Caged Nightingale

Part 11- Saara

I try not think about how we must appear to the imaam. He doesn't ask any questions when he enters the room with Atif and a group of 4 other men. They all seem older than Atif and I try not to look at them. They treat Atif with fatherly affection but at the same time there is something in the formality of their manner which suggests they are not family.

Atif is dressed in a smart cream shalwar kameez. shaved and fresh faced- ready for the facade. He sits on the other side of the imaam.

I am wearing a smartish outfit in pale pink, with a scarf over my head- which Amina brought to my room after lunch, complete with matching jewellery and shoes. I look into the mirror and see someone I don't recognise. With the brown contact lenses as per Atif's instructions, I don't look like myself at all. I'm not wearing any makeup and that's ok because it is only the imaam who will really see me. I cover my head and part of my face with the matching scarf.

The whole thing is over quickly. I don't even ask about who my witnesses will be. I agree, sign the documents and then it is done. There is a short dua and the men all shake hands hug and congratulate each other. Atif silently escorts me out of the room to the foyer and I go back upstairs, relieved that I don't have to talk to anyone or say anything that could sabotage any of Atif's plans. Atif returns to the drawing room and I can hear talking and laughter as I make my way upstairs.

I don't know how long they stay. Only that Amina knocks on my door a while later and tells me that the food is ready. I feel sick as I follow her down. It's a sham, I feel like a fraud and am unsure about how to behave infront of her. She must know about what has happened: The fake marriage. She says nothing but smiles at me and strokes my face before she leaves. ok well that answers the question about whether she thinks the marriage is real or not.
I'm tired, no exhausted. I don't know how I manage to eat at the table alone, only that i do so in a mechanical way without tasting the food.

Atleast Atif isn't here with me. That would be a little awkward, after the marriage, perhaps he is still with his guests. I look out the window and see the lights in the garden are turned on and begin to move towards the french doors, which open up to the veranda.

The night is warm and the smell of the roses and jasmin is intoxicating. once on the veranda, there are steps to the left that descend into the rose garden which lead to the back of the house. I take off my shoes and walk bare foot to the top of the steps and sit down on the top one.

I think back to my marriage with Asim. How completely different it had been. The house was full of people: family, staff, beauticians, hair dressers, chefs, people erecting the marqee. There had been a hive of activity from the break of dawn. I had had an upset stomach that morning. My mother had said it was possibly nerves and had given me some immodium and a pat on the head. I was never on my own, not once throughout the day. Hair, make up, jewellery, outfits on. Then there were drums and music and the barat had arrived. Asim. Gosh the thought of him hurts. we had smiled and laughed together, even on that day, when a bride should be sad.

We had both been nervous, but it was Asim and you couldn't really be nervous nervous around Asim. He was sweet and kind and so good looking that he took your breath away. 'Wholesome golden boy' my best friends had called him. and they were right. He was the poster boy you dreamed about. A gentleman.

We had both worn matching red. It was a no brainer. Traditional, vibrant and fortuatous. For months afterwards our wedding was the talk of the town.

We had laughed so much. Been so happy. Even mum and dad who were chronic worriers had been content knowing that their only daughter was going to be in safe hands. He was their darling and as far as they were concerned there was no one better. He was respectful, kind, educated, independent and had the support of a fabulous family.