Finding the Unseen

by Taj63622

  Chapter 14

  She has realised today that the rising Sun may not be evident, but Dawn’s rising could seldom go unseen. When the hour for Fajr commenced, she was already awake. She could not sleep hence after either. Last night's drama at the eatery kept her awake all night.

  She has had a happy upbringing. She was not ignorant to the hardship of others. She was merely inexperienced of it. Yet, the Shahiraj’s words stung her deeply. How she wished life had a Ctrl+Z button. No one would ever have to bear a bad experience.

  The taxi arrived promptly at the booked time. Today they visit Jameel Dhadha. He lives in Sreemangal, which is in the district of Moulvibazar. It was a two-hour journey. The alternative method of travel via train would have taken half the time. However, as they are not acquainted with the city, Dhahi thought taxi would be better.

  It has been twenty minutes into this journey. Each minute took them further away from the hotel. The hustle and bustle of the sandy streets stalled their journey frequently. Pedestrians, being consisted chiefly of marketers and idle children, came fearlessly before their taxi. The driver hooted to warn and clear them, but they seemed to be walking in a trance. She cannot say for Dhadhi, but her ears are ringing with the sound of beeps and horns, which the driver used in abundance. She looked at Dhadhi beside her to check on her reaction, but she looked lost in thought, almost unaware of the driver’s recklessness. There were drops of sweat gliding down Dhadhi’s face and neck. She looked uneasy. Worried, she desperately enquires after her health. All of a sudden, Dhadhi looked pale and her breaths became heavy. She moves closer to Dhadhi, taking her into her arms, fanning her hand frantically before her to cool her, and orders the driver to stop. But he did not seem to have heard her. Her cries eventually had him look in the mirror. Noticing the elderly woman struggling to keep herself upright, he applies the breaks, the whole while keeping his attention upon them, causing the vehicle behind them to hit the bumper of their taxi.

  Ignorant of the taxi, she took Dhadhi out of the taxi. Dhadhi struggled to stand, and she equally struggled to provide sufficient support in company of her anxiety. Thankfully, the taxi stopped at what seemed to be a main road, where the commotion attracted a crowd by their taxi. Help was not scarce. People enquired after her Dhadhi’s health. Seeing her struggles, a man wearing a prayer hat, offered his assistance by holding Dhadhi by her arm. He advised to have her sat down somewhere, having just about understood him as he gestured towards a certain direction. She took up his offer immediately, pulling away from the scene of crowd and commotion.

  From where he sat, Char could only see the back of those gathered spectators in the near distance. Agitated, he looked at the time on his watch yet again, and then with more impatience, looked outside the window beside him, wondering the cause of this traffic jam. He could hear the overwhelming noise of hooting, beeping, and yelling in this intensifying heat. The driver of his taxi also beeped the horn again, which had no effect on the vehicles and rickshaws before them. He has an appointment with the tailor in fifteen minutes. He bought the suit in London, but in view of taking five weeks annual leave, his heavy workload did not give him the freedom to make the necessary alterations to his clothes. There is a great deal of work pending at home regarding the wedding preparations. He has yet to send out the remaining invitations, finalising guests’ accommodation, and gifts still need sorting out too. This cursed delay was not alleviating his stress. ‘Brother,’ he calls the driver in Sylheti, ‘why don’t you go and check what’s happened there?’

  ‘The last time,’ the driver replies, looking blandly at him in the interior mirror, ‘I left my taxi with the passenger still inside, the passenger fled without paying the fare and vandalised my meter too. I will not be making the same mistake again!’

  Char could not resist smiling, shaking his head hopelessly at the driver’s reply. At this rate, the progress of the country seemed highly unlikely. Irritation having reached its height, Char offered to investigate the matter himself, but the driver raised an objection to this initiative too, saying, ‘The last time a passenger did this, he never returned, and never paid the fare either.’

  Smiling, he draws out his wallet and settles the fare. The driver counted the notes as he leaves the taxi. ‘Your change,’ the driver yells through the half-open window, as he briskly walks pass.

  He turns around, noticing the driver standing by the taxi, holding the change in his hands. He adorns a faint smirk as he retraces his steps towards the taxi, looking from the driver’s hand to his naive face. The cause to the man’s former misfortunes no longer remained a mystery. The features of honesty coincided too closely with the traits of a fool. ‘Consider it an advance payment,’ he informs the honest driver, whose face contorts into confusion. ‘Stay ready, and look after my suit,’ he nods towards his wrapped sherwani, sitting comfortably on the seat.

  He walks away from the taxi, heading towards the group of spectators. The heat was unbearable and the air was humid, and both amidst this noise pollution. The sweat glued his vest to his chest, and he began to flap his shirt in an effort to cool himself. He asks a passer-by the cause of this crowd, and learns a small accident has happened between two cars. Worried, he made the immediate enquiry if anyone got hurt. Thankfully, no one did, but someone surely will if none resolved the matter between the two respective quarrelling drivers. The passer-by shook his head at the hopeless situation before walking away. Char was appreciated one more truth. No problem is unique, yet their solution is never apparent.

  The kind man, who helped them, had brought them to his grocery outlet, situated in the bazaar not too far from the main road. Dhadhi had an asthma attack. Thankfully, the inhalers have regulated her breaths, but she feared a repeat attack, and advised Dhadhi to go back to their hotel, and possibly see a doctor. But Dhadhi obstinately refused. Dhadhi drank the water the man offered heartily, while she fanned her with a hand fan, known as “pankha”. The paleness gently subsides from Dhadhi’s face, her health returning to normal.

  ‘If you take my advice,’ their kind saviour suggests, adjusting his dialect to match Dhadhi’s, ‘then you should go home.’ She nodded at his suggestion. ‘He is right, Dhadhi. We should go back to the hotel,’ she repeats, reverting to Bengali.

  ‘No,’ Dhadhi refuses in a weak voice, resolved on completing this journey. ‘It’s now or never. Besides, I’m fine now. I think it was the sudden change of air,’ she says to the concerned man. ‘The whole night we stayed in an air conditioned room. I haven’t quite readjusted with the truth of the country’s weather. As long as we keep all the windows of the taxi-’ and at the mention of taxi, Dhadhi stops abruptly.

  In all this commotion, they have completely forgotten about their booked taxi. ‘Mayah,’ Dhadhi says in panic, ‘our taxi. Go and check on it!’

  Mayah considered against following these orders, still adamant to go back to the hotel. However, she realised that whether they progress in this journey or reverse it, they will still require a taxi. She cannot overlook the valuable convenience of their transport. Thus, she heads immediately for the main road.

  The driver of her taxi was quarrelling with the driver of the car behind, which crashed into the taxi before it. The crash had damaged the headlights of the car and the bumper was noticeably dent. Char had filtered through to the front of the crowd and watched the inconvenient, but entertaining scene. The car owner demanded the taxi driver to pay for the cost of the damage. The taxi driver refused to pay, claiming that he applied the emergency break due to his passenger taken ill. Few men from the crowd offer their assistance to resolve this matter, while others exclaim their curses. The drivers of the other vehicles caught up in the traffic jam continue to beep their car horns in irritation, yelling to clear the way.

  He looked at his watch again, his stress levels struggling to keep him patient. There is only one solution to resolve their quarrel, hence he tears away from the crowd and joins those men who are in the direct scene. However, he stru
ggled to get a word in over the taxi driver’s yelling. ‘Why should I pay?’ he argued. ‘The passenger will!’

  ‘The passenger?’ mocks the car owner. ‘What passenger? Where is this passenger?’

  The driver looked equally bewildered on the whereabouts of his passenger, fearing that they may have fled and abandoned him to incur the cost of the damage alone. His panic visible, he looks about the crowd with desperate hope of finding them.

  ‘Stop making excuses,’ the car owner says seeing the taxi driver looking ignorantly away.

  ‘There!’ he yells suddenly, seeing the familiar face in the near distance. ‘There she is!’

  The taxi driver was pointing at her. The crowd turns in her direction. She suddenly comes to realise the extent of the damage, taking in the views of broken headlights and dented metalwork, and of course, the trail of traffic jam behind it.

  Like most of these spectators, he also turned his gaze upon the accused, not expecting to find a woman. She stood there, dressed in a blue tunic and a pair of black denims, and an appearance too distinct to consider her a local. He sensed a certain familiarity as he saw her face, but had difficulty locating the reason behind it.

  At length, his confusion vanishes. The reason turned him pale. The likelihood of such coincidences was difficult to believe.

  For a tempting moment, she considered withdrawing from the commotion, but her booked taxi was too precious an availability to abandon it. Thus, with a lowered gaze, hesitant steps and deep breaths, she nears closer to the scene, silently rehearsing her method of approach. She felt her cheeks burn as the spectators’ eyeful daggers dug deep into her flesh. Finally, she reaches her accuser, cautiously lifting her shameful gaze to offer an explanation, when she met a familiar face.

  It is harder to forget the strikes of an adversary than recall the favours of a friend.

  ‘Taxi?’ she says, for that is the name she has given our Char.

  ‘Heavy-load?’ he returns the favour of naming.

  Her grey eyes flash in anger at the referral. She need not worry anymore or believe her to be the cause of this commotion, as wherever this man was, her taxi problems were bound to follow.

  ‘Memsahib,’ the taxi driver pleadingly addresses her, unintelligible to the two persons’ shared words, ‘tell this man,’ he gestures to the car owner, ‘that none of this is my fault. Tell him that your-’

  ‘I don’t care whose fault it is!’ exclaimed the man. ‘I just want my damages paid for.’

  His dialect being a strong Sylheti, she did not entirely understand the man. Thus, she requests for a translation from her taxi driver, and in doing so, catches the dark disapproving glare of “Taxi”. He seemed to be observing her carefully. She felt self-conscious, and though attempted to ignore him, she found her gaze irritatingly elevating towards his direction. Succeeding against her attempts, they fix themselves with his, not knowing to what purpose or indeed from what encouragement.

  ‘Memsahib,’ the driver redirects her attention, to which she startles, ‘because of you, all this happened. You should settle the damages too. You know all too well that I am but a poor driver,’ he explains, trying a different tact to escape this situation. ‘Please, Memsahib, have mercy on me and my family.’

  She has never been one to refuse a request. Her age has perhaps defined her in the visible features of a woman, but her awareness to the average person’s sly schemes has not matured yet. She was not naïve, but had a tendency to surrender easily to compassion. The taxi driver’s impoverished state was too open a truth to misjudge his quality of living. Besides, she is responsible for all this, in spite of the consolation that “Taxi” was the ultimate cause of it. She quickly withdraws her purse from her bag, and enquires after the cost of damage. The taxi driver was relieved upon seeing the girl’s helpful gesture, yelling at the crowd to return to their respective employment, for there is no distribution of sweets here that they should amass.

  A short while later, the crowd disperses. The drivers reclaim their vehicles, although cannot move until the two cars in front clear the way. Taxi also walks away, but he scarcely took two steps, when he stops again, hearing “Heavy-load” about her lack of funds to settle the damage.

  Even after her taxi driver’s successful attempt of lowering the original demand of payment, she was still short of money. The car owner seemed reluctant to negotiate any further. He demanded his payment now. She looks at her taxi driver, in hope that he may settle the remaining amount, but before she could say anything, she notices Taxi in their attendance again.

  ‘How much?’ he asks the car owner.

  She helplessly felt a secret delight at the offer of his help. ‘Happy?’ Taxi asks the man, handing him the money. The man grumps and walks off towards his injured car without the slightest expression of gratitude.

  Her taxi driver, having muttered curses at the grump, too makes a start to manoeuvre his car out of the way, leaving her and Taxi amidst the moving transport. She looks at him cautiously, as he studied her in visible humour.

  ‘Thank you,’ she says, but with a small sulk. It irritated her greatly to be indebted to his help.

  He makes no acknowledgement, turning away slowly.

  ‘If,’ she hastily adds, before he could walk away, ‘you give me your contact details, I can repay you.’

  She believed it to be a kind gesture, but he seemed severely offended by it. For a long while, he regarded her in reproach.

  ‘Okay,’ he nods in serious agreement. ‘But first tell me, what is the going rate for helping someone in need?’

  The unanticipated question had silenced her. ‘I didn’t mean it in that way,’ she explains, keeping her dignity.

  ‘If you have that much pride in your wealth,’ he advises, ‘then you should travel with sufficient funds. I advised you to travel light, not empty.’

  She stares at him in bewilderment, feeling her mouth completely disable to give her reply. She grew annoyed at her own incompetence. ‘Your kinds are unaware to humility. Instead of expressing appreciation alone, your pride and false sense of superiority seeks to place a price on it.’

  He spoke so bitterly and had such strong pre-determined belief of her character that she became uncertain on how to disclaim the accusations. None has ever spoken to her in this disregard. Her silence was sure to have Taxi believe he was correct.

  The muted interval prolonged, with nothing more than angry glares between them. The loud hooting startles them both. It was his taxi driver, waiting to collect him. He returns his attention upon her. There was an expression of disapprove in his face. Saying nothing further, he idly walks towards his waiting transport, seating himself comfortably inside. As his taxi pulls away, she notices a smile on his face.

  That was the second time, his taxi left before hers.