Child Brides of India

By C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 65: Misogyny (Mgg, rom, cons, no sex)

After being slapped across the face and given a few more facts of life from Mom, and then on top of that Priya agrees with her, I wasn’t having a good morning.

The confusing thing for me was that I thought I was fighting the battles that mattered. Wasn’t protecting Haseeba’s safety and future a good battle? Being worried frantic for the safety of a helpless three year-old: isn’t that a good fight?

It finally dawned on me that it wasn’t the battles I was fighting so much as the attitude I had in trying to fight them. Simply because I wasn’t the “mover or shaker” in both of these issues, I was acting childish. All my life everything came easy for me: born with money, good looks and very high intelligence (Mom would say that’s open for debate).

I guess my primary way of dealing with things was if I couldn’t out-think an issue I’d throw money at it. Now, I wasn’t the main player, now I had to rely on others. After realizing this, I scoffed and scolded myself for ultimately being a lousy “team” player.

I wasn’t very good in the patience department either. I can remember Mom saying when I was a kid, “Don’t ever pray for patience. God will bring so many things into your life that require patience, it’ll drive you crazy.”

I guess I didn’t have a choice except wait for others to help resolve these issues. Mom and Priya were right about the fact that Adib and Salima were moral and honorable people capable of doing what’s right: it was a good thing that Alpa called her sister. After that thought, I realized how stupid I was. Of course, you dummy, who better to call than your sister?

I needed to get my mind off of things so after returning to the house, Priya and Mom looked at me as I sat down at the table. I apologized by saying, “Look, Mom, I’m sorry if I seemed insensitive and uncaring about things. I did see and do understand the significance of yesterday’s events. It’s just that when I want to help people like Faatina or Haseeba, I get impatient and sometimes it’s hard for me to rely on others.”

“I’m sorry too, Sean,” Mom replied. “I’m frustrated at things like you are and took it out on you. I’m frustrated by the fact that the men in this country have the prevailing attitude that a woman is a possession and can be done with as they wish.”

“You were right though,” I said, “I do have to trust others sometimes to help accomplish the same goal and try to be a little more patient.”

Mom gave a sigh and said, “Sometimes, all we can do is wait. Wait for others to do what they can or wait to see if there’s anything we can do. Waiting is hard.”

“I’m going to go to the gym for a while. Do you want to come, Priya?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied, “as long as I can go swimming.”

“Sure,” I said. “After I do some weights, I’ll join you in the pool.”

As I stood to go get my things I told Mom, “Again, I’m sorry, Mom for acting like a snot. Maybe Leeya’s rubbing off on me.”

“Apology accepted,” Mom replied, “but now you sound like an old married fart blaming your shortcomings on your wife; shame on you!”

I jutted out my chin and asked, “Want another go?”

Putting her hand over my face, she pushed me back and said, “Get outta here, silly boy.”

Priya and I went upstairs, got our gear together and left for the country club. Upon arrival at the club, Priya went to the pool dressing area while I went to the free weights.

I worked out for about an hour and felt wasted. Boy was I out of shape! I wasn’t sure if I could swim my legs hurt so much from doing squats but I promised Priya and headed to the pool. I changed into my suit, stepped under the shower to rinse off the sweat and steeped out into the pool area.

Priya was playing and splashing around with some older teenage girls about sixteen or seventeen. I dove in on the deep end and swam up behind her underwater and as I came up behind her pinched her ass.

As I was coming out of the water, Priya jumped as well as the three older girls when I made my abrupt, splashing exit from the water behind Priya. I grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up and about half way out of the water as she “Eeek’ed” out in surprise. I said to her, “Miss me?”

Priya turned and slapped my bare chest. Ouch, that hurt!

“Why, you!” she exclaimed as she turned around.

The three older girls waded over to us and the tallest of the three asked, “Who’s this?”

Sticking up her left hand and flashing her rings, Priya answered, “This rude man is Sean, my husband.”

“Your husband?” the taller girl gasped, “My gosh, how old are you? I thought you were only about thirteen!”

Priya giggled and replied, “Not yet, I turned twelve in January. I’m twelve and a half.”

“My God!” exclaimed the shorter one. “My father would beat me black and blue, disown me and throw me out of the house if I wanted to get married at twelve!”

The middle girl batted her eyelashes and coyly grinning asked me, “How old are you, Sean?”

“Twenty,” I replied, “but I’m young at heart.”

Wanting more tidbits, the girls crowded around us giggling. The flirty one asked Priya, “How long have you been married? Are you newlyweds?”

“Almost,” Priya smiled and said, “We’ve been married almost a year. Our anniversary is day after tomorrow, right, Darling?”

Gulp! I forgot all about our first anniversary!

“Uh yeah,” I stumbled, “that’s right, it is.”

“Are you pregnant?” the middle one asked,

Giggling Priya shook her head no and replied, “Oh heavens no.”

The flirty one was standing a little too close so I figured that the girls now had enough fodder for gossip so I kissed Priya’s neck and said, “You girls have a nice chat. I’m going to swim a few laps,” and swam off.

I took a couple of warm-up laps doing the breaststroke and watched the interaction between the girls. Now, Priya was standing in the middle of the three as they chatted like busy bees. Returning my focus on my laps, I ignored the girls and swam.

When I’d finished I swam over to them and the flirty one giggling said to me, “I understand you’re Muslim. I’m seventeen, want another wife?”

Priya looked at her as the other two gasped and I replied, “No, I’m still trying to figure this one out. She’s smarter than me and she always keeps me on my toes.”

“And on your back,” Flirty quipped.

Priya was learning the rule of the last word and nonchalantly answered, “No, I like him on top better.”

This brought a bevy of mouth-covered giggles and blushes and the taller one dreamily said, “I’d like to marry a blonde-haired guy too like you, Priya. You’re so lucky.”

“Yeah,” Priya said, “he swept me off my feet and married me two months later.”

“My Gosh! What did your parents say?” the middle one asked.

“Both of our parents were a little reluctant at first, but agreed and now we’re all very happy about it.”

The middle one looked down, blushed and asked, “I don’t mean to pry, but what was your wedding night like? I mean, I’ve thought about what mine might be like and I was just curious.”

Looking up at me and smiling, Priya answered honestly, “Sean was very loving, gentle and made it a night I’ll never forget.”

Looking up dreamily all three girls swooned.

“Weren’t you scared to death?” the tallest one asked.

“No,” Priya answered, “kinda shy, but I wasn’t scared.”

The middle girl covered her breasts with her arm and replied, “Gosh, just the thought of taking my clothes off in front of a man scares me!”

“Well,” Priya commented, “when you say, ‘I do’, that kinda means you will, doesn’t it?’

Flirty put in as she coyly looked at me, “Is he good?”

Priya shot back, “Better than you’ll ever know.”

With that I said to Priya that it was time we got home to see if there was any news from her parents. The girls said goodbye and waded off, looking back occasionally at us. I noticed Priya now had some cleavage showing in her suit and I commented, “That suit’s getting a little small isn’t it?”

Smiling, she proudly thrust out her chest and replied, “Yeah, great isn’t it? My boobies are growing.”

“I wish you’d stay the same. I love your body the way it is.” I replied honestly.

“Jeez!” she replied, “I’m already gonna be a bald pussy little girl for life. What more do you want?”

Rubbing my arm, she quickly followed up with, “Don’t worry, I won’t grow much and like I said, my nipples will stay the same just like Momma’s and Me Ma’s.”

“Hmmm,” I said jokingly, “Maybe I should marry Me Ma.”

“She’s very hairy down there,’ Priya remarked, “But knowing her, she’d get rid of it all just to fuck your brains out!”

A little shocked I asked, “Come on, Priya, I was just joking! Seriously though, if I asked her to marry me, would she say yes?”

“Seriously?” she asked.

Curious as to what her reply would be I nodded.

“Seriously,” Priya began, “I think that if it were allowable under Islamic law, she just might. Before she met you, she was like she is now, you know, happy, joking and likes to tease but since she met you she always looks at you with a sparkle in her eye.”

Priya paused a moment and added, “I don’t know, maybe it’s just me but I think she wonders ‘What if I were younger’ when she looks at you. You know, you’re her favorite. She likes you more than any of my uncles: even my Dad and she really loves him.”

Surprised, I replied, “Gosh, I didn’t think she might be serious in any way.”

“She’s asked you several times openly, hasn’t she?” Priya observed.

“Yes,” I said, “but I just thought it was harmless family fun.”

“Many truthful things are sometimes said jokingly,” she commented.

“What’s her real name,” I asked her.

“Wajd. Wajd Azeez,” Priya answered.

“What’s it mean?” I asked again.

Giggling and covering her mouth she replied, “Wajd means passion.”

“Oh!” I replied with opened eyes.

Having enough of this conversation, I said, “Come on, let’s get going and get home.”

After a quick shower we dressed and were home by five. Monaavi was again giving music lessons and Mom was in the kitchen talking with Pita.

I asked Mom if she’d heard anything from Salima or Adib and she replied, “Yes, let’s go out to the veranda to talk in peace.”

I poured three glasses of iced tea, handed them to the women and we went out and sat at the veranda table. Mom took a sip of tea and said, “Salima called about an hour ago. Alpa called her and said that she and Amaad wanted to talk to both of your parents, Priya so they went to Amaad and Alpa’s place.”

“It seems,” Mom went on, “that Amaad has been playing the stock market and has lost quite a sum of money. On top of that, he’d purchased quite a large amount on margin and he’s expecting his broker to issue a margin call next week.”

“I knew something was wrong,” Priya noted, “because Aunt Alpa told me at the hospital that their phone was disconnected for nonpayment.”

“So he’s financially strapped,” I said. “When we were at the hospital, he acted like he neither needed nor wanted our help. He even made the comment that he owes no man anything. What does any of this have to do with Faatina?”

With a shrug Mom replied, “I don’t know. Salima said that Amaad and Alpa would soon be put out on the street also. Seems he’s been using every penny he gets speculating on the stock market. Salima said she asked Alpa how she was going to take care of the baby and she said that she didn’t know but a solution had to be reached by Saturday because Faatina was slated to be released on Sunday.”

Not answering my question I asked Mom, “And? Did she say what solution she and Adib came to with them regarding the baby?”

Sipping her tea, Mom shook her head and replied, “No, Amaad wouldn’t agree to anything one way or another. Adib reminded him of our financial status and said that we’d already agreed to pay for whatever Faatina needs, but Amaad was still evasive and noncommittal. Amaad told Adib that he and Alpa would meet with us at Adib’s on Saturday at three pm for a family meeting regarding Faatina, and that’s where things stand at the moment.”

Trying to analyze Amaad’s motives I asked, “I wonder what’s on his mind? First he displays the ‘I’m in control so fuck you’ attitude and now he wants to meet with us. I wonder, I just wonder if he’s going to propose selling his child to us?”

“I asked Salima that,” Mom answered, “but she said that although that might be a possibility, she doubts it. Amaad is pretty fundamentalist in his beliefs and Salima said she doesn’t think he’d outright do that. She told me she had the feeling that Alpa might have an idea what he planned to do but Salima wasn’t sure.”

“Did Salima give you any information regarding her sister?” I asked, “I mean, what’s she like or what kind of person she is? Obviously, she’s afraid of her husband.”

Mom replied, “Salima said that Alpa was the most religious of the three sisters and decided to marry a fundamentalist Muslim because of that, but Amaad is much more extreme and harsh than their devout father ever was. Salima said that her father loved and cherished all his children from both wives and was very empathetic and understanding about the same discrimination Salima and later, Priya endured because of their skin color. Salima said that she senses that Alpa feels trapped and regrets marrying Amaad but knows what could happen if she tried to leave him.”

“Aunt Alpa,” Priya added, “is a really nice person. She’s quiet, gentle and very, very modest. She’s always been kind to us kids. Uncle Amaad was always very strict with Faatina and wouldn’t let her do much with the rest of us. Whenever Aunt Alpa would bring her to our house without him, Faatina would be over active and rambunctious. She and Leeya would have a ball climbing all over the furniture and things.”

Leaning forward on the table, Mom said, “What really shocked me was when Alpa told Salima that Amaad wanted her to get pregnant again. Salima said she about fainted when she heard that.”

“What’s he up to?” I thought out loud, “He has a child that needs both of their undivided attention and now he wants another child when he can’t support the wife and the child he’s got?”

Priya whispered, “He’s gonna let her die. He’s gonna let her die because she’s afflicted and brain damaged. He wants to try and have a son.”

Mom retched and said, “Heavens no! I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“How?” I asked, “He’s penniless!”

“He’ll live,” Priya said, “a destitute life like most of the population with him and his wife and hope he gets his son. Even the poorest of the poor in India have children and it is those children who suffer the most.”

Shaking my head I said to Mom, “I guess this is one of those times when all we can do now is wait — wait until three on Saturday.”

Nodding Mom agreed saying, “Unfortunately, it looks that way, Son.”

Having said all we could say for the time being, we went inside to eat dinner. Monaavi decided to eat with us this evening and I studied her as we ate. She was as giggly and playful at dinner as her tiny charges, teasing and playing little eye games back and forth. As child-like and innocent as she was, I noticed for the first time her light brown eyes were large, expressive and mysteriously sensual. They had an almost smoldering appearance.

After dinner, Priya and Leeya accompanied Monaavi, Pita and Attiya as our driver took them home. Mom and I took the time to explain to Dad everything that we talked about concerning little Faatina and Dad made the comment, “I trust you, Joan and Sean to work things out. Just don’t put yourselves in a position where you’re paying for this man’s habit as blackmail in return for the child. If you do that, you’ll never stop paying. ‘Buying’ her freedom so to speak like you did with Haseeba is one thing, blackmail is another.”

“Yeah, Dad,” I replied, “but what’s the price of a child?”

“I don’t know, Son,” he responded. “I guess whatever it takes.”

“Who is going to be there?” Dad asked as a follow-up.

Looking unsure at each other, Mom said, “I thought that you, Sean, Priya and I would represent our family, but let Sean to the talking. Is that alright with you?”

“I’ll go if you want,” Dad replied. “I don’t know what good I’ll be. This is Sean’s family by marriage and both of us are basically close observers.”

I noted, “Well if there’s gonna be a check written, both of you need to know that and approve.”

Dad replied, “Thanks for the inclusion, Son but we both know you could marry every single female in that family, give them each ten million and still be filthy rich. You don’t need my approval to spend your money: and it will be your money you’re spending - for the record.”

Mom quipped, “Yes, well thankfully he’s only got two empty slots left on his dance card.”

Dad smiled at Mom and quipped back, “Why don’t you marry Me Ma, Sean and shorten the list. Maybe my hair will stop falling out. At least she’s legal.”

I thought to myself as we chuckled, Why all this talk suddenly of Me Ma? At almost sixty, she could be my grandmother. Then I remembered, Hell, I could be Leeya’s father, too.

After evening prayers and lying in bed, Priya and I waited until Leeya was asleep to talk about Faatina. We tried to brainstorm all the possibilities as to what Amaad had on his mind. If we “bought” her, we’d need to hire a nurse to care for her and put an addition onto the house for living quarters or buy a bigger house. Mom could probably take care of her when Priya returned to school in the event we hadn’t hired someone, but Priya wasn’t sure if at twelve, she could be a mother yet.

We discussed supporting Amaad and Alpa and letting Alpa raise and care for her own child but that would be like blackmail. It might never end depending on whether or not Faatina ever relearned enough skills to be somewhat independent. Even so, keeping Faatina with her mother, whatever the cost, we felt was the best solution. Needless to say, it was a fretful night.

The next day being Friday, Monaavi was off for prayers. The two younger girls spent a good portion of the day practicing their music lessons. I went to the office, but because of my mental distraction I was basically just putting in time. We had a quiet dinner, said prayers and had another fretful night of sleep.

Saturday morning, Priya called her mom and they talked for a good while. I was on pins and needles waiting for the time to leave. Priya said that Sarah and Haseeba would be out and that only her parents and our family along with Amaad and Alpa would be there.

We had an unusually quiet lunch and Leeya and Attiya both knew something was amiss but didn’t inquire what was wrong. I asked Pita if she could watch the girls and she replied that in all probability the piano would do most of the babysitting.

Two-fifteen rolled around and we readied ourselves and left for Adib’s. We arrived about two forty-five and after exchanging salaams, we noticed that Amaad and Alpa were already there sitting at the dining room table.

After rustling up a few folding chairs, we sat down to business. I politely extended my hand and gave my salaams to both Alpa and Amaad as did Priya. My parents smiled and nodded their greeting.

After a minute of silence, wondering who would begin, Adib said as Salima translated, “My brother-in-law, Amaad has asked us here today to discuss a family issue.”

I wasn’t going to beat around the bush with him and asked, “What family issue is that?”

Amaad knew I wasn’t going to be a push over and looked at me sternly with a little arrogance. Thinking a moment, he sighed and said, “I have to admit that some of my business investments are doing poorly and I am in danger of losing my business and my home.”

“No problem, Uncle,” I replied. “How much do you need to get back on your feet?”

Calling his bluff, I pulled out my checkbook and pen. He stared at my hand waiting to write the check, swallowed and replied, “I appreciate your kind offer but I have to respectfully decline. I have gone through life owing no man and I wish to keep it that way.”

Setting my pen down I asked, “Then what do you propose to do? Your daughter will come home from the hospital tomorrow, you’ve probably incurred thousands of dollars worth of medical bills and then there’s the daily matter of providing for your family. How do you propose to do that?”

Playing cat and mouse, he asked, “I was hoping you might have a suggestion.”

“I do,” I replied holding up and waving the checkbook, “I’ll write you a check for the total of what you owe for your speculation in the market. I’ll cover Faatina’s medical bills and whatever else she may need and I’ll even give you a job if that’s what it takes. Just give me a number, pick your daughter up tomorrow, take her home, give her all your love and let your wife raise your child.”

With a stoic stare he looked at me a moment and said, “Then I’d owe you more than I’d make in a lifetime.”

Shaking my head I replied, “No you wouldn’t. It’d be just like me inviting a family member over for dinner and paying for the food. This time, the meal is simply bigger. It’s family helping family. No strings attached: you wouldn’t owe me a rupee.”

Silently he shook his head no.

“Then what do you suggest, Amaad?” I asked him. “Do you want me to adopt your daughter and as her guardian I’d pay for her bills and care?”

“How could I let you adopt my child?” he asked. “She’s not an orphan. She has a mother and father and a family name.”

Tired of his games I stretched out my hands and said, “Look, we’re all married adults; tell me exactly what you want. Let’s not play word games and profess false fundamental piety here.

“Let’s put all the cards on the table and tell it like it is,” I said as I smacked the table. “What you really want is a son. You have a daughter that you wished was a son. Now, because that daughter is disabled and needs your love and care, you want to rid yourself of her somehow. We both know what’s best for Faatina is for her mother to raise and care for her. If that’s not in your ‘plan’, then tell me why I’m here.”

“There is a way,” he said cunningly.

“Then out with it man!” I replied. “What do I have to do to save Faatina’s life and help her become a normal kid again?”

“Marry her.” he said pointedly and directly.

“What! Are you out of your fucking mind?” I exclaimed.

Everyone in the room slumped, gasped and was completely shocked and repulsed by his statement. Alpa put her face in her hands and began sobbing uncontrollably.

Looking at him dumbfounded I answered, “You want me to marry your three year-old daughter who’s now in diapers and being feed with a bottle? Are you insane?”

Amaad folded his arms on his chest and replied, “Insane? No. Just think. If you marry her, you offer a dower to include a certain amount of money as a ‘gift’ to her parents that will clear our debts. As her husband, you take responsibility for her hospital debts and care and she gains a loving family. We all benefit. Faatina gets a husband and in her condition, no man would ever marry her. We save face and complete our obligation to our daughter by finding her a husband and you get another child bride.”

“What the hell is wrong with this misogynistic society?” I exclaimed, “You hate your daughter so much you’d do this to her: sell her to get rid of a mouth to feed? If not, you’d starve her to death?”

Amaad replied, “I’d feed her what I can provide.”

Adib cut in and asked, “What does this word mean, Sean?”

Not feeling like giving a vocabulary lesson, I shot back, “Misogynist: it’s a noun that means a person who has an extreme dislike or hatred towards girls or women.”

Turning back to Amaad I continued with, “Yeah, and starve her to death using the excuse that you’re destitute and can’t afford to properly feed her. What’s wrong with the family she has? If she were my daughter, I’d scrub toilets to give her what she needs! As for Faatina never being able to marry, you’re willing to let this child slowly die without ever giving her the chance to even try to learn to be normal again. As for another child bride, how can I marry a baby that can’t even feed herself or control her personal habits and say I’m doing the right thing? This is absolutely insane!

“Besides,” I added, “the dower is a gift for the bride alone, not a penny of it is supposed to pay the parents for her hand. That’s the law. What you want is for me to buy your infant daughter for marriage.”

All the women in the room were sobbing and Dad, Adib and I had locked our jaws to keep from pouncing on him and killing him with our bare hands.

Unwavering, Amaad said, “This is my proposal. You take her hand and pick her up tomorrow and we’ll set a date for the ceremony or I take her home and let life take its course.”

I stood up shaking my hand at him and rebutted, “What? Now you’re threatening me and telling me either I marry her or she’ll die of starvation?”

“I didn’t say that,” he replied smugly, “you did.”

Trying to reason with him I said waving my checkbook, “Look man! I’m willing to support you, your wife and Faatina for life. I’ll buy you a house and give you a job. It doesn’t have to come to this! This wouldn’t be a loan; you wouldn’t owe me anything – ever!”

“I don’t want your hand-out,” he replied.

“What do you call the gift in the dower: a wedding present - to the father?” I shouted.

“Call it what you wish,” he responded.

Adib implored him, “Brother, don’t do this sin. She’s a baby, let her mother wean her again and raise the fruit of her womb.”

Amaad looked at Adib and replied, “Sometimes the fruit is rotten, Brother.”

I looked at Dad and I’d never seen him so conflicted. He had tears of sadness while at the same time his face was red with rage and hatred. I think that at that moment, we both wished we had a gun. Mom and Salima got up and ran to the bathroom to vomit they were so repulsed. Priya had her face buried on the table in her arms sobbing and moaning while Alpa had slid to the floor in utter grief wailing.

That fat fucker just sat there: arms folded, cold, callous and unyielding with that smug look on his face. I wanted to rip his fucking heart out! I threw my checkbook on the table, turned and walked to the front porch.

I banged my head against the doorframe and cried. I kept asking myself, “What can I do God to get through to him?”

I must have been out there for about five minutes when my family came out to retrieve me. We hugged each other and cried. I turned to my parents as I hugged Priya and looked over her head and asked, “What can we do, Dad? Mom? This isn’t right. That poor child can’t even speak. It’d be like marrying a newborn right out of the womb. What do we do?”

Priya looked up at me and said, “Marry her. She may grow up and never know she’s married. We’ll just raise her, love her and help her become whatever she can be. We’ll take care of her. She deserves a life, Sean, and that bastard will let her die, just like Leeya and I said. The thought of being a mother right now terrifies me, but I’ll be the best mother I can be to prevent her death. When she’s older, if she recovers and can make decisions for herself and she wants to be with you then let it be her decision.”

“Mom? I asked, “What do you think I should do?”

With head down and hand on her brow crying Mom uttered, “I don’t know, Sean. I just don’t know. There’s nothing in my life I can draw on for a solution. Priya’s right in that we can’t just stand by and let the child die knowing she’s being starved to death. Try to reason with him again, see if that’ll work.”

Dad agreed with Mom and said, “Mom’s right; think, Son. There has to be another answer.”

Agreeing to try, we went back inside. I suddenly thought of Mohammad. He’d taken Aisha’s hand when she was five or six but didn’t actually marry her until she was nine. We again took our seats and I began the negotiations for Faatina’s life anew.

I took a breath and said to that pious fratricidal maniac, “Here’s what I propose. I will take Faatina’s hand in marriage as a promise, but we’ll not have a ceremony. This will assure that she will have a husband. As her espoused, I will assume all costs regarding her care and support. Faatina will remain in the care of her mother until she’s nine or if she reaches menses before that. At which point we’ll conclude our marriage agreement with the ceremony. I site Mohammad’s espousal to Aisha at five or six. While sick, Aisha remained in the care of her mother until her illness had passed and Mohammad married her at the age of nine. Will this be agreeable to you?”

Amaad sat silent for a few moments, rubbed his chin and said, “What you propose is interesting but there are a few points you overlook. Mohammad did not support Aisha when she was ill, her father did. And unlike Aisha, what makes you think that Faatina’s illness will pass? As for Faatina, I ask you what of her shelter? Would you not provide a place for her to live? If you did, that would mean that I would be indebted to you for the roof over my head. The food in her mouth, wouldn’t I also partake of the meal? I would then be indebted to you for the food in my belly. What say you to this?”

Everyone in the room was silent with disbelief. I had offered this man a solution that saved his “face” and at the same time provided for his child. Everyone there knew then that he had fully intended to rid himself of his child all along one way or another: even if it meant murdering her by slowly starving her to death. I looked at Mom and Dad and they just hung their heads in futility. I looked at Priya and she grabbed my hand and squeezed it saying, “Let her live, Sean.”

I looked at my in-laws and they looked expectantly for my response. I looked at Alpa sitting on the floor looking up with an imploring look on her face that seemed to beg me to take her child.

I turned to him and said simply, “I’ll marry her but I want an admission from you. You admit to everyone here that you’d rather kill your daughter than care for her yourself.”

He looked at me with hatred and said, “I’ll make no such statement. Either you’ll marry her or you won’t. It makes no difference to me one way or another.”

With a heavy sigh, I replied, “So be it, I’ll take Faatina’s hand. I will have my driver pick you up tomorrow morning and bring you and your wife here to Adib’s by nine am. I will have a letter transferring guardianship to me, which you and Alpa will sign giving me custody of Faatina. As you know, in India I cannot marry a three year-old, so I will legally became her guardian: not her spouse. You and your wife will accompany me to the hospital to pick up Faatina. We’ll then set a ceremony date after all the arrangements can be made. Tomorrow, I’ll expect the amount of your ‘gift?’ at which time I’ll give you a check. Is this agreeable with you?”

He silently nodded.

It was done. I would now have an infant-like three year-old as my wife and I hoped Allah would give me the strength to raise her as my child and grow to be a happy, somewhat normal woman.

With nothing more to be said, I offered my salaams and went to the car and wept. Mom, Dad and Priya followed a few minutes later and we left for home. Dad called his lawyer and told him what we needed and that he needed it tonight.

Mom said, “Once you get that guardianship signed, you’re not obligated to marry her. You know that, don’t you?”

“My sentiments exactly,” I replied.

Priya said, “But you gave your word! Are you as cunning and deceitful as he?”

“Priya,” I replied pleadingly, “It’s just ridiculous to marry her at her age and mental capacity.”

“Keep your honor, Husband,” Priya advised. “The difference between you and men like Mahmoud and Amaad is that you are man of honor and truth. Are you now corrupted by them?”

“If this is what you really want, Priya,” I answered, “she’ll be like a daughter to me.”

Mom, Priya and I embraced and cried together for several minutes and I said to Priya, “Well, it looks like we’re going to be the parents of a three year-old baby. How does it feel to be a mother?”

“I’m mixed,” she replied, “happy that we’ve given Faatina a new life, but sad that it had to come to this. I hope I can be a good mother and sister to her.”