Kulsoom Zaib
“Why are you still looking at me like that? As if you’ve murdered twenty people and I’m the twenty-first one left alive?” Lachi Tror stared at Shamroz Baba as she spoke.
“Then tell me,” he replied sharply, “who else should I look at? In this courtyard of barely a kanal, there’s no one but you, me, our animals, and these cats and dogs. I have no one else in this world to look at, to talk to, or even stand before.”
Lachi fell silent for a few moments. Then she looked at her husband and said quietly, “So, after sixty years, you finally taunted me, didn’t you? You mocked my empty womb and this childless home? You know, and I know, why this house has remained empty. If I never blamed you, then why are you blaming me?”
She spoke almost in a whisper to herself, but that whisper reached Shamroz Baba’s ears like a bullet fired from an enemy’s rifle, striking its target without fail.
Slowly, he walked toward her. “What did you say? Say it again.”
Lachi remained silent.
He struck his walking stick against the ground. “I’m talking to you! Say it again!”
She looked at him with eyes that answered in place of words.
For a long moment, Shamroz Baba stared at her. Then, in a low voice, he said, “Lachi… from today, you are free. I divorce you… I divorce you… I divorce you.”
The words had barely left his mouth when he collapsed face-first onto the ground. He covered his face with both hands as he fell, as though he no longer had the courage to meet Lachi’s eyes.
Shamroz Baba was dead. And with his death, he took away Lachi’s right to mourn him as his wife.
Lachi sat speechless. It was a grief that carved deep wounds into her heart. She sat away from the body while the women of the neighborhood gathered at Shamroz Baba’s head, wailing in mourning. But Lachi remained silent.
People said that the shock of losing her husband had robbed her of speech. Everyone watched her, but not a single word escaped her lips.
The women were astonished when Lachi’s brother placed a mourning shawl over her head, and she quietly removed it and laid it on the charpoy beside her. They exchanged puzzled glances, unaware of the secret hidden behind that simple act.
The men carried Shamroz Baba’s body away. Lachi remained lost in thought. She neither wept, nor beat her chest, nor embraced anyone in grief. Some whispered that sorrow had driven her mad.
Days passed. She continued living in that house like a stranger. She stopped caring for the house and even the animals.
Family and neighbors alike were bewildered, but no one understood her condition.
Silently, she gave away Shamroz Baba’s clothes in charity. She observed the Friday prayers and memorial gatherings merely to satisfy social customs, but in truth, she had died long before her body ever would.
After the fortieth-day memorial, she sold the house, sold the animals, and donated every penny to the mosque. Then she moved into her brother’s home.
She still remembered her wedding day. She had been the most beautiful girl in the village, and that day she became Shamroz Khan’s bride. The beat of the drums, the singers’ voices, the jingling anklets, the crack of celebratory gunfire, the laughter of young girls, and the traditional Attan dance in the men’s gathering—she remembered every detail.
The elders were delighted that a daughter of the family had married within the family, preserving the honor of the household. Shamroz Khan was the only son of his parents.
One night after their marriage, Shamroz held Lachi’s hand and said, “Lachi, you are my companion in life. Our joys and sorrows, our honor, and our Pashtun code are one. You are a part of my body and soul, and I am yours. But today I must tell you something that destroys homes. I trust that you will bury this secret in your heart. Lachi… I cannot give you the joy of children. I do not possess the manhood needed to fill your lap with a child. Forgive me. I know people will call you barren. They will insult you and look down on you. But for my sake… endure it all. Promise me today.”
The burden was almost unbearable for Lachi. For a long time she looked into Shamroz’s eyes, seeing his helplessness, his tears, and his shattered dreams. Then she rested her head on his shoulder and said, “Shamroz, from today, your sorrow is mine. I am a Pashtun woman. I will carry this secret with me to my grave. No matter how many taunts I receive, I will remain silent.”
And she kept that promise.
Her mother-in-law’s taunts, the villagers’ cruel remarks, and the constant demands that Shamroz marry another woman—Lachi endured everything in silence.
Time went on. Eventually, no one remained in the house except the two of them. The neighborhood children played in their courtyard, and both husband and wife loved them with hearts as vast as the sea.
But no one knew what happened that day. For some reason, Shamroz Baba lost control of himself and, in a single moment, destroyed the world they had built together.
Now Lachi sat in her brother’s house. The secret behind that divorce was known only to God, to Lachi, and to the animals that had lived in their home.
One day, her elder brother entered her room.
“Lachi, come and see. I’ve bought a cow. Tomorrow is Shamroz Khan’s first death anniversary. I thought I’d sacrifice it in his name. Poor man never found happiness in this life; perhaps this charity will bring him some reward.”
Lachi said nothing.
The following Friday, the cow was prepared for sacrifice.
Her brother came to her again. “Lachi, today at least leave your room. Come and place your hand on the cow’s head before I take it for slaughter. I need your permission. After Shamroz, there is no one but you to give it.”
He took her by the hand and led her toward the cow.
But in Lachi’s ears, only one voice echoed again and again:
“I divorce you… I divorce you… I divorce you…”
Suddenly, she clutched both hands over her ears and screamed, “No, Shamroz! No… don’t say that!”
The next instant, she too fell face-first onto the ground, just as Shamroz Baba had.
There was only one difference. Shamroz had covered his face with his hands. Lachi covered her ears.
Her brother and the rest of the family stood frozen in shock, unable to understand what had happened. But that secret was known only to God, who had witnessed everything from above—or perhaps to Lachi Tror and Shamroz Baba, who now stood together in the presence of their Creator.
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