Typhoon by Shahraz Qaisra

Author:Shahraz, Qaisra [Shahraz, Qaisra]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781909807051
Publisher: Arcadia Books Limited
Published: 2013-06-30T23:00:00+00:00

His eyes glazed with disbelief, Haroon looked down at the bent head of his beloved first wife Naghmana. He was unable to grasp the reality of what he had done – cut himself off totally from the woman he loved with all his heart. Only last night she had been in his arms.

Her eyes blurred with tears, Naghmana at last peeped up. Each time he had uttered the word ‘thalak’ he had pierced arrows straight through her heart. Now ritually divorced, she symbolically averted her gaze, and as she did so, she met Gulshan’s eyes. Horror shone in them, Naghmana blindly turned for refuge to the guava tree in the far corner of the courtyard. The tears brimmed from her eyes, swollen wells; she struggled to contain them. Two or three, nevertheless, rolled down with open freedom from the corners of her eyes. She hastily pulled the shawl lower over her face.

‘Sit down, my son,’ Siraj Din urged Haroon, his glance on Hajra’s face.

Hajra quickly closed her open mouth, trying to get rid of the nervous look on it.

Siraj Din himself was looking around for Zulaikha. She wasn’t there. Dismayed, he turned to talk to his shegird.

Fatima got unsteadily to her feet, shooting a cold glance, first at Siraj Din and then at the rows of women sitting behind her. She stood stiffly in the small circle between the rows of men, women and the Buzurgh’s top table.

‘I hope, my village sisters and brothers, that your wicked hearts are well assuaged,’ she called out to them all, in ringing tones. ‘You wanted to see my niece punished. Didn’t you? Well, now you have had your wish! What bigger punishment can any woman receive than to be forcibly divorced from a husband who doesn’t want to divorce her? I hope that this crime committed against my beloved niece haunts you all till the day you die. I curse you all with this badawa. Especially you, Hajra, for demanding this kacheri.’

Colour shot into Siraj Din’s cheeks, his angry gaze slashed at Fatima. She boldly stared back.

‘And you – our village Buzurgh: have you come across a more noble woman than my niece? Have you? One who got herself divorced for the sake of another woman. Get up, my niece – let’s go home. For there is nothing further they can do to you, now they have stripped you of your humanity and human dignity.’

She held her hand out to her niece. Her head still lowered, Naghmana rose to her feet. Suddenly she saw the rows of women. Again, instead of women, rows of snakes with round heads swayed towards her, aiming for her. She reached for her aunt’s hand and clutched it tight.

‘Stop, Fatima!’ Siraj Din’s authoritative voice stalled them both. Fatima stared coldly at the revered village elder. She could never respect him again.

‘You are absolutely right, Fatima. I will not come across a more noble woman than your niece. Come, my daughter – come forward,’ he beckoned, a semblance of a smile on his face.

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