“I will,” Bhav replies. “But we can also talk for a bit now if you like.”
“Yes.”
“I do have emails that I had sent to the High Commission of Canada that includes the text messages we sent to each other when you were there. I also sent them a list of key dates, which outlines what had happened.”
“That would be really helpful,” I say. “Because it’s really hard for me to remember certain details, like timelines or order of events. In fact, it hurts my head if I try.”
“I understand,” Bhav says.
There is a discernment in his voice, and a fondness I remember from pre–2005 Dhaka days.
“I want to tell you something before I share anything else,” he declares.
“Okay,” I say. I am speculating about what he could possibly say after all these years. It has been almost ten since the last time I saw him.
“I would like to apologize to you. I’m sorry,” Bhav says.
Ten seconds slip by within which we are both silent.
“When you came back from Dhaka, you were going through quite a lot. Post-traumatic stress, I did look it up. I know you needed me to be there for you, but I wasn’t. I was going through a very challenging time in my own life,” Bhav says.
There were many nights I had given company, many nights of suffering, wishing for the utterance of these exact words, and now he is saying them to me. I don’t know what to do with them right now.
“You didn’t deserve it, how I treated you at the end.”
“Well,” I say after taking it all in, “that means a lot to me. More than you can imagine. Thank you,” I tell him. How stoic I sound, and that I should. We had moved on, but does anyone forget the first pangs of their heart ripping apart? Prolonged pain echoing into eons, eroding the sense of time itself.
It was strange indeed, having thirsted for an apology that I once thought could allow my soul to be unchained, but I never received it and therefore had to remove the shackles myself by giving my life a new meaning. An arduous act for those of us who are stubborn in our sentimentality and romanticization of that which we are fond. And those of us who have been through so much — we cannot take one more loss. However, I am aware that many of us seldom do receive apologies such as these. So, as Bhav spoke the words, I felt nothing but a showering of Alhumdulillah, he has seen me.
It is a gift which at this point in my life I don’t necessarily need, but which brings me hope in human beings. The current time in human history is dark, but also one of resilience. His words remind me that people are capable of self-awareness, of reflection, and of new beginnings. That one can battle their own pride for love; if not love, then simple decency and respect. Kindness. I see you, a human being, the person I once loved.
Bhav tells me then a few more things about what he remembers, and I jot them down while listening. As we do this, a thought crosses my mind: What would my younger self have thought of this? The one who held onto the promise ring in the storage closet in Dhaka, wailing, recalling every detail of her lover’s face that she had memorized? Bhav, who always had his disposable camera ready to create memories so they would never be limited to time and space? Oh, young love, dreams, and promises. Here we were, trying to pull together all of the pieces of a puzzle that now seemed ancient. Did we ever think we’d be doing this?
“What about all our emails, our letters? I know we had maybe ten thousand or more,” I ask him. I want to find relics of who I was at the time.
“I deleted them all out of anger,” Bhav says, then sighs.
“What?” I ask. “Were you that upset?”
“Weren’t you? What was I to do? Remember how I had a box?” Bhav says. “The one with all those albums you had created? The dove I gave to you? And so many other things?”
“Yes?” I ask.
“I drove to where you lived that night, but you wouldn’t come out and take it from me, the box. I don’t know why. Do you remember? I called you maybe twenty times.”
“I didn’t want to because I wasn’t ready to —” I start then stop.
“I cut you out of every single photo I had.”
“That’s a lot of photos. Almost eight, nine years’ worth of photos,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says. “I cut you out of every single one.”
“Why?”
The floor creaks. I see from the corner of my eye that night is falling.
“Because I loved you more than anything in the world, and it broke my heart to lose you. You left me at the end. I didn’t think you would. You were so loyal. You would die for me, that’s how much you loved me.”
“I thought we left each other,” I say.
“I pushed you away, but I didn’t think you’d leave.” His voice is mellow. “In all of these years, whenever I hurt you, you didn’t say anything. You just asked me to listen, and you were so patient. I didn’t know how to handle everything. I didn’t want you to go.”
“After what happened to me,” I tell him, “I wasn’t going to take anyone’s abuse or disrespect, especially from the person I loved.”
“I know.” Bhav’s voice is soft and pensive. “It’s the last thing you needed. I should have been there for you. And I know I was stubborn, putting my need to be right, my ego, before what you needed, what you were suggesting. You were always smarter than me.”
“Despite you being the old man.” I am laughing. We are both laughing.
“You always knew how to put what you felt into words. I struggled with that.”
“It’s something,” I tell him, “to fight fate so hard while fighting to keep your faith, and just ending up in a place where all you have is a grieving heart in your hands.” I touch my face and I think I feel the dried tears from that time gone by. But then I realize, In these losses, I have gained so much.
“I buried —” Bhav tells me.
“Me?”
“No, the box, with all our things.” He is changing the subject of our conversation, diverting it just a little bit. “I buried it at the Getaway.”
“You should have burned them,” I tell him, but then I remember he couldn’t have, and neither could I. I decide not to entertain the idea of tracking these mementoes down.
So, we continue like this. Bhav tells me what he remembers, and I continue noting it all down. I had buried so much of these recollections in order to make room for the visions of how I wanted to live. I write the memories into chapters and send him paragraphs. He shares any information he thinks I may have missed. We laugh at the poor grammar and ridiculous slang words we used in our text messages and emails. We bring up old jokes that still seem new. He tells me he carried his promise ring around for a decade after our separation, imagining we could be reunited one day, although he wasn’t actively seeking such an ending.
“Wouldn’t it be something?” he tells me. “If we were to end up together, after your book comes out?” To which I laugh.
I ask him instead how his new love religiously and culturally identifies. He tells me she is a Muslim, and that he is once again trying to make sense of how to navigate an interreligious relationship.
“Why would you do this to yourself?” I tease him.
“Well, I guess the heart just does what it wants,” he says. “Takes you in circles and you just end up in the same goddamn place.”
“That’s the definition of insanity,” I say. We laugh, and then I become serious. “It’s a beautiful thing, when we can appreciate the good in all faiths. There are so many miracles, when we just believe.”
“I am blessed and honoured to have had these calls with you,” he says, and I concur.
It is indeed rare that previous lovers can still see each other as gifts, but some unions do survive somehow — they just take on different forms.
I say goodbye.
I open my email soon after and I see Bhav has sent me all the text messages and emails he sent to the High Commission of Canada. He even had old poems I had written during troubled time
s. I read them. My head spins. I get up to drink a glass of water, thinking with each step forward that in these poems, I had inked my desperation to be seen.
When I come back, I continue scrolling through all the emails he has sent me. I open up one titled Dates, which I desperately need to give an accurate sense of how the events unfolded in Bangladesh. Here is how that email reads:
On Wednesday July 27th 2005 Sumaiya boarded a plane to for your trip to Bangladesh.
On September 17th 2005 Sumaiya texted me saying her uncle beat her and her head was bleeding. I left Franks work that day raced home, changed her email password and opened the case for Sumaiya with the counselors officers in Ottawa, who then passed it on to the Bangladeshi embassy.
On October 3rd 2005 family took her to meet the guy.
From a lot of pressure and abuse, from her uncle and no hope of her ever letting her come back without getting married. She had to accept the proposal and the wedding date was initially set for November 9th 2005.
The wedding date was bumped up to October 31st 2005. I finished school on October 21st, which gave me a week to figure out a plan to get her back. On Friday October 28th 2005, Sumaiya told me gave me the address to which I can tell the embassy to go get her. Unfortunately, the embassy said they needed to hear from Sumaiya but her cell phone wasn’t calling outside nor could she text .
From October 28 2005, I told everyone I know to pray for Sumaiya and for the Canadian government to get her out. On Saturday night Sumaiya gave me the last hope to call the embassy and ask them to come get her. It clicked in my head to get ’s cell phone number and forward all the text messages from Sumaiya to her. On Sunday 9 pm (which is 8 am in Bangladesh) I called the embassy and spoke with , told her Sumaiya’s only got till 12:00 in the afternoon before they will move her to another address. got her team together and got to the house at 11:30. Sumaiya called me early morning before she took her shower, to say her final good bye, that’s when I told her that they were coming and I told her to stall and not leave the house. Sumaiya sounded dead, it felt as though everything we’ve built together, our characters and our behaviors, they were able to literally destroy it.
So, at about 12:30 am Toronto time, which is now October 31st Sumaiya’s wedding day, called me and gave the phone to Sumaiya. That was the second time I spoke to her. She didn’t know what to do, I told her she had to leave, that the government people won’t come back. She called , and then later made the decision to leave, for her own safety. Before that she called the guy to explain.
As I read the email, certain fragments of memories return to me. My shoulders loosen, my jaw loosens. These accounts are painful to see, written the way they are, objectively. They account for a reality that I did not want to believe for the five months I was in Dhaka. There must be some sort of misunderstanding, I had always thought. My anger is not here, it has been morphed into the life I have built for myself. I am looking around the condominium I now live in. The musical instruments, the shelves of books, my work laptop on the table, a fridge full of food, framed photographs, and a jai-namaz next to me. I have lived and that was how I forgave everyone, including myself.
I open up another email. This is the one Bhav sent to one of the contacts at the High Commission that gave my consent, for them to get me from Boro Mama’s house.
Hi this is , I’ve opened up a case for my friend Sumaiya Matin (DOB) … she is currently in Bangladesh. I spoke with her on Wednesday September 28, 2005. She wants to get back to Canada but she doesn’t want you guys the Canadian government to get her. Because she worried that if that happens, first she’ll never see her brother and sister again because the father that is here will just move there and live there. Second she just doesn’t want to take that route because her parents will hurt. I know that’s what she said and in a perfect world it will happen like that … but I think she’s just avoiding the truth. I tried to tell her that there is no other way to get back without someone getting hurt. I really don’t think she’s thinking logically over there … I know she loves her parents and she doesn’t want to hurt them with you pulling her out but I also think she’s getting manipulated over there … with all the negative comments and abuse and not eating or sleeping. Her plan is for me to go over there … her to sneak out and we come back. She is absolutely smart, but that’s the stupidest thing she ever told me … and I’m worried that she losing her self over there.
Anyway, below are the conversation I had with her … I’ll copy them just as I see them.
At 4:08 PM
Tue, Sep 27
Don’t talk to any of my cuzins serious backtstabing pressure if I say no [no to a marriage] they will leave me here go bac home sel house n cum here
At 4:26 PM
Tue, Sep 27
Babee we need to think how do I get bac without embasy cuz my fan
At 4:39 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) How do I get bac without that can u come after some run away how can u wait every1 cryin how do I get them not to cum [how do I get them not to move to Bangladesh]
At 4:40 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) here pls no embasy dad will die
At 4:54 PM
Tue, Sep 27
Wut if my peeps go bac we wait a while then u cum n I run away nutin to publicly show
At 5:03 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) Babee I love u so much I’m saying no so much pressure saying I’m heartless every1 cryin u come here I sneak out but after bro and sis go
At 5:05 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) home tell . [ was her childhood teacher and a special friend to her and the family. She had asked me to find her and tell her how her family is trying to move back to Bangladesh but I couldn’t find her]
At 5:45 PM
Tue, Sep, 27
(1/2) Babe it will be too hard on my peeps if we tell embasy I just have to get bac if I get stuck here can u
At 5:47 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) Cum here after a while babe its so hard 4 me
At 5:59 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) No sleep no food I’m dead babee if u cum here we cud run away I cant leave publicly babe it is hel here I wish I was home the prob [problem]
At 5:59 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) is every1 luvs me too much so no one can let go how r u doin without me
At 6:03 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) Wut wil u do if I never cum bac to u babe we need to think of sumtin don’t talk to my cuzins that u
At 6:04 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) did b4 they insulted me n my mom
At 6:20 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) The Dif is that that wil hurt more knowing I called cops [High Commission of Canada, they will think she called you] babe these ppe care about me but they jus hav a dif idea of wut is good 4
At 6:20 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) me babe its really hard 4 me here the situation got twisted ppl think I’m nuts
At 6:25 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) pls find don’t get dad involved with govt we hav to avoid that I’m scared.
At 6:26 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) Don’t text to other no ever [that number that I had given you guys earlier was a cell phone of one of her cousins was one that she said was safe but no she says those cousins can’t be trusted and she said never text there. This cell phone number is a girl cousin of hers but I don’t know how safe is its now … I don’t text it unless I receive one from her first]
At 6:38 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) To be honest I don’t kno exactly it is 5 in the morning me wil send after babee how can u wait 4 me this culture is so strong
At 6:39 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) That ppl have to care wut others say my bro n sis wana go home but I luv u they cant accept so they wil do anything
to keep me
At 6:52 PM
Tue, Sep 27
I live at many adres change house one is at lalmatia I dun kno now wil give next time I promise [I guess that’s one of the cities she staying in]
At 7:15 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) Babee if they move here I wil not stay that’s wen u come I wil sneak out run away with u if I can jus make it to Canada once babee
At 7:16 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) ppl r getting fed up wit me so many fites I hate this I cry al day
At 7:19 PM
Tue, Sep 27
al I kno if I say no they r leaving me here 6 months later they comin here babee think of sumtin pls I love u
At 7:23 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(1/2) I have to go I hear sumone don’t text anyone or talk to to cuzin I love u so much babee pls don’t ever stop luvin me we will
At 7:23 PM
Tue, Sep 27
(2/2) find a way.
There were a lot more texts I had originally from that Saturday that I first called you guys, but I had to erase it to receive these latest ones. Well as you can see she doesn’t want to go the route I want to but if at all possible can we please keep her case open. I told her I won’t tell her address unless she wanted me to tell you guys to get her out. So next time she text I’ll have the address, hopefully. Well I guess I’ll just continue to email you with whatever she sends me and when she wants to get out and can’t just walk out the door I’ll email you her address and a text message from her saying she wants to come home. But please if at all possible can you please keep her case open because I know there is no way for her to come back peacefully and in one piece with out you guys.
……
Hey, this is a few weeks ago I opened up a case for my friend Sumaiya Matin DOB . I have had contact with her in recent days, she’s still unsure as to what she wants to do, but she has given me 2 addresses. I told her today to call you guys, she said she will tomorrow, but I don’t know if she will … cause that way you hear it from her I know its best for her to get the embassy but I can tell you right now that will be out of the question there is no way they will let her out of their sites.
I pull down my laptop screen. I can’t read anymore. As a writer, the poor grammar and misspelling of words is a slow death. There is a part of me that remembers watching all of this as it unfolded. She asks, What could I have done differently so that this didn’t happen? Sometimes it feels as if I now have a defect of some kind, that I cannot live life at the expected pace, or relate to others in the ways they want. She also says, however, that I should be easier on myself. That the life event had moulded me a certain way — the considerations I make, how quickly or slowly my heart beats, how I am in relationships, the trajectory of my life — but it does not have to define me.
The Shaytan Bride Page 27