in mute agony at the faces around her. The sound of wailing and mournful chanting arose again, punctuated by Zarri Bano’s anguished cries.
Sikander sat with the other men on one side of the hall helplessly watching Zarri Bano. Angry with fate. Why did life have to be so cruel? Just last night he had been one of the happiest of men on earth – now this! They had been planning their wedding in the restaurant. Talking about the places he would show her in Singapore on their honeymoon.
It wasn’t a good omen. He was not a superstitious man by any means but an uncanny feeling of dread swept over him. Jafar’s death would definitely meanthat their wedding would have to be postponed. Bitterly he cursed his
kismet
. They hadn’t even had a chance to formally get engaged or exchange rings. With the loss of their precious and only son, Zarri Bano’s parents would be in mourning for a long time. The wedding would probably have to wait a few months, if not a year.
‘Zarri Bano, I can’t wait that long. I simply can’t!’ he silently beseeched her. He got up to go to the bathroom . Before he left the room, he went and stood close to Zarri Bano for a short time, wanting to offer her moral support and words of comfort.
Sitting in the far corner of the room surrounded by other men from the village, Habib had noted Sikander’s action. Even in his grief his sharp mind was working. How had Zarri Bano found Sikander’s family, their home and customs? he wondered. Was she definitely going to marry him? Habib wanted to know what had passed between his daughter and that ‘arrogant’ man in Karachi.
The next three days were a nightmare, not only for Habib, his family and relatives, but for all the neighbouring families too, in the small town of Tanda Adam and his home village, Chiragpur. A shroud of doom hung over every household. Everybody unreservedly and respectfully paid homage to Habib’s grief. A feudal landlord with great wealth, his family descended from the highest of castes, Habib Khan was also blessed with three beautiful children and acres of land to pass onto his heir. He was a much envied, yet liked and respected, figure in his town.
Thus, everybody mourned for Habib’s son – and what a son Jafar had been! One of the handsomest!Tragically so young; yet unwed and no children to pass on the male line. ‘What a terrible way to go!’ they agonised, keenly empathising with Habib’s grief at having lost his only son and heir, their hearts going out to him. In a culture and land where sons were traditionally cherished, an only son was the most precious commodity of all worldly goods for any father. Hence, to lose your only son was like losing life itself – the worst calamity one’s worst enemy could face.
How did one come to terms with a grief and loss of this kind? they wondered bleakly amongst themselves. Would Habib and his family ever recover from this calamity? Moreover, they secretly speculated about the future. Would Habib follow his centuries-old tradition of making one of his daughters his heir?
All of Zarri Bano’s relatives, including her paternal grandfather, Siraj Din, and a maternal grandmother came to mourn and attend the funeral. All the rooms were occupied. Bedding was changed daily. The large kitchen had three full-time cooks, as well as Naimat Bibi from the village, preparing meals throughout the day and serving the guests. There was a constant stream of movement with men, women and children moving around the villa. They sat inside the rooms, as well as outside in the courtyard, in groups. This time of gathering, although meant to be a time for mourning, also provided a great opportunity for guests to share and exchange news, social gossip and matchmaking.
Zarri Bano and Ruby shut themselves in their rooms, only allowing their housekeeper, Fatima, in with the food. It was only there that they had something akin to personal privacy. With over a hundred people swelling their home, they
Sikander sat with the other men on one side of the hall helplessly watching Zarri Bano. Angry with fate. Why did life have to be so cruel? Just last night he had been one of the happiest of men on earth – now this! They had been planning their wedding in the restaurant. Talking about the places he would show her in Singapore on their honeymoon.
It wasn’t a good omen. He was not a superstitious man by any means but an uncanny feeling of dread swept over him. Jafar’s death would definitely meanthat their wedding would have to be postponed. Bitterly he cursed his
kismet
. They hadn’t even had a chance to formally get engaged or exchange rings. With the loss of their precious and only son, Zarri Bano’s parents would be in mourning for a long time. The wedding would probably have to wait a few months, if not a year.
‘Zarri Bano, I can’t wait that long. I simply can’t!’ he silently beseeched her. He got up to go to the bathroom . Before he left the room, he went and stood close to Zarri Bano for a short time, wanting to offer her moral support and words of comfort.
Sitting in the far corner of the room surrounded by other men from the village, Habib had noted Sikander’s action. Even in his grief his sharp mind was working. How had Zarri Bano found Sikander’s family, their home and customs? he wondered. Was she definitely going to marry him? Habib wanted to know what had passed between his daughter and that ‘arrogant’ man in Karachi.
The next three days were a nightmare, not only for Habib, his family and relatives, but for all the neighbouring families too, in the small town of Tanda Adam and his home village, Chiragpur. A shroud of doom hung over every household. Everybody unreservedly and respectfully paid homage to Habib’s grief. A feudal landlord with great wealth, his family descended from the highest of castes, Habib Khan was also blessed with three beautiful children and acres of land to pass onto his heir. He was a much envied, yet liked and respected, figure in his town.
Thus, everybody mourned for Habib’s son – and what a son Jafar had been! One of the handsomest!Tragically so young; yet unwed and no children to pass on the male line. ‘What a terrible way to go!’ they agonised, keenly empathising with Habib’s grief at having lost his only son and heir, their hearts going out to him. In a culture and land where sons were traditionally cherished, an only son was the most precious commodity of all worldly goods for any father. Hence, to lose your only son was like losing life itself – the worst calamity one’s worst enemy could face.
How did one come to terms with a grief and loss of this kind? they wondered bleakly amongst themselves. Would Habib and his family ever recover from this calamity? Moreover, they secretly speculated about the future. Would Habib follow his centuries-old tradition of making one of his daughters his heir?
All of Zarri Bano’s relatives, including her paternal grandfather, Siraj Din, and a maternal grandmother came to mourn and attend the funeral. All the rooms were occupied. Bedding was changed daily. The large kitchen had three full-time cooks, as well as Naimat Bibi from the village, preparing meals throughout the day and serving the guests. There was a constant stream of movement with men, women and children moving around the villa. They sat inside the rooms, as well as outside in the courtyard, in groups. This time of gathering, although meant to be a time for mourning, also provided a great opportunity for guests to share and exchange news, social gossip and matchmaking.
Zarri Bano and Ruby shut themselves in their rooms, only allowing their housekeeper, Fatima, in with the food. It was only there that they had something akin to personal privacy. With over a hundred people swelling their home, they
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