Volume 7, No. 1, January 2025
Editor: Rashed Rahman
When one surveys the world to identify countries that have shown a marked improvement in social indicators, one factor emerges: women’s empowerment. While countries like China and Bangladesh have very different political and social systems, women’s empowerment has assumed a very high policy priority in both countries.
Many in Pakistan believe that we should also be ranked high on this score because Pakistan elected a woman as Prime Minister many years ago. Again, some others cite examples of icons like Malala and the late Asma Jahangir to emphasise the important role of women. However, these examples cannot eclipse the harsh treatment that ordinary women in this society face or the relative apathy of the state to take serious policy measures to mitigate this. Yet, even in such adverse circumstances one comes across individual stories of courage and determination that underscore the resilience of women in Pakistan. I have chosen to share one such true story.
Fatima’s tiny world crashed when at the tender age of one she lost her mother. Born in a lower-middle class Pathan family in the picturesque valley of Swat in the 1950s, she grew up in a male-dominated society. Her father soon remarried and being the only female child she was left entirely at the mercy of her stepmother. Her two brothers were several years older than her. They left for the Middle East to find work there, as was very common in those days. She was a mere child at the time and life with a stepmother was harsh and devoid of love and affection. Soon there were two stepbrothers. Their arrival in the family meant added duties of looking after them. There was no concept of school or education for girls at the time in this region.
But the greatest shock that changed her destiny forever struck her when she had just turned 10. Her father, at the insistence of the stepmother, decided to sell her off to a 40-year-old stepson of her uncle.
Fatima tried to fight tooth and nail against this cruel arrangement but to no avail. Her older brothers, who could have come to her aid, were no longer there. Thus she was beaten into submission. There was no proper marriage ceremony and no marriage vows. She was dressed up in new clothes and handed over as a piece of merchandise. She recalled how, when she resisted and fought back, she was dragged by both her legs all the way to the house of her captors, so much so that not a shred of clothing was left on her body.
A 10-year-old going through this excruciating experience did not arouse any pity in the local onlookers. Maybe it was the norm. After all girls were supposed to be submissive and malleable, willingly giving in to their parents’ decisions regarding their future.
The man who now presumably owned Fatima, took her to Karachi. Who would hear her cries or take notice of her plight in this huge bustling city? Was there a chance of her being rescued?
But sometimes miracles do happen. In the same lane where she was being kept a prisoner, a first cousin of hers happened to be living. In those days Karachi attracted workers and labourers from different parts of Pakistan, Swat being one of them. People belonging to the same region share a feeling of kinship and tend to stay together as families. Thus Fatima was discovered and her plight noticed. The cousin, who himself was married, took her into his protection. She spent almost two years with this couple. Life was not easy, yet she bore it bravely.
Fatima relates how she was born with a gift of some kind of divine intuition. She woke up one morning feeling overjoyed. She said she knew that her brothers would come that day. Lo and behold, both her brothers turned up. They had returned from abroad. Her ordeal seemed to have come to an end, but only temporarily.
The brothers took Fatima, now 12 years old, back to Swat. There seemed to be some respite in the never-ending trials and tribulations in Fatima’s life now back amongst her own. Her father and brothers showed some remorse and tried to make up for the painful experience she had been through during the past two years. Her brother showered her with gifts of clothes and jewellery he had brought for her from his stint abroad and all around her showed their support. So much so that a case was filed on her behalf in the local court to deprive the family who had seemingly purchased her of any ‘ownership’ rights. However, before the verdict could be given in her favour, all the witnesses were bribed and backed out. Even at this stage, the culprits involved offered to annul the agreement of Fatima’s ownership in return for a sum of Rs 2,000. But the brother who had shown such love and affection for his younger sister now refused to oblige with the required sum. Fate and luck were not in Fatima’s favour. The brother who was now married was being manipulated by his wife and in-laws. They forced him to take back all that he had gifted to his sister and surrender her to the family who claimed to own her. They threatened to file divorce proceedings in case he failed to oblige.
So once more our heroine’s fate seemed to be sealed. She recalls how during this harrowing experience she used to climb on a tree and pelt her tormentors with stones and pebbles. But the day dawned when bereft of all belongings except the clothes she was wearing, she was handed over like a piece of merchandise.
Before being dragged off she begged her father for a mere five rupees and his white chaddar. She says that she told him that the chaddar would be used to wrap her body when she died. She vowed then never to come back.
She spent the night crying, fearfully and agonisingly dreaming the moment when in the morning her journey to hell would begin. Unable to sleep, after midnight, she gathered courage. Wrapping the chaddar around her, her sandals in her hand, she stepped out of the doorway. She only had five rupees in her possession and had no idea where to go but she knew that she had to escape now or never.
It was pitch dark. The mountain roads are narrow and extremely dangerous even for driving. They are narrow, carved into steep mountains on one side and deep canyons on the other, overlooking the river bed.
While she ran barefooted she could hear chilling screams pounding her ears and wild animals howling. It was only divine strength that pushed her on.
Suddenly she found herself near a Saint’s grave. Baba, as the Saint was known, was venerated greatly by the locals. All at once she saw a vision. The Baba or Saint was dressed in white and sat on a white horse. He raised his hand as if to bless her and then disappeared. It was a chilling experience but it gave her renewed strength. The screaming and howling seemed to evaporate. It was all quiet now. Light was gradually dawning. She became calm and proceeded with her journey.
With the arrival of morning, buses started plying on the road. She had heard of Peshawar but had never been there. She hailed a bus going to Peshawar and boarded it. She could only pay the Rs 5 she had with her. She had no idea where she would go once she reached Peshawar. She first kept on walking on the road and tried to hail every passing car. Passersby stared and wondered at her but none took pity on her plight.
Finally a couple with three minor children stopped their car and taking pity, gave her a lift and brought her to their home. On finding out her background story they offered her board and lodging in return for all the domestic chores of the house.
Thus started her long journey of 10-12 years of intense domestic labour in different middle class households. She moved from one household to another without any financial emoluments except two meals a day. At times she catered for two or three families at the same time. She never experienced the joy of wearing new clothes or the luxuries girls of her age would have enjoyed. Yet, in spite of leading a life of such deprivation, she managed to protect her chastity. One can imagine there must have been several instances when she would have had to fight tooth and nail to protect herself. Somehow, Allah gave her the strength and courage to win her battles.
Nevertheless there were times when she felt drained of fortitude and her spirit seemed to surrender. She could not see any light at the end of the tunnel. Thrice she attempted suicide and even thought of changing her religion. But her ties to Islam were too strong to make her succumb to such intentions.
Looking back, this life was still preferable to being tied to a man against her will for her entire life. From Peshawar she moved to Islamabad and then to Rawalpindi.
It was in a particular household in Rawalpindi that her fortune took a turn for the better and lady luck brought her to Lahore where she entered my parent’s house. This step ushered in an entirely new phase of her life.
The year was 1982. Fatima was by now about 27 years old. My mother was still alive. Both my elderly parents lived alone as all of us, my two brothers, two sisters and I were married and lived in different cities in Pakistan and abroad. One nephew of mine lived with them as he was completing his law degree in Lahore.
It was the first time, Fatima claims, she was hired with a proper salary. It was Rs 800, which was a substantial amount at the time. She was skilled in crochet and embroidery and used her talent to supplement her income. She pays tribute to my mother, may she rest in peace, for teaching her cooking and making her an expert cook. For the first time in her life she enjoyed a decent living and came to know the joy of wearing new clothes and satisfying her hunger with appetising meals. She started saving her salary and built a tiny nest for rainy days.
Fatima had been with my parents for a couple of years only when my mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer and passed away in 1984. My father, whom she addressed as ‘Judge Sahib’ (he had retired as a judge of the West Pakistan High Court), gave her the option of leaving as he was on his own now, but Fatima decided to stay on. She had never felt safer or happier in her life than in these surroundings. My father treated her like a granddaughter and she trusted him with her life. Fatima now acted as the housekeeper/manager. Her managerial skills impressed my father, who himself was very meticulous in his habits. He started trusting her with the household accounts and other sundry matters.
It was during this period that my brother who had been posted abroad came back and he and his wife now moved in with my father. It was a happy household where Fatima worked as one of the family. My father had often told Fatima that he would be happy to see her married off to some decent man. On the other hand, it was Fatima’s wish to be married to an educated person even if he was a mere clerk. The wheel of fortune had turned around for Fatima. Her days now seemed full of sunshine.
Her prayers were answered when very soon a proposal for her hand in marriage turned up. Our Mali (gardener) who had observed her over these years came up with a proposal for his nephew who worked as a computer technician in the Income Tax office. The boy was of compatible age, possessed a master’s degree in Mathematics and moreover was a ‘clerk’!
A proper wedding ceremony was arranged for Fatima by my father and she left our household honourably as a bride for her new home. But her tale did not end here.
No matter what, women in Pakistan are always at the mercy of their husbands and in-laws. No amount of education can bring about a change in the centuries-old, bigoted attitudes and mindset. Fatima was in possession of around Rs 50,000-60,000 that she had managed to save from her salary. Her husband Akbar and the in-laws now demanded that the same be handed over to them and on her refusal to hand over the same, she once again faced the ordeal of physical abuse. But previous circumstances and hardships that she had been through had bred in her strong resilience. Life had taught her lessons and human psychology. She threatened them with repercussions if they crossed limits by alluding to the fact that my father, who had served as a judge, would make sure that the whole family get their just deserts in case she was harmed in any way. Her threats worked and she was left alone.
With the Rs 20,000 that she was now left with, Fatima purchased a Prize Bond. She was sure at the time that it would win a prize. She asked Akbar, her husband, to write the name ‘Ali’ on the bond. This was the name she would bestow on her unborn child. At the time she was pregnant with her first child and she was sure it was going to be a boy. Allah would bless her with a male child. Her son Ali was born and with his coming into the world the Bond she had purchased won a prize. For the first time in her life she felt rich and happy. The day Ali was born remains the happiest moment in her life.
With a growing family and domestic peace, now Fatima was looking towards securing her future. She purchased a five marla plot to build a house with the prize money. Here again the family demanded that the piece of land be purchased in the husband’s name. But Fatima had now become wiser and life had made her confident. She stuck to her guns and the plot was purchased in her own name. Today she resides in a double storey house consisting of several rooms, kitchen, lounge and attached bathrooms.
How did this all come about? Fatima’s husband Akbar was hardworking. Being a graduate in Mathematics he had ample opportunities to obtain tuitions in this important and challenging field. The family income increased as the family started growing over the years. During the course of 32 years of married life, Fatima has now four daughters and a son. Starting from individual to group tuition, Akbar set up his own tuition academy, teaching mathematics to O and A level students. There is no dearth of income now. But they maintain a simple lifestyle. Their humbleness is noteworthy. They have a garage in their house but no car. They do not spend on unnecessary luxuries.
The most remarkable achievement is the way the children have succeeded in life. Although Fatima’s past still haunts her, yet her present never fails to bring her comfort and contentment. What more can she ask when Allah has made her children ‘the coolness of her eyes’. Two of her daughters are qualified gynaecologists working in top government hospitals in Lahore with their private clinic as well. Her son, Ali, is about to qualify as a chartered accountant. Another daughter is also studying chartered accountancy and the fourth daughter is planning to proceed to the US for higher studies. As it is said in the Holy Quran: “No doubt ease comes with difficulty” (Surah 94, Ayah 6). How can one fail to see the truth behind these profound words while following the journey of Fatima’s life? With their needs growing the family has now decided that buying a car has become imperative.
The entire village now greets Fatima with joy filled with remorse whenever she pays a visit. Her father and brothers beg her forgiveness for playing so cruelly with her life and the hardships she went through. But try as she might she cannot find it in herself to do that. She is an ordinary human being. She is in fact closer to her stepbrothers, who were mere children at the time. Just recently her brother gifted her Rs 2,000 when she paid a visit. “This gift reminded me how he denied me the same amount that I needed to buy my freedom,” says Fatima. She quietly left the money in a jar before her departure. As for her tormentors, the entire family has been wiped out with their house bombed into mere rubble by the Taliban!
But back to the present. Even today we find Fatima the same simple yet strong personality who remains conscious of her humble beginnings. Not only that, she is trying to pay back in some form the generosity and fortune that Allah has endowed her with. At the moment she is financing the university education of a boy whose parents could least afford it. Initially she deposited Rs 130,000 as admission and tuition fee and now pays Rs 30,000 annually, which will continue for the next four years.
My prayers are for her and her children. May they prosper in life and be a tribute to a mother whose resilience and journey through life is a beacon of light for the downtrodden among the ‘lesser’ half of our population.
Disclaimer: Names have been changed to maintain anonymity.
The writer is a former Principal of OPF School in Islamabad. She was awarded the Commonwealth Prize in English Essay Writing, which was presented to her by the late Duke of Edinburgh.