Child Brides of India

By C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 64: Tiny Victories (Mgg, rom, cons, no sex)

The following day was pretty nondescript. Priya and I finally got around to unpacking the suitcases, and then just lounged around the rest of the day.

After breakfast the following morning, I went to the office with Dad for a while but left at noon to go see Haseeba at Adib’s. When I arrived, Priya was there talking with Haseeba, Sarah and her Mom and answered the door. She told me to wait a minute until the girls put on their veils. The bruise on Haseeba’s face had lightened some but was still clearly visible.

I thought that I’d better take some pictures in case the evidence of Mahmoud’s abuse faded making our case to the Imaam more difficult to prove so I asked Sarah if she had a digital camera. She went to her room and returned with a small, basic digital camera. I took several photos and asked Sarah to download and print a copy of each and email them to me also.

Sitting at the table, I called and spoke to the Imam and I was shocked to learn that a Muslim man can divorce his wife, but the wife can only take the initiative under a rule called ‘Khul’. By doing this, she claims an aversion to her husband and agrees to pay him a sum not to exceed her dower. The wife can, however obtain a divorce for abandonment if her husband has been gone for six months or more.

I asked him “What if he made no monetary dower, only his love and support which she accepted along with certain promises.”

“That may pose a problem,” he replied. “Her husband may attach a monetary value to those promises and she may be required to pay it.”

“That’s ludicrous!” I answered angrily. “What if he’s physically abused her?”

“Although frowned upon,” Imam said, “a man has the right to physically correct his wife if he so chooses.”

I thanked Imam for his time and instruction and we disconnected. I sadly explained the Imam’s interpretation of the law. I ended my revelation by saying “It may come down to me paying that scum to grant you a divorce, Haseeba.”

“I’m sorry to be such a burden to you and Priya, Sean,” Haseeba apologized.

Shaking my head I gave her a soothing smile and replied, “You’re no burden at all, Haseeba. It’s just the idea of having to pay that son of a bitch for abusing you - that angers me!”

The other women were visibly distressed with the unspoken fact that women aren’t treated with equality in such things. After a few moments of silence I said, “Well, there’s nothing we can do until they find the slimy pig. Let’s go home, Priya. The piano should be coming soon.”

With familial hugs and kisses we said our salaams and left to go home. Pulling into the driveway, the truck had just arrived and opening the door to remove the piano. We went inside and both of the imps were jumping up and down, chomping at the bit to starting pounding the ivories.

After moving some furniture around, I showed the movers where to put it. Forty-five minute s later, we had a new, beautiful walnut finished upright piano sitting against the wall in the study.

Corralling the girls, Monaavi had them clean up their school table and put away all the books, pencils, crayons and papers before moving to the piano. I jokingly said to Monaavi, “Take a break. Let them plunk around on it for a while and release some of their excitement.”

Giggling she replied, “You’re probably right. They’re in no mood for instruction at the moment.”

As we drank tea in the dining room, we were laughing as we listened to a rendition of Dual Munchkin Concerto Number One in Pixie Major: a classic in the making to say the least!

When the sounds coming from the usually quiet study seemed to subside some, Monaavi quipped, “I hope they didn’t knock it out of tune. Let me give them their first lesson.”

With that she rose and went to her charges. As she sat with a tiny student on each side of her on the bench, she took a finger on each of their hands and showed them how to play “Chopsticks” together.

After numerous tries, Attiya picked it up quickly and was getting frustrated because Leeya kept making a mistake, causing them to start over.

Impatient, she pushed Leeya’s hand away and began playing both parts herself! As Mom, Priya and I stood in the doorway watching in total amazement, Monaavi turned, smiled and said, “I told you so.”

Leeya sat with mouth agape as she stared at Attiya repeat the song over and over without a mistake. Pita, hearing the tune came to stand next to us and when she saw her baby playing a song by herself, she fell to her knees, covered her mouth crying with amazed joy.

After playing through the tune about ten times, Attiya, the virtuoso, stopped, turned and gave us a non-expressive look as if to say, “I’m finished.”

With wide-eyed shock we looked at her silently then began to clap for her. She gave a shy smile and in return, turned around and began to give us an encore.

Amazing! Simply amazing!

Leeya felt jealous and bolted past us and up the stairs crying. We chuckled at her and Priya said, “I’ll go talk to her” and went upstairs to have a talk with her sister.

Monaavi put her hands gently on Attiya’s and stopped her from playing. Smiling at her, Monaavi began to show her how to play “Mary Had a Little Lamb”. Again after about four or five repetitions of instruction, Attiya played it on her own. We were all dumbfounded!

Dad came in without us noticing and when he saw her playing shook his head and said, “Well I’ll be damned. When did she learn that?”

Mom hugged and rubbed his arm and replied, “About thirty seconds ago.”

After playing her second song, Attiya stopped and looked up at Monaavi silently waiting for more instruction. Monaavi splayed her fingers open and played a chord and said, “This is a ‘C’ chord, a ‘C’.”

Attiya bend her head down to see the position of Monaavi’s fingers and after a couple of attempts to spread her fingers confidently pounded out the chord. Monaavi moved her fingers and played another saying “This is a ‘D’ Chord, a ‘D’.”

Attiya then seemed to read her teacher’s mind because she moved her fingers and played another cord, looked up and Monaavi said, “E.”

Attiya went up the scale until she’d finished on a high “C”, one octave higher. God’s gift to Attiya was the gift of music. It was such an emotionally heartwarming joy to see a child, who had struggled with great difficulty to learn the subjects of school and to speak; but here, at a piano, it was as if she intuitively knew what to do and had found something she naturally excelled at.

Priya returned with a sour-faced Leeya and Mom whispered something to her. Leeya quietly walked tentatively to her classmate and putting her hand on Attiya’s shoulder leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Attiya smiled then Leeya walked around the bench and took her seat next to Monaavi. Monaavi smiled at her, gave her a squeeze and kissed her on top of her head.

Mom told Pita to bring tea and several minutes later we entered the study and sat, holding our tea. I poured one for Pita and said, “Sit, let’s listen to the concert.”

Monaavi turned in surprise and asked, “What concert?”

With a wave of her hand, Mom replied, “Why yours of course. Play us something.”

With a sigh and a smile Monaavi turned and laid her hands on the keys. She began to play a soft, melodic piece and it seemed very nice to hear the house filled with music.

As she played the girls looked on. Leeya was just observing as would any five year-old, but Attiya was intently focused on Monaavi’s fingers. When she’d finished the piece, she turned and looked shyly at us. We began to clap causing her to blush a beautiful shade of pink. She must have felt the heat of the blush and out of shyness, covered her mouth and nose with her veil. Her light brown eyes sparkled with shy accomplishment as we acknowledged her talent.

Dad remarked, “That was beautiful, Monaavi! What’s that piece called?”

Behind her veil-covered face, she replied softly, “Its Mozart’s Adante from Concerto #21. I didn’t do justice to it but I really love the piece.”

“I thought it was beautiful!” Mom replied.

“Thank you,” Monaavi replied. “I think I should get ready to leave. It’s been a very exciting day for all of us.”

After Monaavi had left, Attiya now became the teacher and was showing Leeya how to play “Chopsticks”. Watching the girls together Mom commented, “Did you see Monaavi blush? She looked so lovely and mysterious with her face behind her veil. She was so shy to be in the spotlight, almost as if she wanted to hide.”

Priya commented, “She’s a very humble person and seems to like to work quietly without drawing a lot of attention to herself. In some ways, I wish I were more like her. She’s a very religious Muslim woman and very modest.”

Agreeing I added, “She’s truly a remarkable human being and she has such a gift with children.”

Because Pita joined the audience and watched the girls and Monaavi play, dinner was late. We pitched in and it wasn’t too long before we had to almost pry the girls way from the piano.

Leeya gave in and went to wash up while Attiya stood motionless and silent in front of the piano and stared at it. With an almost reverence she slid the bench under the keys, took a towel and wiped the keys and slowly lowered the lid. As she turned to leave, she brushed her hand across the lid and walked towards me.

Watching this unfold, I couldn’t help but choke up to see that she had truly connected to this assembly of wood, ivory and steel. Through this instrument she could speak volumes. She stopped suddenly when she saw me staring at her and she looked solemnly at me and gave a slight tender smile.

I squatted down and enfolded her in my arms. Patting her back I whispered in her ear, “It’s yours, Sweetheart, it’s all yours.”

She put her hands on my shoulders and gave them a gentle squeeze. I let her go and she walked gingerly to the table. As you might imagine, dinner was a very happy one and the topic of conversation was our resident virtuoso and Monaavi’s lovely piece. Leeya was no longer jealous, or so it seemed.

Pita was like Cinderella going to the ball; she was floating on air. Every time she looked at her baby, her eyes started to well up with pride. Her baby was now equal or better than any child on the face of the earth — and she knew it! Little Attiya showed glimpses of her internal feelings, and for her, that was enough — she’d let her fingers do the talking!

After dinner, while we were cleaning up the dinner dishes, the girls returned to their new toy.

Everything finished for the evening, Pita called for Attiya to leave. She bolted for the kitchen, stopped, turned and walked to the study door. She stood with her hand on the doorframe and gazed at her new friend silently for a moment then turned to join her mother.

The hour was late, after eight, so I had our driver take Pita and Attiya home. We retired to the bedroom for evening prayers after saying our goodnights. We finished prayers and settled into bed.

Lying in bed, Leeya said, “Attiya’s better than me on the piano, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Sweetheart she is,” I replied. “You’re better at everything else, why should you be jealous of her being better on the piano?”

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I guess I was being a snot again, wasn’t I?”

“Just a little,” I said, “but you made it up to her with a kiss, right?”

“Uh huh,” she said. “I’m happy she’s gooder at it than me.”

“She’s better,” I corrected.

“Yeah better,” she affirmed.

“How’s Faatina?” Leeya asked.

Priya propped herself up on an elbow facing her and replied, “Faatina’s not the same anymore, Sister. She’s like a tiny baby now and will need lots of love to make her better.”

“What do you mean not the same, like a baby?” Leeya asked.

“Her brain was damaged, Leeya,” Priya answered. “She’s like a little baby now. She can’t walk or talk and has to wear a nappy again.”

Leeya started to cry and said, “She’s gonna die too, I just know it!”

I hugged my tiny wife to me and comforted her with, “Sshhh, she’s not going to die. She just needs to learn all these things over again.”

“You don’t understand,” she replied tearfully. “Uncle Amaad is a bad man. He hates us kids and he’ll just let her die. I know it.”

Reassuring her I said, “No one’s going to let her die. Why would you say such a thing?”

Leeya sat up, wiped her face with the back of her hand and replied, “Cause he’s just like my Daddy. I seen him lots of times look at my cousin, Abdul like he wants a boy. Now that she’s sick he’ll let her die.”

Priya sat up quickly and agreeing said, “Sean, she may be right. If Faatina is like a baby, she’ll need to be fed, bathed and changed like a baby. If he doesn’t feed her or take care of her, she could die of starvation or get sick with an infection or something.”

“Come on you two,” I responded. “Do you think for one minute that Alpa would let that happen?”

“You never know,” Priya cautioned. “You heard what the Imam said today. Women don’t have very many rights in a Muslim household.”

Disagreeing I said, “I can’t believe that it would ever come to that. I’m betting that Alpa would take her and leave before that ever happened.”

“You saw what Mahmoud did to Haseeba,” Priya stated. “If a Muslim woman ever took a man’s child out of the home, he’d beat her to death. To Muslims, the child belongs to the man: even if it’s an unwanted child. The child is the fruit of his loins and as such belongs to him like anything else he owns.”

“This is all emotional speculation, Priya,” I replied. “No man hurts his own flesh.”

Leeya shot back with, “He does when he’s not the one feeling the pain. Daddy knew I was getting beat. He just made you believe different.”

She had me there. Mahmoud had indeed deceived me about what was really in his heart. Commenting on her observation, “You’ve got a point there, Munchkin. I promise I’ll talk to Salima and Adib. I’ll find out what they think might happen. If I can do anything to help, Mom, Dad, you two and the whole family will help. I promise, okay?”

Both agreed to trust me to fulfill my promise. We settled down and went to sleep.

After our morning ritual and at the breakfast table, Leeya asked, “Are you gonna call Uncle Adib and Aunt Salima today?”

Mom, with a confused look asked, “Why, what’s up?”

I didn’t want to get into it in front of Pita or Attiya so I replied, “We’ll talk after breakfast.”

That got a rise out of Dad as he flipped down the corner of his paper and said, “What now? Something to do with Haseeba?”

“No, Dad,” I replied as I swallowed, “It’s about Faatina.”

Mom took that as a cue and said, “Don’t feel bad, girls, I have my fears about her also. I don’t know why, but with the exception of Adib, I’m beginning not like Muslim men. There’s something fishy about him just like Mahmoud but I can’t put my finger on it yet.”

Nodding I replied, “The girls feel the same way. Anyway, we’ll talk more after breakfast.”

With that, Dad folded his paper as he rose from the table and said, “Well, I’m off.”

He kissed the girls and Mom goodbye and I puckered up and he said, “Don’t you get enough of that with these two?”

I chuckled and replied, “Yeah, but I’m on quarantine.”

Patting me on the shoulder he said, “Well, Son, it looks like you’ll have to do what you did before you got married: abstain.”

“What’s abstain mean, Poppy?” Leeya asked.

Dad replied, “That means he has to do without.”

Leeya quipped, “He can’t — he’s a letch.”

Throwing back a laugh Dad replied, “He’s your letch, not mine.”

With that he left for the office. I turned to the imp and said, “Thanks for the dig.”

Sticking out her tongue she impishly whined, “Well, you called me a harlot.”

Mom started giggling and Leeya turned to her and asked, “What’s so funny about that?”

“Oh nothing,” Mom said, “your remark just reminded me about living and sharing, that’s all.”

Priya and I chuckled, knowing what she was thinking. Leeya just looked confused and said “Huh?”

Attiya ate quickly without speaking and scooted off to the study. As we were finishing eating, she started playing “Chopsticks” again and then she started to slowly plunk out in single notes the melody of Monaavi’s performance.

Mom said, “What’s she playing, it sounds familiar?”

I listened closer and said with surprise, “She’s trying to play the song Monaavi played yesterday. Listen.”

Mom tuned her ear to the study and both she and Priya replied, “It is!”

Mom chuckled in amazement and said, “Bless her heart, she’s going to be playing Carnegie Hall if she keeps this up!”

Monaavi arrived and heard Attiya’s simple attempt at Mozart and rushed to her, enfolded her in her arms and rocked her back and forth. She stood back a moment and said to Attiya, “That’s wonderful, Sweetie, I’ll show you more today, okay?”

Attiya looked at her and nodded then went back to her practice. After eating, Leeya trundled off to join her fellow student and I knew I couldn’t talk to Salima over the munchkins playing on the piano so I grabbed a glass of iced tea and stepped out onto the veranda.

I called Adib’s and Sarah answered the phone. After exchanging salaams I asked if either her mother or her father were home and she replied, “No, Aunt Alpa called. I think it has something to do with Faatina. Anyway they left.”

“All right,” I said. “When they get home please have one of them call me okay? How’s Haseeba”

“Okay, I’ll tell them” she replied. “Haseeba’s fine, she’s on the computer.”

“Oh by the way,” I injected, “did you email me those photos yet?”

“No, I forgot” Sarah answered. “I’ll do it now before I forget again.”

“Thanks. Tell Haseeba I said hi,” I said. “Make sure you tell your parents I want to speak to them, all right?”

“I will, to both,” she replied, “Assalamu aliakom.”

“Wa aliakum asslalm,” I replied. “Goodbye, Sarah.”

“Goodbye, Sean.” Click.

I set the phone down on the table and said to myself, “Shit! This has been a fucked up two weeks!”

For no reason at all, I began to sob. As I covered my face with my hands, I had this overwhelming feeling of helplessness. The same helplessness I felt as I watched Emmy’s life ebb away before my very eyes.

I was trying to grieve (that wasn’t true, I pushed it to the back of my mind, not wanting to deal with it), trying to protect Haseeba and her dreams and now, there’s a three year-old girl who’s reduced to an infant that might possibly perish on top of everything

I was blocked at every turn. There was no word on Mahmoud and upon hearing about Alpa’s call for help; I was in the dark and even more worried as far as Faatina was concerned.

Priya and Mom came out, saw me crying and asked what was wrong. I shook my head and wiped my face trying to toughen up and said, “Nothing… no it’s everything.”

They sat, one on either side of me and Priya said, “Tell me, Sean, what’s wrong?”

With a heavy sigh I replied, “I feel like I’m treading water with my hands tied. I can’t do anything about Haseeba until they find that fucker and when I called your parent’s house to speak to one of them about Faatina, Sarah told me that Alpa called and they went to her. I’m dead in the water. I can’t get any results on anything. I just have that deep sense of helplessness I had watching Emmy die.”

Priya stood and moved to sit on my lap, hugging me to her breast. Mom stroked my arm and said, “Son, you’re trying to do everything on your own and you’re letting your emotions get the best of you.”

“First off,” she continued, “it’s true: you can’t do much about Haseeba until they find Mahmoud. You just have to be patient and let the investigator do what he does best. I know things may not be going as fast as you’d like, but sometimes you just have to rely on others.”

Cocking her head and raising an eyebrow Mom said, “As far as Faatina is concerned, don’t you think Adib and Salima know the situation a little better than you and are fully capable of doing what’s right? You need to trust the people that are close to you. You’re not the only person who has morals and cares about others; give your family a little credit.”

Priya agreed and added, “Mom’s right. You should feel relieved that Aunt Alpa was able to call Momma and Poppa to come and help her. She probably had to sneak away to make the call. Remember, her phone was disconnected? Momma knows Uncle Amaad better than we do, she’ll figure something out.”

Sighing, I replied, “I don’t know, it just seems like things are turning to shit.”

Mom reached across the table and slapped me across the face.

She stood and said, “Now you’re acting like a snot-nosed brat having a pity party. The miracle we saw yesterday as we watched Attiya play the piano, was that shit? Or the joy Pita felt at seeing her daughter be the best in the room and excel at something, boy, that’s a real pile of shit isn’t it? And I guess you didn’t see the sparkle in Monaavi’s eyes. She’s as happy as the children to play again; that must have been shit also”

Pacing back and forth in front of me she turned and said, “Look, Son, the joys of this sad and painful world come in tiny victories. Sadly, many times we rush through life and don’t even recognize their significance. We look to the big accomplishments, climb high mountains and point, throw out our chests and say to the world, ‘Hey look at this: see what I’ve done?’ You need to realize that the best opportunities in life are usually the smallest, speak softly and are easily recognized once they’ve been lost. What you did for that little girl in there is monumental! By providing her with that piano, you’ve unlocked her inner self to share what’s in her heart to the world through music. Don’t you realize that she may make progress by leaps and bounds in all areas simply through her music and her autism could possibly be overcome?”

Mom sat again as she got her second wind and went on with, “You are so blind sometimes, Sean. Imagine what it’s like for Attiya. Inside her head, she’s as normal and possibly as smart as you but because of some fluky gene, it’s locked away, screaming to get out. And what of Faatina? She has to start her entire life over and relearn three years of skills and knowledge. Pick and choose your battles, Son. Fight the one’s worth fighting that mean something in people’s lives and fuck the rest of it because that’s all shit!”

With that, she stood and left.

Priya kissed me on the cheek and said, “I guess she told you, didn’t she?”

Then she got up and left.

Shaking my head, I realized that I was wallowing in self-pity. Time and time again my mother showed me her wisdom and an unbelievable ability to know what matters most in life. It’s as if she makes it a point to stop along the way every day and see those seemingly insignificant victories in life and draw her strength. That’s probably why she’s so strong. Dad did say she could turn stone into gold. I was beginning to believe him.

I said a prayer of thanks to God for my mother and for help and guidance in meeting the challenges that face me. I still had that twinge of helplessness but now I knew it was because of my own lack of maturity. There was nothing I could have done for Emmy; no one could, but now I just have to try and make a difference in the lives of those that are close to me.