CAST OUT - Short Story by Saeed Ibrahim

 

                                                             

CAST OUT

Short Story

by Saeed Ibrahim

Rustom helped his 5-year-old son get dressed for school and got his lunch box ready.

“Arman, go say bye to Mummy and hurry back or we’ll miss your school bus.”

The little boy enjoyed all the attention he was getting from his Daddy, but he didn’t like being rushed and he missed his mother’s gentle and cajoling words as she woke him up each morning, sat with him as he ate his breakfast and got him ready for school. He ran into her darkened bedroom, kissed her goodbye and called out a cheery “Bye Mummy, get well soon.”

Rustom accompanied his son downstairs and waited until the yellow school van screeched to a halt outside their gate. The driver’s assistant bundled the little boy into the bus and Rustom waved him   a hurried goodbye before returning to their small two-bedroom apartment. He had a quick shower and got dressed to leave for his downtown office where he worked as a financial analyst with a firm of investment bankers.

Before leaving, he carried a glass of juice and a small bowl of cut fruit which he placed on his wife’s bedside table along with a set of her prescribed medicines, propped up the pillows and helped her to sit up in a semi-upright position.

“Rehana, I am glad you were able to sleep last night. Do try and have the juice and at least some of the fruit I have left on the table. I have given the maid a key to the house so she won’t disturb you when she meets Arman’s school bus and comes in with him later in the afternoon. Do call me at the office in case you need anything”.  Giving his wife a warm hug, he kissed her goodbye and drew the curtains aside to let in some light and fresh air.

“Thank you, darling, don’t worry I will be fine,” Rehana tried to reassure him with a weak smile. She knew she had to put up a brave front for the sake of her little boy and her devoted and caring husband. But it required a superhuman effort with her pain-wracked body, the continuous feeling of lassitude and fatigue and the mounting waves of nausea that refused to go away. She closed her eyes and fell into a semi-wakeful state in which she was transported into a realm of childhood memories and the events of the past six years of her life.

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Growing up with her parents and elder sister in a one room flat in a crowded suburb of the big city had been difficult and uncomfortable. With their father’s modest salary, the family just about managed to make ends meet and there was never any room for even the small comforts of life. It had been particularly hard on the girls during exam time. Their small apartment was on the top floor of a three-storey building, and after their landing there was a common terrace space rarely used by the other occupants. For fear of disturbing their father’s sleep during late night study, the girls would take their books up to the terrace and study with a reading light.

If the lack of privacy in their cramped living quarters was uncomfortable, the atmosphere at home was not any less stifling because of the strict rules laid down by their stern and authoritarian father. He imposed his orthodox and extremely patriarchal views on his family through constant admonishments on good conduct and comportment. Rehana could still hear some of his strictures ringing in her ears:

“I expect the women of my household to be respectful and obedient and to observe due modesty in dress and behaviour.”

“Please be conscious of your conduct when outside the house. Always cover yourself modestly, keep your gaze downcast whilst walking around in public and make sure you are home before it gets dark.”

Rehana’s mother was a docile woman, and through years of conditioning she had learnt never to challenge her husband’s authority and his rigid and inflexible views. As the girls started going to college and their exposure to the outside world had increased, they found it extremely difficult to accept their father’s restrictions; but their protests remained bottled up inside as they dared not confront him. Their mother, always fearful of a scene or the creation of bad blood in the family, advised her daughters to toe the line and to be patient. She understood their point of view and their frustrations and she did her best to provide whatever support she could offer without ever crossing her husband.

Rehana and Rubina were separated in age by just one year. Unlike her sedate and placid older sister, Rehana was a spirited young girl, carefree and fun-loving, and had an independent and rebellious streak which clashed with her father’s authoritarian and uncompromising ways. Fortunately for her, Rubina always provided a ready shoulder for her to cry on, and the two girls established a close bond. Rehana loved watching Bollywood movies and was an avid fan of the three “Khan’s.” Rubina would help her smuggle in the high-on-the-taboo-list film magazines which were surreptitiously tucked away, far from their father’s critical gaze. They had their little secrets, and the older girl often found herself covering up for Rehana’s escapades with her college friends.

Rubina eventually graduated from college, and her father seized the first opportunity that presented itself to get her married. This was in the form of a proposal from a family who had a son working in the Gulf. Although Rehana was happy for her sister; with Rubina’s marriage and her subsequent departure for Dubai, she missed the companionship and closeness that the two had shared. With her final year approaching, Rehana decided to concentrate on her studies, and the following year she graduated with a first-class degree and topped her class.

Wanting at all costs to avoid the fate her sister had been pressurised into accepting, she was bent on looking for work and she started scouring the “appointments” pages in the newspapers. One day she saw a job opening, applied for the post and was accepted. When she announced the news at home, her father would have none of it.

“I don’t want you to go out working. A woman’s place is in the home and besides, when people are looking for a bride, they don’t want a working woman as a daughter-in-law. You better stay at home until we get you married!”

 Rehana could feel her blood boiling with indignation. Angry words came rushing to her mouth. She clenched her fists, and with a monumental effort she managed to control her outburst. But she had decided that enough was enough and she was not going to let anything stop her. In a controlled voice she replied:

“Abba, I do want to go out and make a life for myself, and this opportunity is a chance I cannot afford to miss. I am old enough to be able to make my own decisions.”

Her father didn’t know what hit him. It was the first time that he had heard any word of protest or someone in his family challenging his authority. When he recovered from the first shock of Rehana’s words he shouted back:

“How dare you open your mouth in front of me and talk back to me like this!” With that he stormed out of the house. His wife ran after him trying to restrain him but he pushed her back and continued on his way down.

After that, it was open warfare and he refused to speak to his daughter or even look in her direction. Rehana’s mother wrung her hands and couldn’t stop weeping. Rehana just shrugged her shoulders and reported for work the following week.

She enjoyed her work and settled well into her job. She got along well with her colleagues and soon made several friends amongst her co-workers. There was an executive who worked in the investment banking division whom she had met in the staff lunch room and with whom she had become particularly friendly. He was a young Parsee boy named Rustom. They found several things in common and began seeing each other regularly, both in and out of the office. It was soon apparent that they were in love.

Rehana made no mention at home of her close association with Rustom until one day he proposed to her. She had been secretly hoping for this moment and her joy now knew no bounds. But overjoyed as she was, her heart was filled with trepidation. She had earlier mentioned to Rustom about her family background and the difficulties with her father. She now bared her misgivings to him. Rustom heard her out but remained undaunted by her concerns. He had already introduced Rehana to his own parents. They were broad-minded, and believed in plurality and inclusiveness and seemed to have no qualms about their inter-faith marriage. Rustom encouraged Rehana to boldly approach her father.

What came as a rude shock was the vehemence in the reaction of her father when she had announced her intention of marrying Rustom. He had turned purple with rage and, not having addressed any conversation towards her in months, had turned towards her in fury:

“Have you no shame, girl? First you go out to work against my wishes and now you wish to marry a man of your choice - and that to someone who is not from our faith. Have you not thought of the disgrace and dishonour your actions will bring to our family? You are no daughter of mine. If you have made up your mind to go ahead and marry him, there is no place for you in this house anymore.”

The pleadings of Rehana’s mother were to no avail. Not only did her father disown Rehana and banish her from his home, he cut off all communication with her and forbade his wife and other daughter to meet her or to have anything to do with her. A harsh and cruel punishment indeed!  Her mother bade Rehana a tearful farewell and Rehana left her childhood home forever,   following the man she loved.

Rustom and Rehana were married the following week in a simple but touching civil ceremony attended by Rustom’s  parents and a small circle of their closest friends. That was six years ago. Rehana was denied all contact with her family and she missed her mother and sister dearly. Fearing her husband’s wrath, Rehana’s mother refrained from mentioning even her name before him, especially after he had once uttered the horrifying words: “To me she is as good as dead.” But she pined to see her daughter. The pangs of separation became unbearable, especially after she had heard that Rehana had given birth to a baby boy.

Rustom and Rehana had settled into a happy and contented life together and the next five years were full of happiness and fulfilment as they together experienced the joys of parenthood. Rustom was doing well at his work and along with the birth of his son had come a big promotion and stock options in the company. Rehana had given up her job and was content in her new role as mother and caregiver for a lively youngster they had named Arman. Life seemed to roll along like a song until that fateful day two months ago when Rehana had discovered an ominous lump in her right breast.

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In her reverie, Rehana heard the sound of a doorbell ringing. Still deep in her daydream, she ignored it. The doorbell sounded again. She thought it must be her imagination. The maid and Arman came in only in the afternoon, and besides Rustom had said that he had given the maid the keys to the house. She lay back and drifted off into a deep sleep.

The lady at the door had rung twice but had not had any response. Had the woman, who had broken the news of her daughter’s illness to her, given her the wrong address? Had she been mistaken and had rung the wrong doorbell? She pulled out the crumpled piece of paper on which she had noted the address and verified it. The address and flat number were correct. There was no mistake. Maybe there was no one at home. She decided to come back after some time and try again.

 

After wandering aimlessly for a couple of hours, she returned to the given address. As she approached the apartment complex she saw a school bus stop by the gate and a small boy being helped out. The woman’s heart leapt with joy. The boy, a fair-skinned child with curly brown hair, bore a striking resemblance to Rehana. There could definitely be no mistake about the address that had been given to her. The maid who had been waiting at the gate went forward to take the boy’s hand and relieve him of his school bag. On an impulse, the woman rushed forward with outstretched arms towards the child, wanting to envelop him in a loving embrace. Arman, who had been taught by his parents to be wary of strangers, shrunk back, clutching the maid’s hand and hiding his face in the pullu of her sari. Rebuffed by the child’s natural gesture, the woman turned to go away with tears of disappointment and anguish streaming down her face.

Rustom who had been concerned and worried by the state in which he had left his wife in the morning, decided to return home early. He crossed the crestfallen lady at the gate, and from the pictures that Rehana had shown him, he recognized the sad and tearful face as that of Rehana’s mother. He went up to her and putting his arm around her, introduced himself as Rehana’s husband, Rustom. Lifting Arman up and taking his mother-in-law’s hand, he walked towards the lobby of the building and the waiting lift. Rehana’s mother wiped away her tears and smiled gratefully at her son-in-law. Fear of her husband had kept her away for too long, but hearing of the suffering and pain of her child, she could no longer bear to be separated from her.

Would her stubborn and unrelenting husband eventually come around or would he cast her out like he had his own daughter? She no longer cared. She entered the apartment and rushed forward to be re-united with her long-lost daughter.

Saeed Ibrahim - Bangalore based writer, Saeed Ibrahim, is the author of two books - “Twin Tales from Kutcch,” a family saga set in Colonial India, and “The Missing Tile and Other Stories,” a collection of 15 short stories. Saeed was educated at St. Mary’s High School and St. Xavier’s College in Mumbai, and later, at the University of the Sorbonne in Paris. His other writings include newspaper articles, travel essays, several book reviews and two essays for the Museum of Material Memory. His short stories have been published in “The Deccan Herald,” “The Beacon Webzine,” “Bengaluru Review,” “The Blue Lotus Magazine,” “Borderless Journal,” “Muse India,” “Outlook India,” “Indian Periodical” and “Different Truths.”