Wife of the almighty Hashim; a life of prosperity, happiness, problem-free and comfort. At least that was what they all said. Now, I know I was worthless to him.
I couldn’t even bear to believe my ears when I heard him berate at us with his obscene filth. He had us rounded up like sheep as a shepherd herds his flock. But then, rather than our usual conversations since the discovery of that all-powerful hair, he knocked us down with the smouldering intensity of the gravitas exuding from his bellowing voice. He shrieked and shouted until the room vibrated. His voice erupting out and echoing throughout the estate, through the thickest walls of the fortified mansion and through the ironclad safes where his undeserved money stood.
We were accustomed to these bursts of anger (usually towards men who could not pay back their dues or the thieves who tried to con him of his money) as a moneylender’s attitude often admits, but what we did not expect was that he even yelled at my poor accursed boy, Atta. Naming him a dope and bombarding him with insults. What kind of father yells at his firstborn? What had come between them so suddenly? Although Atta wasn’t the son he had always dreamt of, he loved him dearly. It must have been that sickly vial hiding but a mere strand of hair within that has gripped him.
I am convinced that the hair had destroyed our once united family. Since his discovery of it, things were normal, or at least as normal as it can be. My husband assumed that only himself knew the disgusting truth that he selfishly kept the small strand for himself when he found it on the banks of the lake, but what kind of wife would I be if I did not know about my husband and his whereabouts?
An honest, self-respecting man with some integrity would have returned that back to the temple, where it belonged. Everyone knew it had been stolen and in a country like this, that of whom found in tenure of it would be likely kept alive. But knowing him he would have had some desperate, controversial, and hypocritical reason of keeping it.
It is not very usual that a wife is banished from her own room, away from her husband; a husband which was promised. To be loyal, protecting, loving yet willing to do what is best for his family. Unexplainably retaliating at the only few who love him is not what I nor my children bargained for. It wasn’t something we weren’t routine to, however something was clearly amiss and the only thing that had varied in his life since was the acquisition of that vile vial.
Why didn’t he return it?
A question which racked my brain.
He watches everything. He knows. And yet he kept the hair.
That greedy self-obsessed pig of a husband should have known that what he is doing is wrong. He must have gotten entangled in the sinful web he strung as well as catching everyone else into his sacrilege.
Maybe it should have been me that got rid of that damned hair as I found it: spotless, gleaming and resting on what seemed like a pedestal in our bedroom. It was a bedroom built on deceit and lies. Lies which have escalated to secrets and secrets which have blossomed into blistering truths. These are truths which have scathed and tarnished our family. We are a family in essence which has failed to meet the criteria of this shallow, ruthless man, a man who has succumbed to the grasp of a hair. Have I not been a good wife to him although? Why would he do this to us? Have I failed to serve him? I had so many damned chances but instead I decided to leave it up to Huma and Atta… Alas, I am not as lucky as my children anyways, I would have been struck down and stripped of any dignity I had left on the discovery of my accomplishments. That would have been better than the fate that met both of them though.
Regrettably, it is only myself I can blame. Rather than listening to myself and my mother, who beckoned to reconsider and follow my heart. I chose to honour the family name, bear with tradition, a tradition backwards and derogatory to fulfill the responsibilities as a daughter, sister and lady of a family. Maybe if I ran away, away with my true love, a man I can no longer picture in my mind, long before Hashim, life would have been better. There were so many chances, so many missed opportunities. Now I must bear through the consequences for the only people I truly cherish in this world: Atta, Huma. I chose to marry Hashim, a man who I despised, and rejected the man who I could only call my one, true love.
It must have been fate that drove me to insanely choose my father’s pride and honour over my own freewill but I’ve come to learn that fate is something not even the rich nor religious can manipulate, it’s something rather that the more powerful forces in this world set in motion.
Whether it’s fair or not.
But one thing I knew for certain was that trusting Hashim was like trusting water in a sieve.
My husband, the venal and usurious fundamentalist, continued with his despotic reprimands and shortly, but as I should’ve expected, edged towards me. His face lighting up as if in delight with what he was about to unleash. What truths would he unload onto my innocent and unsuspecting person?
What would he have to say to me, I foolishly thought.
Little did I know, I was far from right.
He spat truths that made my entire body tremble and quiver. His words resounded within me, reaching into every crevice, twisting and churning my insides. My feet fell limp, limbs failing and bones liquifying under the heft of his truths until I finally fell to the floor, almost fainting in horror.
A man that sleeps with another woman? At that, many women. Paid women?
In retrospect, I guess I was not as good a wife like I always thought. I was too quiet, uncomplaining, unaccomplished, and too submissive. At least that was what I was taught to be. Grandmother beat behaviour into me as a child, but its not like that got me far. I could never satisfy his endless needs.
He hid these lies and deceits from me our whole marriage. A union I thought was decades of love, compromise and equanimity, was instead built upon what? Infidelity? Lies, distrust, a mistress and paid women? He had lied, and for how long? For what reason would he do this?
I understand now, given all this time in this rancid cage, that I was nothing more than a pawn in my father’s game. Earning his way to a place amongst higher castes and the political minefield whilst I rot away, hidden behind closed doors, serving the every whim of the mindless dictatorial. But, as a daughter and a woman, what choice do I really have?
His vileness continued his treachery, but I could no longer take it anymore when he called my Huma, lascivious. I would swear on my life she was pure. He had gone too far.
My mind suddenly stopped and my body took control. My arm quickly recoiled into a flat palm, ready to smite him on his lying, repulsive mouth and managing to put enough strength and determination in my legs to step up, ready, no matter what the consequences, my hand was ready to swing. But before anything could escalate, words echoed into my head. Words matching the tone and poignance of my grandmother.
“A pious wife treats her husband like a king, loves him like a prince, but she keeps reminding him he is a slave.”
I would not be achieving anything but proving beyond the point that I was a bad, horrible, unsuccessful wife that tore this family apart. Atta kneeled by my side. He saw my eyes well with tears. Tears which streamed down the hard exterior of my face. It was now a face which represented all the flaws and faults in this wretched family. But on his face was a look was plastered on his face. A look that I could never unsee. It was as if something changed within him. As if he had developed some sort of scheme or plan, most likely something I would not usually consent. It was then that I turned to Huma. The usually bright and joyful soul, now gasping for breath whilst being choked by the streams of tears, lifeless. Broken.
We had to endure the onslaught.
We were powerless.
I was powerless.
I could do nothing to stop him.
Not now, and not ever.
My dearest Atta, Huma; I am sorry.
I never was, and never will be … enough.
