Finding the Unseen

by Taj63622

  Chapter 31

  What is common between an online search engine and a journalist? They are a wealth of information, sourced from various contacts, of which the credibility depends on the reader's judgement alone.

  BanGool is the Shahiraj of Rajshahi's answer to Google in Bangladesh. He is an editorial writer of a reputable newspaper, and knows more than he is willing to share in his columns. So the Shahiraj of Rajshahi says. BanGool may be able to track down Dhadhi's brother. He has a network of contacts across the country. Businessman, lawyers, police officers, unions and members of parliament, none were beyond his point of reference. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi said that Jameel Dhadha has given them their first lead, that being the police station. The remainder is merely details that BanGool will resolve.

  This time, she was careful against raising her hopes. She will not be making the same mistake again. She prayed for the best and prepared for the worst.

  Sat at a coffee shop of Moon shopping mall, she waited anxiously to meet BanGool. The newspaper firm, in which BanGool was a political editor, was in the heart of Sylhet. This was the business district of the city, by the country's standard, milling with people, traffic, and pollution. Many construction plans seemed to be underway in this part of Sylhet. This mall was one of them two years ago. The newspaper firm was nearby too, along Hazrat Shahjalal Road, it being the main road. During his lunch break, BanGool always comes here for coffee. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi seemed very certain that BanGool would be here very soon.

  Sitting here, she realised how well known the Shahiraj of Rajshahi is in Sylhet. He did not wear his hat, yet with or without it, many recognised him. They came up to greet him, asked after his health, whilst also giving her curious glances. One person even thought she was his wife. “And condemn myself to a lifetime lecture of the virtues of education!” was the Shahiraj of Rajshahi's immediate reply. She regarded him indignantly, whereas he laughed, and added that he had too much of a brotherly protection over her to see anything less than a sister in her. How easily he overcame her dearth of not having her brother.

  Despite the urgency of meeting BanGool, she wished he took his time to come. The air-conditioned coffee shop was too comfortable to consider leaving it. She was glad to have refused Dhadhi to join her in meeting BanGool. Dhadhi only just got off the sick bed. This weather would have most definitely laid her upon it again. Besides, she has been running from one place to the other this morning, this included her visiting the internet café she once went with Iqbal. She has been trying to get in contact with her parents, and alert them of her change in plans. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi even bought her an international calling card so she could call home, despite the strong possibility that they may be in this country. But the landline is the only number she remembers off-by-heart. She cannot recall any other phone numbers. She has never had to remember it. The mobile phone did it for her. She seldom parted from her phone. The new SIM had only her mum’s phone number saved in it. Three weeks of having no contact with her father and the constant adventure she has encountered here, has perished even the slightest possibility of recalling life before her visit to Bangladesh, let alone reciting phone numbers. Technology has no doubt improved our communication by making us dependent on it, but it has severely affected our memory. What better way to make money! The Shahiraj of Rajshahi advised her to email her parents instead. There is a strong chance that they were returning to England in response to the message she sent the night before. The email will reveal all soon enough.

  ‘I heard,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi says, looking at the time on his pocket-watch again, ‘girls are also given opportunity to engage in sports activities in England.’

  This was a very random subject. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi does not speak without reason.

  ‘That is correct,’ she says looking at him dubiously.

  ‘Were you much into sports?’

  ‘I suppose I’m quite athletic,’ she admits abashedly.

  ‘Good,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi says, finishing the last of his tea. She did not quite like the way he said that.

  ‘How were you at running?’ he casually enquires next, lifting his gaze cautiously at something behind her.

  ‘Why do you ask?’ she asks, her confusion gaining momentum.

  ‘Because we’re going to be playing catch very soon,’ he explains, his gaze fixed carefully at something behind her.

  Unable to contain her curiosity anymore, she looks over her shoulder to gain an understanding on what has incited this discussion of sports. A man, rather plump and short, smartly dressed with a pair of braces strung over his shoulders, stood at the counter, his back to them, placing his order. She looked around at the Shahiraj of Rajshahi, curious to learn if that was BanGool, and if it were he, why did they not approach him. But the Shahiraj of Rajshahi says nothing, and keeps his gaze fixed on the man at the counter. There was a strange smile on his face, as if he were waiting for the man to identify him first. She looks around at the man again. At length, he turns around, his coffee cup in hand. He had an overgrown moustache, and a receding hairline. He looked friendly and approachable, yet she wondered why the Shahiraj of Rajshahi did not approach him. Perhaps he was not the subject of their interest. As the man scans the ground for a vacant table, he catches their singular attention upon him.

  At once, his expression turns into one of dread. His eyes, wide with shock, peer at the Shahiraj of Rajshahi as if he were struggling to believe that it was truly him. Her confusion reduced her to seek some explanation from the Shahiraj of Rajshahi. Still smiling, he gets up from his chair. She also follows. After a slight hesitation, the man at the counter proceeds towards them. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi cordially gestures towards an empty seat at their table. The man looks increasingly doubtful at the offer, but he nods acceptingly. He places his coffee cup on the table, prompting her and the Shahiraj of Rajshahi to take their seats.

  Scarcely did they sit down, that the man makes a run.

  ‘Time to prove your athletics,’ the Shahiraj of Rajsahi says wearing his hat, preparing for a chase.

  She loses all opportunity to seek an understanding to this bizarre turnout, and does as told, running wildly through the shopping mall to catch the man, excusing their way through the shoppers. ‘There he is!’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi yells, pointing at the lift at the far end of the mall. Before they could reach him, the man disappears into the lift. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi takes the stairs instead, and she follows, thanking first her fortunes that she changed out of the sari, and secondly thanking the good neighbour who lent her this salwar kameez suit. They climb stairs after stairs, stopping at each landing lest the man should come out from the lift. She was panting, trying to keep pace with the Shahiraj of Rajshahi. The last time she ran this fast was when she left the writer’s conference in Solihull, and the only time she has ever ran this wildly up a stair was in her dreams. The coincidental occurrence of these events startled her greatly.

  ‘Mayah!’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi calls her from the landing to which this staircase led. She quickly catches up with him, and head towards the final stop of the lift, by which they stand patiently for it to arrive, giving them opportunity to catch their breath. The doors gently slide to an open, and at last, they see the man.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ the man says with raised hands, as if he were a caught criminal.

  ‘Made us run for no reason,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi breathless.

  ‘Why did he run?’ she enquires.

  ‘Because every time I see him,’ the man answers, ‘I end up being in some danger or other. Only the heavens know how I saved my life last time,’ he says fearfully as he recalls the incident.

  ‘Relax,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi calms him. ‘This time, I won’t be staking your life for anything. Today, I am here for the girl.’

  She smiles awkwardly at the man, who returns with a doubtful smile.

  ‘She is looking for someone,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi elaborates. ‘Do what you
do best, and give us a full write-up about her family history.’

  That much became clear that this man was BanGool. Suddenly, she did not care for his ability to find the lost. She became ever so curious to hear of that incident that almost staked his life.

  She told BanGool everything she knew of Dhadhi’s life in Bangladesh. BanGool made no promises. Instead, he reassured her that he is willing put his whole life into finding her Dhadhi’s long lost brother, for this was the first time the Shahiraj of Rajshahi made a request, which did not endanger his family’s wellbeing.

  As his name rightly suggests, BanGool was in knowledge of many subjects. This made him a man of many secrets. Fear of losing his job and thus becoming the cause of his family’s despair often prevents his hand from writing the truth. The newspaper firm, in which he was an employee, was a strong left wing supporter. He was not a supporter, yet he wrote his articles to favour the left wing party. His words please them, but in doing so, he helplessly deceives his profession. He knows many truths, from the funding of political parties to the credibility of votes. He was not the only one in knowledge. Every journalist is aware, but each one was powerless. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi has more than once incited him to share the truth. One time, he wrote about the funding of schools. He admitted that governing bodies were not expending funds justly on recruiting quality teachers and improving the curriculum, that they distribute the sum amongst themselves, as if it wore their due. These governing bodies are prominent members of the left wing party. The article never made it to publishing. He did not have the courage to pass it to his editor, knowing all too well of the consequence. Yet, six months ago, the Shahiraj of Rajshahi reawakened his honesty, and persuaded him to write another controversial article. The next general election is due to take place in eighteen months. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi encouraged him to expose the truth about vote collection. He wanted him to discuss the lengths parties have gone to in the past to claim their victory. He even submitted the article to his editor. It was a good piece, but the issues discussed in it were incredible. He had no evidence to justify his statements. His sources were unwilling to support him. Men of family have good reasons to remain anonymous. Publication of an article, from which a reader can extract many interpretations, can prove damaging to organisation. The editor warned him of the dangers he was exposing himself to by writing against those, whose generosity feeds his family. If he continued to write like this, then he must risk unemployment.

  He surrendered before those threats, unwilling to have his children suffer the consequence of his honesty. Seeing the Shahiraj of Rajshahi all of a sudden today provoked the familiar fear of losing his job. The man had an indisputable talent to persuade others. He always fell for his words. For that reason alone, he ran away from the Shahiraj of Rajshahi, not trusting his own weakness. If it was not to reawaken his honesty, then it was to gain some fresh intelligence about politics. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi often incorporated these secrets into one of his street theatrics.

  The man had good intentions, but it was not possible to execute it to reach the greater good. The powerful will find ways to rebuke those that challenged their rules. He was a journalist. His words in an article are insufficient to announce the truth and reveal those secrets that are outside the public’s knowledge. The truth of an event will forever remain obscure. Everyone has a hidden agenda. They share their knowledge selectively. What the public hears is an edited version of facts. If a poll wins by two votes, then news reports have to make it appear as if it has won by many. If a school performs better than the previous year, the public applauds the government, and the government presumes this as the public's permission to tighten the funding towards the school. The facts filter through many mouths. They leave the scene so long after it occurred that by the time it reaches the paper, many have added their embellishments to it, some by force, and others by advice. The Shahiraj of Rajshahi was a good friend of his. The more that come to know of what he keeps unshared, the greater the risk he poses towards government, and the closer they will be to a revolution. Reports will be damaging, but those in their seats of authority will effortlessly regain public confidence. If a building collapses, they will reassure the victims that they will conduct a full investigation to determine the reason, but deafen their ears to compensate the victims justly.

  Yet, the show must go on.

  ‘Tuesday,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi announces proudly, as he places his hat on his head, addressing the crowd that has gathered about his presence. The size of the crowd upon a road of Sylhet gave good indication to the popularity of today’s subject. She was just as eager to learn of it. ‘3P Tuesday,’ he clarifies. ‘People, Power, Politics. These are the three crucial Ps, which can determine the success of a leader. We will discuss a topic out of 3Ps, called Relpols. But first, who is the most famous Mughal Emperor?’

  From below the shade of a tree, where the Shahiraj of Rajshahi kindly arranged for her seat, she looked about the crowd wonderingly. A stunned silence overcomes each person, as he considers an answer to the Shahiraj of Rajshahi’s question.

  ‘Shehenshah Abkar!’ someone yells from the crowd. Impressed at the reply, the Shahiraj of Rajshahi urges the brave answerer to identify himself. A middle-aged man comes forward, prompting the Shahiraj of Rajshahi to approach him.

  ‘Why is he the most famous?’ he asks the nervous man.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the man admits after a small hesitation. ‘I watched the movie so many years ago. It had Aishwarya Rai in it,’ he adds coyly.

  The Shahiraj of Rajshahi laughs endearingly, and the man joins in soon after, enlightened by the humour. However, the abrupt stopping of Shahiraj of Rajshahi's laugh also prompts the man to stop laughing, whereupon he gestures the man to re-join the crowd, muttering curses at the man’s illiteracy.

  ‘Akbar the Great,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi says, ‘was the greatest emperor of Hindustan. Why? Because he understood Relpols – Religion Politics.’

  She quickly noted the term down on her paper. She has decided to take notes of his talks. She found them very interesting and educational. She was certain to revisit these in the future.

  ‘He was a tolerant and liberal leader,’ the Shahiraj of Rajshahi continued. ‘He did not force religion on anyone, despite being himself very religious. He conquered, and ruled compassionately. He abolished the jizya, giving those outside his faith the chance to practice theirs. He understood the importance of choice. But many believe choice is conspiracy, or rather, make others believe it. If the vote is not in their favour, they tarnish the image of those, in whose favour the vote is becoming. Religion is such a topic that they easily manipulate to contaminate the mind of the voter. They accuse the other, make one believe that they will impose their faith upon another. If we show passion for religion, they claim we are extremists. If we do not make it apparent, then another fears that we are losing faith. I only ask them, who are you to judge the strength of my faith? Why must religion be a factor at all in politics? Why must some of us object to secularism?’ he asks fiercely. ‘Yes, the term is secularism,' he repeats, calmly. 'It does not deny one from practising his faith. It merely restricts a politician from restricting freedom. His concern should only be about governing the country. If Shehenshah Akbar put religion at the top of his agenda, then the grounds of India would not have seen the rise of the Taj Mahal. His concerns were always the governance of his country, and the life of its inhabitants. During famine, he adjusted the tax collection. Whereas now, whether the crops fruit or not, the farmer must pay his due to the government. Whether or not the poor gets his grain, the politician’s plate must not be empty.’

  He pauses and takes his hat off, as if to mark his respect for those that have passed away because of famine. To mark her respect, she rises from her seat.

  ‘Man must run the country as a woman runs her household,’ he continues. ‘He must run it economically - not subjectively. Children born of the same parents are never alike. They must
also realise that we are the children of this motherland and each one of her children is different. The Shehenshah realised this too,’ he says, going up to that man, who answered his question previously. ‘By allowing the Hindus to keep their faith did not mean that today there are no Muslims in India. That is why today we have many movies dedicated to his life. But the ruler of a nation gave the most notable proof of his liberality. Just as there should be no religion in politics, he did not let religion enter love. He married a woman outside his religion, and permitted her to practice hers.’

  She thought hard about the relationship between politics and love. Love does not subject religion. Politics should not subject it either. If it did, then she would not have been here today.