Zainab and Zahra were busy working outside. After watering the plants, Zahra[ML1] went inside, feeling tired. Zainab went to feed her horse. Slowly rubbing its mane she said, ‘Come on, Luke, let’s eat something.’
Hassan was watching his daughter. He went near her and asked, ‘Why do you work so hard? There are many servants in the house. You could have asked them to do all this. Look at your dress; it’s a mess.’
‘Father, I enjoy working.’ She shrugged and added, ‘I am not ashamed of working in my own house.’ Then, slowly patting her horse, she said, ‘Feeding Luke and riding gives me great pleasure.’ She kissed her father’s cheek. ‘I would be pleased if you could find a helper for me, though.’
‘There are many servants inside. Why don’t you call one of them to help you?’
‘Father! They’re women. They get tired very fast. I’m looking for a strong and hard-working male to do all of the outside work.’ Hassan smiled. He adored his daughters. They were kind to everyone, the servants included.
Just then, Junior and Roshan entered. The strong youth impressed Hassan, and he appointed him immediately.
Junior was given the corner room near the stable.
Junior looked around. He was awed by the palace with its grand, terraced steps leading up to the front door and the hundreds of stained glass panes.
Zainab looked at him. ‘Thank God I finally got a helper,’ she said, staring at the handsome young man. Mistaking her to be a servant, Junior said nothing in response, but he managed a smile.
***
Most of the time, they worked together. Whatever work Junior did looked neat. He always kept himself busy.
He came out of the room every morning in his slacks and worked first in the stable, and then in the garden, and finally on the car, washing, waxing, and wiping it.
He drove the family for their outing every Saturday. On Fridays he visited Roshan’s family.
Hassan and Zainab admired his hard-working nature, his sincerity, and his punctuality.
Zainab felt a certain attraction for him on day one itself, a kind of love at first sight.
***
One day, they both were working in the garden when Zahra came forward to help her sister. ‘Ma’am, there’s only a little work here, please don’t get yourself dirty,’ Junior requested.
‘That’s all right, Junior, I don’t mind getting myself dirty. I enjoy working with Zainab,’ said Zahra.
‘But your father will mind,’ said Junior, trying to convince her to go back.
‘What?’ Zahra stared at him in surprise.
‘Why do you let my sister Zainab do all this work? If you can allow her, then why don’t you allow me?’ she asked angrily.
‘What? Zainab is your sister?’
Junior felt very bad. He stared at Zainab and stammered, ’I … I … thought that you were … were a servant.’
Rubbing a hand on his head he mumbled, ‘Oh God! For three months you were working with me and obeying my orders! Why? Why didn’t you tell me that you were the daughter of the house?’
‘Because I love you, and I enjoy your company,’ she thought, but she said something altogether different. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘It’s my duty to keep my house neat and tidy, and I don’t feel any shame doing that. That’s why I obeyed your orders.’
Junior could not sleep that night. His mind was full of Zainab. It was the first time a woman had entered his thoughts. Zainab was kind, gentle, and hard-working. He realised that her presence gave him some kind of pleasure and a relief to his pain. Suddenly he got up from the bed and sat, stressed. He ran his hand across the back of his neck, massaging the tense muscles. ‘I’m here to protect the house, not to build castles in the air,’ he said to his wandering mind. He closed his eyes and thought, ‘I won’t betray my master; I will never do that.’ It was a firm decision.
Junior woke up very early the next morning. He had finished most of the work by the time that Zainab joined him.
‘Junior! Why didn’t you wait for me? Have you finished feeding the horse?’ His heart jumped at her voice, but he did not turn around.
‘Yes, I have finished. You go back, Zainab, I don’t want you here.’
‘I don’t need your permission, Junior,’ she teased.
‘Yes you do!’ he countered gruffly.
‘All right. Let’s not fight. Just answer my question: Does your mother need your permission to cook food for you?’ The word ‘mother’ made his heart ache.
‘No,’ he said promptly, in a soft voice.
‘Does your mother need your permission to keep her house neat?’
‘No!’
‘In that case, I don’t need your permission to work in my house.’ A spark of amusement lit his eyes.
‘Why do you work, Zainab, when you have many others to take care of you?’ She laughed artlessly.
‘Do you have a grandmother?’
‘No,’ said Junior.
‘Well, my grandmother told me a story, when I was in school. It went something like this …
‘Once, there lived a rich family, with a father, a mother, and a sweet little girl. The father never allowed his daughter to work in the kitchen or elsewhere. He always wanted to see his daughter in beautiful dresses and with pretty ornaments.
‘But whenever the father went out, her mother removed her ornaments and changed her new dress to an old dress and taught her the art of cooking.
‘Years passed, and the little girl grew into a beautiful young lady. Soon she was married off.
‘One day her father visited her. He panicked at the sight of his daughter without any ornaments, wearing an old dress.
‘In pain, he asked her for the reason.
She said, “Father, whatever you gave me has gone due to my husband’s sudden loss in the business. Whatever mother gave me is still with me.”
‘The father got angry.
‘“What did your mother give you?” he asked her.
“She taught me how to cook and how to run a family,” the girl said.
‘Anger drained out of his face, and a smile appeared on his lips.
‘He said, “However wealthy a girl may be, she should still know the art of cooking. And only a mother can give that gift.”’
‘What do you think of the story?’ asked Zainab.
With wide, disbelieving eyes Luke stared at her. ‘You still remember those stories?’
‘Yes, I do. Stories told by grandparents always remain in one’s mind. No one forgets them.’ Junior shrugged. He had never heard any stories from his grandparents. He continued to stare at her, not knowing what to think or how to feel. She looked vulnerable and incredibly beautiful.
‘Is that the reason why you work?’ he asked.
‘Exactly. I dream of a happy home with a loving husband by my side and a baby babbling in my arms. I don’t want to ruin my life as a lazy woman.’ She laughed.
Junior gazed at her, thinking of how they were just his kind of thoughts. He went back to his room with a grin.
***
Junior visited Roshan’s family whenever he was free.
One day when he visited he saw Nadia with books, looking very tense. ‘When is your tenth board exam starting?’ he asked.
‘In two days’ time,’ she replied nervously. He remembered Fida at once.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll score well,’ he assured.
‘Thank you. I really hope so,’ she said.
‘Where’s Roshan?’ he asked, looking around.
‘In mum’s room. Mum had an accident yesterday,’ she related dejectedly.
Junior panicked. ‘How did it happen?’ he cried.
‘Mum took support of the mirror to avoid falling in the bathroom. Unfortunately, she fell along with the mirror. Pieces of glass pierced her hand, and her leg is fractured from the fall,’ she said.
Junior fled to her mother’s room. Roshan greeted Junior with a sad smile. ‘When did you come?’ Junior stood beside Roshan’s mother without saying a word in reply. He felt heartbroken when she smiled at him amidst her pain. He saw that her whole body was swollen.
He quickly took some water in his hand, closed his eyes and said, ‘In the name of God, who had answered my mother’s prayer, and in the name of God, who was satisfied with my hospitality, Al-shifa, Al-shifa, Al-shifa.’ He poured the water on her wounds, reserving some to give her a little to drink. Within seconds, she got up from the bed looking healthier and stronger.
Nadia came forward and looked at her mother. There was no trace of the wounds or swelling. She could not understand it. Wonder and disbelief quickly flashed on to everyone’s face.
‘How did you do that?’ quizzed Roshan’s mother. ‘I … I … feel no pain. I … I feel great. Please tell me son, who are you?’
Roshan came forward. He held Junior’s hand and asked in wonder, ‘Who are you?’ Junior hesitated and then quickly looked away from the staring eyes, tensed.
Roshan’s mother came to him and asked in desperation, ‘For God’s sake, tell us the truth. Who are you?’
‘I’m Luke,’ he replied like a confession.
‘What?’ Nadia dropped her book in shock. Roshan couldn’t believe his ears.
‘Why didn’t you tell us before? Not even Adeeb?’ he screamed.
‘Don’t blame him, Roshan. I made him promise not to mention my name to you.’
Junior explained the reason for his hiding his true identity from them and why he had left Bahrain.
‘Luke! We always respected you. But not even in our wildest dreams did we imagine we could ever meet you.’ Roshan gave Luke a tight hug. ‘I won’t let you work there any more, Luke. I won’t,’ he said with determination.
‘No, Roshan, I enjoy working there. And please allow me to. Please let me, Roshan, please,’ Luke pleaded. Roshan said nothing. He shook his head in a mild protest, unhappy.
‘I … I just can’t believe this. Am I dreaming?’ Nadia was still confused.
Luke picked up her book from the ground. He patted her back with affection. ‘I don’t think you are,’ he mocked her.
‘I … I don’t know what to say,’ she said, still in a daze.
‘Don’t say anything, sister? Just study and score good marks. Do you need any help?’ He tried to ease her mind with the tease.
‘No thank you,’ she said, blushing.
‘It is probably a good thing! Even if you had said that you needed help, I probably would not have been able to help you. I scored too poorly in that area,’ he admitted, half in jest.