Maps for Lost Lovers

greatest, worse than murder, theft, adultery. In Saudi Arabia, following a saying of Muhammad that ‘Two religions cannot exist in Arabia,’ non-Muslims are forbidden to practise their religion, build churches, possess Bibles.” His voice has risen a little and the eight-year-old looks furiously at him, and, chest out, says, “Stop shouting, you!” Ujala reaches across the table and ruffles his hair, “Sorry,” his fingertips briefly tickled by the penny-size area at the top of his head which always resists flattening, sticking up like the crest of a thistle.
    “How do you know all this all of a sudden?” Kaukab, who was on her way out, turns around and asks Ujala.
    “I’ve read the Koran, in English, unlike you who just chant it in Arabic without knowing what the words mean, hour after hour, day in day out, like chewing gum for the brain.”
    Kaukab says, “What I don’t understand is why when you all spend your time talking about women’s rights, don’t you ever think about me. What about my rights, my feelings? Am I not a woman, am I a eunuch?”
    Ujala continues, “A religion that has given dignity to millions around the world? Amputations, stoning to death, flogging—not barbaric?”
    “These punishments are of divine origin and cannot be judged by human criteria.”
    He looks at her. “If I changed my religion in a country like Pakistan what would happen to me, Mother?”
    “Please let’s continue with our meal,” Shamas says, not wishing to be reminded too much of his father’s death.
    To give the impression of normality restored—because all this must be making the white girl uncomfortable—Kaukab moves forward to gently touch one of Stella’s earrings: “Very pretty.”
    Stella turns her head at an angle to bring the jewelled glyph into light. “My mother passed it on to me because it is too heavy for her now that her earlobes aren’t as firm. It stretches her skin and there are three wrinkles above the hook like the eyelashes painted on a doll’s face.”
    “Very pretty. Look, Mah-Jabin.”
    Mah-Jabin obligingly pretends to admire the jewel—making sounds to drown out the beating drums of battle, the roar and smoke of the clash.
    But despite all this, Kaukab is unable to convince herself to abandon her argument with Ujala; she is too wounded to be diverted, even if it’s she herself who has been trying to create the diversion. She turns to Ujala: “Why would you want to change your religion? Islam is the fastest growing religion in the world.”
    Shamas has heard this several times from various sources but has never been able to find definite proof—but he won’t say anything now to add to Kaukab’s distress. She’s continuing:
    “No one has ever heard of a Muslim converting to another religion.”
    That Shamas knows to be false—but he concentrates on his food.
    “I might want to change it because Islam further deranges an ignorant and uneducated woman so that she feeds poison to her sons,” says Ujala.
    Everyone looks at him—everyone except Kaukab.
    “What are you talking about?” Charag says.
    “I love my children.” Kaukab looks at Ujala and holds his gaze.
    “I am sure you think you do,” he replies.
    “Be quiet, Ujala, please,” Mah-Jabin says. “If Mother is uneducated there are reasons. She has little English and she feels nervous stepping out of the house because she is not sure whether she can count on a friendly response—”
    “Let’s drop the pretence,” Ujala interrupts. “She would have been exactly like this if she weren’t here in England. What were her achievements back in Pakistan, a country where she can speak the language and count on a friendly response . . .”
    Mah-Jabin’s shakes her head: “If she is the way she is, it’s because she has been through what she has been through. You wouldn’t say this if you knew fully about the place of women in Pakistan. You—”
    Now it’s Kaukab’s turn to interrupt: “There is nothing wrong with the status of women in Pakistan.”
    Ujala smiles triumphantly: “See, Mah-Jabin? Tell us, Mother, were Chanda and Jugnu sinners?”
    “If you think I condone their murder, you are wrong.”
    “But were they dirty unclean sinners?”
    Kaukab looks around like a trapped animal. “Yes.”
    “So: you are sorry they were murdered but they were sinners. It’s like a judge saying, ‘Let’s give the criminal a fair trial, and then hang him.’ Have they gone to hell, now that they are