‘Your father must have lost his mind when he—’
‘He killed her.’
The imam looked at Moid, his eyes blank.
‘I have seen the person who loved me the most killing the person I loved the most. He killed her because he thought he was better than her. He killed her because he thought she didn’t deserve to be his daughter-in-law. He murdered her because he believed that he was pure, she was not. He killed her in his sheer arrogance, the same arrogance that turned an angel into the devil. He killed her because of his self-righteousness. He killed an innocent soul . . .’
‘I am sorry . . .’
‘Why are you sorry?’ He smiled through the tears.
‘For your loss . . .’
‘It is the will of the One in whose hands my soul is . . .’
He saw the indecisiveness on the young man’s face.
‘Perhaps you want to ask me what happened next . . .’
Moid nodded.
‘I lost all hope. I stopped eating, praying . . . living. But one day Husna visited me again. She gave me her condolences; I gave her mine. She said all the things that one is supposed to say to the husband who has lost his wife. But she didn’t stop there. She told me that Mehr-un-Nisa had had a dream. She, who was born in a brothel, wanted to give women born into such conditions a new life, those who didn’t have any source of income. She wanted to start a business embroidering women’s salwar kameezes, and believed she could bring about a change with this. And then no woman would need to disgrace herself living a life she didn’t want.
‘Husna, knowingly or unknowingly, taught me that a lover could die but love couldn’t. She, whose best friend had passed away because of me, gave me the strength to pick up my shattered pieces and make something beautiful out of it. As soon as I heard her speak, I knew what I had to do. I wanted to fulfil her dream, and Husna helped me do it. If I was the roof of that business, she was my pillar, and Mehr-un-Nisa was our foundation. Together we worked day and night. We supported each other. We became each other’s shadow. We cradled each other. We cried together, we laughed together, we grew up together. And with us, her dream also grew. Now we support about five hundred women.’
He stopped and looked at Moid enquiringly.
‘Will you tell her story to the world? I want the world to know that good and evil are not in mosques and brothels. It is in our hearts . . . I want people to stop killing Mehr-un-Nisa—again and again. I want them to look at their own sins . . .’
But before he could complete his sentence, somebody knocked on the door of the inner chamber.
‘I am coming, Husna!’ the old man said. ‘She must have prepared the tea.’
The old man went outside and came back with two cups. He told Moid he had married Husna, that the universe had brought them together in this holy union. When they started their business, he had never thought that his wounds could heal. But Husna’s support had strengthened him, healed him and her both. More than lovers they became companions who loved each other, who loved Mehr-un-Nisa together. He told Moid that they had decided to name their daughter after Mehr-un-Nisa, in honour of the lamp of love she had lit in their hearts.
Moid quietly listened to him and then took his leave. He had entered the masjid thinking he was doing humanity a favour by writing this book. But he was leaving as a different man—he was merely doing his job, and his job was to love. He now knew what true love was. Perhaps his dua had been answered. As he looked back at the masjid, a quote from Hafiz flashed through his mind:
Even after all this time, the sun never says to the earth, ‘You owe me.’ Look what happens with a love like that. It lights up the whole sky.
18
I Got You
Krusha Sahjwani Malkani
Anyone who has lived in India knows that love stories here are incomplete without a big fat wedding. Karan recalled the wedding day as if it were yesterday.
The visuals of the breathtaking decor, the flood of emotions running through him and the sound of the music and the voices were all so vivid in his mind. He had watched Kinjal walk down the stairs of the extravagantly decorated Udai Vilas. Her words still echoed in his ears, ‘I will get married only in a Sabyasachi lehenga.’ Karan remembered her babbling about this obsessive desire multiple times over the years that he had known and loved her. He never told her, but he had always believed that she would be the most beautiful woman in the room even if she walked out in her track pants and white tee. Especially if she walked out in her track pants and white tee.
It was a bright summer evening in June, which came with the promise of moisture between one’s thighs rather than in one’s eyes. But to everyone’s surprise and relief, as they had gotten closer to the anointed hour, the wind gods had obliged and the evening had turned pleasantly breezy. Karan was not surprised by this, for he knew that Kinjal almost always had her way with the universe. The chapters she did not study never made it to the exam. The party she couldn’t make always turned out to be no fun. It was only when they played cards that her luck would run out and Karan would emerge victorious.
Lucky in cards, unlucky in love, they say.
‘I cannot find my left earring. It was here a second ago. I cannot get married like this! What will people say?’ Kinjal had exclaimed in panic to her friends a few minutes before the big moment. Though she had spoken to all of them, her eyes had relied on Karan. She had grown used to depending on him. When she couldn’t find her textbook a week before an exam, or when she had a fight with her mother or even if she was just craving Doritos, Karan had always been her first call.
‘Then don’t get married,’ Karan had wanted to say, but, instead, he had just said, as he always did, ‘Relax. I got you, Kinj.’
Little did he know that that was going to be the last time he said those words to her—for a few minutes later, she was married to Parth. And as the couple had vowed to love and cherish each other until death did them part, Karan had silently acknowledged the death of the only romantic love he had ever known. He had watched the orange of the sun slowly fade as the couple had publicly and religiously been declared husband and wife.
It had now been eighteen months since that day—when Kinjal had become someone else’s wife—but Karan still thought of her on most days. The first two months had been the toughest. He was used to seeing her for coffee after work in the evenings, so he had to take up something else to fill that hour. He had opted for squash. He felt like it was a good way to release the negative energy he had pent up as well. It also took a lot of self-control for him to not reach for the phone to call her every time he had a free minute while in the Uber, or to not tag her every time he saw one of those hilarious cat videos he knew she loved.
With time though, it got slightly easier, but she never completely left his mind. Most days now it was just a passing thought, but some days the thoughts intensified. Like when he drank a few too many or when he watched Friends. Especially that episode. He had always believed she was his lobster. And sometimes he even closed his eyes and thought of her when he made love to his girlfriend, Amaya. But today was different. Today, thoughts of her were not like the regular background music in his day. He just could not shake her off his mind. It felt urgent. It felt like she was thinking of him too. Like she needed his help. And so, after avoiding the group chats and her missed calls for all these months, he decided to call her.