“Parveen”

Muhammad Omer Khan

Art of Creative Unity Award 2022 - Youth | First Prize

Parveen

She sat on the jute bed in her blue uniform, her white dupatta* draped on her head and her pigtails made up. As she gripped her ragdoll, she felt her adolescence sifting through her hands like grains of fine sand. From across the hall, the rickety door of her parent's bedroom had been left ajar, enough for Parveen to hear the noise of loud disagreements. By now, she had taught herself the art of blocking out the racket.

"What use will school be to her? I'll see to it that she gets married! She's old enough, and I've already given Azeem my word. He has agreed to pay us 2 lacs** in cash. Besides, he has even agreed to forgo the dowry and we desperately need the money!", her father screamed at her mother."Parveen is only 12! She's just a little girl! She should be playing in the mustard fields and among the buffalos! Not married to a senile imbecile!", her mother replied in fury. After listening to her mother's courageous reply, Parveen knew what was to follow. As tears began to form at the rim of her eyes, she shuffled quietly to close her bedroom door."Would it be so difficult to have a normal life?", she thought to herself.

Smack. Crash. The sounds of her mother's yelps and cries filled the atmosphere, followed by the heavy footsteps of her father presumably heading out as he did every morning in search of work. This scenario had fixated itself in Parveen's daily routine. "Ammi...", she let out a frightened whisper in the hope that her mother was unharmed. But this was rarely the case.

Though she was young, Parveen was not oblivious to the realities of her life. She was somewhat of a little adult. She knew her father was an unemployed drunk who would occasionally beat her and her mother with no remorse. She knew her mother was helpless and could not leave her father for fear of becoming a social outcast. She knew that her days in this house were limited - her father had always considered her to be a burden due to her being a girl and had given her hand in marriage to a 59-year-old village elder. She knew that the fire that ignited her aspirations of receiving an education had been smothered. Yet still, despite her father's wishes and because of her mother's insistence, she would go to school.

As she heard her mother approach her room, she quickly wiped her tears away with her sleeve and laid her head down on her school bag, pretending to be asleep. "Parveen! Did you fall asleep? Get up this instant, or you'll be late for school!", said her mother, attempting to hide the bruise on her lip as she wore her chadar***. Parveen hopped up and followed her mother out of the room and into the small courtyard.

These morning walks to school became a source of euphoria for Parveen - this was the time of day she was the happiest. She would admire each morning, the different stages in which the flowers on the glorious amaltas tree along her path would bloom, beckoning late spring. She would notice the cheerful chirping of the birds while often a soft breeze playfully slapped her face. She'd gaze in awe at the endless row of lush green fields, stretching across the horizon. She'd look longingly at other children her age being sent off from their homes lovingly by both parents, something she had never experienced.

This particular stroll had been a quiet one, that is until her mother broke the silence. "Parveen, you know I'd do anything for you right?" Parveen's shy nature allowed her to simply nod while staring at the dirt path. "Whatever happens, just know that I'll always love you." Parveen noticed that her mother's tone reflected that of a defeated woman. It broke her inside to see her like this. One of the reasons Parveen was eager to continue her education, was to one day make something of herself, provide for herself, and shelter her mother the way her mother had done for her. This was what motivated her.

A few weeks went by. Parveen frequented school several times these days, though not as much as she'd like - on certain days, her inebriated father would suggest strongly that she forget the notion of going to school, a constant reminder of her predestined nuptials. So she would stay home, confined to four walls, with only her mother to accompany her. On these days, Parveen and her mother would take up the opportunity of spending quality time together. They'd braid each other's hair, adorning it with geraniums from the field behind their house, or they'd watch serial dramas on their ancient television, marveling at how some women within their own country were portrayed as strong-headed, independent, and free-thinking.

One late afternoon, Parveen awoke to a locked room. Her mother was nowhere in sight. There was complete silence. A feeling of unease took over her. She tried to open the door but to no success. Outside, she could hear the noise of a few men and women, the sound of bamboo pillars being set up, and the sound of drum beaters tuning their instruments. Parveen quickly put together the puzzle and realized that the day she had dreaded for so long was finally upon her.

Then came an ominous knock on the door, followed by the unlocking of the padlock from outside. In entered Parveen's paternal aunt, Shabana. "Asalamualaikum! How is my little girl!". Parveen did not dignify her aunt's superficial excitement with a response and instead fixated her sight on her arm. She was carrying a red simple wedding suit, presumably to the quality of what her father could afford her. Shabana stepped in and locked the door from within. She began walking towards Parveen."No need to be scared my girl. Now let's get you changed and dolled up!"

What followed next is a scene difficult to describe. Despite her struggle and intelligible non-consent, her aunt overpowered Parveen and managed to dress her up in the dress. She even went to the extent of applying substandard makeup on Parveen's porcelain face. The final touch was the banal placement of the red veil on the bride's head. Parveen did not cry at this moment. All she did was stare at the mirror before her. "Where is Ammi?", she asked Shabana. Her aunt did not reply, instead, she beckoned her to stand up and follow her out.

Outside, in the small courtyard, a small tent had been set up, with a partition in the middle. On one side were a few tables that seated men from all walks of life from the village - people who had seen Parveen grow up. Yet none were concerned at the heinous occasion they had become a part of. To them, it was a part of rural life. The same notion stands for the women that were seated on the other side of the partition, chatting away and waiting for the ceremony to conclude so that lunch would be served.

In between the partition, a small stage had been set up. This was when Parveen saw him for the first time. Azeem, the man to whom her father had entrusted her for a mere 2 lacs. He was a short morbidly obese man, with a jet black brushy mustache and a bright yellow turban on his head. Seated with Azeem was her father with a tan envelope in her hand. Shabana nudged Parveen to the stage and seated her on the jute sofa with her soon-to-be husband. A rose garland was placed on Parveen's shoulders, identical to the one that was on Azeem. "Where is Ammi?", she asked her father. "That idiotic woman left last night. I couldn't care less." These words pierced into Parveen's heart. Could her mother leave her? Surely this was not of her character.

The rest of the event proceeded just as weddings in the village did. People sat around, conversing as if nothing was wrong. Parveen could not bear to sit next to Azeem. The stench of overly doused perfume was somewhat of a sensory overload for her, coupled with the sight of her wedding - something no young girl should have to witness. When the time came for the signing of the marriage contract, Shabana asked Parveen to return to her room. Parveen walked slowly back, her dress trailing behind her. The sun had begun to set, painting the canvas of the sky a spectacular tangerine.

Once inside the room, Shabana quickly exited, locking the room from the outside. Parveen fell to the ground and felt her stomach drop. She had withheld her emotions for too long now, to the point where they began overflowing. Tears fell like a stream down her cheeks. Her mascara ran. All hope had been lost. She realized soon she'd be taken to an unknown house, surrounded by unknown strangers, and would have to live in the company of an unknown man. This was the end.

It was at this moment that she heard a fateful knock on the window. Her tears halted and her heart started racing. She sprinted to the dilapidated window shutters and threw them open. "Ammi! You came back!" Parveen was thrilled at the sight of her mother. The bond between them did not allow Parveen to even perceive for a split second that her mother had deserted her. Without another thought, she lept out of the window and into her mother's arms - into her fortress of solace. "My sweet daughter! Oh, how that monster was going to wed you off! I simply couldn't allow it." Her mother was carrying a large duffel bag and was clad in a black abaya. She was intent on leaving this godforsaken place. This was no time for emotion. "Come my child. We must make haste."

They ran and ran. They ran as far as they could, away from the dreaded compound they had called their house, for it had never been a home, away from the village that did nothing when the cries of her mother being subject to mishandling would echo in the streets. Rather, other women would tell Parveen's mother that it was a part of matrimonial life and that she must persevere. The village that did nothing for Parveen when she was nearly given away to an old man.

From far away, Parveen and her mother must've looked like two figures hovering across the grassy plains as the sun set behind them. They ran across the fields and onto a dirt track. A sign read "Railway Station - 200m". They heard the auspicious sound of a train horn. "Just a few more minutes my darling!"

With their hearts pounding, they raced into the train station, tickets in hand. "Final announcement. Train 4053 to Lahore will be leaving in 5 minutes from platform 2" They rushed to the specified platform out of breath and stood at the entrance of their carriage. The scrutinizing gazes of other passengers were the least of the duo's concerns at that moment. For all they knew, Parveen's father had already discovered her absence and had sent out a search party in their pursuit.

The aged conductor took one look at them over his silver-rimmed spectacles and noticed Parveen's dress. His heart ached for both of them - their rough appearance showed that they had been through much hardship. He confirmed their tickets and let them on. They were the last to board the train. He then signaled ahead to the driver that it was time to depart.

The train let out a powerful hoot and began slowly gaining pace. As it left the station, Parveen's heart was cleansed of all fear that she had held for the future. She noticed that she was still dressed in the red dress. This realization angered her. She yanked the scarf off of her head and took the fake jewelry off, throwing both out of the train window. She looked at her mother. For the first time in her life, Parveen saw a strong, fearless figure in her mother. "We'll be fine now", her mother said. They both were eager to experience what awaited them ahead.

*a type of scarf
**1 lac = 100,000
***a type of cloth covering for women

Muhammad Omer Khan is an 18-year-old student, currently completing his A-Levels (Grade 12) at Roots IVY International School in Islamabad, Pakistan, where he was born and resides. Writing is just one of the many passions Omer finds solace in.