Finding the Unseen

by Taj63622

  Chapter 25

  This is the second week since Jameel Dhadha has taken leave for Dhaka. To further her uneasiness, it has been four days gone since she last heard anything from him. They were amidst the city’s political unrest. She feared for their safety. Their last telephone conversation was short, giving her a brief consolation that all is well. They were not bereft of hope or safety. Jameel Dhadha has found a source that has provided some helpful information. Search is still underway. “No alley,” he said with unwavering confidence, “will be left unexplored, and no door of Dhaka will be left unopened.” There was so much encouragement in his voice that, she could not help but believe Jameel Dhadhi will soon discover Dhadhi’s brother.

  A sudden splash of water across her face interrupts her thoughts. She shields her face, but the splashes do not cease, neither does the incessant laughter in the background.

  She looks away irritatingly from the boastful water nymphs, suppressing a growing inclination to enjoy the warm waters as they did. Be under no misconception that these water nymphs are mythical creatures. They are the local village girls, who regularly sneak to this part of Madhopur Lake in the afternoon for a quick swim, and demonstrate their athletics. Saira can swim to the opposite side of this snaking lake in two minutes, and Shomita here, can hold her breath under water for at least five minutes before coming to the surface and swimming as if she were a mermaid. Then there is Farhana, who can do various somersaults in the water. They were all under the impression that she had no similar talent. Swimming in a secure pool is different from swimming in open waters such as in this Madhopur Lake. Dhadhi said not to do it. If something unfortunate should happen, then she will put everyone in unnecessary inconvenience. Thus, she sat at a safe distance away from the edge of the water, sometimes looking resentfully and sometimes enviously at the display before her.

  Yet, she would rather be in a state of envy than witness the disheartening truth of the village. She was not unaware or oblivious to hardship or poverty. She just did not expect to welcome so much of it so quickly, without any relief. If she did not see it, then she would read it in the news. If she did not see it or read it, then she suffered it, as she did three days ago, when a power cut cast the whole village in darkness. Having fallen asleep, she had no clue as to when it returned, but by morning, it certainly did.

  She was confident enough to explore the village grounds without any supervision, despite Dhadhi’s constant objections. It was the best way to experience a normal village life. Dhadhi often shared her experiences of growing up in Bangladesh. The story has not changed much. No single positive sight was without noticing something that gave her reason for concern. Most children do not attend schools. Upon reaching the age of ten, education for children is no longer free. The weight of fees inclines parents to terminate all association with schools. Girls certainly do not attend schools. They learn how to cook instead, and help their mothers do the laundry. When they become of age, they are married. If they are lucky, then they marry a Bengali from London, America or someone from town. They will then leave the country or village forever to settle away from their families. If they are unfortunate, then they marry a villager. The same story will repeat again for the next generation, confined to the local employment opportunity of farming. It was a profitable trade for the farm owners, but the labourer get does not reap the deserved reward. What will become of the country without proper encouragement for education? What will become of its people if they do not desire to develop a career?

  She often consoled herself that this is the common way of life for a villager. However, news reports quickly contradicted her consolations. The country was suffering from political instability. By their government, those that are rich will only get richer, and those that are unfortunate are unlikely to find betterment. The constant struggles of a worker were too visible to go unacknowledged. It is unrealistic to assume political systems will agree with everyone. Man's opinions are not one, and where there is a figure of power, another will always seek to challenge it. But here the political system seemed shamefully corrupt. Iqbal said that a few months ago, there was an outcry of violence in Dhaka following the by-election of one of its district commissioners. Protesters claim that results are not credible, and have been deliberately miscalculated to favour the current ruling party. People of Dhaka took to various rallies to voice the unjustness of politics in the country. The protesters feel so strongly that they lit buses and cars on fire to demonstrate their anger. Members of one political party had targeted and killed supporters of other parties. The police did not hesitate to exercise the full use of their powers either. There were many deaths. What she found most shocking was the reasons for the protest. They fought for a fair government. They wanted democracy, a government that could provide them the simple needs of everyday living and held their best interest at heart. Issues such as clean water, solid roads, good education, employment, fair pay, affordable hospital treatment, and equal opportunity, are still areas open to development. But their cries left the politicians unaffected. There was anger, but none of it resulted in change. There was another rail strike looming. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi's words struck her often. Every day she saw and read something to give credibility to his resentments.

  On a more positive experience, she found the simple life quite endearing. The lack of education deprives Man of the ability to think astutely. They do not consider themselves above another. They see things just as they are. They say exactly what they feel. If they are angry, they will share those reasons openly. If they are happy, then they will encourage everyone to join in. No bitter feelings brew in their heart. They do not leave any resentment unspoken for the mind to conspire revenge. It was easy to get along with everyone, and as a result, she has made many friends. Now that they know she is from London, the villagers were also eager to hear about the city. Surprisingly, they knew a great deal about Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, and the Queen.

  When she was not exploring the village grounds, she would accompany Iqbal on his tours, through which she came to discover a church. She visited it quite often. The other day he took her to visit the villagers high up on the hills, where the Khasias tribe live. They were mainly labourers on the betel farm. She helped for a small while too, sorting through the betel leaf and the betel nut. That is all she should have done. However, having watched some of the women leisurely chew the betel leaf with the chopped betel nut embedded within it, she became ever so curious to try it, despite Iqbal’s constant objections. He said she could not handle the taste. His lack of faith in her only incited her even more to try it.

  Eventually Iqbal surrendered, knowing she will only learn the reasons of his objections once she suffers the experience of trying the betel.

  The betel leaf and nut had stained her teeth orange, but it was not a taste to dislike. Scarcely, did she wish to prove her indifference to the betel products that the reasons to Iqbal’s objections became apparent. Soon after consumption, she began to feel somewhat restless, that sort which coincides fear. Her pulse gradually increased. She felt hot, and had a sensation of light-headedness. Seeing her in this state, Iqbal became worried and immediately ordered for ice-cold water and some ice cream. Almost half-an-hour later, she felt slightly better. When she sought an explanation to the ordeal, Iqbal explained that she experienced an intoxication of the betel products. Ice cream is the best remedy to counter the effects, but she felt it so severely that recalling it alone puts her through it again. Indeed, the effects were so everlasting that she had to cancel her trip to Lawchara Rainforest, which formed the last part of Iqbal’s tour that day.

  ‘Mayah Didi!’ a familiar voice calls from behind.

  She looks around alert, noticing the caller to be one of the village boys.

  ‘Come home!’ he commands with the corresponding gesture.

  She rose to her feet eagerly, feeling a strange awakening of hope. Finally, the wait is over. Yet, she did her best to suppress any high expectations. One
can find the lost, but the found does not necessarily want to be reunited with its seeker.

  She closes the sunset prayer, yet prolonged her seat upon the prayer mat, thanking the Almighty generously for returning Jameel Dhadha home safely. She looks at Dhadhi beside her. She also looked to be sharing the same supplication. ‘Guide us towards the right path,’ she adds mutely, staring into her raised palms.

  At length, they get up. An unsettling silence ensues. They ignore it, looking busy by folding up bits of clothes that were left scattered earlier. Each was waiting for the other to speak first, but none knew where to start. Jameel Dhadha will be back from mosque soon. Their conversation will resume. They must come to some decision by then.

  The whereabouts of Dhadhi’s brother is still unknown. Jameel Dhadha and his brother-in-law searched all the obvious places of Dhaka for any intelligence that could lead them towards some answer. The nearest they came to it was a questionable source, who claims the person they look for could be of some political importance. This source was an old, senile man. The old man spoke quite accurately of the physical descriptions of her Dhahdi’s brother, but everything else he described was hard to absorb. Apparently, her Dhadhi’s brother married the daughter of some high political figure. The whole town was abuzz with the news of their wedding. No one thought anyone would marry the girl because she could not walk. When Jameel Dhadha pressed for the names, the senile man said he cannot remember, but he was certain that the marriage happened on his sister-in-law’s sister’s wedding. “I was invited,” the senile man apparently quipped, “but for some reason, I couldn’t attend.”

  Jameel Dhadha and Shuhel Chacha had no clue to where to go next, whose door to knock on, which road to cross, which path to tread. He was quite literally lost. They had to end their search. With the impending railway worker’s strike, they had to return home. They have quite shamelessly outdone their stay as guests at their acquaintance’s house.

  ‘We have to go back to England,’ Dhadhi says at last, her voice heavy.

  ‘But we came so far,’ she helplessly argues. ‘Going back will mean starting all over again.’

  Dhadhi’s gaze declines as to mark disappointment in her decision. They came to Bangladesh with so much hope. She honestly thought she would find her brother again. But one’s desire is seldom one with Fate’s offer. She was helpless. How long are they going to stay here and take advantage of Jameel’s hospitality? She did not have the decency to intrude his family’s space any further. Jameel’s family will not complain, but her own integrity can no longer justify her stay here. Where and how many places can she send Jameel to look for her brother? In her health and age, how many places can she travel to look for the lost? And what of Mayah? Can she knowingly put her granddaughter in more difficulty for her sake? She cannot sacrifice Mayah’s future in chasing after those, who belonged in her past. Mayah had a life, and she was unwilling to let her granddaughter spend it in this uncertainty. Sam and Jill are also probably getting worried. She cannot put everyone in further distress for her sake. They must return home.

  ‘We tried our best,’ she affirms, lifting her gaze confidently at Mayah. ‘Besides, we’re not ending our search, are we? Your Jameel Dhadha will inform us regularly of any updates here. When we hear something new,’ she adds, looking away from Mayah and folding and unfolding a shawl, ‘we will come back to Bangladesh.’

  She was not naïve. She can hear the disappointment in Dhadhi’s voice. Those eyes that have looked away cannot hide those unshed tears. She puts a gentle hand on Dhadhi’s arm, and at once, she stops fiddling with the shawl. Reluctantly, she meets her heartfelt gaze. The first tear of disappointment leaves her eyes, followed quickly by another. The despair was mutual. She embraces Dhadhi tightly, feeling her suffering too acutely to understand what to say or do to comfort Dhadhi. Their hopes and effort of coming here, the risks they took to prevent her father’s suspicions, have gone to vain. She found no family.

  ‘Home it is then?’ she hears her Granddad ask.

  His voice attracts her gaze towards the night sky, just about perceivable through the open window. She nods her answer above Dhadhi’s shoulder.

  ‘Wise girl,’ he Granddad encourages. ‘Home is best.’

  She noted a teasing note in his voice. He knows something.

  ‘What are you keeping secret?’ she asks him, looking dubiously at the starry sky.

  ‘Now, you know the rules, Mayah,’ he reminds her gently. ‘No secret sharing between here and there.’

  She looks at the sky even more dubiously.

  He hid his smile as best as he could, feeling a growing temptation to end the girl’s confusion. But he was bound by rule. They willed to return to England.

  But it is home that they agreed on.