Thanks to My Killer Wife: The World's True Story

By Muhammad Raza

A middle-aged widow, commuter of Amsterdam goes to Pakistan and weds a gentleman. Soon as the groom arrives into The Netherlands for a family reunion, he shockingly discovers in her a spoilt woman. The man tries to save his bond of marriage but the wronged woman neither wants to be tamed due to aspects of love, nor does she co-operate. Instead, she rather wants her man to close his eyes and to shut up his mouth if ever he wishes to become a legitimate resident in her country. The egoist man doesnt compromise on self-respect of a saintly husband and thus is thrown out into streets quite empty-handed and undocumented. Then he gets afraid of going back to his homeland predicting a social ridiculous. Years passed in such a dreary and stoned life-style that one day the city police arrests him against his unlawful status and surrenders him to the foreign police who when fails to deport, sets him free like a squeezed lemon after he having served a years custodial sentence.

The author describes how a few Asian immigrants and their spoiled descendants who once get settled into the Western states

. forget about their past of struggling.
. trap and bait to their own continent/ country-fellows by showing on them a false fairyland.
. and try to demoralize a Western society by using its culture as a shield or weapon to fulfill their own sensual curiosity which seems difficult to meet in their own sender lands.

The author also regrets to inflexibility of the constitution and rejects to the old theory nobody is above law. He urges on the law-makers must to defend on humanitarian grounds to those noble outlanders who become illegal by some accident, or by a misfortune befell on them and not by fraud or cheating like do often the professional invaders or regular tress-passers breaking into some countrys barriers.

The whole story convincingly draws a picture of human courage and endurance against all odds mixed in shadow of oppression and optimism by giving an entire message never quit. A compulsively true heart saga with a positive energy_ readable, thought-provoking and enjoyable.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781491801185

Muhammad Raza

A middle-aged widow, commuter of Amsterdam goes to Pakistan and weds a gentleman. Soon as the groom arrives into The Netherlands for a family reunion, he shockingly discovers in her a ‘spoilt’ woman. The man tries to save his bond of marriage but the wronged woman neither wants to be tamed due to aspects of love, nor does she co-operate. Instead, she rather wants her man to close his eyes and to shut up his mouth if ever he wishes to become a legitimate resident in her country. The egoist man doesn’t compromise on self-respect of a saintly husband and thus is thrown out into streets quite empty-handed and undocumented. Then he gets afraid of going back to his homeland predicting a social ridiculous. Years passed in such a dreary and stoned life-style that one day the city police arrests him against his unlawful status and surrenders him to the foreign police who when fails to deport, sets him free like a squeezed lemon after he having served a year’s custodial sentence. The author describes how a few Asian immigrants and their spoiled descendants who once get settled into the Western states . forget about their past of struggling. . trap and bait to their own continent/ country-fellows by showing on them a false fairyland. . and try to demoralize a Western society by using its culture as a shield or weapon to fulfill their own sensual curiosity which seems difficult to meet in their own sender lands. The author also regrets to inflexibility of the constitution and rejects to the old theory ‘nobody is above law’. He urges on the law-makers must to defend on humanitarian grounds to those noble outlanders who become illegal by some accident, or by a misfortune befell on them and not by fraud or cheating like do often the professional invaders or regular tress-passers breaking into some country’s barriers. The whole story convincingly draws a picture of human courage and endurance against all odds mixed in shadow of oppression and optimism by giving an entire message ‘never quit’. A compulsively true heart saga with a positive energy_ readable, thought-provoking and enjoyable.

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© 2013 Muhammad Raza. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 07/26/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0117-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0116-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4918-0118-5 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Part One

Chapter One

The Wedding Plot (January 2003)

Chapter Two

The Day That Changed His Life

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

The tour of Belgium

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Part Two

Chapter Seven

Arrested & Detained (Nov.03)

Chapter Eight

Sentenced to Imprisonment

Nov 05. (Detentie Centrum Zaandam, Noord Holland)

Chapter Nine

Return to society

In loving memory of my father

Acknowledgements

Genuinely speaking, memories are by definition a deeply private undertaking requiring reflection and a measure of introspection and thus the following book is no exception which is a culmination of my sorrowful adventures. The first half depicts betrayal of my runaway bride, the strains and pains arose afterwards, the loneliness, dismay and indignation what I bore upon me as an outcome of that deception. While its second half portraits how, being a distressed outlander, I was mistreated by some local (foreign) authorities who were expected and supposed to be the rational and foresighted but they proved to be different. It is true that having a milk of humanity into my DNA (not but any fear factor) I concealed on purpose the naked reality of the people in general and of the people in power because nobody and no field of life meets the perfection but still I always imagined that if I were to try to revealing my tale of woes, then there must be honest and fair dimensions of the story written accurately. It has been shown that how locally settled immigrants in a country and its natives discriminate and exploit to the lives of simple hearted fresh comers into that land if caught by any misfortune, crushing the poor down under their massy feet, considering them merely some sort of parasites while violating to the fundamental rights of those sufferers.

Going with a book or some moving film is often painstaking endeavor and it happened in my case as well though I have been writing since I was in sixth grade (if not before then) and that’s why the whole of the book was repeatedly reviewed as having the potential to define the limits of what can be published on paper or on internet. Hence this book is neither by a humiliated husband rival, nor by a rebel detainee (who was once given a prolonged custodial sentence) in an apparent attempt to attract a bigger audience. Vividly, I have no desire to revenge any persons or establishments whatever by taking some kind of desperate measures but rather a great responsibility has been taken for the incidents and the previews expressed in these pages. Therefore there’s no question of going rash or anguish but instead, I wrote this documentary in the spirit of reconciliation and positivism without any debate of who was wrong and who was right. The vital features highlighted hereby are just those experiences which I met accidently in my European life and what should not be construed as some personal prejudices or should not be considered under some contempt of court convictions. The wise-men say that one who despite having strength and power to revenge, if spares and forgives to a guilty, becomes the great in the eyes of The Lord and thus, I do aim not at humiliation or insult of any relevant or irrelevant parties.

Moreover, after when my ‘lady ga ga’ cheated on me and I was entrapped into a paranoid state of mind for years, plus having been suffered from inhuman prolonged imprisonment, some cultural and literary societies in Europe encouraged in me to share my prospective at a time when it might be of some particular relevance and lo, here it is. This is the story of a man who was prosperous and known as ‘the king of the queens’ onto his original land but his own legal queen devastated him and turned him into a beggar, the man who wrapped himself in a coffin for a decade almost, not knowing in which street of the fairyland he would die the next moment. Understandably anyways, it is my fervent hope that the following book which I wrote after my ambition and passion to share my feelings with the world and not but for any cheap fame, popularity or reputation, will not only set its readers’ hearts on fire but it will also inspire them take precautionary measures before falling in love with strangers and thus before celebrating such hasty weddings by trusting blindly upon those cheaters and Satan inwardly, because believing is not the same as understanding.

Part One

Chapter One

The Wedding Plot (January 2003)

It was exactly eleven o’clock in the morning when the phone operator spoke quite impressively through the extension.

Sorry to bother you, sir. Your phone is probably busy. She paused for a while.

Oh, Maria. Daniel suppressed a grin. He was a startlingly good-looking man of about thirty-three. He was six feet tall and fair-faced, with dark eyes and long black hair hanging over his shoulders and an official attitude. Seemingly like some sports star, he spoke inattentively, sorting out a few papers spread about on the table. He had insinuated himself into his job to such an extent that twice he refused the servant who entered his office to serve him a coffee and some cake. What’s the matter? The truth was that he had switched off his cell for as long as he could in order to finish that significant task in comfort.

Sir, your father is on line, she answered at once.

Father? He was surprised. Now there will be some trouble, he murmured to himself. All right, put through the line to me, please.

Yes, sir. She gave a plaintive rather than obedient response.

Hi, Dad, what’s up there? Daniel became a little alert.

My son, could you come home for a short while?

He examined the wall clock. Hey, it is too early, Buddy, he said to himself. But, Dad, I left home just two hours ago. What’s new there?

Actually a few of the special guests arrived here who want to see you immediately, his dad said meaningfully.

What do you mean by the special guests? Daniel asked in astonishment, but then, comprehending the situation, he immediately continued. Oh no, not again!

This was completely bizarre. It made him uncomfortable, considering how badly he had suffered already. In those days some one or two wedding proposals had already caused him a lot of agitation. The long, abrupt conversations, the vain judgments, the inquiries into differences of social status, position, and calibre, differences of education and orientation, and cultural gaps, the nerve-breaking interrogations, and the heart-breaking results had all made him fed up with those useless experiments. He was exhausted by his father’s untiring efforts to settle his son’s life with the help of an Elliot-class marriage bond, sometimes hankering after a marriage proposal in London or in Sydney and at other times making contacts over the phone with the parents of some lady resident in Vancouver or New York but born in Asia. In Pakistani culture it is normal or at least customary that visitors may show up at your house all of a sudden without being invited or without any proper summons whenever they want, in the early or late morning, in the afternoon or in the evening, or sometimes even in the middle of the night.

And it’s too early, he told his dad with somewhat less interest.

Steal away some of your time and come home soon. The party is in a hurry, and they have to visit some other places as well.

But Dad, I have a consignment to deliver urgently, and that shipment is a must today. There’s some sort of mess in the department of quality control. I must have a final inspection by myself after they are checked out at the finished lots section. I have to organize many things yet. Daniel was seriously worried.

No buts, my son. What’s said is what has been said. His dad spoke loud this time in annoyance.

Come on, Daddoo. He implored with love. And if it was already arranged, why wasn’t I informed earlier? He questioned thoughtfully to cool down his father.

It was, his dad clarified, neither a pre-planned program nor expected, but instead it was a sudden arrival on their part—rather a blessing in disguise.

How could he grab some moments out of that busy schedule? Everything seemed to be on his agenda. His right hand was tapping restlessly on the table covered with the computer system and other electronic appliances as he meditated to find some way out. He was inclined to be lenient.

All right, Daddoo. He was his father’s son and could not put it off for a long; instead of too much criss-cross or playing zigzags, Daniel yielded to his father. I’ll be on my way.

Maria, ask the chauffeur to drive me home, he ordered his operator-cum-secretary.

My pleasure, sir she replied brusquely, a total familiar seduction.

Daniel’s house was not far away from the industry where he worked as MP3 manager in planning, purchasing, and production at the same time. Normally, these are supposed to be three different faculties or segments, but fortunately he had been appointed solely responsible for all three assignments, and the credit went without any debate to his high professional skill and his seriousness in the performance of his vocational tasks. The outlets that he produced, introduced, and displayed brought a huge profit and output. It could be called teamwork altogether with a dedication, spirit, and enthusiasm that had made all of them feel happy, proud, and satisfied.

It was just a fifteen minutes’ drive from his office premises to the west of Daska, his home town, along the squirrel-crossing circular road that intersected Shaheedan Wala Boulevard, the down lane which centrally parted into the northeast Shaheedan Wali Alley, where he used to live in a magnificent white house, the most beautiful home in the whole of the street, or rather, the only white house in the whole area in those days. That distinguished mansion was home to his parents, to him, and to three of his brothers. Two of his lovely sisters had already got married and lived with their husbands in the city of Lahore, but they would often visit the Daska house to tend and nurse their sick parents and, of course, to have a family get-together. Adnan, one of Daniel’s younger brothers, was living in the UAE (Dubai) at that time.

He reached home and questioned his mom, almost shouting at her.

What’s going on, and who they are?

There are four of them, his mom explained. "Mr Arslaan and his blood-sister Mrs Kalsoom, a college-girl named Snabil, the daughter of Kalsoom, and Mr Arhem, the husband of Kalsoom. Arslaan lives in Amsterdam with his wife, two daughters, and a son, while his eldest son has moved to London with his wife. He came here with the motivation of finding a suitable match for his younger daughter, and that’s what has brought him our home. Kalsoom resides in the city of Sialkot with her husband, two young daughters, and two sons.

"In Pakistan, almost ninety-five per cent of all marriages fixed and celebrated are arranged marriages rather than love marriages. The couples normally don’t choose each other after their free will, but contrarily their elders select and make the arrangements between the couples, and honestly speaking, that has proved to be a wonderfully successful wedding system, and it has prevailed in Pakistan, respectable, durable, reliable, and long-lasting. Arranged marriages make up a beautiful part of Pakistani—or rather Islamic—culture, and it has been going on for ages, no matter how the modern era may pass by or how some rebellious new generation might revolt against it.

At the end of the day, all agree at the solidarity of an arranged marriage. History reflects that most of the love marriages have proved to be total disasters, and it has been seen throughout the ages that those who were once known as great supporters of free love and sex and of open marriages eventually bowed their heads to the will of their elders in selecting more reliable life partners for themselves. As the rationals say, it is environment that counts. Anyway, the debate isn’t against love marriages or about its failures but just to say that arranged marriages are considered a symbol of matrimonial happiness, durability, and success in that country.

Mariana, Daniel’s eldest sister, broke into the conversation. They heard of us through some source, and thus they’ve approached here hoping to find an appropriate match for their daughter. They are anxiously waiting to see you in the drawing room. Dad and Zara are already sitting in the drawing room keeping the guests company.

Daniel entered the drawing room dreading a new rain of questions.

Ah, there he is!’ Zara, his younger sister said with a smile. Step in this way, bro!" On this sort of pleasant and historic occasion, the members of your family tend to get overly jubilant and excited, and they over-react. They hover around you as if you were some dignity to be adored.

A straight figure, slim and tall, in his early sixties and yet healthy, wearing a fashionable light black and white beard was sitting on a sofa by the door facing the front of the room. He apparently looked like an Italian sober guy. A sombre-looking lady in her late fifties was sitting on a comfortable divan placed against the wall on the window side of the room. A college girl was seated next to her mom, while a middle-aged bald-headed man was sitting on a sofa further away. He seemed to be the father of the college student. Daniel’s gallant father, a dashing muscular personality despite his prolonged physical retardation, was sitting on the sofa with Zara, Daniel’s frisky younger sister, who was busy serving drinks and snacks to the guests by pulling over the trolley.

Hello, uncles! Hi, aunt! Hi, sis… He greeted them politely, if not bashfully.

In Pakistani culture, it is advisable not to address one’s seniors by their names; the elders especially cannot be spoken to directly by their actual names, even if you know them by their names. Otherwise it is taken as a rude act (unlike Rehana’s song What’s in a name?). If you address them as you would address your own kin or relatives, it is considered a sign of respect and leaves a good impression. In the sub-continent, calling a man older than you uncle calling a woman older than yourself aunt is supposed to be a venerable protocol, and this act of yours is highly appreciated. This is quite different from the West where a five-year-old boy could call his seventy-five-year-old grandfather directly by his name, like Oh, Harry, come here, and nobody would mind it at all. If the same thing is happened here in India or in Pakistan, there is a likelihood that he would be slapped on his face or be rebuked heavily for having been rude to a person much senior to him in age. Showing respect to one’s elders, to senior neighbours, and to aged relatives is highly applauded. Calling a person junior or senior to you sister or brother also brings you affection and appreciation, and you become a sophisticated dear person to all.

After saying a simple hello to everybody, he lowered his head in front of the esteemed guests. Again this sort of behaviour is considered respectful, especially before people older than yourself. All of them stood up and exchanged formal affections and greetings. The lady patted her right hand on Daniel’s head, which symbolized her loving response to the veneration he had shown to her. Again, this act is typical of a culture that prevailed in that country, a formal act of affection, particularly when some elderly person taps gently or pats your head or shoulders. It is taken as a courtesy or a compliment of long life from the person in front of you, unlike in the West where they punch your bum or dandle over you in affection.

The men shook hands warmly with Daniel. Snabil, the college girl, waved to him from a distance and nodded her head with a frisky but shy smile in her cheek. Girls and boys do not kiss or hug each other or shake hands with one another unless they become familiar and unless other people around then accept this informality, and even then you cannot do this in front of others. After these customary greetings, everybody returned to his or her previous sitting position.

There’s my son, my whole investment! Daniel’s dad introduced him to them as if he was some sort of a parliamentarian. This was somewhat embarrassing; he was not a son for sale! But he at once realized they were the words uttered from the mouth of a proud father.

Have a seat, please, said the Italian-looking guy.

Be seated, my son. The lady spoke to him modestly, and he went a decent obedient if not shy.

Then was the turn of his mother. She introduced to the delegation, pointing to the Italian-looking man first.

This is Mr Arslaan who came from Amsterdam. This brief introduction was enough to figure things out. Indicating the lady, his mother added that she was Mrs Kalsoom, the blood-sister of Arslaan, and that the other guy was Mr Arhem, the husband of Kalsoom, while the college girl was their daughter.

Meanwhile Daniel’s sister Mariana entered the room and the formal procession of talks began.

"What do you do?’ was the first question from Arslaan.

Uncle, Daniel replied, I work as a manager-in-chief in a gynaecological (surgical) industry in the city of Sialkot.

In which factory? His second consecutive attack.

Daniel told him about the factory and also the name of its chief executive officer. Little to his surprise, Arslaan in turn told him about the whole history of the said owner of the industry and mentioned, ‘We used to be the chums, old playmates and not merely some sort of acquaintances."

Daniel remained unmoved by that revelation. The Amsterdam guy had lived all of his life there in Pakistan at Sialkot until some three decades back he had settled in Europe. He used to be a well-known political activist, but only within his own area, who had joined and worked on the platform of the PPP, the People’s Party of Pakistan. First he had fled alone to Germany and had requested political asylum there. A little later, after having achieved official protection in Germany on political grounds, he converted all of his legal documentation into the Netherlands and settled there with his wife, two sons, and two daughters, who were all born in Pakistan but had grown and been brought up in Europe.

Arhem, Kalsoom’s husband, a successful businessman in the Sialkot region, also revealed that he had a close friendship with the owner of the business where Daniel worked. They all were men of substance and had good ties with the few political, social, business and trade personalities of their city. Moreover, they themselves were products of Sialkot, while Daniel and his family lived at a little distant place like Daska. Kalsoom was smiling meaningfully as if she also knew about his CEO and other personalities. Anyway, nothing bothered or excited Daniel. He remained unimpressed and managed to just put it a neutral smile on his face.

We heard that you are also involved in politics in your area? Arhem started the questions this time.

Yeah, he explained, I am particularly a participant in the social activities, a kind of a social reformer, to maintain some prestige in the society I live in.

Which campaign did you launch or what movement do you run? Arslaan asked him with curiosity.

In turn he told him about the political league he worked for, and again, little to his surprise, all of the guests sitting there revealed their great knowledge of the well-known personalities of that league in his city. The formal previews were taking place with satisfactory questions and answers. Zara offered him a cup of coffee in the meantime which worked as dynamite and thankfully helped him recharge his batteries. He could tell that the group of the visitors were observing him, and as he had predicted, they were considering him from all angles and dimensions, all of them staring and looking at him stealthily when they got the chance. This agitated Daniel; it felt as though they were examining some sheep before buying it. However, he soon got control over his nerves because it is natural that in seeking and selecting a wedding match in an arranged sort of a marriage, the probers should probe deeply into you, just like it is done during military recruiting. So you should never mind those stealthy glances if they happen to you as well.

Noticing his growing resentment, Snabil, the college girl, at once changed the topic and rather broke the ice.

Daniel, I heard that you are an author as well. I mean, she continued, "I didn’t just hear about it. I’ve read one of your interesting books, Koi Usay Bura Na Kahey. It’s my pleasure to see you in person and to have a talk with you face to face here today."

Thanks for the compliments. He gratefully accepted her changing of the topic and understanding of the situation.

May I see anyone of your books published formerly or recently? Arslaan asked.

Why not? My pleasure, he replied in a submission and had not yet finished when Zara interrupted, saying with a prestige and courtesy, uncle. She rose up to head toward a room with no hesitation. She appeared again, saying There you are, uncle, and handed over to him three of her brother’s published books. Arslaan picked up the most recent book and pored over some pages in amusement, looking at Daniel periodically in an unbelieving way.

Extraordinary! Mind-blowing! Superb! he exclaimed joyfully two or three times, but with a serious attitude. Then he went through the other two books, but this time flipping through the pages, jumping from ten pages to twenty-five and then from fifty to hundred, till the books were finished.

Meanwhile Kalsoom was staring at the cupboard in the room that contained a few of the sports trophies, shields, and metal cups glowing and glittering on the shelves. She could not help asking, What about these trophies and cups?

Those are awards and mostly won by my brothers. Daniel told her. My brothers are good cricketers.

Wow, sounds great! She expressed her jubilation and inquired him the next moment, Do you not play cricket yourself?

Aunt, I only play casually now and not on a regular basis like I used to play during my school, college, and university days. he replied honestly.

Why not now? asked the college girl.

Actually life has become so busy that I can hardly find any free time at my disposal nowadays. Again he was straightforward.

So cricket has become just some sort of a pastime to you even though it is a passion that means so much to all Pakistanis? This was a meaningful inquiry from Snabil.

You could say that. Daniel tried to put an end to the matter. Life calls us with its duties and responsibilities with the passage of time. I used to be an all-rounder, but when I could not adopt cricket as a professional sport, I got engaged in life’s other necessary obligations.

She appreciated his honesty and praised him in her genuine feminine grace, saying, Yeah, a man is a man only when he realizes and fulfils the undertakings of life.

The conversation drifted for a while as they discussed cricket, and the Kiwi, Aussie, English, West Indian, and South African cricketing legends became the talk of the room.

I was a good footballer in my hey-day, revealed Arslaan, remembering to his boyhood. Loud laughter broke out when a few national and international cricketers were brought into a debate about drug use and match-fixing. Amused criticism reflected the overwhelming cheers and the delight on each and every face sitting into the drawing room.

In his mind, Daniel was continuously thinking of his pending assignment. It was simply a must that he should complete it that day, and he started worrying about it again. Almost an hour had passed by as they sat there talking, and now he was wanting to leave the party.

Arslaan all of a sudden asked a question. We have heard that you have been living in Dubai as well if I am not wrong?

"Yes, uncle’ he replied. He had been about to stand up to leave, but now he sat down again, as he did not wish to leave the question unanswered.

And when it happened?

I was there till 2001 when the collapse of the World Trade Centre, the Nine-Eleven incident, occurred. That was the last time I was in Dubai, and since then I’ve never been back to the UAE either to live or to work. My younger brother in Dubai and I were having our breakfast at home in Sharjah when suddenly we saw on the TV news that two jumbo jets had collided with the famous World Trade Centre. It was a total nightmare that touched our hearts. That afternoon I had a flight back to Pakistan, but a wave of fright had run through everything, and almost all the terminals in the UAE were completely closed and the flights cancelled in that emergency situation.

So you were disturbed that day by the cancellation of your flight when you had the opportunity to fly back home? Arslaan inquired, feeling sorry for him.

Not really by the flight cancellation, Daniel added gravely. I felt indeed heavy-hearted over that great loss of innocent lives and of the two glorious skyscrapers that ashamed the sun every day. I wondered how it could happen and how human beings could deprive other human beings of their precious lives just for nothing.

Yeah, that was really inhuman, added his mom, who had been listening to all this with great attention.

Again Daniel started experiencing some resentment and irritation, noticing that the guests had begun glancing at him stealthily in order to collect various impressions about him that he could easily figure out. Naturally, it was embarrassing for him to imagine that his fate was lying in their hands and at their mercy. How awesome it was to think that they had to decide whether or not he was up to some standard!

Sometimes you lose your total image in your own eyes when other people try to judge you or to calculate and sum up your personality and eventually have to show your marks out of ten or hundred. They set up criteria to figure out your characteristics, regardless of the fact that approval or disapproval might influence the rest of your life. Failure under such circumstances can affect your life no matter how rock solid you are. Almost casually, such moments appear in your life when someone else is sitting in the driving seat of your life and you cannot do anything to revolt. Your mind is captured and your image is settled by others who decide if you are impressive or not, if you are hot or not, if you are fit or unfit, based on their own likes and dislikes. And that’s why judging others brings about disaster in society, especially when you are being judged or observed. It might make a lasting impression upon your life which may drag you toward some optimistic or pessimistic actions. But then anyway, this plague of being judged, of assessing someone’s merits and demerits, good or bad qualities, or of analysing someone’s personality always plays a vital part in the play of what we call an arranged marriage, and there’s no escape unless you have managed to achieve a love marriage.

May I leave now? Daniel asked permission to leave, realising that it was getting too late to reorganise things in his office. Almost an hour had been lost in beating about the bushes like a chatterbox, in pretending, and in being a snob.

Not yet, my son. Kalsoom spoke thus, unwilling to give him permission to leave. Stay with us a little longer.

I beg your pardon, aunt. Reasoning and making excuses, he went on. I wish I could stay a little longer with you guys, but I’ve got to handle a lot of stuff yet in my office.

But, Daniel, Arslaan interrupted, Is it so very important to leave at this moment?

Indeed yes, and I am sorry for that, he continued. It is actually a matter of responsibility, and I do not have sufficient time to manage it through. They paused when he started to stand up. I am sorry I have to go, and thanks for your visit. Saying this, he stood up to his full height, and they all stood up with him. Once again he paid his thanks to all of them and shook hands with the two men in turn. The aunt touched the back of his shoulder and thanked him too for giving then his precious time.

Arslaan graciously bid him goodbye with a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, saying, My pleasure to see you.

See you, dear son, uttered Arhem cheerfully, while Snabil confined herself to a farewell smile only.

See you! He left them all behind with the members of his family and came out of the drawing room, whispering something in the ear of Umar, his youngest brother who was standing in the courtyard of the house, and he finally managed to get out of the house.

While travelling back to his office he examined his wrist watch. It was almost lunch time and at that time 16:30 p.m. was the official end of the workday in the industry in Pakistan. On his way back to the office he had been thinking all the time how he could possibly still make the shipment. Heaven helps us when our intentions are good.

A brilliant idea struck him. He made a phone-call to the Sambrial dry-port authorities, telling them to be prepared for a late shipment at certain time. After reaching his office, he informed the container driver about the late hours to come for dispatching the consignment and how smartly he had managed to get a few of his workers paid for the extra hours after the actual official end of work. To keep the main gate of the factory open was not a problem at all, because the gatekeepers or watchmen were his subordinates and lived in quarters within the factory area.

In the afternoon when he was busy in the hall where the lots were inspected before they could be loaded onto the goods-transport, he received a phone-call from Zara.

Bro, they left shortly after you did. At the moment everything seems to be perfectly all right. For your information, they have taken with them a few of your photographs from your album. Arslaan told us that he would scan the snapshots and would e-mail them to Kinza in Amsterdam. Zara was joyfully telling him about all this as if she was enjoying some delicious ice cream.

All right then, Daniel replied with somewhat less interest. May I proceed with my enterprise now, or is there yet another wedding proposal party waiting for me?

Zara laughed at this for a while, but she soon realised the sensitivity of his business. She ended the call, saying, Go ahead, buddy. Cheers!

Daniel turned his attention back to his business and became engaged in it. He removed the image of the guests from his mind. Amazingly, everything was going in a perfect direction, and no disturbance or tumult was arising that could become an obstacle in the preparation of forwarding that consignment. Meanwhile, his CEO called him on the phone and asked about the current status of the consignment.

Everything is under control, sir, he told him. I will not disappoint you.

I know that, but still please bear in mind that since you deal with the foreign clients, the industry depends on you. Those flattering words from the mouth of his CEO encouraged him enough, and in the end he handled the whole business very successfully.

After clearing the shipment, he returned home in the late evening. It was easy to see that a happy atmosphere prevailed throughout the entire house. Each and every member of his family seemed to be cheerfully sharing their views about the guests. They were merrily talking about them while watching television together in the main living room, eating, drinking, playing pranks, and having a lot of fun.

There was not too much information about the Amsterdammers beyond the fact that the girl’s name was Kinza. She was the younger daughter of Arslaan, and she performed a clerical job in some office. They owned a big bungalow in Amsterdam, and so on.

The next afternoon when Daniel returned home from his normal working hours, his family welcomed him warmly, cheering him, making many a high-five, almost clapping and yelling as if they had won some soccer world championship or had found some hidden treasure of the Pharaoh. His family seemed to be very excited; the parents particularly were over the moon.

Daniel could comprehend the whole situation. He gave a little smile, a smile perhaps of relief. He loosened his tie and let it hang round his shirt-collar, opened up the top two buttons of his shirt, entered his room, threw his office briefcase on a side couch, and dropped onto the bed. He could not adequately express the type of feeling that was haunting him. Was it a sense of joy or relief, or was it a hollow smile of a hollow satisfaction, a sense of finding someone or a sense of losing someone? Really he could not express it properly. If he was not crying over something very expensive and valuable in his near past that was now lost, then he was at the same time not happy either, and he certainly did not feel himself rocking over the Eiffel Tower. Some old dear one was lost, and a new one was found. His new raised sentiments and high emotions had no idea why they were catching the skies. Anyway, that is the way things are—losing someone dear and finding someone new is what life calls for sometimes. One has to move on. The show must go on. The sky is the limit. He could see the flashes of light in the eyes of his family, who appeared delighted enough and playful about the whole situation. His parents, brothers, and sisters were only too glad to make it seem as if some feast, festival, or traditional carnival was going on.

Late in the night, Zara entered his room and showed to him a few of the snapshots of Kinza that had been hand-delivered to them by Kalsoom’s eldest son at midday. Now Zara gave him the whole story about the Amsterdammers. She began like that, sitting by her brother on the couch.

"Her name is Kinza, as I told you already. Her parents, her younger brother Bazil, and she herself live together in a combined household in Amsterdam West. Her elder sister Robecca lives apart in the next street with her man and three kids, while Balawal, Kinza’s eldest brother, has already moved to London and is living there with Aaeila, his Surinam wife and a son. Kinza is model Pakistani the perfect image of a young Muslim lady who possesses perfect ethics even though living in Europe. She’s a blue stocking who performs her professional tasks in a famous international company in Amsterdam. She earns a much higher salary than her elder sister and is definitely a member of the prosperous class. Anyone who becomes her husband would be given a luxury house, a car, and a reasonable job by her family.

The relatives of her parents residing in the city of Sialkot and her father who visited us most recently liked you at first sight. Arslaan also collected some satisfactory information about you from your CEO. Kinza’s mother, sister, sister-in-law, brothers, office-colleagues, friends, and of course Kinza herself have admired and approved you at first glance. Out of the hundreds of photographs of the men who wished to have Kinza’s hand only you, my dear brother, have scored ten out of ten and have been chosen as would-be husband for Kinza.

Upon this, the two of them burst into laughter over the open or free voting system and approval method and how he had been elected as the real representative of Kinza without any rival who could dare stand against him. Zara continued.

Here, I will show you some of the photos of her that Kalsoom’s eldest son gave us when he visited us at midday. Kinza’s father already had those pictures of her daughter with him, but he wanted to give them only after he his daughter had approved you. He also wanted to wait until his other family members in Amsterdam and in London could be satisfied and were willing to propose you for the wedding.

Zara opened an envelope that was already torn open and took out all the snapshots of Kinza. Zara showed them to Daniel not altogether but one by one, seeing that he was desperately dying to have a look at them, pauses in between to deliberately tease him. She was enjoying her wilful and rascally attitude toward her brother and was feeling at the height of the flight of playing pranks. Daniel and Zara as a matter of fact were not only brother and a sister but also had a bond of deep friendship since their childhood. They were very close indeed to each other. Fundamentally Daniel loved all of his brothers and sisters, but with Zara he had naturally acquired a great closeness. It had become a habit for the two of them to shop together, to go to learning ethics and tuition together, to dine together at home and in restaurants, to be out in the showers as it rained cats and dogs, caring less for the people around them in a narrow atmosphere like in that country. They watched plays and movies together and strolled around together not just in their native downtown but in other cities as well. They were like a sort of cold fog or mist, wandering far off and exploring nature, while their confiding parents had given them full liberty since the very beginning. Their neighbours, kin, and relatives, and their own family members openly called them two bodies but one soul. Their dad in particular called them Nazia Hassan and Zohaib Hassan, a brother and sister who were formerly the most famous and popular pop singers in Pakistan. As pioneers, they had set a symbolic example of love and affection between a brother and a sister that other brothers and sisters around had later started copying. They were role models and had become the first to get higher education, pioneers in their neighbourhood and in the whole giant family to reach colleges and universities, which has now become a common fashion but was extremely difficult at that time.

That night Zara was showing to Daniel the photos of Kinza, his would-be wife, an ivory-white young lady with clean-cut features, a well-shaped nose, broad ocean-deep eyes, and a modest but quite feminine physical build. Her different postures presented a complete insight into her personality, revealing various chapters of her life: somewhere in a lotus lake, sitting by the brink and dipping her legs into the water, standing against the side of waterfall or a park stream, standing amidst a flower crop that looked ready to bloom and bud, a family photo session, some office poses, and some that made her look like a carnival fashion model standing by primitive and ancient European landmarks. In short, she proved to be a completely seductive and impressive figure, which compelled Daniel to intone spontaneously, like James Blunt’s You Are Beautiful.

Yeah, he told his sister with a shrug of his shoulders, she is really adorable.

Thank God you eventually approved of one lady out of a million, Zara exclaimed satirically. So she’s gonna be your home minister. She said this with a smile and noticed a flash of satisfaction in his eyes. Of course Zara could read, examine, and observe each and every vein in her brother’s body. A little later, she disclosed the final piece of information about Kinza.

But, brother, there’s one last thing to be told yet. I hope you won’t mind it and will listen to me with patience. Zara felt a bit reluctant to proceed.

What’s that, buddy? Come on, he asked her, not caring less in his joy.

There’s a minor sort of confusion in my mind. I’ve known you since our childhood. Again she hesitated as she looked into her brother’s eyes. He too by then had started staring at her with wonder. Regarding Zara once again, Daniel would proclaim that she was the only person on Planet Earth who knew more about him than anyone else or even than he knew about himself—just like a computer that was invented by man but that defies man in sheer intellect and in genius memory. They had an immense mutual understanding and were well aware of each other’s traits and dispositions. Be it in a mosque, a church, a shrine or temple, a school, college, or university, a burial or funeral ceremony or a wedding hall, a sports-ground or a musical theatre, a natural herbs and weeds shop or a medical dispensary, they were used to being together in all walks of life and thus they had acquired and developed a great affection and understanding which continued even after she got married and produced kids.

They remembered how during their college days they had a severe road accident one summer while travelling on a local road-liner from Daska to Lahore. Between Kamonkay and Muridkay their coach struck two different motorcyclists who flew into the air, and one of them was hit by the front screen of their coach. Zara and Daniel were seated in the front seat, and before the struck bike-rider could collide against the part of the screen facing Zara, Daniel rushed to embrace and cover his sister and protected her against any injury. That poor flying rider collided with the screen and fell across it, the glass broke with a bang, and its fragments hit Daniel like some shooting star while the coach was still dragging the poor rider’s empty motorbike some ten yards further. Then their van finally stopped when it struck a roadside tree. One of the bike riders died on the spot. Their terrified driver was taken out of the crushed coach, and the local people who gathered around brutally started assaulting him, beating him with their fists and punches and lashing the poor driver with wooden sticks. It was a nightmare accident that made Zara faint. A mob of people and police flocked around the spot and the atmosphere was suffocating. Daniel managed to get hold of a cab somehow and brought Zara home to Lahore safe and sound. In short, she was so dear to him that he could sacrifice his life for her. They were old playmates, chums who had been growing up together in all events and in all walks of life.

Come on, devil. He now almost implored her to tell him what the mystery was.

Bro, she proceeded in a fumbling tone of voice, unfortunately Kinza is already a widow. She hurriedly tried to chew her words as she spoke.

What? Daniel sprang up. What crap are you speaking about? He was almost growing violent.

Calm down, bro. I haven’t finished yet. She mustered up her courage but was scared inwardly, and her voice had gone lame too. Be patient, bro. Please try to focus and listen attentively to what I’m saying and not to what you want to hear. She used her dominant right and explained. Kinza’s father requested us to reveal this to you after he got approval from Kinza and from his family-members in Amsterdam and in London. Some four years ago she got married to someone here in Pakistan, but unfortunately her first husband died some eleven months ago in a road crash. He never succeeded in reaching Amsterdam for a family reunion, even though his visa procedure remained lingering on in the Dutch embassy in Islamabad. Kinza had been mourning over the loss of her man for a long time, but now her family members want her to grieve no more and start re-building her life.

To Daniel this revelation was like a thunderbolt. It broke him into pieces. In Pakistani culture it is considered an act of sin, shame, and humiliation to marry a widow woman. Daniel was not a typical or an average type of man, not a man who could be easily influenced by outside factors. On the other hand, he really did want to wed an untouched virgin, not a woman who had already been deflowered. And why should he have not wished so? He was quite a bachelor, a king of the queens at that time, who possessed a good personality, a good job, and a good social reputation. Why should he have to marry a woman who was like a used item, a second-hand accessory, no matter how rich she was, or whether she was a European citizen or a Netherlands national or whatever? Wedding a virgin was his right and his first priority. In Pakistan it wasn’t some impossible wish; most of the unmarried young ladies there remain flowered and do not start sexual relationships until after they’re wedded and then only with their husbands. It is considered an abuse to marry to a widow in that country and everybody would openly mock you. Guests, friends, and relatives don’t think well of you when you wed a second-hand woman, and often they won’t mix with you or visit you, thinking that you are some sort of third-rate person. Daniel knew that Kinza lived in a free Western land, but in his mind he still gave her the benefit of the doubt; she was a Pakistani and a Muslim woman, and he was convinced she had moral values unlike those of the few other spoiled Asian women who had settled in Europe. But the only problem was that he did not want to lead his life with used wares. He had nothing against widows and believed widows should be given opportunities to re-build their lives, but he had been dreaming all his life and waiting for an appropriate match of whom he could say, She was born for me alone. How could Zara say that to him when she knew her brother so well? Had she and the other members of his family become so mean that they decided to sell their Daniel for second-hand riches from Europe?

Go into your room and never ever talk to me again about this wedding proposal! Annoyed and heart-broken, he sent Zara forcibly back to her sleeping room. Then a series of thoughts and confusions ran straight through his mind. Lights out.

When dawn came he felt as though his sleep had been unfinished and incomplete. The normal breakfast hours in his house were between eight o’clock and ten o’clock depending upon when an individual woke up. The three persons already found in the kitchen were calm and quiet, including him later. He thought of taking a shower first and made it through unwillingly. After that, without a single morsel of food in his stomach, he was about to leave the house for his office. Before he could leave his mother interrupted him at the main gate.

Danny, you haven’t taken your breakfast. May I know the reason why? Come back.

No, mom, I am fine like this and in a bit in hurry. He tried to make a lame excuse.

Come on, dear, you never leave until you have had your breakfast at home, and that seems so strange today. his mother argued in affection.

Mom, I don’t feel hungry. Perhaps I lost my appetite.

With this disappointing reply he did finally leave. Throughout that day in his office, he remained restless, smoking a lot after each short pause, wondering why he should marry a widow and not some virgin maiden when a hundred of them were awaiting for a single positive indication of love from him. In the evening when he got back home, his dad spoke to him.

Arslaan, the father of Kinza, is on a short scheduled trip to Pakistan. They only took a single day in deciding to approve you, and now we’ve got to inform them immediately about our decision before Arslaan gets angry or starts having second thoughts. Remember he is full of hope from our side.

But, dad, all my friends and colleagues have got married to virgins of their own choice whether they are living in this country or abroad. Why this drama only on my part? Haven’t I already made enough sacrifices by waiting too late to get married because I was remaining busy to provide always for my middle-order family? Most of my friends belonged to less impressive families and didn’t deserve such high prestige. My old playmates, who were in lower positions compared to me, are enjoying their matrimonial lives and are happy about them. I believe I won’t be able to live happily with a widow woman. I would always be thinking that her heart and soul weren’t made for me but for her first husband. It would be like committing suicide every day. Dad, you know I am a different man, very choosy about ladies, and I wish for a lady in my life who does not want to see anyone else after she sees me. I disapprove of this proposal and utterly reject it, and I declare that I have no zeal or zest to be settled in Europe with that widow and would prefer to live a moderate life with a normal fresh lady here in Pakistan or in the United Arab Emirates. What flaws, lack, or reduction do I have in me? Please, dad, I don’t have the spirit, the ambition, or the greed to move to the West, and that’s flat!

His dad became speechless, looking at him with his mouth open, till he changed his course and went out of the house. Almost every member of his family tried to persuade him, but he would not yield. Finally, his dad bluntly called it stupidity on his son’s behalf and blamed him for dwelling in fantasy and imagination.

There’s no fairyland in the world. Take the nails of wisdom. It’s a golden opportunity for you if you take advantage of it. His dad lashed him with his harsh words. Daniel’s refusal made his mom, brothers, and sisters feel heavy-hearted, and they too called him stubborn for rejecting the offer. They started avoiding him in order to make him feel his guilt. On third day (that happened to be a holiday as well) his mom and sister urged him to reconsider and re-focus upon the proposal. They had to let Arslaan know about the decision so that in case of a yes he could stop seeking any further for his daughter’s match.

His family, desperately enough, wasn’t feeling at ease. It had become an issue of their respect and honour, especially when they themselves had started to love Kinza. In fact, no parents with a soft corner in their hearts want to discourage or to dishearten other parents in the matter of building a bridge or bond between two families. This is what’s called moral or common sense, rather a common wealth shared between respectable families over the important issues of wedding plots, engagements, and such celebrations. That’s the way things are in Pakistan; the families hanker after common mutual interests. God made everything move into its sphere, abiding by a perfect system which we must obey as the law of the universe. The give and take of objects and of people runs like planets revolving around their orbits, and there’s never a failure in rotation or in circling around, because otherwise there would be a big bang. Daniel comprehended everything but still wasn’t mentally prepared to accept the wedding proposal of Kinza, even if she did live in the paradise of Europe.

Look, mom. He tried to coax his angry mother. I’m not aiming at violating the respect of a widow. You know, mom, I don’t mean that. However, I can’t be mentally prepared to dedicate my life to a woman who has already given her everything to someone dead or alive. I was not born to be a second choice.

Here’s something of particular relevance. In Pakistan any man Daniel’s place would have had gone greedily after a wedding proposal from Europe, regardless of how like his would-be wife might look—even if she were a widow or a woman of his grand-mother’s age. Single men in Pakistan, no matter whether they’re young, middle-aged, or old, are desperately trying to enter Europe by some means, especially by a wedding plot or by big money. But for Daniel it was a matter of putting his self-respect and ego before materialism. He had heard about his greedy countrymen who had wedded black or elderly white women in order to obtain legal documents in those countries. To Daniel that seemed unbelievable. A few materialistic men didn’t even mind wedding intoxicated women and producing kids from their drugs addicted wombs. They went to shameless limits, but he couldn’t understand why, though he had seen physically almost the half of the world so far, legally or illegally. That’s not the debate. So in this regard, when rejecting to Kinza, a young lady of riches living in a Western country, if someone called him a fool, he would not mind at all. He knew this about himself from the very beginning, and he never did kiss or hug a woman if and when he came to know she had already had a kisser or a fucker even. He would call himself a genuine classic guy but born into the wrong age. Rejecting a pretty young thing like Kinza just over a trivial matter like being a widow was proof enough that he was an awesome idiot of all times and of all ages. But yeah, that’s who he was in those days, taste conscious and a class maintainer, though he was living in a developing country which hadn’t yet emerged well on the surface of the world. He was looking for a life-partner and not for a piece of food left over on the table by someone else. Neither did he want to accumulate money, nor was he eager to obtain some worldly pursuits under the cover of a wedding. Even his brothers in his place would have fallen easy victims of such fake pleasure and prosperity if given the opportunity. Daniel, however was never one to run after amassing materialistic pre-occupations, advantages, or benefits.

I need a real life-partner, mom, not just a fake or freaky thing. He continued to reason with her. You only live life once, and it should be spent with the one with whom you are in love. What about Sonia, the good girl in Lahore who loves me with her heart and soul? Why shouldn’t I marry that virgin? But differences of caste, breeding, and creed, along with differences in status and height, were hurdles in the way in marrying that extremely adorable young lady whom he had known since 1995. Moreover, as has been said before, his family was determined to make him wed an Eliot-class lady. He was perhaps like the only hidden, accumulated, or saved treasure among all the children of his parents.

Briefly speaking, there was a complete no on his part, and the chapter of a wedding proposal from Amsterdam was closed forever when his family somehow took courage to tell them about his refusal. The days, weeks, and months passed, and they never heard again of the Amsterdammers. This episode ended in the gloomy sheets of time.

In the meanwhile, Daniel started keeping himself absorbed in vocational activities, and he concentrated more on being a high professional in his job. He had strictly forbidden his family to make any further attempts to find for him until he himself specifically permitted them to do so. He was exhausted by the two or three experiences of finding a suitable spouse which had ended in zero results, sometimes due to wilful nature of his family and at other times because of his own egoistic, arrogant, or peevish mode and outlook towards ladies. All further efforts to get him married were stopped, then but nature has its own plans.

His social and political involvements began causing him troubles. In Pakistan, particularly between 2003 and 2004, political extremism and religious class war, like a plague, were at their peak. It was a period of darkness. Terrorism, sabotage, acid-throwing in faces, kidnapping and smuggling of people, religious clashes, a cold war of secret