Rosy’s Story: Not to Give in, Not to Give up

Sobbed with grief and humiliation she ran out of her school-gate and walked fast towards the Ramna Park which is a short distance from her school. She was so emotionally agitated that she damned care the traffic signal. If a microbus had not braked so hard and stopped instantly it might have run over her. She did not bother the driver’s grimy remarks, and stalked off.

‘Something awful might have occurred if the driver had not braked so hard, but it was better to have been run over by that microbus than my present situation, ’ she thought, and began to walk angrily along the shady pavement. The Ministers’ lodges are on both sides of the road. These posh areas of Dhaka city are well-known to her. She looked at her watch. It was 11-30 am. One hour and a half has passed since her exam started. It was her Class Nine final examination. Now she is out of the exam! Not only that, she was threatened to be out of the school with a transfer certificate. She is a plucked bud, a half-slaughtered chicken tossed about on the floor. 

It was Early November 2018. The year-final examinations in schools have started a few days earlier than usual due to the national election to be held in December. It was she, only she, who was out of the exam hall, she thought. Her heart throbbed with flapping sounds of birds on the trees above, the sound of car, the whistle of traffic police. She was walking towards the park, her eyes fixed at her feet so as to avoid the sights of passers-by; but all on a sudden she was startled. “Hey girl, Rosy! Where are you going alone this time, haven’t you any exam today?” “Over there, Aunty,” Rosy replied glancing at the woman’s face. Avoiding further query Rosy stepped ahead.

To have come across Sharifa Aunty was another mishap for her, Rosy thought. She noticed an ominous look at that woman’s face. She is an aggressive woman like Rosy’s mother and lives in the same multi-storied building at Shantinagar, where Rosy’s parents moved two years ago. She is well-connected with the Ministers, and possibly was returning from her visit to some Minister’s lodge, Rosy guessed. While walking, Rosy contemplates the story about that woman. Mrs Sharifa demanded that her daughter Rebeka always stand first in the class. Hunting the best notes and taking her to class-teachers’ private tables were her obsession. Last year when Rebeka failed to keep up her first position in the class, she flew into a rage. Losing control, she flung a kitchen tool at Rebeka, which accidentally hit her left eye. The injury led to the partial damage of her eyesight. Even in that state Rebeka was pressurized to recover her first position in class seven. The impact was miserable. Rebeka lost her sanity. A cute girl Rebeka now howls crazily. When she sees any girl in school dress, she shudders and wants to hide somewhere. She flings things at random when she is angry. Now the whole household was at danger. All these thoughts made Rosy more nervous because she also experienced similar rule of her mother.

The Ramna Park came to Rosy’s view. Now she would have to cross the Hare Road. Buses, motor cycles, cars were all running so speedily. At some hours of the day they are jam-packed. But now the road is free. Rosy loves this place. Clouds of dust, vehicle exhausts and smokes are less visible here because these are all absorbed by the shady groves all around. This shady space is as if an oasis in a desert. From other side of the road the tree tops were swaying gently to hail Rosy as an old friend of theirs. But she feels unresponsive.

On entering the park-gate Rosy looked around. At this particular hour of the day in the month of Agrahyan the park seemed bleak and solitary. Rosy looked at the narrow metalled road shaded by rows of Bakul trees on one side walling the Hare Road. She used to visit this place with her father. She also picked up the creamy white Bakul flowers under the trees. It was not the season of Bakul, but the sweet fragrance of Bakul, as if, had tickled her nostrils. She had not walked these paths for many years. During the last Eid vacation her father suggested a visit to the park. But Rosy’s mother flared up and vehemently rejected it.

The worries of her heart were becoming heavier. She was walking aimlessly. The sights of colourful flowers – clusters of flaming Rangan, red and yellow marigold, the green and tiny bhimraj, the nageswar and her favourite red and pink roses could not unload her worries. Some birds were lazily making sounds telling her something. It may be that a teen-aged girl in school uniform alone in the park at that solitary hour of the day was not safe. Her fear was not from any bears or tigers but from man-shaped bears and tigers who are more ferocious than them. She remembered the autopsy report of Sohagi Jahan Tonu who was raped and murdered in a protected area like the Mainamati Cantonment, Comilla. But no investigation could trace that humanoid ferocity. Now a days her mother also does not allow her to come to this park for another reason that the shameless lovers visit this park and they are glued here and there quite openly. The nicest spot of the park, Rosy felt, was beside the lake. She quickly moved there. The concrete benches were all empty. She looked around and saw a woman bathing in the dirty water at a distance. She sat in the middle of a bench spreading her legs. While her eyes were fixed on the lake water her mind was still roaming about her past present and even future. Suddenly she was startled with a very familiar voice. It was the voice of her father.

Her lips quivered, her heart began to beat faster. With perched throat she said, “How do you know I am here?” “Rosy, I know what had happened. Your Ashrafi Aunti tells me that she had seen you moving towards the park gate. And from the office of your school I got the phone that you were caught for copying in the examination with mobile phone. They have already issued a T.C and told me to pick it up.” Rosy burst into tears and her words lost into mumbling. Her head bowed down and Rosy’s father supported it on his arms. Her father Forkan Ahmed is a very kind-hearted man. But he is not a successful man due to his restless nature. He joined a government primary school. He left the job, sold some of his property inherited from his father and started a housing business in small scale. But within five years he had lost most of his capital. Trusting people too much and kindness to all made him quite incompetent in business. Yet, he is now running a small book shop. Although Rosy’s situation is like a bolt from blue in the family, he suppressed all his emotion to take care of his daughter. He said, “Rosy I am responsible for this mishap. If that mobile phone of mine did not get damaged with a fall, I had not have purchased a new one, and that phone had not gone under your possession.”

“No Abbu, never say that. I am fully responsible for this nuisance. I had snaps of two of my pages. You know that the screen is damaged. I was not able to read clearly and moved uneasily. It was so hazy.” 

“The screen is badly damaged, I know.”

“But Abbu, tell me, once you were also a teacher. Isn’t expulsion from the school too much for this fault? They can cancel my exam script at best.”

“Hmm, best school has best rule!”

“Abbu, what will happen to Ammu? Has she already known this?”

“May be, she has not known this, and I have not informed her yet. I could sense the danger. I fear she will faint  hearing this news.” Rosy remained silent and her father continued,

“Anyway, Rosy, don’t be upset. No much worry, dear. I’ll manage everything. I’ll request your Principal withdrawing your TC as she has called me to meet her. Now let’s have a good time. When you were small I used to take you here, you remember? In here, and over there, you ran a lot, played a lot, picked leaves and small white flowers.”

“Yes, Abbu, last year I wrote these childhood memories of mine in my exam paper. You made my childhood so enjoyable.”

Mr Forkan suppressed his own worries and tried to make his daughter normal. All one a sudden the father and daughter were full of life. They were enjoying the beautiful sights and sounds of the park. They moved a little, under a canopy, and looked up. Rosy showed, “Abbu, look there are nests of Shalik birds. Some birdlings are struggling to move and their mother has brought some food for them.” Both father and daughter enjoyed the sight for some time. Mr Forkan said, “Let’s have a round of this park. Most trees are now without flowers. It looks so beautiful when all these rows of Krishnachura trees are in bloom.”

Although Mr. Forkan was trying his best to support his daughter but Rosy could notice signs of worries in the face of her father. Sweats glistened his dark forehead and his grey and black beard. Rosy said, “We should stop walking. You are sweating a lot, Abbu.” They sat on a park bench from where the sky was visible through thin branches of a tree. Rosy was always fond of looking at the blue sky. She saw a huge number of birds flying high above the sky.  They  were having some small talk about the lives of those birds, when suddenly they saw a white-complexioned couple nearby. They appeared before them. They had a questioning attitude but seemed to hesitate to start a talk. Rosy said, “Excuse me, would you need to have any query? Are you from England?” The white lady answered, “Oh, no, we’re American. I have a lot of curiosity about this park, the trees and plants.”

Rosy replied, “O fine, people of Bangladesh enjoy the beauties of these trees and plants but they do not feel interested to know all their names. However, I can help you as far as possible to know the names.” Rosy tells many names and they noted down in their note books. They took the photos of all these specific plants. The lady and her companion was surprised with Rosy’s English accent. The gentleman said, “I have never heard any Bangladeshi speaking English with perfect American accent.” Rosy surprised them more by speaking the Australian accent, Indian accent and a little bit of Scottish accent. Last of all, the American couple expressed their desire to keep Rosy in their memory taking some photos together. So they had a group photo with selfie mode.

After their departure Rosy’s father said, “Rosy, I am really proud of you. How could you master those accents of English? You are really a talent.”

Rosy said, “Abbu, you don’t praise me this way. I’m worthless. How foolish were I to commit this blunder.”

But Mr Forkan assured, “Remember that man is not angel. To err is human. That you are repentant of your faults is all the more important. Repentance for a sin purifies man’s heart. Just take a lesson from your mistakes and never repeat it.”

“But Abbu, I don’t know why teachers have become so tough suddenly. Really I have lost some interest of my academic reading after my JSC exam. You know I read a lot in PCE, I mean Primary Completion Exam. But questions were found in the facebook before  each exam. Teachers were solving the problems in the examination hall. I was frustrated seeing all these things. Now I was thinking the same will happen in SSC exam. So I gave my attention to complete my French learning course with assistance of my computer software.”

“Don’t say that Rosy. Will you be bad if people around you are bad? There are many good people who help other people even by sacrificing their lives. You know the glorious past of our Language Movement of 1952 and our great liberation war of 1971. Try to keep fair. That you had studied well and had got GPA 5 in both PCE and JSC, that’s all. Don’t bother whether or not other students adopted unfair means or they were assisted by  teachers in the examination hall.”

Thus Mr Forkan was philosophical even when talking to other people. He valued honesty above any other thing. But he was also very much conscious about the evil that lurks all around in our society. When he had a great loss in business, he turned to stoicism to practise self-control and overcome his restless nature. This philosophy helped him to keep silent against his wife’s word-missiles.  At the moment Mr Forkan was thinking of his wife, he received her call: “Where are you? You know your daughter has been expelled from the exam hall and will be kicked out from school. It is you who are responsible for all these. Go to school and face the hell. I will not show my face to anyone for such an act of disgrace.”

Mr Forkan felt happier at least with such thinking that she had not queried where he was at the moment. He replied, “Okay, I am going to the school. I’ll manage everything.”

Rosy could guess her mother’s reaction over phone and said, “Abbu, I know that Sharifa Auntie has made a mess about my case. She has already informed many people by now and she is probably influencing Nipa Ms to give me a severe my punishment. It is Nipa Ms who caught me. You know mother sent me to her house for private coaching, but I left. I went to Marzia Miss and this infuriated her. She was trying to take revenge. You know her husband is a Secretary. Tell me Abbu, where did you see Sharifa Aunty and what was she doing?”

“At the schoo-gate and she was talking to some other women.”

Nervously Rosy said, “Let’s move and it is already 3pm.”

Mr Forkan held her hand and said, “Let’s have some refreshment from the park-gate. There, I saw many green coconuts. We will have a coconut drink there.”

Very soon they came out of the park gate. Rosy did not want to have any food or drink. Mr Forkan insisted but she was unwilling. Father and daughter took a rickshaw for the school.

The Principal of Rosy’s school was a middle-aged woman, famous for her ill manners dealing with the teachers and students. But she had three or four influential teachers who were directly involved in politics. Despite many allegations against her she had been in her position for more than a decade because she knew how to keep connected with all the influential people to stay safe in her position.

The rickshaw reached the school gate soon. Rosy soon took her father to the Principal’s room. They saw Mrs Sharifa coming out of the Principal’s room. Mr Forkan did not believe Rosy’s suspicion but he now smelt some sort of evil design. The Principal was sitting on her chair, and four people were seated in front of her.

“Slamalaikum, Slamalaikum, Apa, I’m Rosy’s father. Could I come, please?”

“Stop. Rosy is your daughter?” She gave a very taunting look at him and said, “Pick up your daughter’s TC.”’

“Apa, please, please I’m begging your pardon, forgive my daughter this time, and I am taking all responsibility upon myself.”

“Why will you not take responsibility? You have given a smartphone to your daughter? And you have taught her its use in the examination hall. Like father like daughter. I am ashamed that once you were a teacher in a school!”

“Apa, apa please, my daughter’s result is good and she…. ”

 “Stop, who is your apa? You have not learnt manners how to address Principal of an institution like this,” said another man sitting there.

Mr Forkan was surprised how they have known all about him. His suspicion augmented about Mrs Ashrafi’s influence.

Yet he folded her hand-palms to show more humility and beg mercy for his daughter. “Madam/Sir, give whatever punishment you like, kindly withdraw the T.C, please,? ”

“ Shut up! What a nonsense! Too much irritating! I’m too much busy with my work, go to office and pick up your daughter’s T.C., ” flared up the she with a more taunting tone and ordered the MLSS to push him away to the office at once.

Rosy overheard all these standing beside the door.

Soon the TC was handed to Rosy’s father and he along with his daughter was pushed back to the gate. Rosy said, “Abbu, you go, I’ll not.  I’ll have another deal with my case. Please go. I’m coming some time later. Trust me.”

“What will you do?  When the hell comes, one should keep going,” said Mr Forkan still with a calm voice, and to face another hell that was her wife.

It was already about 4 pm. Not a drop of water fell into her stomach let alone any food. But the pangs of her heart was more terrible than her belly's. She wanted to recover her father’s honour whatever might happen to her lot.

“No, no, no, a trivial fault like that could never be paid with a severe punishment like T.C. And what a humiliation my father suffered for me! No begging mercy, no forgiveness, now I have nothing to lose.”, a rebellious thought  raced in her  mind. Like a mad dog Rosy rushed to the Principal’s room. Seeing her fiery eyes and mad rush the door keeper moved aside. In came Rosy without permission and hurled her boiling words in a thundered voice: “ You are Principal! Principal of this best school in the world. You have all the right to insult me, beat me, give me TC, whatever, but you have no right to summon my father and thus insult her. How can you utter such foul words, call him ‘nonsense’, not allowing him to enter the room, call ‘shut up’ and drive him away What was the need to call him to your school? Rosy said all these in one single breath.

The Principal and the teachers sitting there stood up from their seats and for a moment they couldn’t understand what to do or what to say at such a daring act of a school girl, never happened ever during their service life.

A group of teachers, the doorkeeper and office staff hurried inside hearing Rosy’s shouts, all said, “How dare! How dare!”.

Three female teachers and one male MLSS caught hold of Rosy-  Rosy struggling and still shouting, “Teachers like you have to learn manners, then teach students. You have stained the teaching profession.

A sparrow chirped piteously outside the room. Rosy burst into tears. A helpless little thing she is now! Some parts of her school uniform were torn off giving view of her petal-like skin around the waist.’

Like a hungry lioness, the hunt at her disposal, the Principal roared: ‘Peon! fetch the double cane-stick from the office room. And you people go out.’

By the time Rosy was pushed to sit on a tool. The peon gave the cane and went out of the room. Burning with fury the Principal ordered the peon to shut the door. Then she shouted at Rosy, “Tell me bitch, who  gave you this audacity! Ill-bred! Rogue! you want to teach us manners. Now enjoy the taste of your misconduct". No sooner had the words finished, the double canes began to fall upon Rosy’s back –thrash-trash-whack-whack. Rosy groaned and grumbled, ‘Miserable is she now, uttered piteously Abbu they are killing me!’ The Principal was more infuriated. Yet she stopped, and gave the canes to her teacher Nipa who caught Nipa in the exam hall and who influenced the principal to take all this decision. Like a cat playing with a rat, she caught Rosy by her hair and shouted, “ haramjadi, you don’t know me, stop howling.”

She thudded to the ground and saw, at a corner, an old leather belt with a metal end. So she wanted to play her sport with the belt. But she wanted to hurl it at the right place targeting Rosy’s hip. She positioned her and started hitting with all the wild might she had.  Suddenly Rosy gave a piercing scream and collapsed, the belt missed the target and hit her head. The Principal who was enjoying the sight now came up. “Pretension, pretension nothing has happened to the bitch like her.” The two teachers who were also sitting there came up and said, “No more beating, no more please.”

A veil of worries enveloped the Principal’s face  when one teacher said, “Madam, no stirring, no response, she lost her sense. It is necessary to call our doctor. Quick! ”

“Don’t be restless. Try healing her. Call the peons,” said the Principal, still adamantly.

Soon the doctor came in. The Principal said, “Doctor, something wrong has happened. From now we have become very tough about exams. In the newspaper you have seen that the RAB chief has declared that anyone involved in unfair means in the exam will be shot down. They will be given in cross fire. From now  there will be no question leakage, no help in exam hall. This rascal was copying with a smart phone in the exam hall. She is caught red handed by our teacher Nipa, and how dare the girl insulting our teachers justifying her act. And so a little beating. May be pretension. Please do the checking.”

While the Principal was uttering these words the doctor had already started examining the patient and with a sign of worry she said,  “May be she was hit at some sensitive place. I fear she needs some intensive checking, and it is better to send her to a hospital”

Rosy’s father completely forgot Rosy because he had to be busy with his wife Urmila Khatun.  Many a man in the world suffer like him without any fault. As she had seen the transfer certificate at her husband’s hand she rushed to the room and took a good number of sleeping pills  to end her life. Now she was taken to the same clinic where Rosy was taken. How suddenly misfortune descends upon the lives of humans as one of Shakespeare’s character says, Gods play with humans as the wanton boys play with flies and the sand-built houses.

The incident that happened to Rosy spread from one ear to another. Rosy’s classmates got aggrieved. The students of other classes also assembled. Next day instead of sitting for the exam the students brought out a procession. They wrote on placards “We want justice”. They chanted the slogan “Rosy apur kichu hale jalbe agun ei skule. Principaler kalo hat bhenge dao, gurhiye dao.” A group of journalists with TV cameras came to the school campus to capture the news. The Principal slipped away to avoid journalists and the TV cameras.

While Rosy and her mother were out of danger, a high powered investigating committee was formed in the school. The news even reached the Prime Minister’s ear. She gave a warning for an impartial investigation of the matter. The students for the first time found an outlet to express their grievances fearlessly. The complaint boxes were filled up with complaints. In the clinic Rosy’s mother recuperated after her stomach wash-up but Rosy had to be transferred to Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujib University for complications in the brain.

Within two weeks the Principal and the three teachers directly involved in torturing Rosy, were dismissed from the school. The students of the school were excited with the news. They felt that a favourable wind would blow now over their school. They were waiting to hail their hero Rosy in the campus. But Rosy’s health deteriorated. She was unable to talk and think. She could not recognize any one, not even her father and mother. She had a cerebral and traumatic attack. A psychiatrist was engaged for her treatment. One day the psychiatrist came to Rosy’s school. He held a meeting with the inquiry team and got all that had happened with Rosy. He got important clues. He called Rosy’s father and heard from him all about the Ramna Park incidence. The psychiatrist advised him to help him in the process of treatment.  

Next morning the psychiatrist took Rosy out with him. He first took her to Ramna park. After that he took a rickshaw and reached the school. They entered the gate. Rosy was still speechless and was looking agape. The doctor called Rosy’s father who, according to advice, came with an yellow envelop in his hand and embraced Rosy excitedly calling “Rosy, you are back in your school” No sooner had his words were out Rosy gave a loud cry calling “Abbu, Abbu”. The psychiatrist held a newspaper before Rosy’s eyes and asked her to read out some lines and Rosy perfectly did that. The psychiatrist excitedly addressed the students and said, “Now your Rosy Apu is quite okay.” The students began to dance while the doctor left giving some instruction to Rosy’s father and the students.

 

 

[Note: The names used in the story are fictitious.]

Ecocritical Reading

Ecocritical Reading of Tagore, Das and Wordsworth

Not to Grow Old

I don’t want to grow old, at least
In my kink and my all being.
I’ve crossed fifty, so what?
I colour my hair black carefully, and regularly
Clean-shave every morning
Control my diet to prevent fat
I like to look young, though my
Thin hair exposing a naughty spot on my head
And a dark foul mark below each eye
So what? I feel young and cent present young
The secret is that –
My business is with the young – mainly between 18 and 25
It’s wonderful to enjoy the company of these bubbling youths
It’s wonderful to talk to them, to listen to them
It’s wonderful to teach them and be taught by them
It’s wonderful to dance with them, to sing with them
It’s wonderful to get lost with them to some
Nature’s bounty beyond Dhaka’s poisonous air
- Jaffflong, Cox’s Bazar, St Martin's, Sajek and so on -
It is really wonderful to stay with them to feel like them
Because they are YOUNG and BEAUTIFUL.

Song of Coronavirus

                                       I

I still don’t know where and how I was born,

Hmm, was I born at a lab at your hands, man?

Somewhere at China or USA?

Or, mother nature released me as an offshoot?

I came to your world only three months ago,

You gave me the name Coronavirus

When I compete you, you call me COVID 19

Whatever my name and origin, I don’t grieve, for

One becomes great not by birth or name but by action

My fame rests upon my performance

I need not anyone to eulogize me.

                                     II

My maiden WWE match was at Wuhan, China

So, you may identify China as my homeland

But my victory was taken by the storm

Across the globe, overnight.

The advantage of aeroplanes, people’s travelling

Succeeded my mission of a global celebrity.

Obviously, celebrity of all celebrities.

My competitors fell upon my feet

Because my mission is to tear their lungs

To lead them to the gate of Hades

I keep no accounts of how many, though

Today your statistics say thirty four thousand.

I keep no company but one

Whom the Muslims call Azrael.

Oh, no, I’m not so ruthless

I mercy many to get back alive.

                                     III

I celebrate myself and sing myself

What you assume I do not assume

Where are you Trump?

Your name sounds with Triumph.

Now, the world is not at your feet

But at mine, I can roll it as I wish.

Where are you Angela Merkel?

Where are you Boris Johnson?

No fear for you Vladimir Putin.

The world has been a heap of sin

Now is the time to clean.

Quarantine, lock down, isolation

All these are temporary solution.

Shamsur Rahman: A poet of the soil and beyond

Poet: Shamsur Rahman

August is a month of grief for the people of Bangladesh. On this day, 17th August, of 2006, Shamsur Rahman closed his eyes for ever fighting against death for more than a week in the BSMU hospital. The time when his life-breath extinguished was a pleasant dusk with no cloud in the sky. It was the day and weather about which Rahman wrote a poem titled "Bibecana"  (Consideration).
More read CLICK HERE

Lost Love

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It was a mid-Baishakhi noon and the sun was burning overhead. Rahmat was waiting at the Malibag bus stand for catching a Motijheel-bound bus. Buses were not scarce, but all were awfully crowded. Rahmat had made several attempts to push through but failed to get into any one. In the last attempt he gave space to two girls who were behind him. The girls seemed to be students. He felt the pressure of their body on his back and sideways and made them space to go ahead. Rahmat was enamoured having a glance at the face of one of them, and perhaps that was the reason that he was distracted for some moments. He thought, why should the girls struggle to get into this crowded public transport? They must be poor like him. Scarcely had this thought crossed his mind when the bus moved fast away, and Rahmat was thrown off the gate. His knee was badly hurt. He had a narrow escape from a fatal accident. His legs might have gone under the wheels, he thought.

Rahmat took a deep breath. With the breath a lot of dust entered into his nostrils because he was standing in the cloud of dust which is very common in Dhaka city. Amidst all these discomforts, however, the beauty of the two girls still lingered in his mind, and it gave him a pleasant feeling. One of the girls had a fantastic similarity with Ruba-­ the girl whom Rahmat loved, whom he still loves and carries in his heart everywhere, but he was a defeated soldier to win her. The moment Rahmat was visualizing Ruba’s hair style, her rosy cheeks, her smiles, the next bus approached. Ruba’s thought gave Rahmat a lion’s strength, and he succeeded in the fight to board the bus. But inside the bus his condition was just like a fowl packed with other fowls in an airless bamboo case.

Rahmat wanted the bus to run faster so that he could reach Motijheel in time. But after a few minutes the bus got stuck in a seemingly never ending jam ­- five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes.... With a great difficulty Rahmat came out of the bus and began to walk along the footpath. He could not walk fast because there were loose slabs, and dirts were scattered here and there. He could have treaded dog screta had he not given a jump over it.  From the back he was scarcely hit by a motor cycle pushing through. He was shuddered to see some skeleton-like human figures with sores all over and the flies being active on them. Stinks from an open dustbin were shooting into his brain through his nostrils.

While walking with such a discomfort, all on a sudden Rahmat felt someone’s leg onto his feet.

“Sorry” said Rahmat with his usual polite tone. A man came overtaking him and said, 

“My leg kicks yours but you said sorry. Nobody says like this.”

“No matter, whose fault it is! It is an unwilling act, sure. ”

“Brother, you’re very polite and gentle. Where do you stay?”

“In a mess at Malibag Chowdhurypara, not far from here. ”

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll go to Motijheel. Can you tell me the short-cut route to reach there.”

“Stop here, rascal! Do you know me? Have you heard my name? It’s killer Keru. Last month I completed my century murder. Now I’ll cut off the leg that touched mine.” No sooner had he finished his words, three young men appeared there. They seemed to have weapons with them.

One of them said, “Hey rascal, we’re looking for you for several months.”

Rahamat was terribly frightened but gathered strength and said, “You’re wrong. My name is Rahmat. Recently I had completed my Masters degree from Khulna University from the Dept of Economics. My village home is at Jhenaidah. My father is a farmer whose name is Sharafat Ali. I’m not the man you are looking for, sure. I’m not guilty for anything.”

“Hey, rascal, why didn’t you marry that girl? What did you do with her?”

“With whom?” Now Rahmat was confused. His blood ran cold. Now Rahmat thinks, is he really the man searched for? Has Ruba any role in this act?

Rahmat saw some men passing by. But they did not notice what was going on here. He also saw some rickshaws and cars at a short distance.

“Answer correctly, or you will be cut into pieces, and don’t make any sound, you bloody bastard!”

“I’ve simply kissed her. She kissed me first, and it was she who caught my hand first. I simply kissed her cheek, nothing else happened. It was she who first proposed me. It was she for whom the break up caused. Our relationship was fine and I’m not to be blamed for a break up.”

“Right. Ha, ha, ha! Don’t fear. Have you any money? Don’t lie. Whatever you have, take out. Take out, what you have. Quick, quick, If you hide, you will be sent to hell.”

By now Rahmat felt a bit relaxed and he almost became sure that it was a snatching case. Rahmat handed over his money bag, mobile phone and also a 500 taka note which he kept in a secret pocket.”

“No more money? If we find more, you will be shot, rascal!”

“Allahar Kasam (I swear upon God), I’ve nothing more. You see, I’m an unemployed youth. I’m going to Motijheel for a job interview?"

They returned the money bag with the ten-taka notes it had, and the mobile set and took only the 500 taka note.

“Now, walk straight ahead along this route. Don’t look back, left or right. And don’t narrate this story to anyone. If you do, your eyes will be gouged out with this peg.”

“Ok, why should I tell this to others? Ok, ok”

“Ok, go.”

Rahmat did what he was instructed. He was full of contempt about life. He muttered in anguish:

“Ah God! what evil has befallen me. What a peculiar city is Dhaka! Why did I come to Dhaka for searching a job, and what a hell is it? What sort of torturing the criminals did upon me? There were people all around, no one came to save me in this broad daylight. Ah God, how long, how long to carry this unemployed existence! Nobody gives me a job. Ruba waited for me, she had no fault, but she couldn’t come out of the clutch of her family, she yielded to her family decision. She married a moneyed man, perhaps, I’m not sure. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything about her. She is gone for ever but why do I feel that she belongs to me and I belong to her. What charisma did she possess that I can’t  throw her off my body and mind?”

Rahmat stood and wanted to trace the route he was walking through. Before he asked anyone he amazingly looked at the mega buildings, fashionable market, luxurious jeeps and fashionable ladies. His existence seemed to be so ignoble and unwanted. But the next moment Ruba’s memory made him feel heroic. Rahmat felt that he must succeed in life and make Ruba realize that he could have been a better husband for her. That day Rahmat perhaps could reach Motijheel and faced the job interview, but he didn’t do so.  He loved to dream to be a moneyed man. Standing in the footpath he began to read some “how to” books from the stalls- books like ‘how to be successful in life’, ‘how to become a billionaire.’ etc. He read bits from a book titled Life of Bill Gates. By fifty taka he bought a book he liked most.

Within a few days Rahmat got a job in an IT farm but he soon realized that chakri (job) means slavery. Once his boss rebuked him severely for not carrying out his order. The next day he resigned from the job. He felt that he had better pull rickshaw than search a job. He thought and thought and discovered his passion. It was his passion for computer and IT though he was a student of Economics. One day he convinced his two best friends to invest a little money for starting an IT farm. They agreed. Initially the farm was virtual, later they took an office. Three years later his two friends sold their share and migrated to Canada. Now Rahmat became the sole proprietor. He is the Managing Director of Rumat IT. Except Rahmat nobody knows the secret of his farm’s naming. It is Ruba’s  ‘Ru’ and ‘Rahmat’s ‘mat’. Rahmat rode the ladder of success. Many a time he had felt to get some update about Ruba but he didn’t do so.

Rahmat spent quite a big amount of money in his marriage. Within a few more years, more fulfillment came. He was blessed with a daughter. He made a very happy family. His wife proved the best life-partner for him.

Oneday some employees were going to be recruited for his office in the position of computer operators. Nearly one hundred applicants appeared for the interview. The selection board consisted of Rahmat in the chair, Mr Kader, the office manger and the IT expert Mr Kabir.  The interview was going on smoothly.

A lady entered the room. Rahmat’s eyes stared at her. He could see a pathetic figure, a face much uncared for, signs of poverty all over. He reflected a moment, “Why should Ruba come for the job of a computer operator at this stage of her life? She was married to a wealthy man I heard. What happened.?”

 Mr Kader asked: “You’re a lady. Our office work starts at 12 and continues till 9 pm. Will you be able to maintain this?”

“Yes, sir. If you give me the job, I’ll be able to maintain it.”

Rahmat had not heard this sweetest voice for so many years. He wanted to ask something but his voice was stuck in his throat. The lady now looked at Rahmat’s face. She sprang up and left the room without uttering any word. The office manager and the IT expert couldn’t understand what happened to the lady. They could also notice something unusual in their MD’s face. The lady was gone. The office peon rushed to the room, “Sir a lady was seriously hurt falling down the stair. Perhaps she was running down the stair.” Ruba lost her sense there, and her eyes closed for ever.     

Sitting on the chair in his Motijheel office Rahman often reflected on his terrific day of a Baishakhi noon when he was supposed to reach Motijheel for a job interview, and his victory over his lost love, lost forever.

When the Wheels Stopped

As the sun was setting down Monira retrieved her father’s lungi and panjabi from the rope hung across two poles in the yard. She folded the clothes with much affection and kept neatly on the wooden alna. Azan for Magrib prayer resounded the atmosphere. A soothing spring air can be felt earlier in that late winter evening. Monira’s mother Kulsum Ara was performing ablution to say her prayer. For some days she was angry with herself, angry with her husband Rustum Ali, angry with Monira and angry with everyone else. Perhaps it was due to Rustum’s sitting idle for more than a week. In her prayer she seeks some consolation. She nurses the belief that sufferings in this worldly life is temporary, and that real happiness is decided by Allah in the life hereafter.

No sooner had Kulsum Ara finished her prayer than she heard the cry of her little son Musa whom she had sent to a shop. Sobbing and angry, Musa complained, “Why have you sent me to Montu Mia’s shop again? Yesterday he hesitated to give me rice on credit. Today again, you have sent me there without money. He demanded the dues first. He uttered foul words about you and father. Ah, huh, ah huh! uhhh, I’ll never go to his shop, never... huh, ah huh...”

“Ok, Musa, please don’t cry. Your father is coming home soon. He will meet Montu Mia. Come here, look, this kitten has just come to our house. Don’t you like it?” Musa got busy playing with the kitten.

Kulsum Ara turned terribly worried about the meal for the night. She flopped down on the paati and reflected on her life:

I was not so unhappy in my 16 years married life despite my mother’s reservation of marrying a truck driver. Mother said that drivers are bad people and notoriously bad if one is a truck driver who must be a drunkard. Mother’s words proved false. Father liked Rustum for his good behaviour. Rustum had no habit of smoking let alone drinking. He is so devoted to their two children. He gives me whatever he earns to maintain the family. Working as a truck driver he had bought this small piece of land within a radius of three miles from Rosulpur town. Though bamboo-fenced and tin-shaded, now we are sleeping in our own house. No, no I’ve no complain against him. Things were going on well. But who, who, what evil grips our life? Kulsum finds no answer to this? Rustum will return soon having a talk with Taleb Mia, the truck owner. For the past twelve days he has no trip. His owner did not want his trucks to be on the road because trucks have been targeted for petrol bomb attack. The little savings they had are all gone. How foolish she was to give money to her husband for buying books for Monira’s new class when schools are closed for hartals and blockades. The grocer Montu Mia was so kind to them giving supplies on credit, but now he utters harsh words. How can I manage meals for them to night - Monira, Musa and their father? Oh Allah, help me! Help me! Oh! Allah, we’ve done no wrong to anybody. Why do you punish us? Save us, Allah Meherban.”

Monira not being aware of her mother’s agony was waiting in the porch for her father’s return. That day, as usual, as soon as Monira saw her father she shouts ‘Abba-ab-ba’ and embraced him crazily. As usual, she has something to say, some in whispers, some aloud. “Uh-oh! Monira! You have grown up, how long will you act like a baby. What if other people see this?” Though Rustum Ali said this, he also took Monira on his bosom as if she was a baby.

“Monirar Ma! Kulsum! Where are you keeping? Come, come! Good news.” Kulsum Ara sprang up and rushed out of the room thinking that Allah has heard her helpless cry instantly.  

“Taleb Mia has decided to take his truck out on the road, and he has already fixed a trip for me on Monday, that is, the day after tomorrow. I’ve also got some money in advance. Look, a 500 taka note! Take it and manage the meals.” Wiping her tears secretly Kulsum Ara took the note.  She managed the family meals for the night and performed two-rakat nafalnamaj to express her gratitude to Allah.

Although Kulsum Ara was under great stress to manage the family finances, Monira and Rustum had been passing their happiest time ever. Rustum had never been so many days together at his home. He had no work, neither Monira had her school. Most of the time they were together. They told stories, gossiped, played pranks, sang songs and what not to make their time enjoyable.

Four days ago Monira and her father went to Rosulpur  town  to buy books for Monira’s new class.  Rosulpur is a mufassal town, a few miles away from their home. They rode a three wheeler van and reached the town. From Boi Bitan they bought books. Then Rustum took Monira to a sweet-shop. Before he ordered Rasogulla for Monira, he was counting the money again and again. Rustum hesitated whether he would have the return van-fare after paying the bill.

Monira noticed her father’s worry and said, “Abba, why do you hide things from me. Why don’t you share everything with me as I do with you? I’m warning you again, don’t hide anything from me. Why do you worry for me? Another time you will relish my palate with Rasogulla, let’s move now.” Monira tells all these things whispering into her father’s ear holding him tight. People around them glared at her odd manner of talking.

Walking out with a sad mind Rustum said, “Monira, next time when I come to the town with you, I’ll take you to Raghat Sweets and you will eat your favourite sweets to your heart’s content.

“Abba, again, again you are worried for my sweets? You have no earning these days. Mother is under a great stress.”

“That’s right. We’ll overcome our trouble soon.”

“But Abba, isn’t hartal fine for us?  we can pass very good time. I’ve no school and you’ve no work. How exciting to keep together at home!.”

“Then how can I earn money, Monira? And how can your mother run this family? Let’s move, shall we?”  “Ok, find a passenger van then.”

They rode a van. On the way Monira witnessed a terrible sight. A mini bus was just struck by a petrol bomb. Although most passengers could come out and save their lives a woman with her baby could not. Their burnt bodies were left aside. Monira shuddered at the sight. Some thoughts flashed in her tender mind, “If Abba and me had been in that bus, we might have been under this attack. During the hartal, man-driven van is safer than engine-driven vehicle. That’s why Abba preferred a three wheeler van to a bus.”

But, that night their time was very enjoyable. When Kulsum Ara and Musa fell asleep, Monira and Rustum had their special stunt. Monira said “Abba, let us see the books we bought today. Let me see some stories in my Bangla book.” Munira felt curious with one. She began to read it at a very low pitch lest the sound should break her mother’s sleep. Rustum listened to it spellbound. The story touched Rustum’s heart so much that his eyes were filled with tears.

“How would you like this stoy, Abba?”

“What is the name of this story?”

“Yes, it’s name  is Denapaona and Rabidranath Thakur has written it. But tell me, how do you like it?”

“Wonderful! Wonderful, Monira, it’s the real picture of our society. Your story made me think that I have also a daughter, and women are badly treated in our society.”

“Who is your daughter?”

“You!”

“No I’m your Ma (mother), ha,ha,ha!”

“No, Monira, it’s not a joke, so many women are the victims of dowry. Mainly these women are illiterate. I want you to be educated. Monira, I’ll work harder for you. I’ll do everything for your education. I want you to do well in the SSC examination as you did in the JSC.  I will provide everything you need for completing your B.A. degree.”

On Sunday night Rustum was supposed to go to bed early. He said, “Monira, I have to get up early in the morning to go for my trip.” “Abba, I will not let you go. Petrol bomb attacks on trucks have increased these days. From tomorrow again a 48 hrs hartal has been announced on top of blockades.” Again turning to her mother Monira said, “Maa, I will not let Abba go for his trip in this hartal day. The country is burning with the fury of petrol bombs. Trucks are more at a target. We would rather starve than send father out on his trip. O' Ma! A good idea! I have my earthen bank full of coins. It will help you to buy some rice. Bring the bank, break it down!” Suppressing her anger Kulsum Ara said, “Monira, why are you uttering so nonsense? Go to bed, there is Allah above.”  

Earlier, every time Rustum went out on his trip, Monira made his bag ready. She knew it better what to take what not. But that day Monira did not do her job. So, Rustum had the bag ready for himself.

Monira was still on the bed when, at dawn, Rustum left. Before leaving, he stared at her sleeping face again and again. A silent protest of love was still thereon the face! An oval shaped face with a beauty spot on the cheek. On her face Rustum finds a semblance with her dead mother. Just a few days after his mother’s death Monira saw the light of this earth. Rustum softly kissed Monira’s face. Never before had he felt so disturbed leaving her. A drop of tears formed on the corner of his eyes, and it was was rolling down as Rustum came out of the room.

Kulsum Ara uttered some doa when Rustum was leaving the house. As usual, Rustum was walking the distance to reach Taleb Mia’s oil pump from where he would have to take the truck. Along this suburban road his eyes often fell on some wild flowers. He liked the Shet Akanda, Keu, Tit Begun, Kontikari, Chatpati, Dhutura and many other unnamed flowers. His eyes also fell on some Shimul trees whose buds had just begun to evolve the crimson red flowers. But Rustum’s pleasant feeling got badly damaged seeing the smokes coming out from the chimneys of a brickfield and the continuous bhatbhat sounds of the bhatbhatis (engine-driven van) in early hours of the day.

Rustum reached Taleb Mia’s oil pump where helper Kuddus was waiting. He greeted Rustum heartily and was happy to see his ustad almost two weeks later.“Let’s start, ustad. I have made the truck ready.”

They soon reached the spot from where they loaded bananas and started for Dhaka before 9 am. The road was free, buses and trucks were hardly visible.

Kuddus said, “Ustad, if the roads were so free all the time! How fine if there is no traffic jam! Despite some risk I like such road very much. Today we will not need to wait in the ferry ghat for hours. Today we will not need to wait until 8 pm to enter Dhaka.”

“Kuddus, you know, ours is a risky journey. Our truck might be hit by petrol bomb. Yesterday in Magura a truck was hit and both the driver and the helper died. What was their fault? Why are we, the working people, targeted! Ugh! Is our life cheaper than that of a dog? So many drivers and helpers have been burnt to death and so many are in the burn units. Who cares for our life?”

“Ustad, Stop, stop now. I’m afraid of your talk. My wife and kids are starving. I must have some money to buy food for them.”

Their truck ran with an aeroplane’s speed. About 12 o clock they reached the ferry ghat which really had a different look. There was no bus, only a few trucks on board. Rustum placed his truck so easily and felt greatly relaxed. He let his body relax more, leaning against his seat and began to enjoy watching the vast sheet of water rippling and the inky horizon afar.

All on a sudden Rustum began to see strange things. His eyes fell on a group of people drenched with water. He recognized one in the group. It was Rokon, his cousin, who died in launch capsize a week ago at Dauladia-Paturia ferry ghat. Rustum’s hair stood erect in fear. “Is it a dream? Or am I among the dead?” he thought. The next sight was more terrifying. He saw a group of people who had no clothes on their body and their skins are roasted like grilled chickens. Further, Rustum caught sight of a group of people whose clothes are soaked with blood. Again another group of people whose faces are covered with black clothes.

Rustum’s heart was beating fast. He was trying hard to move his limbs to become sure that he is alive. Just then his dead cousin appeared before him and said, “Rustum, what caused your death? Don’t you belong to any of these groups of people?”Again Rustum was quite confused about his status. He wanted to give a loud cry but was unable to produce any sound. At that moment it occurred to him that these dead people were revolting against the ferryman who was carrying them across across the river. Just then Rustum noticed three female figures coming down in a parachute. They seemed to be the messengers of God. One of them shouted at the passengers and said:

‘Hey guys, you can never go back to the world once you are on board this ferry. You are already caught and you will be thrown to eternal torture if you revolt. Your life on earth expired, understand! But, you have nothing to worry. You should know that you have already become well-known among your people on earth. Mind, your name couldn’t have been so familiar if you had led your doggish life. This is a great gain for you, isn’t it?  Now listen, on the other side of this river there is a lake called Lethe. All of you will drink its sweet water, and you will forget everything of your worldly life. Then you will enjoy complete peace. Hope, for the best.”

Rustum was quite confused about his death. First, he remembered Monira to whom he could not say good bye. He also thought about his five-year-old son Musa and lastly about his beloved wife Kulsum Ara. His heart was filled with an unknown resentment. He was panting and sweating fast. All on a sudden a shrill sound entered his ears and he felt a big jerking. He also felt a push on his body, and to his great relief he saw Kuddus on his side.

Rustum soon drove his truck off the ferry, and the truck again gained an aeroplane’s speed. They reached Dhaka before evening. Rustum felt like talking to Monira, but there is no mobile set in his house. He took his own set out of his pocket, and saw 55 missed calls. Rustum reflected, “Monira must have tried to talk to me from someone else’s phone. Why couldn’t he hear the call? The set must be in silent mode.”Rustum phoned one of his neighbours to help him talk to Monira over his phone.

“Hello, Abba why didn’t you receive the phone. We’re so worried about you. When are you returning?”

“Ma, don’t worry. Tomorrow early in the morning we’ll start from Dhaka. Do you need anything?”

“No, Abba at the moment I don’t need anything. Come home safe. I have many stories to tell you. And from now, don’t keep your mobile set silent.”

“Ok, Ma. You know, this is my habit to keep the set silent when I am on the road. It is not safe to talk while driving.  Don’t worry, Ma. The roads are clear. Tomorrow by noon I’ll reach home. Tell your mother that we’ll eat our mid-day meals together.”

Early next morning Rustum and Kuddus had their return journey. This time they had no goods in their truck. The roads were clear and their truck reached Rosulpur town before the sun reclined on the west.

Within a few minutes Rustum placed the truck at Taleb Mia’s premise. A gust of wind soothed his body and mind. With a happy feeling Rustum was walking along the footpath and looking for a van. All the pleasant thoughts were racing through his mind, “After all, the danger is gone. Sometime later Monira will jump on my bosom to tell him her stories. Surely, by now she is standing in the backyard, with her eyes fixed across my path. Surely, both Monira and Musa will be glad to get tilekhaza that I’ve bought from the ferry ghat. Surely, Minara’s mother is waiting eagerly for serving meals.’ At that moment Rustum was startled with a ring in his mobile set. “Hello!” It was Monira’s voice,“Abba, where are you now? Mother and Musa are waiting for you to take meals together. Tell me where …” Scarcely had Rustum uttered a word of reply, he found himself caught into the fire of a bomb that missed the target of a covered van waiting there.