The morning of December 13, 1998 begins like other days. The sun has risen, and I’m still in bed. I can hear Afnan, Hafiz’s father, is talking with Manawar Khattak in the other room. Manawar is like our family member; he lives with us in our hujra. We call him Subedar saib. He had been a Subedar, a Junior Commissioned Officer in Pakistan Armed Force, now retired. Though he is not fugitive, his son and nephew are. He lost several family members in the hostility; wife, two sons, and a brother. Their entire family is moved to Jamrud. Jamrud, being a tribal area, is a place where outlaws seek asylum. It is true that we Pakhtoon are hospitable. Nobody turns away one if he seeks asylum, but it is also true that that these fugitives, called mukhrooraan, provide additional manpower to a family. Manawar Khattak, basically from Nowshera, has been living with us since 1987. He knew my other brother Manan.
I then hear a squeaky sound of the dry bolt of the main gate. Usually, Afnan asks me to open the gate for him. I rush to open the gate, but he’s already left in his brand new green Suzuki car.
“He was in hurry. He’s going to a condolence in Swabi.” Khattak raises his voice from the room. This is our hujra in Teddi bazaar where there are two rooms.
About two hours later, I’m with a student whom I tutored math and who is now a medical student at Ayub Medical College, Abbottabad. When I was in B.Sc. (1993-95), I tutored a group of F.Sc. students. Those students are still in contact with me. While I’m talking with the student, Hafiz comes from home saying I have a phone call by Faizan, a friend of Afnan. When Hafiz says it’s Faizan, I get suspicious. How could Faizan want to talk to me? If he has anything to say, he can say it to Hafiz. He’s more friendly to him than to me. Anyway, I rush home. Hafiz also follows me. The phone set is in Afnan’s room. When I attend the phone, Faizan on the other end says that Afnan Haji has passed away.
“What.” I sit on the edge of the bed. “Do we need to come?” I do not use names in conversation. Hafiz is standing behind me.
“No, his body is in the hospital. We’re bringing the body in half-an-hour.” He says.
I don’t ask the cause of death and hang up the phone. I stand up, putting one hand on my hap and pointing the finger of the other hand at Hafiz, “Your. Father. Is. Dead.” I use straight words instead of making his mind first.
“Now what.” He paralyzes, don’t know how to react. He is 20-year-old, newly married.
“Let’s go to hujra and set up the cots in the courtyard. Quick, you go first, I’m coming.”
Like other days, the women are doing chores, cleaning the big courtyard or washing dishes. Mother is sitting on a cot in the veranda. I know a thunderbolt will hit the house shortly. Suddenly, I recall that mother is a heart patient. She was recently discharged from the hospital. She had a minor heart attack. I feel she would not bear the loss. I give her Lexilium, an anxiety relief tablet. I used to use it during the exam days. Mother says, “What’s this?” I say, “This will relieve your headache you always complain about.” She takes it.
When the body is brought, it is unloaded in the street and taken inside the house. I do not weep when I see the body; instead, my throat gets very dry. When a loved one of mine dies, I don’t know why my brain thinks very fast, seeing optimistically a very bright future. I see that one day I will be very famous. Not only that but also that one day I’ll receive a Nobel Prize. Perhaps I seek comfort in the big ideas.
In no time men and women rush in. Men are condoling in the hujra while the women are sobbing in the house. There are many women who lost their loved one. It reminds them their own loss. Mom is sitting at the edge of the cot near the head of the body, but she’s calm as the Lexilium has started to work.
**
Afnan had of a heart attack while driving. Luckily, his partner sitting in the passenger seat controlled the car and avoided an accident. He was rushed to a hospital but did not make it. He left a son, daughter and the widow. His children are not from the widow but from the other sister of the widow who also died four years ago of cancer. The widow has no children and is young. In our culture, she must remain in the family and cannot be turned away to her parents.
**
Two weeks after of the demise of my brother, Quaid-i-Azam University (QAU) announces admission. This would be my second time applying to QAU – then for M.Sc. and now for M.Phil. My interest in QAU further increased during M.Sc. at Peshawar University, where one of our professors, who taught us Particle Physics, was an ex-Quaidian. Particle Physics, which studies subatomic particles at high energy, is my favorite subject. My professor told me that there is a strong group of Particle Physics at QAU.
A day trip to Islamabad is possible. I make two trips: first to submit the application package and then for test/interview. On the test day, I get up early to take a coaster from Peshawar. Hafiz drops me at the bus station in his father’s car. After his death, Hafiz has taken the charge of his father’s business. I carry a calculator and all the original documents. Original documents are checked during the interview. As the coaster drives halfway, I strongly urge to smoke. I’ve almost become a chain smoker since my time in Peshawar University. Usually, the coach stops at a roadside restaurant for lunch or prayer, but this is neither lunch or prayer time to stop. The coach is fully packed. The aisle between seats is also filled with extra folding seats. I know it is unethical to smoke, but then I think to myself that a small puff would not make a big difference. I light a cigarette taking a puff and then stub it out before the conductor bursts at me.
**
A subject-based test is held in each department; mine is in the physics department. After the test, the successful candidates are called for the interview. I also qualify for the interview. When my name is called, I enter in the Chairman’s Office and sit on the candidate’s seat. I pass my documents to the Chair who passes it to the other member. There are only two committee members.
The chairman asks me, “Why does an electron not fall inside the nucleus despite they attract each other?”
“According to quantum mechanics the electron has probability everywhere in the space even inside the nucleus, but Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principal prevents it.”
He does not say anything.
“I see a gap in your education. Have you ever failed? The other member notices.
“Yes, in F.Sc.”
“Which subject?”
“Physics.” I proudly say.
She rolls her eyes. No further questions are asked.
**
A few days later Daud calls me that I have got admission. Daud was my classmate in Pabbi College. After B.Sc., we both applied to QAU, he got admission in physics. I in mathematics. I didn’t join QAU back then because my first priority was physics. I asked Daud to call me if my name appeared in the list of passed candidates on the notice board in physics department.
**
The night before I’m leaving for Islamabad, Laiq comes to my room saying he needs to talk to me. Laiq is now the eldest brother after Manan. Laiq handles the family matters. He says, “I know you’re leaving tomorrow. But you know, there is a matter at home we have to resolve.” He refers to the widow.
I’m listening sitting next to him in the cot. My head is down in respect, arms folded on my laps. I was expecting he would congratulate me on my admission but no. I’m the first person in the family who is highly educated. I may have different desires, but he doesn’t consider it.
“She’s in iddat. When the iddat period is completed, she can marry.” He says. Iddat is a period in Islam in which a widow is refrained to marry after her husband’s death. It is about 4 months and 10 days. “She must stay in the family and wed to an unmarried brother of her husband.” He stresses. Now, this is not Islam. In Islam, the widow is free to marry any man. It is our culture. Our culture and Islam go side by side. When Islam let your one foot go, the culture blocks the other one. “You still have time, think about it.” He concludes.
On my mind is Quaid-i-Azam University which is more important than marriage. I have never been part of the family matter. I have devoted my life to education. If people go one way, I go in the other direction. Hafiz’s mother used to joke with me, “Shahid, the mosque is this way.” I used to walk in the evening. The mosque was at one end of the street; I walked in the other direction. In Peshawar University, I didn’t even come for Eid holidays. Though the university was not far from Jamrud. I preferred to stay in the hostel. On the Eid day, the hostel was almost empty. Only foreigners stayed during the holidays. My problem was with the additional Eid prayer, which was performed after sunrise.
**
Quaid-i-Azam University is very beautiful. It looks like if it is built on a hill. Steps are everywhere. Some departments are a little higher than others. The bus stop is called point. The peak times are 1, 3, and 5 p.m. At these times, the day scholars leave. Quadians do not miss points whether leaving or not. They reach there for pohndi – checking out. No touching but looking from a distance. An evening walk on the periphery and a stop on H-5, girls’ hostel, are must. Some boys are lucky they have girlfriends. Others enjoy pohndi only. There is also a beautiful stream behind the campus. Not to mention, a permanent visitor who comes to campus every morning. He holds a shopping bag containing notes. His name is Altaf Jervis aka Mr. Nothing. He Looks like Einstein; white moustache, long hair and wearing a white hat. He doesn’t talk to people much. He advocates his Theory of Nothing. Once he was picked up by the Pakistani ISI then released.
Most wear pant shirts. Only a fraction of students wears shalwar qameez – loose trouser and long shirt. I also want to look like other Quaidians. I used to wear shalwar qameez in Peshawar University. Peshawar University is Pakhtoon dominated. Very few people wear pants shirts. Daud helps me in shopping to buy pants and shirts from the Supermarket in Islamabad. Next day I wear a brown trouser and a white stripe dress shirt, but I cannot walk in it. I keep pulling up my pant all day. Perhaps the pant is a size longer on me. In the evening, when I come back to the hostel, I’m so tired. My legs are hurting. I never wore straight cloths and on top of it when I take off the shirt, a hard paper drops from the collar which was hidden there all day. I think I didn’t remove it when I was wearing the new shirt in the morning.
**
In the first semester, I do not perform well. Though I pass all the papers, my GPA is low and so on probation, given one chance. If I do not improve in the next semester, I’ll be dropped. I blame the new semester system for this. In Peshawar University, there was annual system where only one final exam was given at the end of the year, for which students had plenty of time to prepare; but here are frequent sessional exams, homeworks, and a terminal exam immediately after the completion of the coursework. In Peshawar University, books are less important. Students use notes which are transformed from seniors to juniors for ages, but here the courses are in full control of the professor. They use latest books.
First marriage and now probation. From day one in QAU, I was in silence. My roommate had also noticed it. He once asked me what the problem was. When I told him, he said go ahead and marry her. He assured me that I’d be happy. He is also married. But my mind is not ready to marry my sister-in-law. I also realize if I do not marry her, who will marry her? She’s young and has no children. Clearly, my brothers are married; they will not adjust her. Though in Islam four wives are allowed, I’m the most suitable solution. Sometimes it is better to make a quick decision than to keep thinking. Before my family to push me, I should decide whether to marry or not. Whichever I choose it should be solely my decision. Just like the first drink, I did not involve anyone. I went to the shop, bought a bottle and swallowed the bitter sip. Now it is time for another bitter sip.
At the end of the first semester, I get home for summer vacations. The iddat period is already over. Whether I like it or not, I decide to marry the widow. I convey my willingness to Laiq through his son-in-law telling him clearly that my marriage to be arranged before the end of this summer. My words would not remain the same after that. Laiq gets a wrong message from this. He thinks as if I’m eager for the free marriage deal. He asks me to wait that there is no rush. He also says that they need to check with Hafiz if he also agrees. Meanwhile, my mother started a new game. She literally pulls me from my arm to have breakfast in the widow’s room. Eventually, I move to our other house in area called New Abbadi where my other two brothers live.
**
In September, I get back to Islamabad. The marriage does not take place. The administration in the physics department is changed. The new Chairman is a material physicist, who is against particle physics, the field I want to pursue. The particle physics group was once very strong in the department. I enter the department at a time when the group is in decline. The courses offered are only those leading to experimental physics. Beside other three courses, I take one course on General Relativity in the Mathematics Department – the requirement is to take four courses per semester. I work hard in the second semester and improve my GPA. I start research work in particle physics in third semester.
During this time, I get to go home on and off for pocket money. Hafiz has become very crazy fighting with everyone that he’s under stress because of his stepmother who is also his aunt. He’s asking my mother to pressurize me to marry his aunt as soon as possible, because he’s taking responsibility of her and wants to put the burden on my shoulders.
On one weekend when I’m about to leave for Islamabad, my brother-in-law Azmat discusses the matter with me. When everybody fails to convince me, Azmat thinks he may persuade me. We are in our hujra attached to our new house. We talk in a smaller room in the hujra. This room was once used for the office of the aluminum factory in the hujra. Azmat asks me the same questions what Laiq asked me months ago that the widow must stay in the family and I’m the only solution. I’m crossed. I’m sitting on the edge of the chair, he in the cot. I say, “Let me tell you very clearly. If they push me, they will lose me. I’ll abandon my family. I’m telling you seriously. Who says that there is no other option? Follow one thing. Islam or Pakhtoonwali. In Islam she’s free; her parent can arrange her marriage elsewhere. She must be turned away to her parents.”
“Who turns away their daughters-in-law? It has never happened.”
“I can’t help you here, sorry.” I reply.
“Okay, I’m asking you this question for the last time. I’ll convey your message to your brothers. Nobody will bother you again in this matter. Tell me, will you marry her? Tell me in yes or no?”
“No.” A few months later, the widow is married to a teenager son of Manan, and so the matter is settled.
Mr. Monologue 
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