by Taj63622
Chapter 30
She was never asleep to wake up. It would be of no surprise if she were one of the first persons in Sylhet to have prayed Fajr today. When she finished, she retired to bed again, lying wide-awake, listening to Dhadhi’s gentle breaths, wondering whether she should wake her up to read the morning prayers. In the end, she decided against it. Dhadhi needed rest. She also needed rest, but mind occupied with thoughts and heart filled with distress, her eyes struggled to close. Thus, she had decided to stay awake and apologise to the Shahiraj of Rajshahi the minute she heard him wake up.
But seldom do the intentions of Man coincide with their actions. Not only did she sleep, but she also overslept.
When she woke up, she noticed Dhadhi’s bed was empty and the time was nearing ten. Angry at herself and growing concerned about Dhadhi’s health, she leaves the room in a hurry, looking searchingly about the living room for the Shahiraj of Rajshahi.
‘Eh, Mastorni,’ the familiar voice of Live Wire calls her as she passes the kitchen. Standing on a small stool, he was busy washing the dishes. She retraces her steps towards the small kitchen, and asks the boy of everyone’s whereabouts.
‘Well, good morning to you too,’ the boy teases her.
Hiding her embarrassment, she politely wishes the boy good morning. ‘Now can you tell me where everyone is?’
‘Everyone is at work,’ he says easily, ‘except Shahiraj bhai. He’s at the police station . . . with Dhadhi.’
He expected nothing short of shock from the Mastorni.
‘Police station?’ she demands confirmation.
‘Yes,’ he confirms, jumping off the stool and wiping his hands on the towel hanging on his shoulder, ‘at the Police station. They have gone to report your missing luggage. Dhadhi was really insistent,’ the boy says almost fearfully. ‘Shahiraj bhai could not even eat his breakfast.’
She had not anticipated that Dhadhi would take such a drastic step without seeking her consultation first. ‘Why didn’t anyone wake me up?’ she asks, unable to hide her frustration.
‘We did,’ the boy states strolling out of the kitchen. ‘But you just wouldn’t wake up. How could you?’ he asks, shaking his head hopelessly. ‘If our voices could reach your ears above your snoring, then you could wake up.’
Snoring?
‘I don’t snore,’ she corrects him.
“Oh really? Then what was that,’ and he gives a rather vivid demo of her apparent snores.
She looks at him in severe reproof, wondering whether she does truly snore. Then, she hears Live Wire break into a sudden snort of laughter. He was teasing her.
‘You little!’ and runs after him to scold him for pulling her legs.
‘The Mastorni snores!’ the boy repeatedly yells, running wildly about the living room, climbing over tables and skipping over chairs to escape his capture. She chases him onto the balcony, where she meets such a startling sight that she forgets all mention of Dhadhi.
The neighbourhood looked completely transformed.
The stillness of the night had blossomed into a lively atmosphere. In the viewable distance, cars and rickshaws lined the streets, hooting and beeping to get the traffic moving. The washing lines strung below were full with sheets and saris, drying under the boishoki sun. Children were out, and no, the fact that they were not at school did not cross her mind. Women stood in clusters, some absorbed in deep conversation, others sifting through lentils and rice, picking and removing the intruding pebbles.
Amidst the noise and the liveliness, Dhadhi appears from a certain house, followed by a group of other women. Dhadhi seems to have made friends rather quickly. Live Wire, who had gone to call her, points towards the balcony, where she stood. Dhadhi looks up with a beaming smile. She gives an awkward smile in return, before disappearing into the flat again. She has learnt of Dhadhi’s whereabouts, but there was no sighting of the Shahiraj of Rajshahi. Was he sulking?
‘Sleep well?’ she hears Dhadhi ask, startling her.
She nods in reply, feeling pleased at Dhadhi’s visible improvement of health.
‘What were you doing downstairs?’ she asks with interest.
‘I was just hanging our clothes on the washing line,’ Dhadhi begins, before she stops her short, scolding her for washing anything in her current health. ‘Sorry Dhadhi-Amma,’ Dhadhi mockingly seeks her apology. ‘As I was saying, I was hanging the clothes outside, when some women of the neighbourhood started talking to me. I lost track of all time since. A lovely woman even took me to her house! I felt quite at home.’
‘It’s not safe to wander around unaccompanied,’ she helplessly scolds Dhadhi again. ‘And if you really wanted those clothes to get washed, then you should have called me. I would have done it.’
‘Baba re!’ Dhadhi says shaking her head in disbelief. ‘You’re sounding just like your father!’
The comparison took her by a great surprise.
‘Accha Baba,’ Dhadhi concedes. ‘Next time, I will be careful where I go. Now remove this sulk off your face, or else you’ll look even more like your father!’
Dhadhi begins to laugh heartily, and she joins in despite her efforts. It has been a while since they laughed this openly.
‘Get inside!’ they hear a familiar voice.
It was Shahiraj of Rajshahi, coming into the flat with a little boy, whom he held by the ear. The boy was crying, pleading for his release. Concerned, she demands the Shahiraj of Rajshahi to let go off the child, seeking the reasons why he must behave so. When the Shahiraj of Rajshahi disobliges, she forcefully detaches his hold off the boy’s ear. The boy, being grateful for her intervention, hides behind her, fearing a recapture.
To her great surprise, the Shahiraj of Rajshahi erupts into a sudden laughter. He removes his hat and places it on her head instead, and laughs even more at her as if she wore a joker’s hat. She regards him in deep puzzlement, looking at Dhadhi to confirm she was not the only one struggling to understand his erratic behaviour.
‘This is what you call entrusting your possessions to a thief,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi says, ‘and then requesting them to keep a close eye on it!’
‘Thief?’ she and Dhadhi repeat together.
‘Yes, thief,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi confirms. He grabs the boy the arm and brings him before her. ‘This is the very thief who stole your bags yesterday at the airport.’
A fresh shock seizes her, and it was not due to discovering the child was the thief.
Despite her abrupt behaviour towards him, the Shahiraj of Rajshahi still sought her best interest, that the first thing he should do this morning is retrieve her belongings.
The Shahiraj of Rajshahi demands the boy to make the confession before his victims, but the boy shakes his head fearfully at him. It was only when the Shahiraj of Rajshahi raised his hand threateningly at him, that the boy confessed his crime.
‘He is your culprit,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi says looking from her to Dhadhi. ‘You decide how to punish him. Although, I would recommend you report him to the police. That’s the only way he will learn.’
The boy tearfully objects to the merciless recommendation, pleading for her and Dhadhi’s forgiveness. She reads the boy’s fear well, recalling the incident that occurred at Sylhet train station. The police officers here have a very liberal way of dealing with crime. She cannot knowingly submit the child into the police’s capture.
‘I just want my belongings back,’ she says, which Dhadhi also reinforces.
The Shahiraj of Rajshahi erupted into another burst of laughter. When she questioned the reason behind it, he shook his head disbelievingly, and ordered the boy to confess the remainder of his crime. The boy shook his head again, refusing to follow the orders, but when the Shahiraj of Rajshahi raises his hand threateningly again, the boy makes the final confession.
The silence prolonged for some time having heard the full account of the child’s crime.
‘Everything?’ Dhadhi seeks for confirmation.
The boy’s gaze lowered, he nods in reply.
Where Dhadhi looked astounded, she looked on impressively at the child.
‘Clothes, shoes, bag, jewellery, he sold the lot,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi interjects. ‘Save for these.’
He fans out two burgundy covered booklets, which immediately fall to her familiarity. ‘Our passports!’ she calls out in delight.
‘Almost became someone else’s passports,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi kindly informs. ‘I caught the little thief on time, or else this morning he was giving these up to the highest bidder!’
She holds the passports tightly, as if fearing to lose them again.
‘How many times,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi scolds the boy, ‘have I told you not to steal from women and the elderly?’
‘Income has been low,’ the boy defends his action. ‘Haven’t eaten for days, and this madam was offering dessert too.’
She felt the gentle uprising of sympathy, which even the constant reminder of the inconvenience she suffered by the child’s doing, could not suppress.
‘See the ego in this child,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi points out disbelievingly. ‘Forget apologising, he stands here instead, justifying his crime. You’re going to the police station,’ he acknowledges the boy. ‘Two days’ worth of beating will knock sense into you.’
She looks on in horror as he drags the boy out. The boy calls out to her and Dhadhi for help, looking pleadingly at them, crying for mercy, and promising desperately never to steal from the helpless again. But the Shahiraj of Rajshahi does not take heed, determined to deliver the boy to the police station.
‘Leave him!’ she finally commands the Shahiraj of Rajshahi, undoing his grasp from the boy, who immediately hides behind her again. ‘What right do you have to send him to the police station?’ she asks him.
He was bewildered at her question.
‘Did he steal from you?’ she asks him. ‘Did you miss your flight?’
Her answers were clearly visible in his eyes.
‘He is my culprit,' she points out. 'I will decide how to punish him. What’s your name?’ she asks the boy.
‘Mizan.’
‘Mizan, you can go,’ she permits him.
The boy and Shahiraj look disbelievingly at her. She keeps ignorant of the Shahiraj of Rajshahi’s questioning glare, and repeats her instruction, ordering the boy to leave before she reconsiders her decision. A slight hesitation later, he does as told. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi returns his gaze upon her, regarding in deep puzzlement.
‘Is it not punishment enough,’ she explains, seeking his understanding, ‘that he must steal to eat?’
Where Dhadhi looked proudly’ at her decision, the Shahiraj of Rajshahi still looked confusedly at her.
The girl had an unusual innocence. He was proud and worried for her forgiving heart. Where one sees a thief, she notices his helplessness. The world is all good and great in her eyes. Unfortunately, the girl was in a country that will test her faith in humanity.
‘What?’ she asks the Shahiraj of Rajshahi, as he observes her somewhat dubiously.
‘You’re a very strange girl,’ he brings to admittance.
‘No stranger than you,’ she points out. ‘You went out of your way to reclaim our belongings, in spite of my behaviour towards you last night.’
‘Because I see you no differently than Live Wire,’ he explains wisely. ‘A child has a pure heart because it does not keep any feeling unshared. Unspoken thoughts can poison the mind, and you speak without fearing the consequence.’
He takes his hat off her head and puts it aside. For a moment, she truly did feel a like a child. As much as she did not wish to admit it, she depended on the Shahiraj of Rajshahi. Their acquaintance has been short, yet how easily she trusted him. She felt a strange reassurance around him, as if he were her guide. She had that much confidence in him to know that if anything should go wrong, the Shahiraj of Rajshahi will resolve it.
Struggling to comprehend the subject of their conversation, Dhadhi seeks an update, wondering what insolence her granddaughter committed outside her knowledge.
‘What happened has gone,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi says, carefully shifting away from Dhadhi’s question. ‘What is yet to happen, is important. What now?’ he asks suddenly, looking from her to Dhadhi questioningly. ‘You’ve got your passport back. What next?’
‘We’ll have to rebook the tickets,’ Dhadhi answers, looking at her for agreement, which she gives promptly.
‘Sensible decision,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi agrees, ‘even though, you did not use all your senses to make that decision. Sense and Sensibility,’ he says, sitting down comfortably on a chair. ‘I read the book twice, first, in English, and second in Bengali.’
She exchanges a startled glance with Dhadhi, not quite following the Shahiraj of Rajshahi’s words.
‘I’m a strong believer in Fate,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi admits. ‘I believe everything happens for a reason, and reasons create opportunities.’
She and Dhadhi exchange another puzzled glance.
‘Of all the people at the airport, the child thief steals your bags,’ he recounts. ‘Of all the people in Sylhet, it is you that I incidentally meet again and again. Have you ever wondered why of all people it is always you?’
She looked at Dhadhi for some answer, but Dhadhi looked just as speechless.
‘Because you have unfinished business,’ he points out, reclining comfortably in his chair.
Not quite following his words, Dhadhi wills him to elaborate.
Rather thoughtfully, the Shahiraj of Rajshahi looks from her to Dhadhi, and then again from Dhadhi to her.
‘You came here to look for someone. Don’t leave them unfound.’
‘We did everything we could,’ Dhadhi says in a renewed pain of failing to find her brother.
‘You did everything by your understanding,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi claims. ‘If you permit, then shall I try something by my understanding?’
Uncomprehending his proposal, Mayah seeks an explanation.
‘You followed the books,’ he dutifully explains, ‘but you see, here, in this illiterate country, books are of no value. And before you sing virtues of education and books,’ he knowingly adds just as she was about to object his comments, ‘let me tell you that you will have to follow my directions if you want Dhadhi to find her brother.’
She looks at Dhadhi for advice. It was a tempting proposal, but it did not guarantee success, neither did it have a timescale. How long can they intrude another’s space like this?
‘I don’t want to leave empty hand,’ Dhadhi says, her hopes reignited. ‘We risked a lot to come here. We should not let our efforts go to vain.’
She considered thoughtfully for a long while. Everything is all over the place. Her family is all over the place too, quite literally. ‘What about Dad?’ she asks Dhadhi, recalling her phone conversation at the airport. ‘We don’t know where he is. Staying here longer doesn’t seem wise, especially after I messaged Mum saying that we are heading for home.’
The Shahiraj of Rajshahi breaks into a small laughter, shaking his head hopelessly at the family, of which he is growing rather fond. When she asks the reason behind his laughter, he easily gives his reply.
‘Reflecting on my kismet,’ he says, ‘that I should find myself involved with such a family. You are looking for someone. Someone is looking for you . . . this game of hide-and-seek, is not a hereditary fault is it?’
The occasion did not call for it, yet she and Dhadhi laughed. It has been a while since they did so this openly. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi is right. Then again, everyone is always running after something or someone. The only peculiarity in her case is that she is both the sought and chaser. ‘Let us see,” she says to herself, ‘who finds who first.’
‘That,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi quips, picking up his hat, ‘now depends on BanGool.’
They stare at him confusedly, unable to unde
rstand how a bangle can help. He keeps the mystery on going. Then, having worn his hat, a noticeable glint appears in his eyes. He smiles knowingly at them, before finally forwarding the overdue explanation.
‘BanGool,' he says yet again, ‘our very own Bangali Google.’