The Holy Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

plate of sweetmeats.
    Just as she was really getting into the plot of the film, Kaniz was interrupted by Neesa’s timid entrance, informing her that Mansur, the village melon man, was at her gate, waiting for their order. ‘No, Neesa! Tell him from me to chuck his rotten pock-marked fruit into the village well. I am in no mood for his out- of-season melons.’
    Her evening now definitely ruined, Kaniz asked Neesa to have Kulsoom, the village matchmaker, summoned to the house. Having failed in her numerous attempts to bring her beloved son and Zarri Bano together, she was now ready and resigned to start afresh. That proud young madam had categorically stated that she did not want to live in the village, and also pretended that Khawar was a sort of a brother to her.
    ‘Just as well.’ Kaniz sniffed disdainfully. That woman was too glamorous, too educated and opinionated for her liking. Now shy Ruby was another matter … Thus, she now wanted Kulsoom to find out from Habib Khan if he would be willing to allow her to ask for his younger daughter, Ruby, as a bride for Khawar.
    As Kaniz reached over to pluck another
ludoo
from the plate and pop it into her mouth, she had a sudden vision of Firdaus with her son and nearly choked. ‘Never!’ she screamed silently in her mind. ‘Over my dead body!’

Chapter 3
    B ABA S IRAJ D IN , accompanied by his faithful companion and driver, Waris, ceremoniously decided to call at his son Habib’s home, to discuss the matter of his granddaughter Zarri Bano’s
rishta
. Once parked on the marble-tiled driveway of Habib’s luxurious villa, Siraj Din waited patiently for his driver to help him out of the Jeep. Holding his ivory walking stick in one hand, he accepted Waris’s hand to step down from his high seat. He straightened his long black tweed overcoat, and adjusted his turban at the right angle on his head. He always visited his son very formally dressed. ‘Impressions matter a lot,’ he forever preached to his sons and grandchildren.
    His ivory stick tapping a distinct sound on the creamy white marble ground, Siraj Din climbed up the three steps of the veranda leading to the two sliding doors. Pressing the buzzer on the wall he waited impatiently.
    Fatima came out of the kitchen. Wiping her wet hands on the end of her shawl she walked nonchalantly into the hall to see who had the audacity to have kept their finger on the buzzer for such a long time. On catching a glimpse of the stately old man standing outside the clear glass patio door, his head held imperiously at an angle surveying her coldly, Fatima rushed to the door. Over her shoulder she shouted to her mistress Shahzada, ‘Sahiba Jee, Baba Siraj Din is here!’
    ‘Bismillah! Bismillah, Baba Jee!’ Fatima gushed, sliding the door fully open. Quickly stepping aside, sheobligingly bowed her head in front of him for the ritual patting. Dutifully, Siraj Din lightly swiped his hand over her shawled head before walking straight ahead into the hall.
    Shahzada, his eldest daughter-in-law, had heard Fatima’s shout. Siraj Din saw her dash out of the lounge, holding her
chador
firmly in place on her head, while she urgently tugged and draped the other half discreetly around her shoulders and over in front of her chest. With her gaze respectfully fixed on his coat and with smarting cheeks, Shahzada stepped before her superior-looking father-in-law. Dutifully, she inclined her head towards his raised hand. Siraj Din let his hand rest heavily for a moment on her head, at peace with himself. This was the head he never tired of patting. It belonged to his favourite daughter-in-law, the joy in his life after his wife Zulaikha’s death.
    ‘
Assalam-Alaikum, Aba Jan
,’ Shahzada nervously greeted her father-in-law, fearful of her silk
chador
disgracefully slipping from its precarious position on her head and thus scandalously baring her head to his gaze. ‘We didn’t expect you, Baba Jee,’ she stammered to explain.
    ‘
Wa