Finding the Unseen

by Taj63622

  Chapter 20

  The peak time of the evening meant that the train station was busier than she had previously anticipated. The train to Sreemangal arrives in twenty minutes. She was eager to get home. She has had an exhausting day, filled with startling experiences and coincidental encounters. The heat did nothing to make her travel easier.

  They walked along the platform briskly, filtering through growing number of passengers. Breathless, sweaty and fatigued, she struggled to keep up with Iqbal. Having reached that place on the platform, where there carriage will stop, Iqbal advises her to sit down on a bench. Seeing her dehydrated, he decides to stock up on water. While she sat and waited for Iqbal to return, her ears suddenly greet a rush of raised voices and yelling. Startled, her tired eyes follow the noise, finding a cluster of people gathered about something further along the platform. Her complaining fatigue advised against doing so, but her curiosity was such that it compelled her to investigate the cause of the attraction.

  As she drew nearer, she realised the voices were not only raised, but also audibly violent, enough to convert her eagerness into distress. The density of the crowd was such that, despite her efforts, she could not excuse her way through to the front. She lifts her head as high as possible to see above the obstructing heads of others. She saw some men looking reproachfully at something. She could not establish the object of their reproach, for the crowd disabled her gaze to stretch that far. The expression on the men’s face and the tone of their voice indicated that they were severely displeased at whatever they held between them.

  Then, to her greater astonishment, she notices one of the men raise their hands, as if preparing strike. In her desperate effort to see the object that should be the recipient of this violent gesture, she tilted her head this way and that, but her efforts went to vain. To her greater shock yet, the man’s hand struck with force, and immediately she heard an unmistakable outcry of pain.

  She could only ascertain that the cry belonged to someone very young. She found her distress renewing upon noticing the man raise his hand again. She heard the cry again. The man yelled and struck his hand again. The cry became more audible. Each cry had a whimpering voice, through which no words were intelligible. At length, the repeated action established one fact.

  The cry belonged to a child.

  Upon the belated realisation, she fiercely pushes her way through the crowd. People reprimand her action, but she remained ignorant to each comment. In her struggles, she reaches the front, where she sees that the person they were cowardly beating was a child. The three men had detained the little boy between them, while one of them took to the duty of hitting him. The boy's face stained with tears, cries for his release, entreating for their mercy. He looked in a state of malnutrition. His clothes, which bore a torn vest and a pair of shorts, were enough to have even the inexperienced observer conclude him to be from an impoverished background.

  The three men were so absorbed in their dutiful task that they failed to notice her, as she approaches them. They continued to beat the child, liberally yelling expletives. Mustering her full courage, she decides to aid the helpless.

  Speaking confidently in the Bengali she could, she demands the men to release the boy. Her intention was firm, but her anger and distress had made her voice unsteady. They were ignorant of her presence, let alone hear her voice, proudly brandishing the acts of violence. She looked at the crowd, her eyes pleading for their assistance. They either remained equally ignorant of her silent pleas or shouted their support at the beating. They seemed to be obtaining great pleasure from the spectacle of misconduct. Incited, she pushes aside the beating man and safely shields the boy from further abuse.

  ‘Leave him!’ she demanded of the man.

  The boy welcomingly hides behind his rescuer. So taken by surprise by this female interference, the man unknowingly terminates his violent actions.

  A stunned silence was evident through each spectator. She regards them in growing disgust, not knowing what to say that could express her indignation at their behaviour.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she hears an authoritative voice. ‘What happened? Why is there a crowd?’

  She was relieved to find one of the station officers at the scene. He looked rather intimidating with a baton in his hand. Yet, he was one of the security staff. She was obliged to trust him. ‘That man was beating the child,’ she complains to the officer, nodding at the abuser.

  ‘This child was stealing from this woman’s bag,’ the man offers his defence, gesturing to the apparent victim.

  The officer’s gaze turns livid, as he regards the boy behind her.

  ‘That still does not give you the right to beat the boy,’ she brings to the man’s attention, having understood his Sylheti.

  ‘I’ll fix him up,’ the officer says.

  Then, without warning, he tries to grab the boy. Startled, she shields the boy from the officer’s attempts to detain him.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she questions the officer’s behaviour. ‘How do you know they are not mistaken?’

  ‘Because,’ the man defends his claims, ‘I saw the boy put his hand into this lady’s bag.’

  ‘Then he is not your culprit,' she argues. 'Why should you punish the boy? If he did steal, then beating him publicly is not the proper way to deal with the matter.’

  ‘Madam,’ the officer addresses her, ‘I know what to do. This one,’ he nods towards the boy, ‘is a persistent offender. This is not the first time he is stealing, and this is certainly not the first he is being caught. Until he does not get two hits from my baton, he will not learn. And you lot,’ he yells at the crowd, ‘don’t you have a train to catch? Standing around watching free entertainment,’ he mutters. ‘Disperse for your ways, or else when you miss your train, the government is the first thing you’ll curse.’

  Upon their scattering, a worried Iqbal finally finds her. For a threatening moment, he began to fear the worst. However, his relief was brief, finding her in the company of a child beggar, a station officer, a middle-aged woman, and an angry looking man.

  She was equally relieved to see Iqbal, to whom she related all that passed in his absence. She expressed her unwillingness to let the boy fall into the officer’s hand, but the officer seemed intent to take the boy into custody.

  ‘Mayah,’ Iqbal makes his attempts to reconcile the situation, ‘let the officer deal with this. It is not our problem. Besides, we’ll miss our train, and everyone at home will worry.’

  ‘What did he steal from you?’ she asks the woman, ignoring Iqbal’s advice.

  The woman studies the contents in her handbag. Finding nothing missing, she then looks into her shopping bag, and again found everything in its place. She shrugs at a loss, giving her argument an advantage.

  ‘Madam,’ the officer says, ‘I will do the necessary checks. Besides, I don’t need proof. This boy is a persistent offender. This woman had luck on her side that this good man caught the boy before he could steal anything. Until he does not breathe the air of the lockup, he will not amend his ways! You two,’ he says to the man and woman, ‘head for your ways.’

  The officer this time succeeded to grab the child, throwing her efforts to vain. The boy clung onto her arm, unwilling to land into the officer’s authority. She tried to retrieve the crying child, but against the officer’s firm hold, she could do little. He dragged the boy away, and she dragged behind him.

  ‘Wait,’ she says in a sudden inspiration. ‘Bail,’ she says in English, not knowing the Bengali equivalent. The officer stops immediately at the encouraging word, turning around with a hopeful look. Her experiences in the country have taught her many approaches to persuasion, including the vital notes she took from the Shahiraj of Rajshahi’s seminar earlier on. She just did not anticipate applying the knowledge so soon.

  She withdraws her purse, from which she handed the officer a generous fee for the boy’s release.

  ‘Not here,’ he advises, fearing
the danger of witnesses. With caution, he directs the party towards a quieter spot on the platform. Satisfied with the extra income, the officer finally releases the boy. ‘This time I will let you go,’ he says to the boy, 'but remember, this Madam will not always be around to help you.’

  As soon as the officer walks away, two girls come running towards the little boy. They embrace him in visible relief, wiping his tears, and comforting him. She watches their union admiringly. For a moment, she believed to have understood their affection, of which she had no personal experience. However, her smile quickly found reason to vanish. The familiarity of the two girls’ face gradually falls to her notice. They were the very same girls that she first met upon her arrival at the station. They were the very girls that sought alms from her.

  The boy was their little brother. From nearby, they helplessly watched the man beat their little brother, enduring the officer's determination to imprison him. They knew too well that should they go to his aid, then the officer would confirm his belief that their brother was intending to steal. They were a familiar face to the officer, and knew his methods of admonishing beggars from the platform. To an impoverished orphan, the employment of stealing was their only approach to silence their stomach’s complaint. Unfortunately, their young brother’s innocence has not yet established him the rules of the profession. He was unaware to the difference between snatching and seeking.

  The lack of a possession increases the appetite to obtain it more. The boy was guilty of such a crime. He has not eaten a contentious meal for two whole days. His appetite has not been satisfied with the little his sisters gathered and placed in his offer, despite giving him the bigger share. Thus, noticing fresh fruits in the woman's bag, he made his claim, accosting him into this trouble.

  ‘Dhannobadh,’ the girl thanks her, whom she recognised from their earlier meeting today. Iqbal instinctively offers to interpret, but she states the needlessness to do so. Even if she were not familiar to the word, she could define from the girl’s manner of speaking. Her gaze drops onto the boy, whose gaze was upon one of the bags in her hands.

  ‘We should get going,’ Iqbal suggests, looking rather worryingly at his watch and then at the platform. With the train’s arrival time fast approaching, passengers were gathering quickly. If there is any hope of getting a seat, then they really ought to be at the front of the crowd. He did not want any more drama from here on. He was content with the dose exposed to him already. The train will arrive in five minutes, and will wait no longer than three minutes to board its passengers. ‘Come,’ he says, making a start to walk away, hoping that Mayah will follow. However, he found her unmoved.

  The boy was looking at the bag containing the sweetmeats and savouries. He could not read, but the brand was sufficiently intelligible for him to gather the contents inside. The boy must be hungry. But the sweetmeats are gifts for Jameel Dhadha and his family.

  Save for one box.

  Smiling, Iqbal shook his head disbelievingly at her. The girl possessed a heart, which had the consistency of wax. Firm when cold, but under warmth it became volatile. Her compassion had her sacrifice the box of pistachio barfi that she specifically bought for her own indulgence.

  The boy makes an immediate claim for the sweetmeats, but his sister dutifully objected. The girl's dark eyes regard her embarrassingly, shaking her head politely against the kind offer, as if she did not have the heart to take advantage of her kindness. An encouraging nod later, the box was safely in his hands. A small smile appeared on the girl’s lips, as she watched her brother take to the sweets avariciously. An expression came upon her face, as to mark her relief that he was eating something that they did not have the fortune to enjoy, as if it was not his hunger that the food banished, but more of hers. The girl looks at her appreciatively, and says something, which she could not interpret. She looks at Iqbal meaningfully, waiting patiently for him to take to his interpreter role, but to her surprise, he did not. The train pulling into the station directed his attention instead. The stationmaster whistles loudly to announce the train’s entrance. The warning signals had urged Iqbal to board the train. The evident concern on his face advised her to take immediate heed. She bade her farewell to the children quickly, filtering through the chaotic crowd, eventually reaching their respective carriage. There were plenty of vacant seats remaining, and without being too choosy, they take the first seats they find. Iqbal accosts the bags onto the luggage rack overhead, while she looks through the bars of the window to check if the children are still on the platform. They were, smiling and waving at her as they see her. Soon, the train whistles its departure, making a jerky start to its journey. She waves back at the children, and continued doing so until the train leaves the station and she disappears from their sight.

  Overly tired, she sinks into her seat, and casually asks Iqbal what the girl said before the train pulled in.

  ‘She said,’ he explains, ‘last time she prayed for you from relief of hunger. This time she prays for you from relief of heart. Where her own took to abuse, a stranger came to their rescue.’

  The turn of the wheels was gradual and the pace very comfortable. Yet, uneasiness erupted within her. The window beside her captures each passing shot of Sylhet, as if with the intention to keep afresh the startling incidence she encountered here. She aligns comfortably against her chair, the day’s exhaustion finally settling in. Her heart was heavy, her mind occupied with the girl’s last words, and her eyes were unwilling to erase the witnessed images of child abuse, or accept the morality of her decision to bribe. She was disturbed. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi’s words replayed in her mind continuously. How quickly and unknowingly she proved his talk on corruption to be true. She feared to imagine what could have happened to the boy if she did not offer the officer the payment for his release. It was not the notion of bribery that startled here, but the transparency of it that shocked her. The officer quite openly accepted the amount she placed into his hand. Is that the general way of life here? Is it true that he, who has money, has the opportunity? If it is, then why has nobody done anything to rectify the injustice amongst the less fortunate?

  Why has no one challenged those in authority?