It became a running joke between us. When Abdullah huffed that he couldn’t learn the newest karate move we’d seen, we told him Jahangir wouldn’t have given up so easily. When I couldn’t get the soccer ball anywhere near the goalpost, I focused my thoughts on Jahangir and how he would kick the ball. Ashraf channeled Jahangir’s persona when he tried to haggle his way through the market, gloating when he felt he’d gotten a real bargain out of a vendor.
While I was pregnant, I hadn’t given much thought to a name, as if I believed babies were born with names, just as they were born with two arms or two legs. I was so frightened by the prospect of having a baby that I didn’t care much about its name. But Jameela got me thinking.
“You must have a name and it has to mean something,” she said.
By the time she had finished washing the blood from my thighs, my son was named.
It took me a couple of weeks to adjust to him. I would always be grateful to Jameela for her help. Even Shahnaz, at nineteen, was an experienced mother and couldn’t resist teaching me how to feed, bathe and hold this tiny person.
I fell in love with him. Jahangir was my salvation — his face became my escape. He gave me reason to rise in the morning and to hope for tomorrow.
Khala Shaima hadn’t been by for months, which was unlike her. I worried that she might be ill but I had no way of getting in touch with her or finding out. I could only wait for her to show up again. I hadn’t even seen Parwin in about a month. I wanted them both to see Jahangir. He was starting to clap his hands and would grab on to tables to stand up. I wanted his aunt to see the things he could do now.
I had made up my mind to arrange a visit with Parwin. I had been given a little more freedom these days, now that I’d borne the family a son. Abdul Khaliq was bringing a foreigner to the house to talk business and there would be a lot of preparations to attend to. I knew I would be summoned to help the cook and servants. I decided to put off my visit until the following day.
Just after midday prayers, I began kneading the dough for dumplings when Bibi Gulalai came into the kitchen. I waited for her to point out what I was doing wrong. She looked perplexed, as if there was something she wanted to say.
“What are you doing now?”
“I’m going to roll out the dough for the aushak, Khala-jan. I finished cleaning the living room. It’s ready for tonight.”
“Yes, well, maybe… I guess that’s fine. Keep on doing what you’re doing.”
I was puzzled by her behavior. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. Why? Why do you ask that?”
“No reason, just that I… well, I was just asking,” I said, and turned my attention back to the dough. It was getting tough. It was time to cut it into ovals and stuff it with leeks and scallions.
“Fine then,” Bibi Gulalai said, and went back out the door.
That was my first clue that something was wrong. I think my mother-in-law, as cold as she was, was working up the nerve to tell me the news. She returned two hours later. This time Jameela was with her. Jahangir was crawling around the kitchen. I had blockaded off the stove, remembering how Bibi Shekiba had been burned as a child. I didn’t want my son to carry such a scar. Life was difficult for the disfigured, I’d learned.
Jahangir was pulling on my skirt hem, whining. He was hungry but I wanted to finish the aushak before the guests arrived. I kept an eye on him but the expression on Jameela’s face put my nerves on edge.
“Rahima, my grandchild is looking for food. I’ll have Shahnaz feed him something,” Bibi Gulalai said. She looked almost as uneasy as I felt.
“I’m done now, Khala-jan. I’ll make something for him,” I said nervously. “Jameela, what’s going on? What is it?”
“Oh, Rahima-jan, something terrible has happened! I don’t know how to share this sad news with you…”
Madar-jan. My mind flashed to her.
“What’s happened, Jameela? Tell me!”
“Your sister! Your sister Parwin has been taken to the hospital! She’s been very badly injured!”
Parwin?
“What hospital? How was she hurt?” I was on my feet, my son in my arms.
“I only know what I’ve heard from Bibi Gulalai.” Jameela turned to our mother-in-law, who scowled and looked away.
“Go on, tell her already!”
“They say she set herself on fire this morning…”
Nothing Jameela said registered after that. I put Jahangir on the ground as my head closed in on itself. Parwin had tried to kill herself. All I could picture was her unconvincing smile, her feeble reassurance that she was doing all right, that people were treating her well enough. Why hadn’t I gone to visit her this morning?
I pieced things together much later. Jameela took me to her house to lie down. She brought Jahangir along and one of the older girls in the house watched him while she sat with me. I asked her over and over again what happened and she explained it as best she could. Parwin had doused herself with cooking oil in the morning, while most of the women and children were eating breakfast. Her husband, Abdul Haidar, had already left the house.
Abdul Haidar’s second wife, Tuba, came to help tell me what had happened. Some things she made clear. Others she twisted in vagueness but I understood that my sister had been seen that morning with a fresh bruise on her face.
Tuba claimed they had no idea Parwin would do such a thing to herself. There were no warning signs, no red flags. She hadn’t said anything, and as a matter of fact, Tuba said Parwin had smiled at her last night. I wanted to call her a liar. I knew the empty smile Tuba was talking about. I wanted to call them blind and stupid but my tongue was tied with guilt. If I, her own sister, had ignored her behavior, what could I expect of her co-wives? What could I expect of her husband?
They had heard the screams. She’d lit the match in the courtyard and that’s where they found her, tried to cover her with a blanket to put out the flames. She’d fallen to the ground. There was a lot of confusion, screaming, trying to help. She’d passed out. They had taken her back to the house and tried to undress her, clean her burns. But it had been too much. They talked about it and talked about it and finally someone had decided that Parwin needed to go to the hospital.
The nearest hospital was not near at all. Her husband was not happy about being called back to the house to deal with the situation.
Somehow, they’d sent word to my parents.
Madar-jan must have been crazed with worry. Even Padar-jan, who had given us away for a bag of money, had been partial to his artistic daughter. The news must have shaken him. Khala Shaima had been at the house when they sent the message. She was on her way over to see me. I wanted to be with her but feared her reaction.
Please don’t make this worse, Khala Shaima.
But Khala Shaima was our voice. She said what others dared not say. I needed her. She arrived in the evening, out of breath and teary eyed.
“Oh, my dear girl. I heard what happened! This is just awful. I can’t believe it. That poor thing!”
She hugged me tight. I could feel her clavicles press into my face. I’d never realized just how little flesh she had on her frame.
“Why did she do this, Khala Shaima! I was going to go see her today but I didn’t. How could she do such a thing?”