Authors: Monica Ali
'Why do you think he was pretending?'
'Didn't you, just a few minutes ago, see that the jinni had possessed him?'
'If he is faking, let us tie him to a tree and thrash him. But don't expect money for exorcism that has failed.'
It was dangerous ground for the fakir. At stake was this week's only income (and expenses had already been incurred), his pride, his desire to bash the boy's brains out, and his reputation.
For the boy, who feared he might have gone too far, the situation was also tricky. His chosen strategy was to foam at the mouth.
Amma lay completely forgotten and out of the way.
'Look,' said a villager. 'This boy is possessed. See how the bubbles come at his mouth.'
Abba took a back seat in the proceedings. Although he had to be seen to do the right thing in calling the exorcism, he had an aversion to holy men who took his money and he preferred not to be involved.
Abba declined to give a verdict one way or the other. There was further discussion and very nearly a fight among the crowd. Eventually, however, a compromise was reached whereby the fakir was permitted to reengage the boy in a headlock in return for a solemn promise to rid him of the evil spirit.
The fakir was most thorough. Everyone agreed he threw himself into the job with great energy.
Amma did get better. There were no more days when she did not wash and she restricted herself to attacking her husband with only her sharpest of instruments, her tongue. At the time, Nazneen had been thrilled equally by the spectacular show and by her mother's recovery. Though she had heard later, eavesdropping near the barber's shop, that the servant boy had been boasting how he humiliated the big man, she still believed – of course – that the jinni had been vanquished from Amma. How it happened was a mystery, and it was not a mystery to be solved but merely treasured.
Now, as she folded away a pile of clean laundry, she began to wonder what had really happened that day, and why it was that Amma believed only in bad jinn and not in the good.
* * *
Of Karim she saw very little. He was busy regrouping the Bengal Tigers, planning the March Against the March Against the Mullahs, foreseeing catastrophe for the ummah (local and global), and taking religious instruction from his Spiritual Leader. When they did spend an hour or so together, Karim brought up wedding plans.
'Just a very small affair. Very small, but very, like, religious.'
Nazneen smiled. It was so ridiculous.
'I'm finding out about divorce. How you do it properly.'
She tightened the muscles of her pelvic floor, afraid all of a sudden that she would wet herself. If she stayed here, then what alternative would she have but to marry Karim? The thought flooded her with so many conflicting emotions it was a wonder she retained control of any of her bodily functions. She tried to single out a thought, any thought, and take charge of it. The children. How could she present the girls with a new father like that? And what would they think? How terribly it would scythe at their young minds, one question repeating itself over and over: by what means did our mother ensnare this boy?
The worst thing was she did not know what would happen. What was the point in fearing this and that, if only
this
and not
that
would happen? If Chanu filled more suitcases and bought the tickets and bid her leave, then would that determine the end? Would Karim, set on his course, prevent her from going? What if going home turned out to be just another one of Chanu's projects? A short while ago it seemed certain, but how could she be sure? She reminded herself: she had only to wait for everything to be revealed.
Instead of appeasing her as usual, this thought rankled. Why should she wait? She felt as strongly as if someone, standing beside her in the kitchen, had taken a piece of paper, written down the answers and then set light to the page while she watched. She stood at the kitchen worktop making onion bhajis for the children, who would eat them smothered in tomato ketchup. In her frustration, she forgot she was in the middle of chopping chillies and rubbed her eye. Immediately a sensational pain exploded her eyeball. It was enough to make her cry out. She turned on the tap and twisted her head beneath it. To the curative powers of cold running water, the chilli-burn was immune. Nazneen gasped as the water ran up her nose.
She focused on the pain, rising up to meet it head on, boring into it, challenging it to do its worst. The burn was fierce and it unleashed in her an equal ferocity. Suddenly her entire being lit up with anger.
I will decide what to do. I will say what happens to me. I will be the one. A
charge ran through her body and she cried out again, this time out of sheer exhilaration.
The pain subsided slowly. A shadow of pain remained long into the night. The exhilaration also drained away, leaving only its ghosts behind.
What
would she decide?
What
did she want?
Her first thought was that she would go to Dhaka with her husband and her children. It would be the right thing to do, and she would be with Hasina again. Doubts assailed her on all sides. The children would be miserable. Shahana would never adjust. What would happen to Chanu in Dhaka? If his dreams fell apart, what net would catch them all? How would they live? How would they eat? Would it not be better to stay here and send more money to Hasina and help her that way? Maybe even bring her over here. But if Chanu went ahead and left without them, then what? Would she marry Karim? Did she want to marry him? It would be difficult for the girls. And it would be impossible simply to spurn him. Perhaps it would be best to go to Dhaka.
Unbidden, a memory of Karim came, entering her as he entered her, tearing apart her passive soul.
In the night, while her family slept, she performed wudu and took down the Qur'an. She read from the sura The Merciful.
'He has let loose the two oceans: they meet one another.
Yet between them stands a barrier which they cannot overrun. Which of your Lord's blessings would you deny?
Pearls and corals come from both. Which of your Lord's blessings would you deny?'
She thought of her husband, sitting on the sofa that evening, serenely picking his toenails. When he had come home he had kissed her on the forehead and told her, 'In all these years, I have never – not once – regretted my choice of bride.' She thought of her daughters. What beautiful gifts from God. For once she felt calm. None of her Lord's blessings would she deny. She began to read again.
'Mankind and jinn, We shall surely find the time to judge you! Which of your Lord's blessings would you deny?'
The March Against the Mullahs was due to take place on 27 October. Lion Hearts leaflets began fluttering through the letterbox (Nazneen 'used them up' for shopping lists); they littered the courtyard, and drifted over the grassy mound of Altab Ali Park.
All over the country, our children are being taught that Islam is a great religion. But the truth is clear. Islam burns with hatred. It gives birth to evil mass murders abroad. In our own towns, it spawns vicious rioters.
Chanu read each leaflet with care. He remained calm.
Karim became excited. 'Man, they are going to live to regret it. They don't even know what they're saying. Islam lays down clear rules of engagement for war. It ain't
permitted
to kill women, children, innocent men or the elderly. It ain't
permitted
to kill other Muslims. How many Muslims died in New York?' He stood by Nazneen's net curtains and worked his legs as if limbering up for a race, or shaking out a cramp. His mobile phone rang. He looked at it and turned it off and Nazneen knew it was his father.
'They should get their facts straight.' He folded his arms and looked beyond Nazneen. In his panjabi-pyjama, fleece, big boots and skullcap he looked like he could be on his way to a mosque; or to a fight. Islamic terrorists. Islamic terrorists. That's all you hear. You never hear Catholic terrorist, do you? Or Hindu terrorist? What about Jewish terrorist?' It seemed that just as Chanu had lost an invisible audience, Karim had gained one. He orated to the assembly. 'But let's think about it. . .'
Nazneen tried to, but she drowned in the sea of his anger. While her husband talked less and less, Karim talked more and more. The more he talked, the less sure he seemed.
'You know that lad who got stabbed?'
'Is he out of hospital?' said Nazneen.
'All these people going around talking about gangs, all they're doing is feeding the racists. The newspapers
love
it. But the truth is there are no gangs.'
Nazneen opened her mouth and closed it. Not so long ago, Karim had used the word freely. And what about the boys who came to the meeting, didn't they nearly start a fight there? And every evening they patrolled the estate, 'roaming around like goats', as Chanu said.