Lightness of Being…

“THE BASTARD KILLED HER, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD” Angie was screaming into the phone.

It was two in the morning and Sophia was barely lucid.

“What?” 

The line went dead before she got a response.

Sophia went to the living room and saw that her dad had disconnected the phone.

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT?”

“Who are you talking to now? It is two in the morning” 

“ITS ANGIE! I THINK SHE IS IN TROUBLE, I NEED TO TALK TO HER” 

“NO. SHE CAN WAIT TILL MORNING” 

“You know what I don’t give a shit, I am going over there” 

“YOU ARE NOT LEAVING THIS HOUSE” 

“Oh yeah, try to stop me why don’t you?” 

Sophia went to her room and put on some clothes in a hurry.

Her confrontations with her dad had taken on a more savage streak. He became her symbol for everything she loathed in this world. She despised his thick accent; futile demands for respect; embarrassing latch on Afghani culture; and most of all she loathed everything in him that reminded her of herself.

Her father was standing vigil by the door.

“GET OUT MY WAY OR I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL CALL THE COPS ON YOUR ASS”

“Oh you think I am so afraid of your police?” 

They stood confronting each other with venom dripping between them.

“Both of you STOP IT” Sonya came in livid.

“Mom it’s Angie, I think something terrible has happened to her mom, I have to go there”  

“Okay let me get dressed I will take you”

“WHAT? NONE OF YOU ARE LEAVING HERE, I FORBID IT” 

Sonya just walked back into the room and started changing her clothes.

Hamza followed her: “WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THIS? WHY ARE YOU SO  INTENT INTO TURNING ME INTO A WOMAN?”

Sonya looked at him with tears in her eyes “These kids have known each other since they were in elementary school; if your best friend, Salah, needed you at two in the morning would you want to stay home and wait till the next day?” 

{-}

By the time they made it to Angie’s house, the cops, ambulance, and some press were already sprawled all over the place. At first they didn’t allow them in, and then at Angie’s request, Sophia was brought inside.

Angie’s eyes were swollen, her face red, and without her normal makeup she looked really young and vulnerable.

Sophia hugged her tight not saying a word.

{-}

Mariam’s wedding to the Imam was small, simple and joyous.

She wore a plain white silk dress with little pink roses lining the fringes, a matching white and pink laced scarf, studded with pearls on the top of the head.

Her hands and legs were decorated with intricate Henna flowers, her body scrubbed clean with wax, and perfumed with rose essence. Her makeup was light and subtle; accentuating her gorgeous black eyes, high cheekbones and pretty pink glossed lips.

Everyone gushed at how gorgeous she truly was. Some of the younger brothers regretted not noticing her earlier. Most of the sisters could not believe she got picked over them.

“She isn’t even all that!”

Imam Tariq’s family came and since they were all non Muslim it caused quite a stir. Both camps eyed each other with placating smiles and a little consternation.

His family wondered if Mariam was too young for him; after all she was only 20 while he was about to turn 28. In Eastern cultures that age gap was actually quite small. A woman was known to mature much faster than a man, so the younger the bride the longer lasting the happiness of the marriage would be. Or something to that effect.

Some of his extended family also fretted about being in such close proximity to all those Mozlems and wondered if their own presence in a mosque would later get them in trouble.

His new community could not get over their beloved Tariq being so closely related to non Muslims; and he let his younger sister wear a dress that scandalous?  

His mom who absolutely adored Mariam’s pleasant mannerisms and good sense implored her
Tyler (Tariq’s former name) not to mistreat her, or cage her, or turn her into one of his many harem women or whatever it is those Mozlems do to their spouses.

Tariq was really hurt “Mom you know me better than that. Besides all of those oriental tales you think you know about Muslim men and women simply aren’t true. And just because a minority of Muslims might mistreat their women, it shouldn’t serve as a bad reflection on their religious ideals. Women get abused here all the time; do you think Christianity should be blamed? ”

“Actually yes all institutionalized religions are nothing but a thin veneer of patriarchal rules meant to subjugate women”  

Tariq felt idiotic for forgetting that his mom was a conscientious ethical feminist who had long shed her Christian zeal for a more secular spiritual outlook. No matter how many times he tried to explain to her about the true nature of Islamic ideals; she discreetly discarded his arguments for her own deductions based on what she had read and seen on TV about the backwardness of Muslims and the irrationality of the Muslim world.

No one was prouder or more oblivious to the insipid awkwardness in the air than Mariam’s father. Hamza wore a new custom made Afghani outfit for the occasion. His vest was made of rich handmade embroidery matching his hat; plus a brand new off white tunic, with baggy pants. He walked around with his chest puffed out; graciously accepting the heaps of congratulations that came his way as non other but the Father of the Bride himself.

{-}

“So where were you when your parents were fighting?” The detective masked his suspicions with a kind voice.

“Under my bed” 

“Oh…under the bed?” 

“Yes, since I was really young and knew I wasn’t a match for my dad, I would go under the bed, listen to music, and try to block it out, until it was over. Oh gosh, I shouldda known this day would come…” Angie broke down in fresh anguish.

“Did you know your mom took out life insurance and that you are the sole beneficiary? It looks like you will be getting about 1,000,000 dollars” 

“So?…” Angie was a little confused by that unrelated fact, until it dawned on her…

“YOU MOTHER FUCKING ASS HOLE, DO YOU THINK I WANTED MY MOTHER TO BE  BRUTALLY MURDERED FOR MONEY?! WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?” 

He coughed a little and began “You know I am just doing my job, some things aren’t clicking and I am just trying to understand…”

“UNDERSTAND WHAT? HAVE YOU EVER FELT THAT HELPLESSNESS OF SITTING THERE NIGHT AFTER NIGHT LISTENING TO YOUR MOM GETTING HER ASS KICKED AND KNOWING YOU CAN’T DO SHIT ABOUT IT?”

Angie couldn’t believe his gall.

“I am sorry Ms. Brown, I see you are upset…”

“FUCK YOU, LEAVE ME ALONE. GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!”

“We may need you to testify…”

“I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE” 

Angie helped the detective out with kicks and punches on his back.

{-}

Kate Brown's death barely caused a ripple in the media. She got a total of 3 minutes spotlight on the evening news. Her husband was awaiting sentencing. There were rumors of life in prison without parole.

{-}

There are many cross roads in life. Those huge stumbling blocks that force you on your knees paralyze you long enough to make up your mind on which direction you choose to go. Those decision points would forever alter the outcome of your life.

Sometimes you are lucky enough to come back in a circular motion, to that same decision point, and realign your life in a better direction.

At other times a step in the wrong direction could be fatal.

{-}

Sophia made a wrong move when she decided to give herself to an unworthy partner. But it wasn’t the end of the world. She could have picked up the pieces, turned her life around, and tried to focus on self betterment rather than dwell on the one night that offered her the first does of a poisonous mixture: heartbreak and rejection.

“Torshee” the word kept ricocheting dangerously in the hollowness of her being. She was nothing but a rotten carcass of her former self.

She had betrayed her status as a proper Pashtana; and unlike her righteous perfect sister she had no hope of ever getting married and living her life with dignity. Who would want a used slut like her?

A lifetime of ingrained lessons and the silent condemnation of her culture and religion, told her that she had committed the biggest crime; broken the ultimate decree; and violated the highest canon. She had deliberately set on the path of no return and perhaps if someone had spoken some sense to her and explained that there was still hope for redemption; that it was an understandable albeit foolish mistake; that women of all ages have slipped before her; they could have saved her before it was too late.

Perhaps if she had gotten a little bit angry at the obvious double standards the “virginity clause” held for men and women, she could have believed she still had a chance to salvage her self worth and live past that her own self-damnation.

But to whom could she turn and confess the immensity of her sin? And who would have turned around and gave her that much needed hug and encouragement to rise from the quagmire she had trapped herself in? Who would have dared to disrobe themselves of their self righteous cruelty to become a ray of light guiding her eclipsed soul into the forever day of compassion and healing?

Sophia found herself alone, without a single soul to remind her that God’s Mercy was always there to overwhelm her fleeting transgressions.

{-}

Getting married to an Imam was not the fairy tale type of life that Mariam had anticipated. She had nursed that dream ever since she met him, and even when he indicated his interest through one of the older brothers in the Masjid, she found it hard to believe.

“Me? Why?” 

“Why not Mariam? You are a good, righteous, hardworking woman, any man would be honored to have you as their wife” 

Mariam was mortified by the uncle’s praises.

She imagined they were going to have a deep spiritual bond, waking up together in the depth of the night to worship in unison or go off into the mountains for some quiet reflection. She saw herself as his personal devoted wife and student, being given some alone time to learn the proper pronunciation of Quran and some private Arabic classes (spiced up by an intimacy she had yet begun to unravel).

The reality was quite different from her fanciful dreams. He was always busy with lectures, classes, his own revisions/memorization of the Quran, on top of the endless counseling sessions to everyone under the sun and their mom. Her home, inconveniently perched on a little hill a stone throw away from the Masjid, was constantly invaded by uninvited guests; nosy women; and old men who had too much to kill during the day.

His popularity (thanks to her own initiative of putting his material online) spurred requests from communities nationwide to have him grace their halls with his endless fount of light and wisdom. She couldn’t follow him around since she had her own classes to attend (she was studying to be a Psychologist) and her job (which she insisted on keeping in order to help her family).

When he was around, they were constantly invited by all the rich uncles and powerbroker families of the Mosque. She felt resentful since despite her ceaseless toiling when she was a “nobody”; she never got a single invitation into those plush homes or even a peek into that inner circle that ran all the Mosque affairs.

Women, who barely noticed her before, now insisted on cornering her with all their questions seeking her “Fatwas” on all their daily concerns ranging from really embarrassing intimate questions to other timeless divisive queries regarding home buying, “halal” meat and moon sighting.

She was also thrust in the limelight of outreach, for every request the Masjid Board got regarding “Women in Islam” they sent her to speak, since she was naturally a better representative. They even sent her to sit on random panels she had little expertise on, because it would counteract the myth that Muslims excluded women from public life. Mariam had always hated public speaking, preferring to work in the background where her skills were most needed.

She felt overwhelmed and disillusioned by her new life.

{-}

“What is it that you are trying to prove exactly?” Angie was at the end of her rope with Sophia.

“I don’t know…who cares?” 

“I do! You are the closest thing I have left to a family and dammit if I will let you die of some stupid ass shit like AIDS or something. What’s wrong with you?” 

“I am not gonna die. I am okay man, besides I am careful” 

“I don’t care how careful you are. You can’t prevent some herpes sticking on your mouth. I don’t wanna walk around with some sore- lipped friend for the rest of my life!” 

“yeah whatever Angie.”

Sophia on the verge of a breakdown, refusing all of Sufi’s attempts to contact her, swung her pendulum to the other extreme. She flirted shamelessly with all the guys she had refused a chance to before. Pretty soon she was known as an easy lay, and was hopping indiscriminately from one guy to another. Her only exceptions were Muslim or “culturally” tainted guys, she refused to go near FOBS or anyone with the most distant relations to them.

White guys were her preference; she considered black guys once in a while; depending on her mood.

{-}

Sufi had tried really hard to talk to her. He felt awful for not being stronger that night. He figured it was a trap either way. If he had adamantly refused her, she would have been humiliated but in accepting her he had pretty much sealed her disgrace.

Since their circles were vastly different, it was pretty easy for Sophia to avoid seeing him.

He had tried to talk to Angie but out of staunch loyalty she refused to offer him any solace.

“I care about her and am afraid she’ll do something really stupid because of me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. She owns her own decisions” Angie was ruthless.

“Look, I didn’t mean to go down that road with her. I just didn’t know what to do man…” He ran his fingers through his hair trying to distract his feelings of helplessness.

“Don’t worry about her, she’ll be okay” 

Sufi left, not feeling any better, and soon after he started hearing rumors of the irrational turn Sophia’s rebellion had taken.

{-}

“Listen Andy and I are leaving this God Forsaken county, I really think you should come with us” Angie pressed Sophia.

“No! Where are you going?”

“New York. I figured I’d  try my luck on Broadway and use some of the money to open a shelter for abused women in my mom’s name. We will have plenty of work to do, to get it up and running. And between my money and Andy’s dad, we should be set for a while at least.”

“Damn, you really thought about it haven’t you” Sophia’s heart was racing.

“You need to get out of here, it’s been two years since we graduated and you haven’t done anything besides work at that dead end job of yours. Come on, maybe you can sign up for those interior design classes you always wanted to take. I will even give you a scholarship.” 

“My dad will kill me Angie” 

“He will kill you now knowing how many guys you are screwing right under his nose”  

 “Damn, you don’t gotta be so blunt!”  “We are leaving in two days.” 

{-}

“Why don’t we get away for sometime?” Tariq asked Mariam out of the blue.

“Really?”

“Yes, I think we both need a break. It’s a lot for you to take, I know” 

His very recognition of her misery set loose her pent up tears.

“I am sorry, it’s just so hard” She sniffed.

“It’s okay, I know”  

Tariq gathered her in his strong arms and whispered sweet nothings in her ears. After making a couple of calls to adjust their schedules, they left that very afternoon to Hawaii for a much needed belated honeymoon.

{-}

Perhaps if she didn’t write the letter; or if he hadn’t learned to read so fast, things would have turned differently.  Maybe she should have crept out deep into the night (an art she had perfected), instead of risking her chances in broad day light. Maybe if she had thought it out a little more.

She was in the process of throwing a couple of clothes and essentials in a duffel bag, when her father kicked open the door, letter in one hand, a huge kitchen knife in the other, looking more enraged than she had ever seen him (if that were possible).

“What is the meaning of this?” His voice was deadly quiet.

“Oh it’s a farewell letter, you should have gotten it after I left, sorry I am out of here Abbu, I can’t live here anymore” She tried to sound nonchalant.

“WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? YOU ARE A PASHTANA, A RESPECTABLE PASHTANA LIVES AT HOME UNTIL SHE GETS MARRIED” 

“I know, but I do not want to be a respectable Pashtana. I am almost 19 years old and you need to chill out”

“CHILL OUT? WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS CHILL OUT? YOU WILL ONLY LEAVE HERE OVER MY DEAD BODY”

“Look old guy, I will either run away when you are asleep. Or we can hug and say goodbye. Either way I am legal now and I can do what I want to do with my own life” 

She started to get passed him, all the while acting very flippant, he pushed her back roughly.

“I said you are not going anywhere” the calmness in his voice was eerie.

“What exactly are you afraid of Abbu?”

“Afraid of? You will dishonor my name; our family will be in ruins. Why couldn’t you be like your sister Mariam? Why do you have to be like a stubborn bull”

Had Sophia internalized her mom’s numerous appeals to stop assaulting her father’s manhood and ego; he could have stepped aside for her. Had she possibly tried to even placate him with tears, apologies for her waywardness, coated with a humble attitude; he might have been a little mollified.

But Sophia was adamant in her refusal to partake in the subtle art of appeasement learned by generations of women before her.

 “In this way you will always get whatever you want from a man. You just have to make him feel like he is a king when in reality your throne is much higher” her mom had tried to explain in vain.

"That's Bull Ammi; men need to know we aint living in the dark ages anymore. For God's sake, respect needs to go BOTH WAYS" Sophia had emphasized to her mom.

“Honor?” Sophia let out a high pitched laughter “You are worried about honor? Trust me, don’t worry anymore, because I can safely tell you your honor was history when I slept with the 15^th guy two days ago”

Sophia felt strangely freed by those words.

Red rage, blood gushing, screams of despair, begging voices, darkness upon darkness, eyes rolling, mouth foaming, more blood, a high pitched scream, rattle of death, more blood and darkness, falling, dying, killing that helplessness within, murdering years of humiliation, avenging a manhood lost, gaping wounds grinning manically, death upon death upon death.

{-}

Sonya found her husband doubled over retching on the body of her brutally stabbed daughter. His hands were full of blood, his eyes wild, and on the side lay an abandoned knife soiled.

She passed out on the spot; a scream dead on her lips.

{-}

“HONOR KILLING: A MUSLIM FATHER KILLS HIS DAUGHTER FOR BEING TOO WESTERN”

“HONOR KILLING: IS ISLAM COMPATIBLE WITH THE WEST?”

“HONOR KILLING IN OUR BACK YARDS?”

“EXCLUSION, ASSIMILATION, OR DEATH: ISLAM AND THE WEST”

“CLASH OF CIVILIZATIONS: ISLAM AND THE WEST”

“THE TALIBAN STRIKES”  (Somehow Hamza had become interchangeable with the Taliban).

Media headlines screamed all across the nation. Sophia became the symbol of the oppressed woman seizing freedom and paying with her life.

Sophia aimlessly rebellious in her life; a martyr in death.

Analysts pontificated on the situation of women in Afghanistan; the Taliban’s brutal regime; and examples of countless other similar fates were brought forward.

{-}

The Muslim community held press conferences, wrote letters to editors, op-eds, and even called News Stations to offer their own voices on the issue. The response was typical for their usual reactionary attempts to “damage control”

“Islam does NOT condone honor killings. This was a more complicated case.” But very few outlets gave them a voice, and the overwhelming message was stamped into the psyche of the average American.

“Those damn women-hating, oppressive, backward, Mozlems.” 

{-}

Hamza literally awoke in the midst of his daughter’s screams when he realized he was stabbing her over and over again.

He saw her eyes rolling backwards; her screams getting softer; and her body going limp.

“NO! Sophia baby wake up! I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to!” He shook her; tried to hug her; hoping to somehow seep his life into her but it was too late.

Then the horror of what he had done hit him with a force he couldn’t begin to comprehend.

He tried to cut his arteries,  and end his own life; but it wasn’t written that way. His fate was to be much worse.

{-}

The jury declared him guilty. It was a very short trial. The case was pretty much closed from the beginning as Hamza did not even try to plead anything but guilty.

He prayed day and night they would give him the death sentence. The only time he was given a chance to speak, he made the mistake of declaring his wish for death.

The judge refused.

During sentencing he  proclaimed a more fitting punishment would be to live for the rest of his life and think about what he had done. To live with the pain, horror, being haunted by his hideous crime in a small cell; day by day; for the rest of his life; would be a lot more fitting.

Hamza was sentenced to three lifetimes without parole.

{-}

The good folks at the Christian Mission non profit group, held a huge fundraiser for Sonya’s family. The poor wife wasn’t to blame for her husband’s terrible crimes; and she still had three children under 18 to support.

Not to be outdone, Kawtara herself pledged $25,000 to help her sister deal with the tragedy that had befallen them. She partly blamed herself for her generosity:

“If I didn’t try to give them a better life none of this would have happened.” Her friends consoled her that she had done the right thing; after all it was her duty and she performed it exceptionally.

The Masjid held their own fundraiser; and at the end Sonya received a grand sum of $75,000 from all the efforts involved.

She got on her hands and knees and prostrated in gratitude, grief, heartbreak and mourning.

Mariam’s honeymoon was cut short by the calamity that had befallen them. She was tight lipped throughout the trip back, into the funeral, and her father’s proceedings.

She felt as if she was wading underwater and couldn’t really understand what was being said to her.

Tariq silently took over the funeral arrangements; transporting the family to visit Hamza; and held prayer vigils for both Sophia and her dad.

{-}

When Sophia’s body was finally lowered into her grave; there were at least 50,000 people present.

Battered Women Support groups lit candles for her.

Christian Mission groups held hands to pray for her.

Anti Immigration groups held placards telling all foreigners to go home.

Media outlets were busy clicking away and noting that no women were present at the actual burial. Is that another example of Islam’s persistent exclusion of it’s women? Is this an example of what Sophia was fighting to the very end? The journalists asked in the typical objective tone of voice they use to mask all their other incompetent attempts at really understanding issues.

{-}

Mariam couldn’t sleep. She woke up, took a shower, wore her prayer clothes and closed the door to the guest room.

She prayed two Rakaahs (cycles) and sat at the mat; wordlessly.

Her heart reached out to God; in the dense confusion of her state. She wondered silently why?

Her father was not the monster the media constantly vilified; her sister was so young; she had so much ahead of her. Why? Why couldn’t they have just made up? What happened? What did her family do wrong?

Her mom: Didn’t she deserve peace after so many years of struggling? Why?

Her Abbu: how would he fare in prison. Hadn’t he suffered enough? Wasn’t he a good Muslim? Why?

Her brothers: What kind of trauma would they suffer from this. Weren’t they good kids? Why?

Her tears started falling; finally; slowly finding their way down her cheek; softly filling her lips with their saltiness; furiously burning her lids with their stream.

Her shoulders shook; heart ached; and soul moaned in the agony of losing two people she loved the most at the same time.

Tariq softly knocked on the door and came in. He walked over to her kissed her eyes, her tears, her forehead. His own tears mingled with hers as he hugged her; putting her head on his chest.

They clung to each other in the shadows of the night, weeping for the senselessness of the calamity that had befallen them.

{-}

Angie and Andy had waited forever for Sophia to meet up with them. When they called the house no one picked up. Finally Angie braved herself to go over there, she hated encounters with Sophia’s dad; the first time he saw her he spat out “Slut” and walked away. Angie simply shrugged and laughed at him, she was a virgin, but she couldn't blame him for not knowing that.

When she and Andy pulled up; she knew something terrible had happened. Cops were all over the place, an ambulance, fire truck, and media was sprawled out. She felt like she war reliving her mom’s death all over again.

When she saw Sophia’s dad being led away by hand cuffs; his shirt and pants full of blood; she knew before they even told her; she just knew.

She felt like her heart would explode from the fresh onslaught of grief that struck her.

{-}

A month later, Sonya found a card in the mail. It was Angie, checking on her, she wrote light heartedly about her experience in New York; the shelter was coming along really well; and she had been accepted into Juilliard School (Performing Arts). Andy was attending Columbia University doing a pre-med program. He was planning to eventually become a Psychiatrist.

His specialty research topic was later to focus on battling Bipolar Disorder.

In the card, Sonya also discovered a check of $50,000. Angie just wanted to help out.

{-}

With her financial straits over, Sonya divided her time between the US and Afghanistan. She died quietly about 20 years later but not before she enjoyed her time with her grand children and lived to see her boys get married.

She visited Hamza loyally at the prison. He didn’t last too long. Five years into his sentence he was murdered in a fight with a fellow inmate. He had refused to play the jail politics allowing protected status to those who helped keep the gang leaders happy. Basically he refused to be anyone’s bitch.

Mariam became a psychologist and with the help of Tariq started a center for Refugee integration into
America. They offered counseling sessions, financial management classes, English classes and served as a resource for other immigrant families as well.

Her brother David became a renowned Human Rights advocate, who focused on Afghanistan affairs.

Adam decided to pursue politics and was eventually elected to the Maryland state legislature where he argued for better services to underprivileged families.

Omar took the scenic route for his Bachelor’s degree, changing his mind a couple of times on Majors. He eventually graduated with an education degree and became a Social Studies teacher in the same high school he had gone to; and the school’s football coach as well.

{-}

When Sonya finally laid her old bones to rest; she was happy; for she knew her Pashtun warrior would be waiting for her on the other side where there are no tears, no darkness, no fear, and no more suffering. She just knew she would see him in his special Eid vest, with his majestic youthful body back; his spirit still intact, and all the poetry that had once dissipated will be gathered back and fall like scattered pearls from his lips. Once more. Forever. And ever.

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing & right doing, there is a field. I'll meet you there…"-Rumi

{the end}