Zeenath

Love and friendship know no barriers; nor does a courageous person who faces life.

On the first day of June, in 1977, I stood in front of Zeenath's house with my books in my right hand and an umbrella in my left. Rain poured in hard. My voice in the rain, sounded strange to my ears as I called out,

“Zeenath! Zeenath!”

And yet there was no sight of her. I heard the school bell warn me that it was time. But I had no heart to go without her. So I waited in front of her impoverished house.
After sometime, a lady appeared at the verandah and called out to me.

“Zeenath is ill. She isn’t going to school today.” That was her mother.

We hadn’t met for the past few days because I was at my ancestral home.She must have caught cold. Or at least that was what her mother told me. Unable to come up with any other reason due to which she would’ve missed school, I proceeded to my first day in the Seventh standard.

The next evening was rather uneventful. I brushed through my new text books and note books and hoped that Zeenath would come.
And there she was! She was dressed in a pink blouse and white skirt, and a black shawl covered her beautiful long shiny hair.

“How are you?”, she asked me.
“How are you?”, I responded. “Your mother told me you aren’t well.”
“I’m allright, now.”

“So, you will come to school tomorrow? You missed a lot!”

I could hardly hide my excitement on seeing my best friend. I wanted to tell her everything that had happened on the first day. I wanted her to share all the news. But she was silent.

“Zeenath?”

Zeenath sat down beside me. She gave a melancholy sigh. And then she started to wept painfully.

God! I thought. What on earth could be causing her such pain? That was the first time I saw Zeenath crying. Crystal-clear teardrops flowed down her chubby cheeks. She put her palms over her eyes, tried to dry her cheeks and sobbed loudly.

“What is the matter, Zeenath?” I asked her slowly.

“I will not go to school anymore, Raj! Umma forbade me. I will see no more of our friends.”

It took me a few minutes to grasp what she said. My jaw fell open in wonder. Why? Before I could ask her why, she gave me the answer.
“I am grownup. Grownup girls don’t go to school. Umma says so.”

“But Marium Beevi, our head mistress, a grownup. Our science teacher, Sameera Beevi is a grownup.”

She nodded vigorously in agreement. “I asked Umma the same but she beat me”. Saying so, she broke into fresh sobs of pain. “She said they are doing it against the will and decree of Allah!”

She gasped for breath and then asked me,” Penkuttiyolu padichaal Daivathinu enthada?( Why is God against female education?)”

Did my throat dry up or did I really have no answers? I said nothing. I didn’t quite understand her questions. All that I realized was the scary fact that I shall never walk to school with her again nor will I ever share her books or pencils.


She sighed again and stopped crying. She took my English textbook in her hands, opened it and enjoyed the fragrance of it. She carefully examined my new pen and wrote my name on the first page of all my notebooks. She threw one last fleeting glance at my books and exclaimed,

“Ankuttyolu bagyavanmarada! ( boys are lucky)”




Zeenath's father was a small fish vendor and her mother managed their home. Her elder brother was a laborer. We met each other, occasionally. So often she would come to my home that my mother would make special snacks for her. Zeenath was her pet.

And when I fell ill, I borrowed notes from my class mates and she copied them for me. She frequently played my teacher and asked me questions on the subject. I knew that she missed her school very much. Yet not once did she lament on her mischance. Not once did she look upon me with envy. She stood by me whenever I needed her. She was my best friend.

Days rolled by at lightning speed and my annual examination was over. My friends and I anticipated a very hot and exciting summer vacation.

One day, Zeenath came to me and said, “Guess what, my marriage is fixed!”
“What?”

“Are you deaf? I am getting married!” Zeenath laughed in glee.

“You are getting married?” I tried not to sound disappointed.

“Yes! I am marrying a Sheik from Arabia and I will go to there!”

Zeenath looked excited. In her eyes I saw rainbows of colourful dreams and hopes. I saw her heart leap in elation. I shrugged in my mind. Maybe she is happy. Maybe this is good news. But why am I so unhappy? I thought.

My fallen spirits sunk deep into pits of terror and shock when one day, I over heard my parents talking.

“It is not marriage!” said mother. “They are selling the poor girl to an old nasty Arab. She would be one amongst his many wives. And in return he would pay them huge amounts, repair their home, and give her brother a visa."

After marriage, I never saw her for many months. I learned she that she was in Hyderabad or in Mumbai.

Meanwhile, I went on to become a High School student. I fared better in studies now than I had always been. The desire to get into a professional college boosted my hunger for knowledge. I poured over books galore. And memories of Zeenath lay in a dusty corner of my preoccupied mind, although not forgotten yet blurred.

The Arab groom returned to his native place. He was true to his word. Zeenath’s brother got job abroad, her father bought a new bicycle to develop his fish business. They prospered in their own way. She also returned to her parental home but we seldom met.

Once during my busy schedule, I had a glimpse of Zeenath in front of her house. She had a broom in her hand and was sweeping the dry yellow leaves that continually fell from the neem tree in front of her house. As she did her work, she hummed a tune. Her belly had swollen to a great extent and she seemed in seventh heaven.

On the onset of Christmas holidays, I decided to relax a bit and enjoy the spirit of the season. Every house of the Christians in the neighbourhood shone with stars, lights and Christmas trees. We also had hung a nice red star infront of our house. My parents were out visiting some of our relatives. I closed my eyes and smiled in solace. It was nice to be alone for a few hours.

The sun had just gone down when I saw the silhouette of a woman walking into my courtyard. I knew who she was.

She smiled at me. I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do but her swollen belly attracted my attention. I struggled to pull my eyes off it.

"Do you want to see it?" she whispered to me and revealed her belly.

She asked me to wait. Suddenly, I saw it. A small part of the belly moved and formed a projection.

"He’s kicking me! He’s kicking me! “Her face glowed with a mixture of expressions.

She asked me to pat on her belly. At first I hesitated and then I did it.

She sat down near me. I looked at her tear-soaked face. Her lips quivered. I couldn’t resist my arms from holding her, nor from kissing her on her forehead. We were in a tight embrace. Our tears merged and my soul burnt in an inexplicable fire.
At last she spoke,

"Enne mozhi cholliyedaa"(I am divorced.)

Days passed by. I returned to my busy study routine but nothing was the same after that evening in the winter. Zeenath and I met frequently. Soon she gave birth to Salem.

He was a tiny little creature who was all smiles for everyone. His mother was full of praises for him. Zeenath was proud of his son.

One evening, she came into my room and as usual started to grope through my books. All of a sudden she asked me, “Ninakku paalu venoda? mulappalu? (wanna taste breast milk?)

Then, she stood up in front of me. I was sitting on my chair. She undid the buttons of her blouse and gave me her left breast. There were a few drops of milk on it. She held my cheeks in her fingers and pressed her breast into my mouth. I sucked it. She covered my head with both her arms and I hugged her.

I passed my pre-degree meritoriously. I achieved my lifelong dream of getting into a professional college. Things changed. Attitude changed. Status changed. Zeenath’s father’s business flourish and they improved financially. Her brother got married. They found a man for her, who agreed to marry her for a job visa. Zeenath vanished in her second husband's house.


After the completion of my Bachelor's Degree, I decided to put my dreams for higher studies on hold for a while. I looked for a work. Job-hunting wasn’t a pleasant thing yet I managed to grab an offer at a tuition centre.


One day, my mother told me that Zeenath was divorced again and was facing problems at her home. I went to meet her.


They were wealthy now. Her father started a fish stall at market and her brother started his own business abroad.



On seeing me, Zeenath’s face glowed with pleasant surprise. We smiled at each other. And she showed me her second baby, an angel. Neither of us spoke. Such was the strength of the ice that had formed between us.

Her mother and sister-in-law often came to the room and stole a glance or two at the two silent beings. Only the baby seemed unaffected by the loud silence that prevailed in the verandah.

All of a sudden, she asked “What are you doing now?”

“Teaching in a tuition home "
“Why not start one on your own?”
“It needs investment,” I replied.
She mused for a second.
“How much?”
“Around ten thousand, I suppose.”
She quickly went into the house and after a few minutes, came out with some jewelry. She showed them to me.
I gaped at her with disbelief.
“Take it.”
I shook my head.
“Take it, do what you might with it and start your own tuition home.”
“I can’t!”

“Why not? It is my property, mine alone. I can do whatsoever I want with it. Nobody can question me. If you won’t accept this, I will sell it and will give you the money.”
I eyed the windows of her house. I looked about if her parents were watching. I was purely frightened by her lack of fear.
“But you parents....”
"They are not my parents!” she exploded. “They’re sellers. They sold me. They sold me!”

I heard her sob but her eyes her dry. Perhaps there were no more tears in her eyes, to fall.
“For them, I never really existed,” she continued.” For them I was a coin. And now I have lost my worth. Now I am an abominable creature, because I am of no use to them.”
She paused. And then her voice dropped to inaudible decibels of sound.

“Before they sell my kids, I must escape. You are my friend, aren’t you? Will you help me?” she asked me.
As I looked into her eyes I saw that fear and urgency had displaced the joy and hopes I had seen in them years ago.
Am I her friend? What does friendship mean? Must I help her? How? What about me? I have a whole new world ahead of me. My life is full of harbingers of the prosperity of the years yet to come. Would the friendship with a woman forsaken by her kin do me any good? What will my parents say? What will my relatives say?

Relative! Parents! I recounted the troubles that they have been causing me from the day I started working. Images of those unhappy moments with my family passed in front of my eyes. Money was all that everybody wanted. The meaning of friendship dawned within my mind and all those sad visuals dissolved away. I saw that unfortunate woman standing before me. She had asked for no money. She needed no material benefits. All she asked for was love. All that she needed was a true friend.
You are my friend, aren’t you?
The jewelry was sold, a home was rented and tuition home started. Obstacle materialized in the form of our parents, relatives and religion. Yet her courage and strong will kept us going. We started a shop for stationeries. Our tiny business flourished.
When she became 5-years-old, we took Zeenath’s daughter to go a school.
“What's the name of student?”
I replied " Zehrazaad "
She asked me in amusement, " Zehrazaad? "
Yes, the narrator of Arabian Nights and the name was approved of.

Together we ran that our shop for around ten years. During that period, I got married. Blessings were poured over us aplenty. I got a government job and had to move to different places with family. The book shop which the two of us had started, was now moved to a better building and was run by her son, Salem.
All the while Zeenath and I kept in touch.
Years rolled by. People grew old, hair grew grey and children grew up. One year ago, Zeenath telephoned me and asked to meet her immediately.

I walked into the room in the hospital where she was admitted. Her face was only an echo of a beautiful girl of the yesteryears. She looked weak.
"I have breast cancer,” she said.
“No!”

“Yes,” she said. She was calm and quite. Yet in her eyes I saw heights of bliss that I never saw in so many years.
The treatment started. An surgery was done and her left breast was removed. On recovering consciousness, she asked the others to leave the room.
She held out her hand to me. I took that pale hand softly and kneeled down beside her bed.
"Do you remember the taste of my milk?”
I looked at her in silence, she squeezed my hand tight for some time.

Two months back, I learned her condition was deteriorating. I was in no mood to meet her at her death bed. Often she telephoned me. My wife went in my stead to nurse her. I gave lame excuses to avoid a meeting with her.
One day she telephoned me.
"Do you want to see me alive or not? "
I went to the hospital to meet a skeletal, mirthful and confident being, lying in the bed. I looked around to find her parents and her relatives.

On seeing me, she asked me to sit and asked me to do necessary legal formalities to donate her eyes.
And she asked all to leave the room, save me. When we were alone, she asked me to close the room and to sit near her. I helped her sit up in her bed and then did as I was told.
She leaned on my chest and sat comfortably.
“If you remember that song, please sing it again. "
“Which one?”
“The one you used to tease me when you learnt I am getting married.”
Tears blurred my vision. I cleared my hoarse throat and sang.
"Ramzaniley chandrikayo
Rajanee gandhiyoo
Arabi penkodee, azhakin poompodee
Aaru nee, aaru nee

[Are you the Ramzan cresant, or

the flower that blossoms in the night?

Hey you charming Arabian girl! Who are you?]

All of a sudden she interrupted.
"njan aarado thanikku?” (Who am I to you?)

And she wept. Our cheeks joined and tears flowed together. I hugged her tight to my chest.
I put a hand full of soil on her, and watched her disappeared into the Earth. I returned with heavy steps. A large nimbus floated above me. It stared at me for a few moments, trying to decide whether or not to rain. And then it precipitated down in to the craving land, burying my solemn tears in its massive drops.