Narrated Abu Hurairah (may Allaah be pleased with him): Prophet Muhammad (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) said, “A matron cannot be given in marriage until she is consulted and a virgin cannot be given in marriage until her permission is sought.” The people said, “What is her permission Oh Messenger of Allaah?” He replied, “Her silence (is her permission).”

–Saheeh Bukhari

*         *         *

Withdrawing her keys from the keyhole of her Scooty, she felt a strange sort of tension building inside her at a steady pace. Her palms felt clammy. She clenched her hands into fists tightly to be rid of the anxiety coursing through her veins. Her breathing grew ragged. She wet her lips, then swallowed, thinking of the situation at hand.

Beyond a wall, Tanvir’s mom awaited her. She was physically present—sitting in her drawing room, waiting to talk to her, waiting to ask her consent, and that thought alone was enough to set her heart racing and trying to jump out of her ribs.

Although it had been a while since her family formally met his and a few days since the topic was broached, the girl did not give her consent yet. She had not yet worded out an answer, much to her own dismay.

It was true that when they had come to see her a few days ago, she felt all her defences crumble. All sorts of plausible excuses seemed lame. There was absolutely not a single flaw she could use to her advantage and stall the groom hunt. There was not even one factor that put her off, much to her own delight. They were such a cheerful lot that she often caught herself wishing to be one among them—wanting to be a member of their family that was practicing and cool at the same time. Sometimes, a longing so strong had assailed her that it left her momentarily paralysed. Other times, her mind had visualized images she dare not vocalize.

Eshaal understood that there could be no greater blessing than a family that stood for the same cause and helped you in doing what you really wanted to do. It was truly a blessing to be surrounded by people who didn’t indulge in the many things that Muslims these days had fallen prey to.

From whatever she had heard, seen, and felt, she figured that Tanvir’s family did not muddle with their faith. They had not been confused by it—had not confused with it. The boundaries laid by their Lord had clearly not been breached by them. They were not of the apparently misguided lot either but seemed to fit perfectly in the mould she wanted in a family. That was definitely a plus. Eshaal couldn’t deny that.

When they had left after their visit, day after day she found herself performing Istikhara dutifully in hopes of finding out what was right for her; and, day after day, she was still struggling to gather the courage to walk up to her parents and tell them that it was a yes from her side.            

Now, there were too many misconstrued notions about Istikhara that was widespread among the masses. People often associated it with situations where they had two or more options and cannot decide on one. They were of the belief that it would help them in making their choice by guiding them through some divinely inspired dream. If Eshaal didn’t know better, she might have probably thought the same; but, by the grace of the Almighty, the knowledge she had of her religion cannot be swayed.

 She was not idling away, waiting for a dream that may or may not occur. Neither was she confusing herself with the case. She had gone about the process the way it worked best—her family had asked around about the guy for her benefit, checked on his Aqeedah, she had then met him in person to add on to the image in her head; and, when she had been content with what she had decided at the end of it all, putting her complete trust in Him, she had prayed, knowing that if there was some khair in it for her, He would make it happen. If not, issues might materialize in the process, warning her that this was not meant for her.

She had decided, prayed, and waited; and, in the time period that followed the meeting, no impediments had made themselves known. Nothing untoward had taken place either. It was a clear sign for her to proceed; but given the fact that it was going to be a life changing decision, she had not told her parents anything yet. She could not be brave enough in this subject.

Her courage had not graced her in the days that followed. In its stead, Tanvir’s mom had arrived. Moreover, she was expecting a reply.

Eshaal was in a confusing predicament. She did not know what to say and what not to say to his mother—what to explain and what not because of the delicateness of the situation.

Though her feet carried her inside the house, she stood undecidedly by the entrance, hearing her mother’s soft chatter. She was reiterating the same things again and again, not really making sense of what she spoke. It was obvious as day that her mom was anxious too. Sighing, Eshaal took a moment to gather herself before she entered the room with a firm resolve to set her mom at ease.

Tanvir’s mother looked at her with a smile so sweet and hugged her with so much warmth that she felt queasy. The half-dreaded, half-awaited question made way to her after few moments of idle talk. “Well, dear,” Tanvir’s mom, Rashida, began, “it’s been a few days since we visited, and I think it’s sufficient time for you to come to a decision. What have you decided? Is it a yes or a no? What do you think?”

Eshaal’s lips stayed stuck, refusing to part. There was palpable tension in the atmosphere, and both the mothers looked at her with questioning eyes.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” said Eshaal’s mom trying to cover up for her daughter’s lack of words. “Pagli is just nervous. She has been doing istikhara though, and—”

Rashida smiled at Eshaal’s mother before cutting her off in a soft manner. “Can you get me a chilled glass of water, please?”

“Of course, of course. I will be back in a minute.” Quietly and abruptly, Eshaal’s mother made a beeline for the kitchen. It was a smooth move. After taking care of her mom, Rashida’s wise eyes returned to Eshaal.  “Don’t mistake me, dear. I’m not pressing you into doing anything. You have all the freedom to back out if you want to. Be assured we won’t force you into anything.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. She began caressing Eshaal’s cheeks.

“I sent your mom away because I wanted to hear your honest opinion. Desi people sometimes burden their kids with their opinion, believing they know best. It is not their fault though. They just want the best for their kids; and, sometimes in their concern, they end up taking decisions that end pretty badly because their kids’ hearts were never in it the first place. I don’t want that for you, so I’m asking you now. Are you honestly alright with this? You are not forced into this, are you? If you are and you don’t have any inclination towards this proposal, please tell me right away. I would take take care of this entire issue.”

Eshaal was struck anew with her sweetness. She wanted to throw her arms around the woman. She wanted to squeeze the life out of her. Where there were people who ruined the lives of their kids by forcing them in ties they disliked, here she was, surrounded by people who cared about what she wanted—what she desired. A longing to scream and announce her happiness to the entire world seized her. She squelched it and chose to smile instead. “Yes I am. I am just anxious. I’m not pushed into any of this, Aunty. I just—er . . . honestly, I don’t have experience in such things. I’m just a bit hesitant.”

The lady smiled slowly, as if understanding her turmoil. “Oh! I understand. We have all been through it, but you have to take a moment and think rationally, beta. Our families have been friends since forever; and, although we wanted to get our children married, we chose to take a step back and let you both decide for yourself. You say you’ve done your Istikhara, my son has done his too. So far, everything seems fine, and no hurdle has made itself known.” Her eyes gleamed. “So the call is yours to make now. Are you happy with all of this?”

You’re too good to be true.

Eshaal’s mother arrived just in time with a tray laden with cold  beverages. Her concerned gaze settled on them.

Eshaal shyly ducked her head and nodded. “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Let me let you in on a secret then,” Rashida whispered conspiratorially, “Tanvir has been restless since the meeting. After today, he’s finally going to be at peace.”

Eshaal’s cheeks turned pink in bashfulness. Both ladies laughed, looking at her.

“Alhamdulillaah. Your consent was the only thing that we were waiting for, and now that we’ve gotten it . . .” Rashida trailed off as she bent down. There was rustling of covers before she produced a few paper bags from her bag and thrust them on Eshaal’s lap with love.

“Engagement ceremonies do not have a basis in Islaam, my dear, so we’ve decided to forgo the function. We could have the wedding straightaway when it suits best for all of us. These gifts, however, are for my son's bride-to-be. Just because there will be no ceremony, doesn’t mean I can’t shop whatever I want to gift her.”

Eshaal was startled. “There was no need for this, Aunty.”

She stayed silent for long moments, silently searching her face. “And these,” she said, starting to remove her bangles that she quickly put on Eshaal's wrists, “are for the daughter I always wanted. They were my grandmother’s before she passed it on to her daughter, my mother, who in turn gave it to me. These, too, are yours now. I don’t want to hear you refusing. ”

Tears of joy pricked behind Eshaal's eyes. She sucked in a breath. Plenty were the blessings that had been written for her. This woman, sitting in front of her, had joined the list. “J-jazakillah khair,” she sputtered, silently marveling at the lady who had so casually passed on her heirloom to her.

Once they had turned her into a statue like a normal desi bride, the two overjoyed mothers started embracing each other. “Alhamdulillaah, she has agreed.”

“But . . .” started Eshaal, abruptly ending their embrace. They backed away a bit, wanting to listen to what had she to say.

“You’ve already told me that there will be no engagement function since it doesn’t truly hold any value in Islaam; and I’m truly happy about it because I never wanted one in the first place, but I do not want any other functions either. A simple Sunnah-styled wedding without any extravagance is what I desire, so,” she hesitated a bit, “can there be just a simple nikkah and walima, please? No other festivities?”

Rashida wrapped her in a sudden bone-crushing hug. Sliding her hand over her arms, she took hold of Eshaal’s face and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “How true is that Allaah knows best who would suit whom, Subhanallaah! You wouldn’t believe it, but Tanvir has been saying the same thing since he met you. You would make a wonderful couple by the grace of Allaah.”

*         *         *

All the events that followed the acceptance of the proposal felt as though they were straight out of some fancy novel. A dashing prince with all the qualities their faith demanded, a promising future for both in this life and the hereafter, loving family and friends who proved to be a real good support system, a very big heart that wanted to fit in the entire population of planet earth, and the lack of villains who could disrupt their lives. What more could a girl want? What more could a girl need?

Eshaal, on her part, was beyond content. Her friends, too, were ecstatic with how things were all turning out for her—smooth, unobstructed, and devoid of all meaningless rituals they clearly detested. The wedding was truly being planned as per the prophetic tradition, and their joy for her knew no bounds. The happiest of them all was Eshaal, of course. She was deliriously happy about the guy who had barged into her life, and it showed on her face. The gleam in her eyes, the colour on her cheeks, and the faraway look on her face needed no words to express her fondness for him. Soon, she had earned herself an epithet. The blushing bride, as she was rightly termed, changed colours whenever Tanvir’s name was mentioned, and her friends took absolute delight in using that little fact to their utmost advantage.

“P for parrot,” Rida would start.

“Q for queen,” Manha would continue.

“R for rabbit,” Zahra would be forced to add in.

“S for sparrow.”

“T for . . .” Manha would wiggle her brows suggestively. Eshaal would turn around, blushing profusely, weakly protesting against their goading, but in truth, feeling butterflies in her stomach at the mere mention of his name.

She liked him a lot. There were no doubts regarding it.

Manha was the worst when it came to teasing. She never spared a chance, never let go of any opportunity, and hunted down all ways and words she could use to pull Eshaal’s leg—much to the bride-to-be’s horror! The poor girl had resorted to begging her friend, bribing her, and striking deals with her. When she had finally understood that Manha would never shut up, she had wisely retreated, letting her friend do what she wanted—however she wanted.

Needless to say, Manha was positively pleased. She loved provoking Eshaal at any chance she could get. After all, what kind of friend would she make if she couldn’t torture or tease or enjoy riling up the bride-to-be? Wasn’t that a right exclusively reserved for best friends—to torture, mock, and have fun at the other’s expense? To make them laugh so much that their stomach hurt, and to agitate them so much that they literally want to pull out their hair in frustration? Manha made sure not a day went by when she did not exercise her right.

With regards to the wedding, it was decided that it was to be held three months later. Tanvir had an important project to work on in Delhi until then; and the very next week he would return from up north, he would be sweeping Eshaal off her feet with a simple nikkah. The ceremony for men would be taking place in the masjid as per their custom, and it was unanimously agreed upon that the women’s ceremony would be taking place in Eshaal’s house. They wanted to ensure she was comfortable at all points.

Memorisation of Surah An-Noor and a hajj trip were decided as the mahr—the bridal gift that every Muslim woman was given on her wedding by her husband. There was no specifications in the religion as to what it should be, or how much it should be, leaving it completely to the bride’s choice. She could ask for anything—literally, anything on earth—whether materialistic or otherwise, and the groom was obliged to give her what she wanted. Being one of the most important aspects of the nikkah, the wedding stood incomplete without it. Most in the Indian subcontinent preferred the yellow metal for mahr. They intended for it to be a financial security, but Eshaal had made her choice from heart. No one seemed surprised at what she wanted, at least those who knew her weren’t. It turned out that her would-be was expecting something of the sort from her too.

Manha, although happy, was a little reluctant about sharing Eshaal’s attention with someone else. Well, since that someone was her fiancé, Manha had come to terms with letting her go. She had always known it would come to this anyway—them being married and carrying on their own lives.

Days passed by in a blissful blur; and with the passing of days, all four came to be aware of the fact that in less than three months, their band of four would be seeing major reconstructions. Even if it warranted the vanishing of Eshaal for a few months in order to adjust to her new life, the rest of them were willing to adjust their schedule so they could take up her classes at the center. They had almost worked it out between them.

Thoughts of her soul sister, the center, and everything else running in her mind, Manha slouched on her desk in her room one evening, looking out of the window. Her eyes danced on the stars, strayed towards the wispy clouds before they settled on the moon.

How strange is it? The moon always stays the same way—spherical, flashy, reflective in nature, but science makes it seem different in each of its phases. Every day it is the amount of light that falls on it that changes making the way we see it change. It in itself doesn’t change; and, even though we know the truth of it all, even though we know the reason, the admiration we hold for the moon on a full moon vanishes on a new moon. The moon stays the same way though. Despite our behaviour towards it, it continues being what it is, silently doing its job. It stays in plain sight for the light to fall on it again—for us to admire it again.

In a way, isn’t life the same too? The road is in our plain sight. Our destinations are very clear. It is our problems and insecurities and all other issues we hoard that obstruct us from seeing our goals. Mayb—

Her pondering was forced to come to a halt when she heard her mother come to her room after having called out to her. Manha sat up. “Yes, Mom?”

The look on her mother’s face was one she couldn’t place. “I wanted to tell you to take a day off tomorrow.”

“For what, Mom?”

“We have to go shopping tomorrow for the engagement.”

“Engagement? Mom, Eshaal is not having any engagement function. I told you, right?”

“Who said anything about shopping for Eshaal’s engagement? We’re shopping for yours.”

Manha’s face contorted at the reply. “What!” she screamed.

 ***