girl in the whole area. She was sold for Rs. 300,000, hitherto the highest price for a girl. After her marriage, her middle aged husband took her to the faraway area where he loved. They never heard from Mahgul again. It was not unusual. After marriage, the husband retained full rights over his purchased wife and the wife’s meeting with her parents was subjected to the husband’s permission.

The thought of Mahgul brought to Zarmeena’s mind the reason of her corporal punishment the night before. “Guess what became of your eldest sister?” Gul Hassan had said at dinner. “ The bastard took her to Dubai and sold her there She became a prostitute.” He laughed loudly. “You are so dull. At least you should have learned something from your sister.” He laughed again. “Everybody says that she was very pretty. I would have gotten her instead of you if your idiotic family had decided to end the feud earlier. Tough luck.” He laughed again “How pretty was she? Can you describe her for me? I mean her features, her hair and her figure?”

This indecent talk had made Zarmeena livid with rage. Although Gul Hassan was a womanizer and talked about ever woman as if he was seeing her naked, this insulting way of talking about Mahgul was unbearable for her. Mahgul was her eldest sister and had brought up Zarmeena because her mother was too tired after bringing up seven kids. She could not listen to such remarks about a person who was like her mother. “Hold your tongue, Gul Hassan”. She shouted. “What are you, a man or a wolf? Don’t you have any conscience to bother you before barking such rubbish about your sister-in-law?” This had made him furious. “You tell me to hold my tongue, you bitch.” A tight slap on her face made her feel as if the sky had whirled before her eyes. “You are getting out of your limits because I have kept you in respect. You are a prostitute’s sister and could have been satisfied in a brothel. You do not deserve the respect and status of being a wife.”

The physical and verbal abuses went on and on until Gul Hassan was too tired. She had gotten up from the floor in the morning where she had fallen unconscious in the night. The miscarriage has made me too weak, she thought. Otherwise, I never remained unconscious for the whole night after his battering. She had to hold the table to get on her feet. Her image in the mirror on the wall stunned her. Frozen blood drops on a bruised face, ruffled hair and all black and blue. “The respect and status of being a wife”. Gul Hassan’s remark looked so absurd to her that she started laughing. She laughed until her eyes were filled with tears ad she could not suppress her sobs.

When she finally came out of the room into the small veranda, it was almost midday. She was trying to prepare meal with whatever energy she could muster when Gulzareen had come and left her absorbed in thoughts for hours.

Gul Hassan had come to the house in the evening. He was accompanied with a group of friends who sat in the veranda while he came to her. “Cook this chicken and bring it with the drink.” He handed her a shopping bag. “Immediately.”

The dinner of chicken with alcohol was a luxury for person like Gul Hassan Khan, whose primary source of income was selling inherited lands. Although some villagers said that he “ supplied girls” also, Zarmeena knew too little of him to affirm or deny the statement.

Pouring alcohol into glasses, she was thinking of the strange turn her life had taken. Believing in a religion that forbade even touching alcohol, she could have died some months ago at the thought of serving it to a group of libertines.

She had remained too busy in her work to listen to her husband and his friends’ discussion. But when she carried the tray to the other corner of the veranda where they were sitting, she couldn’t help overhearing them.

As always, her husband had only one subject to talk about- the women he had bedded. “I could see that she was not very womanly but when she took off her shirt I was seriously disappointed.” A fit of laugh interrupted the course of his narration. “Can you imagine, her breast were like…… like a bottle cap.” The group fell into a fit of laughter on the funny simile. “There is an undeniable fact about this person.” One of his friends remarked. “God has written what a variety of women in this pauper’s life. So lucky.” The loud laughs of the group were interrupted by Zarmeena’s arrival. She was clad in a veil and fully covered from head to toe as she was not allowed to show her face before a man. She almost dropped the tray in her husband’s hands and rushed to her room. On reaching there, she shut the door and stood with her back onto it. Her husband’s licentious talk about a woman was giving her a nauseating feeling. She thought that she was no better than the inexpensive prostitutes her husband visited. She also had a feminine body to be compared with funny similes and had nothing else that could render her a status higher than that brothel woman.

She left the door and almost fell on the bed.

Tears fell from her eyes at the tragic end of her much envied married life. There was a time when becoming a bride was the only ambition she had in her life. A faint smile came to her lips as she recalled her feelings a year and a half ago, when her third sister was sold to the village shopkeeper. She had thought that it was her turn to tie the knot had finally arrived. In those she used to spend her time either standing in front of the mirror or thinking of a handsome husband who would care for her like a wax doll. She would imagine him praising her beauty and pictured herself in his arms. Her covert thoughts always gave her a sensational pleasure and had become her favorite pastime.

And then….. then her dreams were shattered due to the happenings of one day. That day that decided her fate was fresh in her memory as if all had just happened the day before. The tribe she belonged to had a dispute with a neighboring tribe over a piece of land. As the tribal men usually went out of the houses armed, the two tribes normally had skirmishes that sometimes resulted in the losses of blood and lives.

That day, her brother Shahnawaz had come home breathing heavily and sweating terribly. “What happened”? He mother rushed to him. “Zarmeena, bring him a glass of water.” Her mother shouted as if Zarmeena was far away. “Amma, I have killed Gulraiz Khan.” The glass of water fell from Zarmeena’s hands. Her mother’s hand was on her mouth, her eyes wide open. They had had a verbal dispute and Gulraiz had cursed Shahnawaz’s grandfather. Livid with rage, Shahnawaz had bulleted him. The twenty five year old had died on the spot.

As per the tradition, a jirga was called to settle the dispute. The wise of the jirga had decided to end the feud forever. A sum of five hundred thousand rupees was to be paid as a ransom by Shahnawaz’s parents. This sum for too huge for them and they requested to pay the amount in installments which was granted by the aggrieved party.

There was another and lesser important provision of the decision. Shahnawaz’s sister, Zarmeena’s hand was to be given in marriage to Gulraiz’s father, Gul Hassan Khan. This giving of daughter was a traditional gesture of ending the dispute forever.

Within a fortnight, Zarmeena had become the third wife of fifty seven year old Gul Hassan who was a father of eight children, all older than Zarmeena .His first wife had died while giving birth to their fifth child during the sixth year of their marriage. The second had fallen prey to a cholera epidemic. Even if both were alive, the jirga wouldn’t have been bothered.

The first month of her marriage had given her a fair idea of her future life. The insulting remarks of Gul Hassan meant to remind her that she was one of the “various” women in his life had started a week after their marriage. He made sure to remind her every now and then that she was his son’s murderer’s sister and had no worth in his eyes. Battering was equally essential in his view to keep “ women and cattle” disciplined.

Life had been a chapter of miser ever since her marriage. Her pregnancy was the only thing worth looking forward to in the eight months of her married life. That hope was also crushed by the ruthless battering of a night.

She had remained absorbed in her wandering thoughts for hours and couldn’t recall the next day when she had fallen asleep in the night. She was preparing breakfast when Gul Hassan Khan woke up. “Zarmeena, bring me a glass of water.” Zarmeena got up like an obedient servant and handed him the water. He took the glass in his hands and eyed it scrutinizing. She was going back toward the stove when he grabbed her hand and seized her toward him. “ Look at this glass.” He shouted as if she had committed a crime. “Look at its rim. It’s muddy.” “ I had washed it.” She said in a low voice. “You have got the guts to reply me back.” He smashed the glass on her feet. Some drops of blood oozed out. “I can never comprehend why God created creatures as silly as you women- incapable of doing even simple things. Now what are you doing here, standing and staring at my face? Go and bring me breakfast.” He shouted again. She lifted the pieces of broken glass in her hands and went back to bring his breakfast.

“You know what I have been thinking about for the past ten minutes.” He said while eating his breakfast. Zarmeena lifted her eyes inquisitively. “I was thinking about Shireen and how funny her death was.” Appalled Zarmeena could not figure out what could possibly be funny in a death. “There is just a single purpose of a woman’s creation. To have sex, get pregnant and deliver babies. Shirreen was incapable of even doing that. She died in child birth.” He laughed loudly, got up and went out. He never told her the time on which he would return, neither was she ever interested in knowing that.

Washing utensils under a tap in the veranda she was thinking that if Gul Hassan Khan could not spare his first wife, dead long ago and a mother of his five children, why would he spare any other woman. She wondered if all men had the same views about women. She thought that her father was not like that or maybe she was too young when she got married to have an idea of the kind of person he was. Although he sometimes hit her mother, it was a norm in the society. But she had never listened to him talking about any other woman. On the thought of her parents her eyes filled with tears. It was so log ago that she had seen them last. She wondered when she would get the chance to see them again, if she ever gets it. A loud knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. A smile came on her lips as she recognized Gulzareen’s knock. Gulzareen came in with her two youngest kids whom she put to sleep in a corner of Zarmeena ’s bed. As usual she started talking about the happenings of the whole village. Who was saving money to purchase whom for marriage, who was pregnant, who had an affair with whom, who was selling land and who was buying it, Gulzareen knew it all.

It was past noon when she went home. Zarmeena rushed to work as she had a lot to do. She swept the house, washed clothes and had just prepared the meal when Gul Hassan came with a man. While the guest went to wash his hands, he rushed to Zarmeena. “Zarmeena, It’s my cousin Gulnawaz.” He said “Bring our food in the veranda.” So his rich cousin, who, according to Zareen’s information was about to come for buying some land in the village , had come. Gul Hassan never told her about why and for how long had the guests arrived. He thought that women were too silly to have an understanding of “irrelevant” things.

Fully veiled, Zarmeena brought the meal of okra curry and wheat bread. Gul Hassan was raged at the sight of the meal. “Is this the kind of food served to guests?” He shouted. “Couldn’t you prepare some chicken dish for my cousin who comes once in years?” And Zarmeena couldn’t say that good meal costs money which was always scarce. “It’s OK Hassan lala. Don’t shut at her. Don’t you know that I like okra curry better than chicken? I am so happy to eat it after a long time.” The calm voice of the young man astonished Zarmeena who had never seen a man taking the side of a woman. Her husband smiled at his cousin. She looked at the man with thankful eyes, which he couldn’t see through her veil, and left.

The next day, Gul Hassan didn’t come home till late in the evening. Sometimes, when he went to brothels, he didn’t come home for the whole night. But what about the guest? His young handsome face came in front of her eyes. She couldn’t imagine him going to a prostitute. Just then repeated knocks at the door caused her to rush and open it.

Gulnawaz and another man, whom she had often seen in Gul Hassan’s company, were supporting her staggering husband, who was too drunk to walk by himself. After putting him to bed, his friend left. Gul Hassan was fast asleep when she entered their room after some time. “Lala, shall I bring food for you?” She asked Gulnawaz. “No, thanks. We ate at the hotel.” He was referring to the inexpensive hotel near the village, which, along with meal, covertly offered alcohol too. The fact that Gulnawaz was not drunk enhanced his esteem in Zarmeena’s heart. She went back to the other room and was thinking about the only wonderful man she had ever seen in Gul Hassan’s company when he suddenly came in. “ Oh, I am sorry. I should have knocked.” He was confused on seeing her unveiled. “Can I have a glass of water?” He asked sheepishly. But he couldn’t take her eyes off her. His long gaze followed her as she went to fetch water for him. It kindled a strange pleasure in her heart. No man had ever looked at her like that. If only he were her husband instead of Gul Hassan Khan!

When she handed the glass to him, his fingers touched hers and she blushed. He sat down beside her on the floor. “ Zarmeena, I am so sorry for you. It’s so tragic that a beauty like you is married to a beats like Gul Hassan.” Zarmeena felt as if there was one person in the world who understood her predicament. He sat there beside her for a long time, looking at her lovingly, talking about the cruelty of her fate, about what a wonderful person he thought she was and cursing his cousin. She listened to him, her eyes down to the floor, too blushed to meet his staring eyes. She had forgotten to take her meal and her veil. When he got up, his lips brushed her cheeks and the soft touch ran a shudder of pleasure through the whole of her body. He went to Gul Hassan’s room and went to sleep but she couldn’t sleep the whole of the night. Sometimes, she cursed herself for being unfaithful to her husband, but then, had he been loyal to her? If he could bed every woman he wanted to, why couldn’t she just talk to a well wisher? Inadvertently, she compared her husband with this man. He was bigoted alcoholic, adulterer, narrow minded… there was no evil that was not there in Gul Hassan Khan and despite being his first cousin, Gulnawaz was so different! The brush of his lips and the touch of his hand brought a smile on her face. Suddenly her dream prince came back to her mind and he thought that if there were a person on earth who was the man of her dreams, it was Gulnawaz.

Despite passing a sleepless night, Zarmeena was fresh in the morning with her eyes twinkling and her lips ready to smile. Serving breakfast to the two men, fully veiled, she smiled as she thought that Gul Hassan, with his eye lids still heavy would never come to know about the wonderful turn the life of the two people , who were in front of his eyes , had taken. He had called her an idiot so many times that cheating him gave her strange kind of pleasure. He was such a fool for not noticing what was so obvious in his wife’s and his cousin’s eyes. She felt like laughing at his idiocy.

Every night, after Gul Hassan Khan, who was usually drunk, fell asleep; Gulnawaz would come to Zarmenna’s room. They would sit beside each other and talk. He had vowed to take her away from her brutal husband and marry her. He never took any advantage of their being alone in her room. This enhanced his esteem in Zarmeena’s eyes. Once, while telling him about her miscarriage, she had broken into tears. He took her into his arms and kissed her. As soon as they parted, guilt took over him. “I am so sorry, Zarmeena. When I saw you crying, I couldn’t suppress my emotions.” He said in a low voice and left her room. She wanted to say that it was OK has she not been too embarrassed to say that.

The fact that a man loved her gave her a sense of pride. She looked at her sparking eyes, face and figure in the mirror with appreciation after a long time. She thought that she was worthy of Gulnawaz’s attention. It was just a week and half that Gulnawaz had come and that short time period had changed so much in her life that she thought that she was living in a dream world.

The next day, Gulanawaz came home early. “He told me that he wanted to go to the brothel, so I should go home alone. Bastard.” He said with gritting teeth. Zarmeena, free from the sanction to veil herself, brought food for him. “Sit down beside me. Since I have come here, I have never eaten even once without wishing that you were by my side instead of that bastard.” Zarmeena sat beside him with a loving smile. He took her hands in his and looked into her eyes with intent, long gaze. The next moment, she was in his arms. Pressing her head against his shoulder, she couldn’t suppress the desire that those moments be prolonged forever. Suddenly the door opened with a bang. Zarmeena was out of Gulnawaz’s arms instantly. On seeing Gul Hassan Khan, they became terrified. “You had to select my house for gratifying your lust, son of a bitch.” Gul Hassan Khan shouted in full volume. “I was suspicious about you two for some time but I wanted to catch you red-handed.” He said to Gulnawaz and then turned towards Zarmeena. “You bitch! If you wanted to bitch around with every man, you could have gone to a brothel instead of playing havoc with my honor.” Shivering from head to toe, Zarmeena couldn’t even lift her eyes. He dragged her to his room “ Gul Hassan, I implore you. I am innocent. We did not..” The sight of the pistol that he had taken out of a drawer made her more terrified.

“ Hassan, I beg you. I didn’t do anything. I was attracted to him just because of your mistreatments. I’ll be faithful to you for my whole life. I promise that I will….” But the bullet did not let her finish her sentence.

After killing her, Gul Hassan ran for Gulnawaz but he had taken advantage of those few moments to escape.

Gulnawaz was on run, but his family decided that the situation might start a feud within the family and therefore should be taken to the jirga to be resolved. After contemplating on the matter for sometime, the patriarch announced his decision. “This jirga congratulates honorable Gul Hassan Khan who sacrificed his young wife for upholding the honour of the tribe.” The tribe applauded him for showing their proud approval for the deed. He had been receiving congratulations for his deed wherever he went after the event. “As Zarmeena was one of his possessions, and was polluted by Gulnawaz Khan, the damage can be redeemed only by compensating him.” The patriarch looked at Gulhassan Khan. “ As Gulnawaz has no unmarried daughter or sister, so the jirga has decided that his elder sister, who is a widow, should be married to Gul Hassan Khan. Although a woman of thirty six is no substitute for a girl of sixteen, it is expected from a generous person like Gul Hassan Khan that he’ll marry her with a big heart and forgive Gulnawaz.” And the smile on Gul Hassan Khan’s face showed that he would do both.

When Gul Hassan Khan was coming home, humming a song, his friend’s comment echoed in his ears. “ God has written what a variety of women in this pauper’s life. So lucky.” A malicious smile came on his lips. Women have been coming into and going out of his life for a long time….. like cattle. Just like cattle.

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"The race is not over because I haven't won yet."

Adil Memon
Police Service of Pakistan (P.S.P)
37th Common Training Program