I want, I don't want.
How can I live with such a heart?

— Margaret Atwood

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"I've bought myself a car. Say thanks to lala for the money he sent me."

She sits behind the wheel of her new car at the parking lot opposite to the academy Mikael delivers his lectures at. It's more like a big hall beside a small mosque from the outside. She watches people going inside but doesn't budge from her seat, being here early and preferring to be on call with Ferozeh instead of mingling with strangers.

Mikael had texted her the address and details a few days back when she had decided to attend his classes. She had saved his number but none of them has bothered speaking more with each other than the information which was required. She hasn't seen him in a week after having coffee with him at the cafe.

"I will," Ferozeh replies. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself there."

"Not quite though. I wish Zoraiz would agree to moving to a better place but that guy is stubborn." She sighs. "Although I'm not insisting anymore. He doesn't like the idea and there's nothing I can do about it. I think I'll have to make peace with that apartment. Did I tell you it's smaller than our servant quarters?"

"You did."

"Never mind then."

"How is Zoraiz, by the way?" Ferozeh asks. "It's been long he has visited us."

"He's good. Different, actually. I don't think he's planning on coming home anytime soon."

"What do you mean?"

Banafsha turns the back-view mirror to herself, checking her make up. "I mean he's no more like the rest of everyone back home, so I suppose the thought of that company is not entertaining to him anymore. He's kind of more religious now, you know?"

"Really? How so?" Ferozeh inquires with interest.

"Like he gave me a death scare this morning when I came home from my night shift." She fishes for her lipstick in her bag. "The sun hadn't risen fully and it was dark. He was praying in the middle of the living room and I thought I had stumbled upon a ghost. You would be at my funeral now if I had died from cardiac arrest."

Her friend laughs at her statement. "Well, that's new. But it's good I guess."

"Yeah, so far so good, except the ill way he speaks of our family." She reapplies her lipstick, smacking her lips together. "I've reprimanded him for that but nothing gets through his skull."

"What does he say?"

"That we're corrupted, our money is black, we're not loyal to the public and looting their rights." She sits straighter, feeling sick in her stomach for some reason. "Moreover, that our men commit adultery and have dirty addictions; our women loves luxury and wouldn't care less. That we're bad people using riches to cover us up."

There's silence on the other end and the sickness she has been feeling intensifies.

"Roz?"

"I'm listening."

"Then say something."

"What do I say to this, Afsha? Don't think too much about it. It'll only hurt you."

Her words hit her like a slab of concrete. She wanted Ferozeh to console her, tell her the truth isn't so blatant, not so cruel. Growing up, she has always been pampered and hidden away from the darkness of their world, but she wasn't completely ignorant to everything. Although neither as exposed. She wants to call it a lie-- or at least half of it to be a lie. But her heart doesn't submit to her reasoning.

"Ferozeh?"

"Yes?"

"Is lala like that too?"

"Like what?"

"Does he go to brothels too?"

"Of course not."

Banafsha hears the shiver in her voice and her nerves jump. She smiles ruefully to herself.

"Zoraiz said I hadn't been a good friend to you, because I never understood you. I think he was right." She tosses her head back on the seat and closes her eyes. "Whether I can take it or not doesn't matter, but tell me the truth: how many times has my brother left you waiting for him in the bed at night but never returned to you?"

"Afsha..." Ferozeh trails off, and she can imagine her fabricating excuses for her husband. "He doesn't go there anymore," she defends him weakly.

Banafsha feels a nail hammered into her chest. "But he used to?"

She hears Ferozeh heave a sigh. "Yes, before Abeer was born. But now we've a daughter and he's a changed man."

She chuckles humorlessy, opening her eyes and staring at the roof of her car. "I thought mama wouldn't let her son do the same to his wife what her husband did to her all his life. I see she has failed. Why did you never tell me?"

"What would you've done? Stand against your brother for me?" Ferozeh asks helplessly. "Your mother would forbade him but he didn't listen to her. You couldn't have done anything either, Afsha."

She blinks, all numb. "I remember baba wanting to marry Mughis lala to his friend's daughter, but he refused saying he'd only marry you. I thought he loved you." She huffs. "So love is all but a lie. Infatuation, maybe that's the right word for the likes of them."

"It's all in the past now so it doesn't matter," Ferozeh dismisses.

"Well, for me it does." She lets the window down to let the air in, feeling agitated. "Do you know why Mr. Khalil disowned Aurang?"

"Why?"

"Because he married a prostitute," Banafsha tells her, feeling her tongue go sour at the words. "Now you tell me, logically, what am I to assume of this?"

"He doesn't necessarily has to be like that," Ferozeh argues and she laughs an empty laugh.

"Of course, not. Just like lala is a good man despite going to brothels, Aurang could be too," she hisses in irony. "But I don't want the life my mother has lived: apparently golden but actually miserable."

"What do you want to say, Afsha?"

"I'm going to meet Zoraiz's professor."

"Pardon me?"

"He's a religious scholar. Maybe he can help me with my dilemma."

"Banafsha," Ferozeh hushes her voice in a way as if to advice her. "Look, you're already married. Your family won't take well to the idea of divorce. And besides, it'll create new rivalries. Be rational."

She grits her teeth. "I had already made my mind about the divorce the moment I learnt the truth about Aurang. I'm only reconsidering because Zoraiz asked me too. But I'll do as I please, Roz. Baba and lala can gladly kill me for ruining their fake reputations."

"But--"

"Give my love to Abeer," she cuts Ferozeh before she can try to convince her anymore. "And if possible, keep your husband from coming here. It'll only make trouble for everyone."

She ends the call and releases her breath shakily, taking a moment to compose herself before getting out of the car towards the building.

Inside, many people are already seated for the lecture, men and women in separate sections. The gathering is unexpectedly larger than she had expected. She takes a seat close to the stage, hoping to hear from Mikael something that would help her in some way. She checks her wristwatch-- about time. He appears on the stage a minute later.

Everyone in the auditorium hushes as Mikael takes his place behind the podium, fixing his mic to his collar before lifting his gaze and sweeping it across the audience. Their eyes meet and she see his lips twitch into a small smile. She smiles back at him and he averts his gaze.

He clears his throat and starts reciting something in Arabic that she neither understands nor recalls from her memory. Then realizing that all the women, and including some men, had their heads covered in respect besides her, she quickly searches bag for something and finds a handkerchief. Unfolding it, she arranges it on her head to cover it a much as possible.

"Starting in the name of Allah, the most beneficent and the most merciful," he begins. "As-salaam mu a'laikum (peace be unto you), my brothers and sisters," he greets and everyone responds back together. She looks around uneasily. "I'm happy to see many old faces here, and many new ones too. To those who are here for the first time, I welcome you. I'm Mikael Idris, a student and teacher of Islamic studies, and I'll be conducting this lecture for today. So for the next one hour, you're stuck with me," he humors and a collective chuckle rises from the people.

But her ears ring with his name. Mikael Idris. Idris. Why do of all the names in the world, he has to share Aurang's surname? The fact bothers her.

"Today's story teaches us many lessons and I'll be highlighting each, one by one," he opens his lecture and continues with the introduction while Banafsha keeps her eyes fixated on him, gaze unwavering. He doesn't look towards her again. In the dimmed auditorium lights, his eyes glitter like two gemstones and his voice flows with authority. He doesn't look shy to her like before.

Topaz. Mikael's orbs remind him of Mughis's ring-- of Abeer's description of Aurang's eyes. She mentally scolds herself for the wrong timings of her brain to flash her bad memories.

"Caliph Umar ibn Al-Khattab once had a dream," Mikael starts the story and Banafsha blocks out any distracting thoughts. "He saw that a boy from his progeny will come to rule the Muslims who will end oppression and injustice that's been going on before him-- a boy with a scar on his face. Afterwards many sahaba (companions of the Prophet) had the same dream. So everyone was on the lookout for this boy with a scar, curious about who he would be," he pauses for effect.

"Now everyone knows what an exemplary ruler Khalifa Umar was. Muslims developed profoundly under his rules and made great conquests. He was dedicated to the well-being of his people. So once while patrolling the streets of Madina disguised as a commoner to make sure no one was in need, he came across two women in an argument. One of them, the mother, was asking the other, the daughter, to mix water with milk so they could've more quantity to sell and make more money, saying that no one was there to watch them and that Khalifa Umar wouldn't know, since it was prohibited. To that, the daughter replied that even though Umar wouldn't know what they were doing, the Lord of Umar surely knows everything. Deeply touched by the girl's piety, the Khalifa called her the next day and proposed to her that he wanted to marry his son, Asim, to her. And thus, they got married, later on having a daughter named Layla."

By now Banafsha finds herself lost in the story, hardly aware of her surrounding and staring at Mikael, waiting for his every next word.

"Meanwhile in the Ummayad caliphate, caliph Marwan ibn Hakam had a son: Abdul Aziz, appointed as the governor of Egypt. Unlike most of the Ummayad rulers of that time, having lavish lifestyles least concerned about their public, Abdul Aziz was very pious. So when the time for his marriage came, he sent a proposal to Madina for Layla, since everyone considered it an honor to marry in the family of caliph Umar. And since the condition of Layla being given in marriage was that the man must have an upright character, which Abdul Aziz met, they got married." Mikael smiles and Banafsha subconsciously leans forward in her seat. "God gave them a son, Umar ibn Abdul Aziz. And one day, when Umar was only a young boy, he went into the stables where he got hit by a horse on the face, resulting in a scar. And thus the dream Umar ibn Al-Khattab had was to come true in the form of Umar ibn Abdul Aziz. "

For the second time during all this time, Mikael turns to her and their eyes meet again. His ocean blue irises immediately drown her, and she feels as if she's sinking into a bottomless ocean. Unease pains her nerves again, a dull ache resting in her bosom. She doesn't know why she's here-- she becomes unaware of the world against the look in Mikael's eyes. Maybe she's here for him-- for the love she has seen in his eyes for his late wife-- to ask him the secret of love. She's here looking for the love no one back home can probably give her. And the realization cracks open her heart.

"Now since childhood, Umar had leadership qualities," Mikael begins again, once more averting his gaze. "He was very God-fearing, like his parents, and was brought up in the company of the best teachers of that time in Madina. One of his teachers, Saleh ibn Al-Kisan, was very strict regarding performing congregational prayer. And once, Umar missed the congregational prayer. When asked why, he said he was combing his hair." Mikael smiles softly. "So his teacher, Saleh, sent a letter to his father to Egypt concerning the matter, and Abdul Aziz sent a delegation back, ordering to shave off his son's hair. You see the importance of prayers?" he stresses. "And the role of parents in the good upbringing of their children-- in creating leaders for tomorrow."

A lump forms in her throat for some reason and she swallows dryly. The occasional times her family members perform prayers are only upon the holy days of the year. The thought doesn't sit well with her. Suddenly Zoraiz praying before dawn breaking appears noble to her, no more funny.

"When Abdul Malik, his father's brother, was succeeded by his son Waleed as the next caliph, Umar was appointed as the governor of Madina. But due his disagreements with the ways of Hajjaj ibn Yusuf, the governor of Iraq who was ruthless in his rule, Umar was dismissed from his post. Later on when Waleed died and his brother Sulaiman became caliph with Umar's support, against Waleed's sons who wanted to take charge instead, Sulaiman's fondness for Umar was so much so that he chose him as the next caliph upon his advisor's advice, well aware of his qualities and against the next-in-line successors of his family, which of course upset the Ummayads. But because it was the will of the caliph, they had no choice but to accept it. And thus, after the death of Sulaiman, Umar became the Khalifa."

He pauses and flips a page of his notes. Banafsha takes a gulp of water from her bottle to ease her parched throat.

"Umar remained caliph only for about two and a half years, before the Ummayads poisoned his food and he died at the age of thirty seven." Mikael surveys the audience. "But during that short time, he put an end to injustices and oppression: returned to the rightful owners their properties that rulers before him had taken wrongfully, restored public treasury, and settled upon living like a commoner, discarding of all his wealth he had inherited. He was from the royal family, but he abandoned the attractions of the world for the sake of God and chose to live a simple life instead. And surely those who seek only from their Lord that what is good, they're blessed in both the worlds."

Banafsha shifts in her seat impatiently, not sure if she should be listening to anymore of the lecture. She has started feeling out of the place. It takes her her willpower to not get up and leave.

"People who used to boast about their riches turned to the worship of God. Why? Because their Khalifa set up an example for them. How many of the leaders today are like that? Who is there to question them for what they doing? Where their money is coming from?" Mikael asks challengingly and her heart jumps, feeling targeted, Zoraiz's words echoing in her ears: that money is bloody.

"He brought many reforms, removed unlawful taxes, gave freedom of religion to the non-Muslims, and even fixed the load to be carried by the animals so as not to be overburdened. The public was pleased with him, but the rulers weren't. So they sent his aunt to him who he highly regarded to talk to him about the matter. Umar asked for a coin, a piece of iron and meat to be brought to him, roasted the coin and iron in fire until red, and then put the meat on it until it started sizzling. He then asked his aunt: do you want me to burn in hell-fire like this? Now how many of us are so God-fearing, mindful of the lives we're living?"

His voice rings in the hall. Banafsha wipes her hands against her pants, feeling them sweaty and cold. Mikael continues, adding more events from the life of caliph Umar, and each one of them only make her question her family and herself.

"When he was on his death bed, his wife would say she would hear him reciting this verse from the Quran: this abode of the hereafter is for those people who do not do injustice nor spread corruption in this world. And the good end is for the righteous."

Unable to bear it anymore, Banafsha stands up. Mikael pauses to look at her. She walks through the rows of seats and down the aisle, ignoring the heads turning towards her at the loud clicking of her heels against the marble floor.

And ignoring Mikael's piercing stare at her back, she leaves the building.

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Link to the video on caliph Umar ibn Abdul Aziz which I've used for this chapter is attached above. Credits to the scholar for his beautiful narration and to the channel for its compilation, and to my brother for the suggestion.

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