“Then you’ll understand that I must do the right thing here. I know she’s your daughter, but I’m responsible for making sure the law is respected. We cannot afford to let our nation fall into anarchy again and this is where it starts.”
“What about his crimes? His crimes went unpunished. He was a drinker, a man without a decent friend. He did not pray or fast or follow the words of God. A black carpet is not made white by washing. My daughter did her best to live with this man and be a good wife to him, but she could not absolve him of his sins.”
“She didn’t need to absolve him. She could have left judgment up to the law or to Allah.”
“I’m asking you to consider her children. Her son is devastated, her three daughters have no one now. They’ve lost both their parents. Do we really need more orphans in this world? Let them have their mother back, please!”
“Criminals cannot hide behind their children.” It was not that he was a callous man. Of course he’d taken into consideration that Zeba had left four children behind when she’d been arrested. He also knew the youngest was barely a year old. He’d memorized these details the first day he reviewed her case and could almost picture her little ones, their anonymous faces sometimes replaced by those of his grandchildren. He kept these things to himself.
“I do not have money to offer you, Qazi Najeeb. The days when my family lived comfortably are long gone. I’ve been alone for most of my adult life, and my son struggles to feed and clothe his family.”
Najeeb grew angry at her implication.
“I’ve not asked you for a penny! Khanum, I have always been grateful to your father, the murshid. He gave my own father much hope when we had nearly none. My brother survived his illness and is alive and well even now. Do you really think I would ask for money after all that?”
Gulnaz said nothing. The sun had dipped behind wispy clouds, the sky a canvas streaked with paprika and saffron. The spiny profile of the mountains cut into the sunset. She wasn’t really asking for mercy. She was asking for justice.
“There’s something else you need to know.”
Gulnaz scanned the street and saw children playing with a bicycle tire nearby. There was no one within earshot.
“It was someone else who actually killed him.”
The judge nodded as if he’d expected Gulnaz to come up with something more unbelievable in retort.
“Like who? I’d be very interested to know who else might have been there. No one’s said anything about someone else being there that day, including your daughter!”
“If you hang my daughter, you’ll be making her a martyr.”
“A martyr?” he scoffed. “A martyr for what?”
“She is at the court’s mercy because she tried to save a life that day. What I’m about to tell you is the absolute truth though I cannot provide any evidence for it, and my daughter does not wish for anyone to find out about this. She’s not breathed a word of it to you since her arrest because she fears for the safety of a young girl.”
Najeeb felt the ache in his chest start up again. He would eat a spoonful of yogurt before going to bed and see if that settled the acid.
“Explain.”
Gulnaz bit her lower lip. She had not bothered to tell Zeba she would be speaking to the judge and had certainly not discussed with her daughter what she would be telling him. But what would happen if Zeba were to find out about this conversation? She would either go right back to resenting her mother, which Gulnaz had become accustomed to, or she would be grateful. It was a chance she was willing to take.
“The day came when Zeba learned what kind of man he truly was. She found him attacking a young girl in their own home, defiling a school-age girl. That, dear judge, is the heart of the matter. All that came after, including her enduring nineteen days of the shrine, was a woman trying to protect the honor of an innocent child.”
Najeeb huffed in exasperation. At every turn, there was some new disparaging revelation about the dead man. Convenient, he thought, that the man was in no position to defend himself. His family didn’t do much to defend him either, probably because of the nasty rumors floating around about him and the desecration of the Qur’an.
“A child,” Gulnaz repeated slowly for emphasis. “You’re a father and a decent man. Imagine how Zeba felt to see such an atrocity in her own home.”
“Yes, Khanum, I am a father,” Najeeb said defiantly. She’d come here because she thought she could sway his thinking. She thought she could tease his decision in Zeba’s favor, but it wasn’t as simple as she’d anticipated. Qazi Najeeb felt a bit smug. He knew her better than she thought. “I have three sons and two daughters, all grown and raising families of their own. If there’s one thing I know as a father, it’s that a mother would do anything for her children.”
Gulnaz pulled her shoulders back sharply. She shook her head.
“You’ve misunderstood me.”
“No, I don’t think I have,” Qazi Najeeb said.
“I’ve come to you with the truth,” Gulnaz insisted.
“You think you’re so smart. You always have.”
Had she done her daughter any good by coming here or had she simply made matters worse? She would call Yusuf tonight and tell him what she had done. The judge knew it all now, for better or worse.
The sun was nearly hidden behind the mountains now. Sunsets were odd in that sense — seeming to move in accelerated time. It was Wednesday, and this was the last sunset before the judge would announce Zeba’s sentence. After that, how many sunsets would her daughter have left and how quickly would they pass? Time had never pressed on Gulnaz’s heart as it did now that days and hours measured her daughter’s life. Gulnaz lowered her gaze slightly so the judge wouldn’t see that her bewitching eyes had misted.
“It doesn’t matter what I think, Qazi-sahib. That’s the problem. This world revolves around your opinion and your opinion alone.”
“I don’t think there’s anything more to say on the subject,” he said, not knowing what to make of her comment.
“No,” Gulnaz said slowly. Her throat was thick with angst, and it was an effort to get the words out. “I suppose there isn’t. But I’m sure you have plenty to think on tonight, so I’ll let you get back to your walk.”
She had attempted to reason with this man, to appeal to his decency on behalf of her daughter. But so often reason did not seem to work with people, which was precisely why she’d spent a lifetime getting her point across by other means.
She turned her back to the judge, and he resumed his walk. He was only a few meters from her when it happened, close enough that she could hear the light clinks and his soft gasp. Tap, tap, tap. It was not unlike the sound of hail on a roof. Gulnaz did not have to turn to see it. She closed her eyes for a second and imagined the scene behind her back, feeling a twinge of satisfaction. She pictured Najeeb, mouth half open, nothing but a tassel in his open palm. How many times had he worked his way through those thirty-three perfectly oval stones? Still it came as a surprise to Qazi Najeeb, who gave such little thought to the thin line of thread that held the stones together.
Hidden from view, the string of the tasbeh had frayed to nothing, sending the beads scattering to the hardened earth.
CHAPTER 52
“WHEN I WAS A GIRL, I BELIEVED THERE WOULD BE ONE JUDGMENT Day for us all,” Bibi Shireen said. She sat cross-legged next to Zeba, her upper half swaying almost imperceptibly from side to side. Her eyes fluttered as she recalled the stories she’d been told time and again in her youth. “There are the signs of Judgment Day: the earthquakes coming one after another, people disregarding their prayers, heathens running through the streets. The mountains would flatten and the moon would splinter to warn us that Judgment Day was closing in. Those beastly creatures, Yajuj and Majuj, would be let loose and swarm the earth and wreak havoc among us. I believed that the dead would be resurrected, all of us glowing with youth and waiting to cross the thorny Bridge of Sirat together. Some would fall into the hellfires below, but the righteous would reach the other side where Heaven awaited.”