Nadia Hashimi - The Pearl that Broke Its Shell

My insides hurt. Raw and angry. I nearly cried when I urinated into the fancy western toilet.

Shahnaz asked me to prepare lunch for the family. She had the children to tend to. I went into the kitchen and looked through the vegetables on the counter, almost thankful to have a task that would keep my mind off what I had endured. There were canisters of flour and sugar as well. I thought of my mother and sighed. Ever since I’d been converted into a bacha posh, I’d been relieved of all cooking duties as well. If my father had seen his “son” working in the kitchen, his temper would have turned our home upside down. I had no idea how to make even a simple meal.

I tried to think of the foods my mother and Shahla cooked. Even Parwin could prepare a decent meal, although she spent more time sculpting shapes out of the potatoes than she did actually cooking them.

I set out to make some potato stew. I put the rice in water, as I’d seen my mother do. I tried to focus but my eyes kept drifting to the kitchen window, with a view into the courtyard. Several boys, two of them looking to be almost my age, were kicking a ball around. They shouted and teased each other. I felt my heart beat faster, wanting to be with them instead of bent over a metal pot with potato peels stuck to my fingers.

I wondered who the boys were. I could see they wouldn’t have been much of a challenge on the field. They kicked clumsily, barely making contact with the ball.

“Rahima! Why are you sitting like that? For God’s sake, aren’t you embarrassed?”

Shahnaz’s voice jolted me. I looked down and snapped my legs together, bending my knees. I’d been sitting like a boy basking in the summer sun. A bolt of pain shot between my thighs.

“Oh, sorry, I was just—”

“Have a little decency!”

I hung my head, my face flushed again. I cursed myself. Thank goodness my mother hadn’t witnessed this. She had warned me over and over again to carry myself as a proper girl in my new home but I’d been living as a boy for years. There was a lot of unlearning to do.

Our mother-in-law joined us for lunch. She hobbled in, her fingers on the shoulder of a young boy, probably a grandson. I kissed her hands and mumbled a greeting, following Shahnaz’s lead. Her visit was a surprise to me, but not to Shahnaz. I looked to her for guidance. She didn’t offer much.

“She did the same thing to me,” Shahnaz whispered. “She wants to see if you’re being a good wife. Go ahead and lay out the food, the plates. Sit with her.” She went into the living room and spoke sweetly to Bibi Gulalai. “Khala- jan, with your permission, I’m going to feed the baby. I’m sorry I can’t sit with you but your new bride has prepared lunch for you.”

I took out the food as Shahnaz suggested, thinking to myself that she’d just fed the baby before our mother-in-law walked in. But I quickly forgot about it as I began to put the potatoes into a serving dish. Nothing looked like the food my mother prepared. My hands shook as I laid it out on the cloth. Bibi Gulalai fingered her prayer beads while she eyed my every move. Once I had spread out the potato stew and the rice, she spoke.

“A cup of tea would have been a nice start. Looks like you’re rushing us to lunch.”

“I… I’m sorry. I can bring a cup of—”

“Yes. Bring a cup of tea first. That’s how you treat a guest.”

I got to my feet and went back to the kitchen to boil some water. I sprinkled tea leaves into the teapot and searched everywhere until I finally found a teacup.

“Did you add cardamom?”

I sighed.

“No, Khala- jan . I’m sorry, I forgot the cardamom…”

“Tea without cardamom?” She shook her head in disappointment and leaned back. “Maybe that’s how your family drank tea, but the rest of us—”

“No, my mother always puts cardamom.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I was saying”—she was not happy with my interruption—“that the rest of us prefer our tea with cardamom. So pay attention next time.”

I nodded silently while she slowly sipped her unflavored tea, the disappointment showing in her eyes. I watched the steam waft from the rice.

“All right. Why don’t we try this food that you’ve made now.”

I reached over and spooned some rice onto her plate. Large clumps stuck together. The potatoes looked more reasonable. I prayed her eyes were old enough that they couldn’t clearly see what I’d made of the rice. She took two bites and shook her head in frustration.

“This is cold. Food doesn’t taste good cold. And we’re supposed to eat grains of rice, not balls of it. How long did you cook it for?”

“I don’t… I don’t know…”

“Too long. Too long. And the potatoes are still hard!” She sighed heavily. “Shahnaz! Shahnaz, come out here!”

Shahnaz came into the living room, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Yes, Khala- jan ?”

“This girl cannot cook! Did you try this food? It’s terrible!”

“No, Khala -jan, I didn’t. She insisted on making lunch so I let her. Otherwise, I would have been happy to prepare something for you.”

I looked at Shahnaz and began to realize that she was not as benign as I had thought. She avoided looking at me. I had the urge to throw a punch at her but kept my cool.

“That’s not true! She told me I should make lunch. And she just fed the baby! You did this on purpose!”

“Rahima, this kind of behavior is exactly what I was worried about. You’re a wild child and not a suitable wife for my son but he’s taken you and now we have to undo what you are. Listen to me carefully. You are to behave like a proper bride and learn to keep house. That tantrum you threw in your father’s home will not be tolerated here. I’m leaving now but know that I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” She got to her feet and wobbled to the door. She said nothing more and let the door slam behind her.

Shahnaz tossed her hair back and walked to her room, a smug look on her face. She had set me up.

Madar- jan, you were right. And this is probably just the beginning.

I confronted Shahnaz later that day.

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“You could have warned me. And you lied to her. You wanted me to look bad.”

“What are you talking about? I didn’t lie!”

I remembered one of Khala Shaima’s favorite sayings: A liar is forgetful.

“Don’t be upset, Rahima. You’ll learn soon enough. God knows I did.”

Shahnaz was a ball of contradictions. She was angry to have to share her home with me. It was bad enough that she had gotten the smallest of the houses. The other wives had more children and their marriages had been arranged by Bibi Gulalai. Only Shahnaz and I had been chosen by Abdul Khaliq himself and his mother clearly did not approve. Shahnaz was bitter one day but would sit and chat with me as if we were old girlfriends the next. She was lonely, I could see, and missed her sisters as much as I did mine.

“You know why she doesn’t like you?” she asked me one day.

“Because I’m a bad wife?”

“No.” Shahnaz chuckled. “Although that’s not helping matters any. She hates you because she wanted Abdul Khaliq to take her brother’s daughter as his fourth wife. Instead, he took you.”

“Why didn’t he take his cousin?”

“He was going to. That’s what I’d heard from the others, at least. But something changed a few weeks ago and he made some excuse to his uncle’s family. Next we heard he’d arranged for a nikkah with someone else — you. And Bibi Gulalai’s brother was more than a little disappointed, since they’d already courted his daughter.”