Beneath My Mother's Feet Read online

  Sherzad’s mother shrieked and pointed a bony finger at Nazia. “If he is so good, then why is her father in my son’s bed? And where is Sherzad?”

  “Baji, Abbu is here for only a few hours,” Nazia explained. “His train leaves tomorrow. He just stopped to see Amma and the little ones.”

  “You meddling girl!” Parveen wiped spit from her mouth with her bare arm. “You are nothing more than a troublemaker, and I will make you pay if Sherzad has run away.”

  “I don’t know where he is. I’m sure he must be around here somewhere. Maybe — maybe he went to the market.”

  “Liar!” Parveen shoved her hands against Nazia. “You don’t fool me. From the first day I saw you, I knew you were the one who had filled my son’s head with useless thoughts. If he is here, bring him to me now.” Parveen turned back to Seema. “See, baji, what a conniving little fox you have working for you?”

  “Where is Sherzad?” Seema glared at Nazia.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Has he run away again?”

  “I — I don’t know,” Nazia stammered.

  Seema’s palm landed squarely on Nazia’s cheek. “You must know something, or you wouldn’t have dared to bring your father inside my walls. Speak up!”

  Nazia cringed in pain as she cupped her face with both hands and ducked away from Seema and the crazed woman. She couldn’t tell them about Sherzad and risk ruining his only chance for escape. There was no way she would let this woman find him. She guessed that at least an hour and a half had passed since Sherzad had gone. That meant that the train had not left and there was still a chance that he could be stopped. “I’m sure he went to the bazaar,” Nazia said. “One of the drivers must have sent him. He’ll be back soon.”

  Parveen sneered at her. “She is stalling, baji. She knows exactly where Sherzad is. I’m sure of it.”

  “Chup!” Seema pushed Nazia toward the kitchen door. “I want your father, that thief, out of here now. If the sahib finds him here, I don’t know what he’ll do to him. How dare your father come back here?”

  Nazia stumbled down the steps and stopped short when she saw Amma hurrying toward her.

  “What has happened?” Amma asked anxiously.

  Before Nazia could reply, Seema and Sherzad’s mother rushed outside and propelled Nazia toward the front of the house. “Don’t worry, Amma,” Nazia called out. The last thing she needed was for Amma to get involved and tell the memsahib that they, too, were leaving tomorrow for good.

  Abbu was pacing in the driveway outside the chowkidar’s room. When he spotted Seema, he stopped. “As salam-o-alaikum, baji.” He put his hands together in a nervous greeting.

  Seema swung the gate open. “Get out!”

  Abbu cocked his head and attempted a smile. “Baji, why do you treat me so badly? I don’t deserve this from you. I’m sure the sahib would treat me better than you do.”

  “If the sahib knew you were here, he’d shoot you. How dare you come back to my house?”

  “My family is here, baji. You would like me to give up my family?”

  Nazia begged. “Abbu, please! Don’t say anything. You’ll only upset the baji more. Go to Uncle Tariq and stay the night with him. We will see you tomorrow.”

  “Have you told your baji you are leaving?” Abbu asked.

  Nazia squeezed her father’s arm. He had to stop talking! “No, Abbu. Not yet.”

  Seema gaped at Nazia. “What? You’re leaving too?”

  “I haven’t decided yet, baji,” said Nazia.

  Abbu nudged her roughly. “What do you mean you haven’t decided? There is nothing for you to decide. It is done. You leave tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Naseem?”

  Nazia turned abruptly, surprised to find her mother standing behind her. Amma crossed her arms and pressed her lips together, but her expression remained worried.

  “Abbu, please, you must go now,” Nazia pleaded.

  “You weren’t going to tell me!” Seema bellowed. “After I’ve treated you and your family so well, this is how you treat me? No notice, no warning, just get up and leave in the middle of the night like cowards? Is that what Sherzad has done? Answer me!”

  “I don’t know where he is,” she said, her voice weak.

  “I know where he is,” said Abbu.

  Nazia stared at her father. He wouldn’t dare tell! Would he?

  “Where is my baby?” Sherzad’s mother cried.

  “Abbu, go now,” Nazia pleaded. “You’ve said enough.”

  Parveen snickered. “See, baji, she even knows how to silence her own father. What a gem of a girl.”

  A surge of energy rushed through Nazia’s veins, and she whirled around to glare at the woman. “Stop it! Sherzad is not your baby. You treat him like chattel. You are the worst mother in the world. You don’t deserve to find him!”

  “Aha! So he has run away.” She gripped Abbu’s forearm. “You know where he is. Help a poor mother find her son.”

  “Of course.” Abbu patted her hand.

  Nazia gasped. “No, Abbu, don’t!”

  “I will tell you,” he said, his voice even, “but for a price.”

  “Bartering on a child? You are worse than the devil himself.” The woman dug her nails into Abbu’s arm.

  “Augh!” Abbu shoved her away. “Stupid woman. I know exactly where your son is, and there is still time to stop him.” He turned to Seema. “You must understand, my daughter is getting married. Although my brother has not demanded a dowry, it would still be nice to have some money to offer the groom. Don’t you agree, baji?”

  “Humph. Once a thief, always a thief. Now a blackmailer, too, I see. Don’t fall under his spell, Parveen. Your son is probably on his way to your own home, just like the last time.”

  Nazia twisted her dupatta around her hand until the circulation was nearly cut off. She realized that her father was willing to give up Sherzad for a few rupees. How could he do that, after all the planning and the waiting? How could he dash the little boy’s dreams so easily?

  “You should go home, Parveen baji,” Nazia said nervously. “I’m sure Sherzad is already there. He just missed you and wanted to be with you, that’s all.”

  “Shut up! I don’t trust anything that comes from your mouth.” She moved closer to Seema. “Please, baji. Give this man something, anything. I’ve worked so hard to raise my children. I have so many mouths to feed; I cannot suffer the loss of another income. When I find Sherzad, I will explain his duties to him so that he will not dare leave again. Please, baji, I need my son!”

  After a long moment Seema finally spoke to Abbu. “Fine. Tell us, and I will give you the money Sherzad earned this month.”

  “But, baji — ” Parveen recoiled.

  Seema silenced her with an icy stare. “That is my offer. You people are all the same. Bartering your families for money and dowry. If you get your son back, then you can spare the loss of one month’s income.”

  Nazia begged Amma to stop Abbu, but Amma seemed frozen, her eyes distant. When she realized that her mother would not speak up, she grabbed Abbu by the arm. “Abbu, why are you doing this? She doesn’t care about her son. She only wants the money he earns. Don’t you understand? I know you aren’t like her. We don’t need the money. Why do you want to hurt the boy like this? You don’t even know him.”

  Abbu tried to push her away. “I’m not hurting him. I’m helping him. You have no idea what you have done. You’re just a girl. And he is only a child, as small as Isha. Do you really believe he will make it? If we don’t send someone now to get him, he will likely be mugged, or beaten, or kidnapped, or killed!”

  A wail rose up from Parveen.

  “Don’t say that!” Nazia let go of her father’s arm. “He is smart and brave. Children travel alone all the time in Karachi and no one thinks twice about it. Especially the poor. He is invisible. You’re only saying that to get more money, because that’s all you care about. Money! Not me, not Amma, not Isha, Mateen, or even Bilal. You are
no better than Sherzad’s mother!”

  The impact of her father’s hand on her cheek sent her sprawling. Her palms scraped against the concrete driveway as she tried to stop her slide into the planters that separated the lawn from the driveway. At once she heard a jumble of voices and shouting around her. Nazia recognized her mother and allowed herself to be lifted just in time to hear her father betray her.

  “Sherzad left for the train station. He has a ticket for the twelve-thirty train to Multan.”

  The sahib’s car roared away, leaving a cloud of dust in the deserted street. Only two cars and the catering truck remained. Abbu pulled the gate closed, not bothering to look at Nazia.

  Nazia stared through the top rails of the black iron gate and prayed that the earth would swallow the sahib’s car whole. Or that a truck accident along the way would bring traffic to a halt. Or that Parveen would be kidnapped at gunpoint. Anything to stop Sherzad’s mother from reaching the station.

  The guests remaining in the house trickled out and left the party, oblivious to the commotion. The waiters, who had melted into the background during the argument, came forward and quietly began removing the chairs from the lawn and stacking them into the truck.

  Nazia allowed Amma to guide her back to the servant quarters, where Isha and Mateen were huddled together. She climbed onto the charpai and pulled Isha close. Mateen wrapped himself around Amma’s legs.

  “Have you eaten?” Amma finally asked.

  Nazia was silent.

  “I’ll get you something.” She placed Mateen on the charpai and headed to the kitchen. He immediately squeezed himself into a crevice between Isha and Nazia.

  Amma returned with a plate of leftover chicken tikka, curry, and rice. “Take this. No sense in not eating.”

  When Nazia didn’t move, Amma sighed and sat down on the edge of the charpai. The ropes creaked under her weight. Using her fingers, she squeezed at a piece of chicken tikka until the meat tore away from the bone. She buried the meat inside a ball of curried rice and then brought the mixture up to Nazia’s mouth.

  Nazia turned her face away. Amma moved her hand closer, and the aroma of the curry taunted Nazia’s growling belly. How could she eat without knowing if Sherzad was safe? It was nearly midnight. She pushed her mother’s hand away.

  “Starving won’t do the boy any good,” Amma said.

  Rage bubbled up inside of Nazia and burst from her throat. “You didn’t do him any good either.”

  “Why should I?” Amma asked tiredly. “He is not my son.”

  “He’s not Abbu’s, either. Why did Abbu have to destroy Sherzad’s only chance of escape? Why couldn’t he keep quiet? Sherzad never did anything to him.”

  Amma lowered her gaze as she studiously molded bite-size balls of rice and chicken on the aluminum plate. “He’s not destroying the boy’s life,” she said finally. “He’s looking out for yours.”

  “How?” Nazia’s voice was brittle. “By blackmailing baji to get Sherzad’s hard-earned money?”

  “Have you saved any dowry?”

  Nazia groaned. “That again, Amma? I’m so tired of hearing about the stupid dowry. I had some money saved. But I spent it on Sherzad’s ticket. Thanks to Abbu, now even that is wasted.”

  “You bought his ticket?”

  When Nazia didn’t reply, Amma’s hand stilled. “I knew you were involved. Didn’t I tell you not to interfere with the boy and his mother? You have no idea what it’s like to be a masi’s child. Their lives are so different from ours.”

  “Aren’t I a masi’s child?” Nazia flinched when she saw the pain in her mother’s eyes.

  “Now, yes. But you weren’t raised that way. I loved you and protected you, as I did all my children. Some masis are incapable of doing that. Their children are nothing more than another source of income to them.”

  “Isn’t that what I am to you? Isn’t that why you pulled me out of school to work?”

  Amma’s voice softened. “If that was the case, why would I insist that you marry Salman? I want you to have a settled future, not clean houses for the rest of your life.”

  “But . . . ,” Nazia began.

  “Go on and say it. Holding back from me will only make it worse for you later. It’s better that you speak now, when only we can hear you.”

  “Fine,” Nazia said, and she paused, choosing her words carefully. “What if marrying Salman is no different from cleaning houses?”

  Amma set the plate aside and wiped her fingers on a rag. “I know Allah gave you a better brain to think things through with.” She leaned back on the charpai and pulled Mateen up to lie beside her.

  Nazia continued. “What if I spend all my life taking care of Salman’s house, his mother’s house? Abbu said I probably won’t be allowed to finish school after the wedding.”

  “That’s your home too. It’s your duty to care for your own.”

  “But what if I want to finish school? No one has asked me what I want. Not you, not Abbu, not Uncle Tariq, and not even Salman.”

  Amma chuckled. “Since when do we ask you? You’ve always known your fate was tied to Salman’s.”

  “Are you going to slap me too, if I ask you how that is any different from the way Sherzad’s mother treats him?”

  “No. I won’t slap you. But it breaks my heart to know you throw me in the same pot as her. I saved every year of your life for the day you would get married. That counts for nothing?”

  “The dowry? Are you talking about the dowry again? Amma! Do you know who stole your precious dowry?” Somehow, almost miraculously, Nazia managed to silence herself. If Amma ever learned that her own son had stolen the dowry she had worked so hard to save, Nazia was certain, the knowledge would break her. “Nothing, Amma. Never mind.”

  Amma lay back and closed her eyes. Mateen snuggled close, and soon he was sound asleep. Nazia sat in the dim light of the servant quarters and stared at Amma. After a while Amma opened her eyes. She stared at the corrugated metal sheet that served as their ceiling.

  “I know,” Amma said. “I’ve always known.”

  “Know what?”

  “I know Bilal emptied my suitcases, just as I know he hides from me.”

  Nazia stiffened. How could Amma know? “What?”

  “He knows how hard I worked to save for your dowry. It is the shame of what he has done that keeps him far away.”

  “All this time you knew?”

  Amma nodded.

  Nazia’s throat tightened, and her words came out in a croak. “Did you see him? Did he say something?”

  “No. I haven’t seen him since before your abbu got hurt. But the suitcase was not torn open. He used the key. The key I gave him to hold and protect for you. There was no other key.”

  Nazia’s grip tightened around Isha’s arms. When her sister complained, she lifted the girl from her lap and set her on the charpai. Her thoughts raced as she tried to think back to the day the dowry was stolen. Had she even noticed the lock was intact or the bag had not been cut? “Anyone could have picked that lock.”

  “But why would anyone else want to? Why was only our house broken into and no one else’s? Stop. You know as well as I do it was Bilal.”

  Nazia twisted a loose thread of her dupatta around her finger. So much for protecting her mother. “I’m sorry you know. You shouldn’t have to bear this knowledge about your son.”

  Amma’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. “A mother always knows. Even without seeing, she knows. I know what each one of my children is capable of. I know their destinies long before they do. Before you do. But one day Bilal will have to come back.”

  “It’s been months, Amma, and there’s been no word. What makes you think he’ll come back?”

  “When? I don’t know. But he’ll return before he dies. Just as every child returns. He will come when he is tired and broken. He will seek forgiveness.” Amma’s voice was strong. “He knows just as all children know that the gates of heaven lie beneath their mothers’ f
eet. The gates of heaven are closed to Bilal until he repents for what he’s done.”

  Nazia slumped back against the wall, Prophet Muhammad’s (S.A.W.) famous words rushing up from the farthest corners of her memory, retold by mothers the world over, ingrained since birth.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

  Amma looked at Nazia. “Because I didn’t know that you already knew.”

  “Maleeha saw him,” Nazia admitted. “I made her swear not to tell anyone.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Why didn’t you tell Abbu?”

  “Because Bilal is like his father. Why do you think I work as a masi? Because it was all I could do to protect Bilal from his father. They are the same. No matter how much they mean well, they cannot fight the shaitan — the devil — that lives within. They know what is right, what is wrong, but they always do what they know best. Cheat. Lie. Steal.”

  “You think all of Abbu’s family is like that?”

  “All the men in his family. It’s in their blood.”

  “Then why do you want me to marry Salman?”

  “Of all the choices you have, I believe that is the best one. You’re just a girl, Nazia. No parent wishes her daughter to be a servant or a street girl. You are better than that.”

  “I’ve gone to school. I know I could find something better, Amma.” She thought of Ms. Haroon. “There are other possibilities in life besides servant, wife, or street girl.”

  “You know nothing of this world, beta. Your dreams are like the rains. They may come for a day or two and fill you with happiness, but even the rain clouds must give way to the burning heat of the sun. Why? Because the sun rules this part of the world. Your dreams of school are nothing more than teardrops in a desert.

  “What makes you think a girl like you could be someone, when your brother, a boy with a degree, couldn’t even find a job selling newspapers on the roundabout? It’s time you opened your eyes, beta, and learned the ways of the world. You must accept that marriage is the only way to protect you from the daily struggles that no female here could ever fight alone.”