Free The Writing on My Forehead by Nafisa Haji

considerations of the present. Because in the long run, I believed, my single status would only lead to unhappiness. My sisters-in-law were very good to me. I had no doubt of their sincere affection. For the moment, however, their position in the household was subservient to that of their mother-in-law, my mother. Change was an inevitable part of the future. And who could tell how future shifts in the balance of power might affect their view of me?
    “Already, there was an underlying tension in their feelings toward Zahida. It was easy to understand. It was difficult to like Zahida. Her beauty was such that it inspired automatic envy and dislike among all young women, even those who were not in a position to have to compete with her directly. In this sense, I knew, I myself posed no similar threat. And Zahida, spoilt by the attention she had received since birth by loved ones and strangers alike, did nothing to aid in her own defense. She was demanding and selfish. She was used to getting things her own way, and wheedled and charmed her way around the house among our brothers, parents, and servants, who all served as her willing victims. Thankfully for all concerned, there was no fear of Zahida remaining in the household for very long. Her marriage prospects were assured.
    “But my future was not so certain. And I knew that my sisters-in-law’s present affection for me was no guarantee for my future position in the household. By the dictates of our culture, it was their responsibility, as the wives of my brothers, to care for any of my parents’ surviving dependents, maiden daughters included. The limited independence that my work afforded me, however, had spoilt my taste for a lifetime of dependent toleration. So, marriage was my only long-term option.”
    Big Nanima sighed, long and hard. She looked at my plate, saw that I had finished my kabab roll, and reached for the jug of sugar cane juice that she had called for with the food, pouring me a glass, handing it to me, before continuing her narrative. “I sat there for a long time, in front of that mirror, thinking of all of these things. And then, from the window in my room, which opened out into the open-air courtyard, I heard unfamiliar voices, their tones raised in an exchange of polite greetings. I knew that my summons was imminent and gave myself one more doubtful look in the mirror and laughed at the nervous expression that I saw there.
    “‘That that is, is,’ I quoted Shakespeare, softly, to myself. ‘And that that will be, will be,’ I added, laughing at myself, very pleased with my own improvised wisdom.
    “A little while later, from where I sat, things seemed to be going well. I had made my entrance, tea tray in hand, quite some time before. The conversation, carried by my mother and the younger of the two ladies visiting, was flowing. Cordialities and compliments abounded. They had praised the room, its furnishings, the home, and the residents they had yet met. The tea was declared to be delicious. The pakora s perfectly spiced. And the bearer of both, myself, assessed surreptitiously between sips of tea, the ladies declared charming. My English skills had not been tested. But then, I had held little expectation that they would be, rightly assuming that the examiners present would themselves not bear the expertise required to make such an evaluation. The fact that I had them had been confirmed, and the verbal assurance had seemed to be sufficient.
    “And then, events took a turn which was all the more regrettable because it had been foreseen. Zahida made an unplanned and specifically forbidden entrance. She seemed to stumble in accidentally—though the verb hardly applied to the gliding grace with which she arrived.”
    “She—?! Didn’t you say that your mother told her not to be around?! Did she do it on purpose?” I don’t think I even tried to hide my outrage. But then, my loyalty had been firmly engaged some years before, in a fight over