Unmarriageable(95)

Nona got on the phone and assured Alys that her father was tired and dazed but otherwise all right and that, come tomorrow, they would go to every hospital, in case there’d been an accident. The hospital search proved futile and, the very next day, Nona took over and sent Mr Binat back to Dilipabad.

A despondent Mr Binat took himself into his study and crept into his armchair. Jena brought him a strong cup of chai and Alys laid her head in his lap and he stroked her hair.

‘You were right, Alys,’ he said. ‘You told me not to let her go. That she was immature and had no sense of right or wrong. But I was more worried about peace and quiet in this house, and now, because of it, we will never have any peace or quiet. This scandal will ruin Lady’s prospects forever, but Wickaam may yet find himself an heiress. Today, for the first time, I am feeling the full fire of patriarchy.’

‘Women are never forgiven in our society, but men can be,’ Alys said.

‘That seems to be the rule.’ Mr Binat sighed. ‘Lady may get what she deserves, but I’m heartbroken for what that means for the rest of you girls. No, Alys, don’t tell me not to be harsh on myself. Let me stew in my regrets. But have no fear. The Chinese proverb teaches us “This too shall pass”, and make no mistake, it shall. I weathered my brother’s betrayal and now I will weather my daughter’s, and you girls will learn to weather it as well. It is your mother who will never learn to see what is what and what is not. Claiming Lady was kidnapped. That it is Hijab’s parents’ fault. Such preposterousness boggles the mind, but of course this too shall pass.’



Farhat Kaleen’s letter arrived the next morning at the breakfast table, where Qitty, Mari, Falak, and Mrs Binat were tucking away while the rest stared at the food. Mr Binat read the letter, then passed it on to his wife, who dissolved into hysterics. Falak told Alys to read it out loud.

My dear Binats,

What I have to say concerns all of you and deserves the staying power of a letter rather than the ephemeral nature of a phone call, which, in my vast experience, often means in one ear and out the other, an affliction I strongly believe Lady suffers from to a great extent, as per Sherry’s assessment of her. I am of course writing in regard to this elopement business. Is there even an elopement? Or is Lady living in sin?

I unfortunately had to break the news to Begum Beena dey Bagh – better she hear it from me rather than from rumourmongers – and what she told me about Jeorgeullah Wickaam was shocking. He is her nephew, but he is a disgrace. He was disinherited years ago. He has no money and, God help us, his law degree is fake! I ask again if Lady is living in sin? What will become of her when this scoundrel tires of her?

A woman is nothing and no one without her virtue. Her virtue is the jewellery of her soul. But this is forgotten by modern women, who march around in their patloons under the impression that wearing trousers means they are now men. A woman is a woman no matter what she wears and must behave like a lady.

Of course, this terrible business will affect all of you. Had I any doubts, then let me tell you that Begum Beena dey Bagh corrected me. I still pray that Jena, Alys, Qitty, and Mari may find someone to marry them, but Lady has permanently dimmed her sisters’ prospects.

I heard that Lady is to set up shop and Wickaam to be the shopkeeper in charge of determining her price. God forbid this be true. One should pray for Lady’s death before we should have to suffer such humiliation.

Given the situation, I’m sure you’ll understand why I think it unwise to visit each other at this time. I will also be most obliged if Sherry is not contacted and, if she contacts you, to please ignore her.

I wish you all the best in these trying circumstances.

I will pray for all your souls.

Fi amanillah, May God go with you,

Farhat Kaleen



‘A loose woman is a flower every man wants to pluck and chuck,’ Mari said desolately. ‘That’s what his letter means. I always said Jeorgeullah is no mullah, but none of you ever listen to me. And Lady is no lady. Lady nay humari naak kaat dhi. Lady has cut off our noses for shame. We, as a family, have no nose left.’

‘Should we write back?’ Qitty asked in a tiny voice.

‘What’s there to say?’ Alys said. She felt a persistent melancholy at how she and Darsee had parted without a friendly look or word, and she could only imagine Beena dey Bagh and Darsee’s mutual congratulations over escaping any association with this strain of the Binat family.

‘How can I show my face at the religious-club meetings?’ Mari said, drowning her grief in buttered toast. ‘What will the members say? One sister so pious and the other practically a prostitute.’

‘Yes, Mari,’ Alys said. ‘We all sympathise that this situation has disrupted your social life. Believe me, we are all irrevocably impacted.’

Alys expected Mrs Naheed to fire her and Jena. She could well imagine parents up in arms at their daughters being taught by teachers whose sister had, as Farhat Kaleen put it, ‘set up shop’. And so it was that Alys and Jena were fully prepared to be terminated on the first day of the new school year. The staff room was a hush and they were glad no one asked them if the rumours regarding Lady were true. In fact, the teachers were extra-sweet. That Lady was absent, coupled with Alys’s and Jena’s long faces, was proof enough to all that some disaster had occurred.

For the first time, Alys felt no joy as she gazed at her new batch of Year 10s and gave them an overview of the term and the books they would read. The students in Alys’s and Jena’s classes did not say a word. Later that day, Mrs Naheed did summon them into her office. She shook her head and pursed her lips and remarked that teenage years could be very trying and that they were to keep her posted on the fragile situation.