Ziya Us Salam - Nikah Halala: Sleeping with a Stranger

NIKAH HALALA

NIKAH HALALA

Sleeping with a Stranger

Ziya Us Salam

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This edition published in 2020

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ISBN: PB: 978-9-3896-1147-2; eBook: 978-9-3896-1149-6

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To Ammi,
(technically my mother-in-law, Rizwana Ausaf, during whose iddah this book was written)
for her gentle grace and stout support

Contents

This book would not have been a reality without the steadfast support of my wife Uzma who shared my intensity and zeal to correct the social anomaly called halala. Or that of my daughters Maryam, Aliza, Juveria and Mishal whose innocent smiles drove away all tension at the end of a hard day. I got selfless and untiring support from my brother Tausief Ausaf who spent a couple of weekends going through a good part of the manuscript and greatly enriched it with his suggestions. Of course, none of my manuscripts is complete without Anjana Rajans input at some stage. This was no different. I have to thank my sisters Salma, Muslima and Sajida, each one of them was away when this book was being written and each one of them kept asking questions about its progress. Same for my brother Tauqueer. He made my research easier and kept my spirits high. Then there were my old pillars of strength Aftab Alam bhai and Aslam Khan bhai; both always cheerful, never short of a good word. Nor can I forget the ready support extended by brother Ehtesham Hashmi whose legal acumen is second to none. There were others, including brothers Arshad Sheikh, Iftikhar Ali Hashmi, Irfan Ahmad, Mushir Nomani, Mushtaq Ahmad, Masroor Mian, Mansoor Ansari, Rashid Ali, Shabbir Ahmed, Khalil Ahmed and Mohammed Zubair. They are such supports when the going gets a shade difficult. Grateful to them all. May they all continue to be what they are: wonderful human beings with a sense of purpose in life. I cannot forget Ms Firdos Khan who shared her experiences of working with women who are victims of fake marriages. Nor can I thank the one and only Dr Mohammed Aslam Parvaiz enough. His knowledge of Islam leaves me awestruck. His humility is so inspiring. I have to remember my nephew S.M. Yasir too for arranging my interview with the cleric in the US. Grateful to him. And yes, a big note of thanks is due to my friends and colleagues at The Hindu and Frontline , particularly R. Vijayasankar sahib, editor, Frontline ; Shailaja Tripathi, Vijay Lokapally, Anuj Kumar, S. Ravi, Venkitesh Ramakrishnan, V. Venkatesan, John Cherian, K. Jayanthi, Purnima Tripathi, T.K. Rajalakshmi, Anando Bhakto and Divya Trivedi. I cannot forget the support of everybody at Bloomsbury, particularly Praveen Tiwari sahib who readily accepted the idea for such a book. Also, my editor Shreya Chakraborti who not only pushed the manuscript through but added value to it. I cannot thank dear Kunal Jalali enough for his effort in pushing a book.

Finally, this project like my prayers would not have been completed without the support of my brother Khadim Hussain. He has moved on to other climes, but his prayers stay with me.

Prostitution in India is illegal. Halala is legal.

Almost every day, in the city pages of newspapers, we find small news stories about girls rescued from brothels by the local police. Most girls have a sob story to relate; how they were duped with false promises of work in a big city, better income and so on. Many had been sold, bought and resold before they were rescued by police and sent to women rehabilitation centres like Nari Niketan. Much like it was with Zebun Nissa in Bhopal. For the first six years of married life, she had only known peace. A typical middle-class woman with a husband who earned well enough from his truck transport business, and in-laws who did not meddle much in her affairs. She lived with, besides her husband, her parents-in-law and a brother-in-law. What the family of five adults did not have was a little child, a baby to keep everybody busy and happy. Zebun Nissa could never conceive. She consulted many doctors in Bhopal, even went to Gwalior and Jhansi, and finally to Delhi. Nothing worked. Just as she had resigned herself to a life without the joys of motherhood, her husband dropped a bombshell. Keen to be a father, Rafiq Ahmed was advised to remarry. One evening, he said the dreaded three words to Zebun Nissatalaq, talaq, talaq. With the utterance of talaq, Zebun Nissas world came crashing down. She was a sociology graduate but had never picked up a job; not even as a teacher in a local primary school. Thrown out of her husbands house, she went back to her parents in Lucknow. This was not a long-term solution, she soon realised. The house where she had spent more than twenty years was now virtually taken over by her brother and his family. His family was young and growing and her parents confined themselves to a room on the first floor. Days turned into weeks, and Zebun Nissa tried to pick up the pieces of her life all over again. It was not easy. Adding to her lack of professional qualification was her emotional turmoil. She longed to step out of the house.

One day, her mobile rang late at night. It was Ahmed. For a minute, Zebun Nissa was speechless and confused. Should she pick up or ignore the call? As she tried to sort out the confusion in her mind, the phone stopped ringing. She heaved a sigh of relief that she did not have to decide right at that moment. Then the phone rang again. The same dilemma revisited. Zebun Nissa put the phone on vibration mode. Ahmed appeared persistent. He called again. It had been a little under a month since he snapped his relationship with Zebun Nissa with multiple pronouncements of talaq in a single sitting. He seemed desperate to find a way through to his former wife, now in iddah , the three-month-long period of waiting, after which the woman can choose to marry again.

Zebun Nissa finally mustered up enough courage to pick up the phone. For a few seconds, she could not say a word, not even the usual greeting of Assalam-o-alaikum . Ahmed was only slightly better. He kept saying, Hello, hello! He knew she had not disconnected. Finally, Zebun Nissa spoke. Ahmed wanted her back. Overcoming her feeling of hurt and anger, she agreed almost immediately. She loved him still. He loved her too. Zebun Nissa could barely control her emotions. She fell prostrate on the floor as she thanked Allah. Her marriage was intact. She could go back to the man she loved.