Ghosts

By Nazia Shahid

Sometimes people stay with us. They become pinnacles in our lives reminding us of memories otherwise grey and forgotten. Sonia had come to symbolize an unresolved pain of troublesome thoughts that Zahra had held unto without quite understanding why. Zahra sat staring at the chocolate cake she had presented to her mother in law.

Why do I over think a simple dinner – seeking approval through rituals, dressing up life as perfection on display? Bitterness and bewilderment about how she now found herself in a world both created by her but also imposed upon her. She wanted to feel fulfilment but sometimes she felt not entirely awake as if her mind was pulled away to another place. This troubled her, wore her down and made her look at her guests with suspicion. The lady deeply nestled in the middle of the sofa was great in expanse and majestic.

This was Zahra’s mother in law, proud, formidable and forthright. She was assembled amongst various relatives and guests. Ladies who seemed to be enjoying themselves without the need for Zahra to add very much. They belonged to that other world which confused and frightened her. Ashamed that she could not find her voice amongst this crowd she tried to think of times, places where she was part of the light illuminating amongst those who did not overwhelm her.

Zahra gasped as the hot coffee she had absentmindedly drunk burned her tongue. Her cousin looked over and motioned for any one of the women to pass a glass of water to her. Zahra drew back into her seat and smiled to express all was well. It wasn’t easy sitting here in her own living room trying to be genuinely happy with her company. She always felt unsettled, anxious to please her relatives not out of duty but because she wanted to prove this was what she wanted.

She shunned the heavy stifling weight on her shoulders, the fuzzy confusion in her mind and the slow thump of dread in her chest. She told herself to be calm, to enjoy their chatter, their presence, but somehow she felt unable to believe in her own happiness. Something had held sway on her vision of how it was all going to be in her life. She had sensed this many years before this evening.

Zahra walked over to the window, opened it wide letting in the cold wind which immediately travelled to her old aunts toes, up their legs and made them cry “Shut that window at once!”

Zahra feigned an apology and obeyed. She closed her eyes for a moment. Many times had she been back inside the memories that transformed her into the naive, lost young woman she had been. She stood there away from her guests wondering how much of that woman she remained. Vivid memories of stepping down from the plane into a hot storm swept Lahore, she cherished. Years had passed and she had not returned instead she chose to remember the palm trees stoic in their battle to stay standing. The reddish rain puddles that skimmed her long white dress, the horse competing for space in the street, the wall of watermelons. She had marveled at the adventurous spirited city she saw whizz past her on the drive to her relatives compound, and she would never let go of the taste, smell of the falling in love part. It was this enchantment that sustained her through the years.

Zahra had come close on her trip to seeing just how fragile the life of a female could be and yet she managed to keep walking through those days succumbing to her mother’s opinion that her instincts were wrong. She thought herself strong and reasoned she could withstand any of life’s challenges by standing up and fighting her corner just as she had done as the only girl playing out on the street with the boys. Zahra was proud and young in a foreign land without a map, without a mobile phone, only her own courage and conscience to guide her.

Sonia had entered Zahra’s life on this trip and had managed to hold on in Zahra’s mind. Even as Zahra continued her fun and the memory became subdued it didn’t entirely fade. Eventually Sonia travelled back to England with Zahra encased in a gilded framed memory. Zahra’s life continued relentlessly chasing dreams that didn’t always make sense to her.

Sonia stood in her frame watching Zahra try to keep up with the momentum. She never said a word not even a comment on the name Zahra had given her. She was there only reminding her of the terrible accident and Zahra upon remembering would cry out in anger. Why? Zahra wondered why she used Sonia’s memory to torture herself over horrors that occurred in another world to a stranger.

Sonia’s mother was dead and on the day of Sonia’s accident her father had popped out to buy tomatoes for the evening meal. The siblings were alone preparing to cook, seeing to chores and homework, perhaps anticipating watching a drama on T.V. They must have been good children. Zahra did not hear a single negative word about them from the old aunts who knew everyone and everything. She couldn’t recall how they had noticed the commotion outside the huge gate closing them off from the world. Zahra’s cousin had peeked through its small window and noticed something gathered up in a reddish rug, something moving slowly. A body writhing in agony, a hand outstretched? Zahra thought she had heard screams. Was she mistaken?

“I heard screams” she thought.

She remembered trying to get a view of the scene outside their gate. What she had felt at the time she could no longer be certain of, it was a mystery now. However, painful emotions from her stay had remained raw, almost crystal clear but the details of the event remained closed off and smothered in dust. The image, repetitive and surreal kept playing in her mind. Men surrounded the shaking rug. They stood, curious, seriously concerned but not deciding on a solution. She thought she saw someone scratch his head in thought, while others murmured the severity of Sonia’s injuries. A wave of words whispered amongst the men. The words of panic slowly made their way over the gate. Zahra and her cousin began to sense the urgency of the moment and her cousin managed to glean some information from her uncle.

Closing the gate quickly and letting Zahra know that they were forbidden to open it unnecessarily – her cousin told her about the girl in the rug. Sonia’s soft silk scarf had caught light on the oil stove she had lit to prepare their supper. Her father was not at home, her little brother had alerted the men at the workshop nearby and they had carried her to the street up front in the rug. There was nothing we or anyone could do – she would die – her father would come and deal with the tragedy. Zahra wanted someone to call an ambulance and was shocked to find the cost was a factor stopping people from doing so. It would be okay she was told repeatedly.

They went to find their old aunts as they had the power to go outside and direct the situation. Returning from their inspection of the scene the aunts repeated the opinion of the men. The medics could not save her we must wait for her father. Zahra was astonished at their ability to remain calm and rational about it all. She had imagined they would roll up their sleeves and scoop Sonia up in cotton sheets and rescue her from the open street. An ambulance would come, a balm would be applied to ease the pain, something big would happen.

They were hushed. Everyone seemed to accept the situation for Sonia was dire and hopeless. Zahra walked away too. She found out later Sonia had been taken away by an Edhi ambulance and had died from her injuries. She imagined the heat of that evening. It was dusk, there was a stillness in the air, Zahra would often pass the time by walking around the square compound. Zahra remembered the irritating mosquitos out in force in the evenings and how she had loved looking up at the sky, its shining stars and dreaming anxiously of home.

“Those stoves are notorious killers” her grandmother said as Zahra tried to talk with her about the accident. It was surreal and exhausting to know of such happenings. But why did she think of this terrible event often? Was it selfish to squeeze Sonia’s life into a ball of sudden flames and the horrific slow death on a street? Sometimes Zahra thought her death displayed the worst apathy and hypocrisy of the individuals involved in aiding her.

She now looked around the room, the young women seemed happy, and then she glanced directly at her matriarchs who were laughing loudly, shaking the sofa, the table, the cups and Zahra’s confidence in their rules. Zahra’s personal inability to help another woman upset her. However, Zahra understood it was more than that, her own lack of strength to decide her future, her present, her life choices on a daily basis, that infuriated her. Sonia’s tragedy had come back to haunt her as a reminder deep in her heart of the sadness, anger, frustration raging in her veins, in her mind. Zahra did not attend the funeral. She did not know her real name. She forgot her for a while and carried on living, loving, fighting, accepting the rules and playing the role allocated to her.

Zahra accepted the plate of chocolate cake from her cousin and began to eat. She asked for another slice, her mother in law cracked a fat joke, the younger crowd felt uncomfortable but Zahra’s mother in law laughed secure in her role. Zahra felt sick but carried on eating and tried to push down the lump of rage in her throat. Sonia had lay dying alone on a red rug surrounded by strangers. In a place where such things as female ankles, laughter, their presence was monitored and controlled. Where privacy was everything. She asked herself why she upheld the invisible rules of a society that prevented her from going out to comfort Sonia? What had convinced her to obey as a woman when as a child she had fought so hard to rebel?

Zahra tried to shake off these thoughts, to hold back the memories and instead find a topic of conversation correct for the occasion. She decided it was time to gather up the dishes and walk away to the kitchen for a break from the merriment. She told herself to not care about the chocolate cake, the comments or her headache but to think of the courage her ten year old self would tell her she still had hidden somewhere deep within her body. Zahra really smiled and was pleased at her own resolute reflection in the window above the sink. Sonia had died, she had no choices, no future, it was fate they said and what am I?

Zahra had lived as a shadow, paralyzed, accepting of her fate. She had remained a passive onlooker in another young woman’s tragedy and she was sorry. She could not remain passive in her own life, not anymore. It was over.

The rug was further wrapped around Sonia to cover her final moments. There was nothing more to see, her cousin had said.

 

Nazia Shahid is a history graduate at the School of Oriental and African studies in London. She writes fiction and contributes her thoughts to the shespeakswehear blog.