There was some commotion from the women as the mullah approached the door to the room. He stood outside and asked Bibi loudly whether she willingly accepted Hadi to be her husband. He slowly repeated his question fourteen times, so that she would be sure to consider her answer carefully. Her mother stood near her, counting with her fingers. When he reached the last time, Bibi quickly replied, ‘Yes.’
Two of the women in the room started ululating, but they were quickly hushed. Having obtained Bibi’s consent, the mullah continued the rest of the ceremony in the room next door, the dawakhana.
As was the custom, Abdul Hussein whispered to the mullah the sum of money his family was giving to the bride for her dowry; having agreed to Bibi’s grandfather’s request, he also disclosed the mu’akhar – the amount of money to be paid to Bibi in the event of a divorce. Hadi was standing next to his father, but as he still lived under his father’s roof, it fell to Abdul Hussein to conduct the financial part of the marriage. This having been dealt with, the mullah recited a prayer before finalizing the marriage contract verbally. The groom and Bibi’s grandfather shook hands, and the mullah put his hand across both of theirs while reading a final short blessing.
After greeting all the female guests and receiving gifts, mostly jewellery from the groom’s family, Bibi went up to change into her pink dress before joining the lunch banquet. She felt shattered as she sat momentarily on her bed to catch her breath. She had been very anxious for days now, and her fatigue was finally catching up with her, as was her hunger.
The day was a success, judging from the little food that was left over. Everyone in the household was exhausted but satisfied that all had gone well. Even the servants took Bibi’s marriage personally, wanting to give the groom’s side the very best impression in order to ensure that Bibi’s worth was truly appreciated. Yet the marathon was far from over. Now there was the dowry to prepare, in advance of the actual wedding day when Bibi would move into her husband’s home. Although she was officially married to Hadi, she had still not been presented to him.
Rumia now had the mahir dowry money offered by the groom’s family. The fifty gold coins given by the Chalabis was a generous amount, but she was aware that she would have to exceed it if she was to provide her daughter with the best possible trousseau. A trousseau was often looked upon by in-laws as a barometer of a girl’s background and her family’s ability to provide for her. A luxurious trousseau suggested a cared-for girl, who might be treated with more consideration than a girl who came to her groom without much. A meagre trousseau was like a licence that allowed a husband to get off lightly: he could provide his new bride with little, as she had little to start with. Moreover, the contents of the trousseau would be put on public display as part of the wedding festivities.
Rumia knew all too well that there was still much to do. As she helped her daughter choose the items for her trousseau, she brought out a metal-studded chest she had kept stored for years. In it were several pieces of beautiful silk that her husband had brought back from one of his trips to India. Looking through the unfolded cloth, she reminisced about those lost days when her husband had filled the house with life. Rumia decided to give Bibi the chest and all the silks in it. She would never wear them. She had taken to wearing black ever since her husband died, and would continue to do so.
Of course, tradition also dictated that the bride offer gifts to Hadi, his father and brothers. For the men, a shaving set each was chosen, along with embroidered towels and underwear, as well as silk-embroidered shaving aprons. It was an expensive business, especially in these difficult times.
In the run-up to the official wedding day, Bibi overheard her mother talking to Saeeda in the kitchen. Rumia was asking her to pray that the silver candelabra she had sent to be sold would fetch a good price.
‘What’s this, Mother? What are you talking about?’
Rumia glanced across at her. ‘Absolutely nothing for you to worry about, my dear.’ She turned her attention to some pots of spices and resolutely refused to meet Bibi’s eye.
‘Yes, it is; of course it is – what candelabra?’ Bibi demanded, her insecurities bubbling up in her chest.
Saeeda stepped forward. ‘Bibi, there’s something you should know.’ Calmly, she explained the truth about their financial situation, glancing across from time to time at Rumia, who let her continue.
While she wasn’t afraid to challenge her mother, Bibi listened to Saeeda respectfully. She knew from many years’ experience that Saeeda was loyal to the family and acted in all their best interests. Moreover, she was wary of provoking Saeeda’s temper, which could be fearsome when roused.
The news jolted Bibi’s world. She had taken it for granted that her paternal uncle, who was her legal guardian, would be covering the trousseau expenses. Troubled, she looked at her mother, searching for the words with which to express her thanks, but before she could speak Rumia hugged her and told her not to worry.
After a little while Bibi climbed the stairs pensively to her bedroom, where she reached for a hidden cigarette. She understood now more than ever just how important her marriage into the affluent Chalabi family was, and she was relieved that the process was well underway. As she considered the actual wedding, she found herself wondering what she would say to her husband when she first saw him, and how he would greet her. What if he didn’t like her? More importantly, what if she didn’t like him?
She worried about the first night, when the marriage had to be consummated. Now that she was betrothed, many married women in her circle had offered her advice about her wedding night, telling her what she might expect and warning her of the pain she might experience. She tingled with the mere thought of what might happen, strangely thrilled yet nervous at the same time.
Her mood improved over the next couple of days. The all-female henna party the night before the wedding was an especially joyful occasion. Rumia and Bibi’s relatives and close friends were all there. Bibi Istrabadi, the daughter of Saeeda’s old employer the Pivot and one of Bibi’s dearest childhood friends, teased her mercilessly about her new in-laws and the prospect of her wedding night, while a woman decorated their hands with henna patterns. The women sang and laughed, jumping from song to song, exhausting all the verses they knew. Even Rumia relaxed, momentarily abandoning her piety. With one hand covering the other, they clicked their fingers together, and the resulting rhythm accompanied their ululations around the room. Bibi could never manage this clicking business. As much as she tried, she could never make a sound.
The morning of the wedding day was rainy and grey. Bibi woke up very early. When she looked out of her latticed window and saw the downpour, she was filled with worry that the hafafa, the sugaring lady, would not come because of the weather. She could not take her bath until the hafafa had removed all of her body hair; depilation was something else she knew she would have to get used to as a married woman. Flustered, she rushed down to see whether the maid had brought her the tinkhawa, a mineral hair conditioner bought from the perfumer at the bazaar, and discovered to her immense relief that the hafafa had already arrived.
Between beauty treatments, she wondered briefly what her fiancé was doing at that precise moment. She knew that he would go for a ritual bath at the public hamam with a party of his friends. Having spoken to the other women about what was customary, she suspected that the men would all be treated to a succulent kebab lunch in the baths’ antechamber after they had finished their massage and sauna. It all seemed highly relaxed, compared to her compulsory beautification rituals. Bibi bit her lip in discomfort as the hafafa pulled another strip of sugar from her skin. Wincing, she reflected again on how lucky men were.
Hadi went through his wedding preparations with rather more detachment than his bride-to-be, but then there was less for him to do. Nonetheless, he was looking forward to the arrival of his bride that evening. He was anxious and excited in equal measure, trying to imagine what Bibi might be like. He had painted an image of her from the various descriptions that had been provided by his female relatives, concentrating on the more positive picture that his mother had created. Jamila had told him that Bibi was a lively girl, with a pretty face and soft skin. And certainly he liked the image he had