Ravi the Unknown Prince

by Rookmin Cassim

  I understood the Arabic words and its meaning. Then the old woman told me that both sides of my great grand-mother’s ancestors came in the line of Royalty.

  The Maharaja was married to a Princess, and her father was a king, if I was living in India I would have been a Prince by status and by right.

  We both laughed at her joke, and I told her that today I was nothing but a poor orphan and an unknown Prince.

  She said, ‘Don’t be sad, our Prophet [Peace Be upon Him] was also an orphan, and a shepherd.

  He brought the Quran to us; his message is for all mankind. You must read the Quran, Ravi, and you will find what you looking for.”

  “Grand-ma,” I said, “I can’t read Arabic.”

  “Then find an English translation and read it. It’s meaning is close enough,” she answered.

  This old woman knew quite a lot more than she appeared to. She told me they don’t talk about their religion because they liked to live in peace among other people with different faiths.

  Then she asked me about her brother Jaffar Khan. She said he was the youngest and a drunkard, his wife Rofan was a good woman to live with him that length of time and to have seven children.

  She felt sorry for his wife and children and that was the reason she gave her house to him so that the children could have a roof over their heads.

  “We were not invited to his children’s wedding, she said, but I love my brother.

  I am now 80 years old Ravi, I have had a good life, lonely at times but now I am happy with my grand-daughter and her sons.”

  It was getting late, and I told her that I must leave now, if I wanted to catch the last ferry home.

  She told me that I would have to travel by bus to Springlands for a taxi going to New Amsterdam. They do not do pick up by the road side on Sundays.

  We said our good byes and she gave me a hug and kissed me on both cheeks and said, “May God grants you success in what-ever you do. When you come next time, Ravi I will not be here, and I will be in my final resting place.”

  I felt sad and lost for words, may be it was our last and final goodbye, as I walked towards the front gate she walked with me.

  I saw a bus coming so I quickly turned around and said to her, “Grand-ma, May God grants you Paradise for being such a humble and kind person.

  When no one else was there for me, you gave me comfort through difficult times. May God reward you many times over?”

  She replied, “Ameen.”

  I got on the bus and waved to her with tears in my eyes, as the bus pulled away, she looked sad and so was I.

  Ten minutes later I arrived at Springlands where the road ends and the sea port for the ferry crossing began.

  At the pier there were all types of boats ferrying people across to Nickeri where second and third generations of Indian descendants had formed their own settlement, like a little India, I was told.

  There was a market place next to the port, and it was buzzing with traders selling spices, food stuffs, house-hold goods, clothing and fabrics.

  I never knew a place like that existed until that moment; it took me an hour to go around and still there was plenty more to see.

  I could not get a taxi to New Amsterdam. All the drivers told me to come back in the morning for the first ferry crossing.

  I was now stranded and I could not go back to the old lady as it was not her house.

  I decided to spend the night at the port, sleeping in the open air, hoping that it would not rain.

  There were other people like myself sleeping rough on card board boxes, and in their taxis or on a plank of wood.

  I took two empty card board boxes from the market place and flattened them out and then I found a comfortable spot in one corner of the pier.

  I put the flattened boxes down and lay on top of them and looked up at the night sky.

  I thought of what the old lady had said earlier, that I was a prince. Instead I felt more like a pauper but a happy one, and grateful for what I had.

  It was a beautiful starry night; I had never had the pleasure of looking up at the night sky.

  From time to time there was a shooting star that flew across the starry sky leaving a long trail behind it.

  I was restless and frightened to fall asleep in-case I did not wake up on time for the 5am taxi.

  I could hear the other residents near by snoring and the sea water lashing against the wooden pier, but finally I was over taken by tiredness and drifted off into a deep sleep.

  I woke up with the call of the dawn prayer from a Mosque not far away. The Muslim men had left for prayer, while the rest of us were either sleeping or lying down.

  The taxis were still stationary by the side of the road, and two men who had woken up were conversing in Hindi; from what I understood there was running water from a tap outside the market place, where people could wash and clean up.

  I followed the two men and found the stand-pipe, and then the men went off to get their morning tea on another street corner.

  I returned to the pier in case I missed my taxi, one of the Muslim drivers, a tall slim brown skinned man was already there, I told him where I was going and he said to jump in at the back.

  I had noticed that people around those parts were not very friendly, unless one started up a conversation with them.

  I was not in that frame of mind or bold enough to do either, in fact I was tired, hungry and wanted to go home.

  I realised that whatever life throws at you no matter who you are or where you came from, you must bear it with patience. I did not intentionally miss the last ferry home.

  But it had happened all the same and because of that, I slept under the stars and saw many shooting ones, which my eyes have never seen before and it was something to be remembered.

  As we headed towards New Amsterdam when we entered the second village the driver bleeped his horn and slowed down.

  A little boy about 10 years old came out and handed the man a food container and then he drove off again.

  In the next village ahead, he picked up four passengers; a short fat dark skinned man who sat in front with the driver.

  And two boys between the ages of 12 and 16 both slim sat next to me and a talkative light complexion over weight woman sat behind the driver.

  The taxi was now full unless the driver decided to stop and pick up more passengers along the route. Sometimes they would cram seven individuals into one car.

  The woman continued to chat to the driver; she told him that they were going to the visa office to see if this time they would get their visas to America.

  She was putting me to sleep so I closed my eyes and must have drifted off to sleep for some time, until the boy sitting next to me asked me if I like to eat a roti with some meat.

  I told him that I was not hungry but thanked his mother anyway, and then the woman asked me where I was going.

  I told her ‘Hope Village’. That name was given to my village after the plague that swept it almost clean of its inhabitants.

  She said. “That is the place where Malaria wiped out the whole village, why do you want to go there young man?” she asked.

  I had to choose my words carefully before the driver stopped the car and put me out, in case he thought that I was still infected with the disease.

  We were in the middle of no-where, with swamps on both sides of the road and another ten or more miles before we get to New Amsterdam and the ferry crossing.

  I told her that I was meeting a school friend there and to see the place.

  “Where are you from?” she asked.

  I wished she would stop pestering me so I did not have to lie to her and the others.

  “I lived at Bath Settlement,” I answered.

  I quickly changed the subject and asked her what part in America they were going to and she told me New York City.

  By then our journey had nearly ended, and I could see the ferry crossing ahead of me, boarding had not yet commenced.

  Afte
r I paid the taxi driver I said goodbye to the others. They were using the same taxi into Georgetown, the capital.

  I went to get my ticket for the ferry crossing and then bought a glass of sugar cane juice for my breakfast and blended in with the crowd.

  On the other side of the river, I took another taxi and went home, my chickens were out all night and looking for food, after I fed them, I rested for a while and continued my daily chores.

  The next day, I went out looking for fencing material for my great grand-parents’ grave.

  I was going to fence their grave with the tree included and paint the wood and plant some flowers inside.

  The next three days I was occupied with the fencing and paint work, after I completed that task.

  I took some Jasmine stems from my front yard and planted them inside the four corners of the grave.

  On Thursday I went to visit Asma she was taking her Maths exams the following day.

  As her back up tutor I went to wish her well, and to find out if there were any queries that she might have; I was confident that she was going to do well.

  That Sunday was my last one in my village and country. Maymun had invited me to her niece’s wedding in Canji. I had never attended a Muslim wedding before and wasn’t sure what to wear.

  When I asked her she told me to dress casual, only the bride and groom were the important people on that day.

  She said that she was going a few days earlier with Asma to help the family and that I should come with her son and husband.

  That Sunday morning I got dressed early and took with me another set of clothing to changed into.

  Rain had fallen the previous night and the road was muddy with puddles every-where which was hard to avoid when riding a bicycle.

  We were leaving on the first ferry to New Amsterdam which was at 8am. We took a taxi which was a 15minute drive away.

  Once we were on board the ferry Ismael explained to me what went on in a Muslim wedding.

  The dowry would be given from the bridegroom side, and not from the bride like in a Hindu wedding.

  “What did you give my mum?” Harun asked his father, “I give her Jewellery and two cows, one bull and a heifer,” he replied.

  It took us 30 minutes to get to New Amsterdam, further up the Berbice River there was a Bauxite mining company, one could hear the plant operating in the distance.

  Once we reached the other side, we took another taxi with other passengers going into Canji.

  A journey of about 15 minutes took us 30 minutes as the long road was full of pot holes.

  If anyone of us in that taxi had a heart condition our chances of survival would be limited.

  When we finally arrived at our destination, we were greeted by all the family and I was introduced as Ismael and Maymun’s son.

  The three of us had a light breakfast, before we joined the rest of the men cooking the wedding feast in the back-yard which was meat, potatoes and rice.

  The food was prepared in huge pots accompanied with roti, salad, and a few sweet dishes.

  The meal that was being prepared was for the bride and bride-groom and their guests when they arrived for the Nikkah [wedding].

  The Walimah feast was the next day, and that was done on the bridegroom’s side for his guests.

  The bride was going into Corentyne two villages away from Skeldon, apparently that girl went to a wedding in the same village where this boy lived.

  He was at that wedding and saw her and told his mother they made some enquires and with in six months they were getting married.

  I had noticed that there was no music in that Muslim wedding, and men and women did not mix except for the young children.

  Large tents were erected from the front of the house to the back where invited guess would sit and eat together on the floor on plastic sheets covered over with a large floral table cloth.

  We sat with the men at the back of the house, listening to their talk on cricket, and politics.

  When the bridegroom arrived with his guests in six different cars, then all the men were getting ready for their daily Salah [prayer] followed by the Nikkah ceremony.

  I asked Harun what I should do. He told me to come along and just follow what everyone in front was doing.

  He said that we would stay at the back, and let the older men stand in the front rows.

  It was an experience I would never forget, everyone facing in the same direction and prostrating at the same time to One God.

  It was the first time that I made prostration and it felt good; it was an amazing scene for me to view as a non Muslim.

  After everyone was fed the bride was getting ready to leave, for some unknown reasons women would cry at weddings.

  The bride and her mother were both crying as the girl was leaving her parent’s house for the last time and to start her own life with her husband.

  It was a simple wedding not too extravagant or elaborate but colourful and practical according to their beliefs.

  Shortly afterwards, Ismael, Harun and I left to catch the last ferry home, after shaking hands with Maymun’s family.

  When we arrived on the other side and got to Ismael’s house, it began to rain heavily and he told me to spend the night with them.

  I slept in a spare room and under a mosquito net, next morning after breakfast I went back home to check on my poultry.

  My final week at home, I spent tidying the yard and selling whatever I could, the chickens and ducks were all sold except Mister Pip the turkey.

  He was given to my father as a present so I kept him as a pet. He would make a lot of noise whenever strangers came to the yard, he was like a guard dog.

  I fed him on seeds, grains of rice, and chopped fish, I was handing him over to uncle Yunus.

  By Friday morning he would be gone, along with my suitcase and personal documents to the Baccus’s house.

  I would be spending that night with my new family as we were due to leave for the Airport at 5am the next day, a journey of 3hours and 30 minutes our flight was at 12.30pm on Saturday.

  On Wednesday of that week, I went to Blairmont Estate to see for myself what a logy looked like out of sheer curiosity.

  After I made a few enquiries I was told where I could find a whole community that lived together in these logy.

  I saw some children playing in the courtyard and asked if their mother was at home, two of the children held my hand and took me to see their mother.

  She was a beautiful young woman about 20 years old with long black hair; she was wearing a red and white floral dress that had a rip at the waist line.

  She kept her black hair tied together with the same material from the dress she was wearing.

  I asked her politely if I could look at her living quarters and she said, “Yes, come in,” I had to lower my head to get inside.

  It was tidy, the floor was covered with card board, and beneath that was sand.

  I looked around the small space which she shared with her husband and two young children.

  A small wooden bed was in one corner with some clothes hanging on the wall that divided their living space from the next family, and a few basic essentials in card board boxes hidden under the bed.

  I got upset and walked out to where she was waiting outside holding the hands of her two sons.

  I took all the money from my pocket and handed it over to her, and told her to buy food and clothes for the children and herself.

  She thanked me and at the same time she was trying to kiss my hand and was bowing to me like their god.

  I told her not to do that and stopped her, and then she asked me if the manager from the estate had sent me.

  I told her no and walked out into the court-yard almost in tears and left in a hurry.

  As soon as I got back on the main road I got on my bicycle and rode away in case she called out to her neighbours and told them some young idiot was giving away money.

  She might as well make use of it; I would not have any us
e for my country currency in America.

  When I got home I kept thinking of my great grand-mother’s situation, she once lived in a similar place like that.

  I felt her pain even though I had not seen her and we would never meet in this life.

  The old lady had told me that Allah [God] had already written our destiny and now we must live it; good or bad that comes our way.

  She had reiterated that Karma was a heap of nonsense, and I totally agreed with her.

  On Friday morning when I woke up, I cleaned out the upstairs and covered all the furniture and bolted all the windows from inside top and bottom.

  I was not going to sleep there again and for how long only God alone knows. I was spending the night with the Baccus family for our early morning departure.

  By 9 am uncle Yunus’s son Imran came to collect Mister Pip the turkey, and my suitcase with all my personal documents which was in a holdall.

  He would be driving us all to the Airport in his seven seated van, recently introduced into the country.

  After he had left, I went to visit the grave-yard of my ancestors, before it became too hot in the day.

  I rode my bicycle and entered the second reef, after I had said my goodbyes to my grand-parents.

  I walked over to where my parents and two siblings were and told them that I was leaving in the morning.

  My heart sank with great sadness as I took one last look before I departed from the burial ground on the second reef.

  I got on my bike and rode along the muddy dam, to the first reef to say farewell to my great grand-parents.

  I stood under the shade of the cinnamon tree and thought these two people have changed my life.

  They came from India following their dreams but were abandoned out here. I on the other hand was moving on following my dream, like they had once done and to see where my destiny would lead me to.

  The jasmine I had planted had grown taller, in a few months it would blossom a gift fit for a princess.

  My next stop was to see my teacher Miss Price, we sat and talked for over an hour.

  She told me that the two other students she taught along with me were both doing well.

  The girl went to England and was training to become a nurse and the boy was in Canada with his relatives.