Ravi the Unknown Prince

by Rookmin Cassim

  One day he said to me “Why don’t you come to see your sister Hasan? Is there anything wrong between you two?”

  “No,” I answered quickly. “I like to get home when it is busy with other commuters going home.

  I was held at gun point once with another student when we were taking a short cut home late one evening.

  I do not want this type of incident to happen to me again I might die on the spot this time.”

  “I am sorry” he said “I thought you were avoiding Asma, she always talked about her brothers.”

  I felt awful and did not want him to get the wrong impression that I kept away from Asma because she once had a crush on me.

  After a few weeks had passed I said to him, “Tell my sister that I will come to see her on Saturday afternoon if she was not busy.”

  That Saturday morning on our way to work I told uncle Ismael that I would be home late; Ishaq had invited me over for supper.

  Before I got to work I stopped at a candy shop and bought Asma a box of Cadbury milk chocolate, which had written on the box ‘made in England.’

  I kept the chocolate in my locker and was hoping they would not melt before she got them.

  After we left work Ishaq drove me to his parent’s house, where he and Asma lived on the top floor apartment.

  When we arrived he opened the door and greeted Asma with the Islamic greetings.

  “I am home,” he said, and look who I brought with me today,” she came running out from a room and suddenly she stopped.

  She looked surprised, before she gave me a hug, I handed her the box of chocolate I had in my hand.

  She said, “Thank you, Hasan” and put the box to one side and gave me a hug.

  Ishaq left us and she took me into their sitting room and she was still hanging on to me.

  “Steady on girl, I said to her. Are you alright, Asma?” I asked.

  I was worried for a moment as she was looking paler than usual and I moved away slowly from her grip.

  “I want to tell you a little secret,” she said, “I am pregnant I only found out today and you are the first to know.”

  “Congratulations” I said in response. “But you must tell your husband now.”

  We talked about her parents and her brother Harun and the job I was doing when Ishaq returned and sat with us.

  She said, “Ishaq I got some news for you. I went to the doctors today; we are going to have a baby.”

  He was so excited he got up from his seat and rushed forward and gave her a hug.

  “I am so happy” he said,”We must tell all the family.”

  I repeated my congratulations to Asma and gave her a kiss on the cheek like a brother should do.

  Then was sat down to have supper; the delicious meal she had prepared; while we were eating she asked me about Muna the girl back home.

  She wanted to find out her name and her family name, but I refused to tell her.

  Ishaq then said,” Asma, leave your brother alone he would tell you when he was ready to talk.”

  I laughed and said, “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “There is no girl,” she said. “You and Harun made that one up.”

  The rest of the evening me and Ishaq spent chatting while Asma was making phone calls to everyone she knew to tell them of her good news.

  After she had finish conversing with family and friends Ishaq was ready to drive me home and Asma came along with us.

  It was late when we arrived home and they decided to spend the night with her parents.

  Next morning at breakfast the subject was about her baby and they were all selecting names of both girls and boys.

  Shortly after lunch that day they left us and went back home.

  I continued to work at the research laboratory for another six months but I was not happy with that job.

  I wanted to teach, but not in a New York school or any-where in America.

  The children mainly girls, did not have a childhood. They grew up too quickly, and the boys carried guns and knives around with them.

  They took drugs and sold drugs and would confront their teachers and argue with them.

  It was a society with the good, bad, and ugly in it, with people from all walks of life.

  A society on the brink of collapsing with a very low moral standard compared to where I was born and grew up.

  It was a melting pot with people from all parts of world one could find in New York and elsewhere in America, land of the free and home of the brave.

  A few months later we all decided to visit Harun in Egypt, he was doing well working and studying.

  He told me that I could get a job in a University in Cairo, and learn the Arabic language like he was doing.

  I decided to take up the offer and began to write out my CV and applied in a few Universities in Cairo and Alexandria.

  Many months had passed before I got a reply from two Universities in Cairo. I chose the one where I could get a cheap apartment not far from the University.

  I left New York to take up my new post in Egypt, teaching Mathematics and Chemistry.

  My salary was far less than what I was earning in America, but I was happy that I could learn the Arabic language.

  I decided to study Fiqh [Islamic Jurisprudence] at weekends and evenings.

  Harun would come to visit me and we would practice Arabic with each other or he would revise the Quran and I would listen and follow him.

  In Ramadhan we both would return to New York to fast with the rest of the family and to celebrate Eid.

  Once Harun had completed memorizing the Quran and felt confident in him-self he returned to New York with his parents and got a job in an engineering firm.

  Uncle Ismael bought the house we were renting as an investment for later years to come.

  By then Asma was mother to two sons, the first one was Mohammad and the second one was Yasin.

  That same year during my holidays for Eid ul Adha I went home to New York, to celebrate Eid with all the family.

  The next day during supper, uncle Ismael told me and Harun that it was time we both got married and settled down.

  His sister, Nazmoon in London England had seen a few young ladies for the two of us to meet.

  Everything was arranged for summer the following year, and he and Maymun were both coming with us.

  If all goes well he said, Harun and I could get married by the end of next year and bring our wives over.

  He advised me to return to New York and find a job in a school, if it was teaching I liked to do.

  I told him I could not teach in a school out here, and that the pupils were out of control. I was happy in Egypt.

  He was not too impressed with what I had said but Maymun spoke up on my behalf.

  She said, “If Hasan is happy in his job then he should continue there, but I would like him to come home more often.”

  I did not want to sound ungrateful to this kind and generous man, I said, “Uncle Ismael, I hope I did not upset you.”

  He replied “No Hasan, its good you speak how you feel, I am happy if you are happy.

  But we are all going to London next year InshaAllah. It’s time you and Harun settled down.”

  “Yes uncle,” I answered.

  It was then I thought of Muna, my childhood friend, and wondered if she had already married or was still single.

  I was now a Muslim like her and we could get married, there was nothing or no one to stop us.

  That night I asked Harun his opinion what we should do in a situation in which we were both facing.

  He kept Ayesha waiting and if Muna was still waiting for me it was not fair on both girls that we should go off and marry someone else.

  I would have to go back home some day and if I took my wife and found Muna still single and waiting, what excuse would I make to her knowing full well that I broke her heart.

  “Hasan, my brother,” he said, “We would do as dad told us and go to London with them and have
a good time we know what we wanted.

  We have never visited that country before; it is an opportunity for both of us to see their life-style.”

  The following day I wrote a letter to Miss Price and told her to tell Muna Khan; if she was still single, that I was coming home next year.

  I would rather spend my life with someone I grew up with, who knew everything about me than a total stranger I would have to go through my life history with.

  Harun was thinking along the same lines, but could not tell his father about Ayesha, his cousin.

  As far as we were aware she was still single and doing a course in needle work.

  Asma his sister was in regular contact with her two cousins Ayesha and her older sister.

  Two weeks later I flew back to Cairo and continued to work and study Fiqh in my spare time.

  One evening I was looking through an Arab newspaper and decided to look in another Arab country for a better paid job if I was going to get married and support a wife.

  I was fluent in Arabic, which would enable me to use my skills in both English and Arabic when teaching Arabs and non Arab students.

  I sent out my CV to a few Universities and waited for a reply, many months later I got a reply from an American run University in Saudi Arabia and another one in Kuwait City.

  My interview was in the summer and at that time we were planning to leave for London.

  I rang uncle Ismael and told him, that I would meet them in London two days later than planned and the reason behind it.

  I spoke to Maymun and explain my situation and what I was doing; she seemed to understand me better than uncle Ismael.

  Harun once told me that his mother sometimes thought that I was her dead son Hasan returned to her, that was the reason she insisted on naming me Hasan.

  Days turned into weeks and weeks became months, and still no reply from Miss Price.

  I became despondent and told my teacher after one of my Fiqh lessons.

  He said, “Has an, you can only have what was written for you, no more, no less, no matter how hard you try. Have patience, Allah is the all seeing, the all hearing, and the all knowing.”

  I felt better after that day and stopped worrying, and was looking forward to go to London to look for a future bride.

  I went to the two interviews. The one in Kuwait City; the pay and living conditions were excellent and nearer to the University than the one in Saudi Arabia.

  After my interview was over I went back to Cairo to check in my mail box for a reply from Miss Price, but nothing was there.

  That evening I flew out to London Heathrow I arrived around 10am the following day and some what felt a little lost and bewildered.

  There were white or English people around than coloured working at the Airport, not like New York or the Arabian countries.

  I found them to be far friendlier than where I had travelled from at my last two destinations.

  When I came outside, Harun was there with his uncle Musa and another man who introduced himself as Abdullah.

  A young boy about 14 years old joined us as we all walked towards the car park.

  “How was your trip?” the two men asked.

  As I responded I noticed Abdullah kept looking at me from head to toe. I was wearing a brown suit and I took off my jacket due to the heat and to feel more comfortable.

  While on our way to the car park Harun took over my trolley which had only a single suitcase.

  He spoke in Arabic and told me that Abdullah was our future father-in-law. He checked him out and now he was here to check me out and the young boy was his son; a second opinion.

  We both laughed and continued our conversation in Arabic I told him that I was still waiting to hear from Miss Price, and I would not make a decision until I find out about Muna.

  Abdullah kept looking at me and smiling when we got to his car, which was a Mercedes, top of the range. He opened his boot and I placed my suitcase inside.

  Before he closed the door he said, “What language were you two speaking?”

  “Arabic, uncle,” I answered politely.

  He was a man from my country. He studied law, but was now a property developer with his wife.

  That was all the information I was given about the parents of these girls Harun and I were going to see, but nothing about the girls.

  Harun and I sat at the back with the boy, Musa sat in front with Abdullah who was driving.

  While the two men at the front were chatting about the weather and other issues Harun told me Abdullah got a profile of both of us.

  He had a chat with him and asked him lots of questions. “Now you going to be interrogated,” he remarked.

  “What sort of questions did he asked?” I enquired.

  “Where I studied, what sort of degree I got, how many languages I spoke, what country I visited, dad was annoyed,” he said.

  “Did you pass his test?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, he is waiting to see you first and then we will get the verdict.”

  “My job interview was less stressful compare to this,” I added.

  “How did it go?” he asked.

  “It went well and I am 99% sure I got both jobs, but I would like to go to Kuwait,” I answered.

  “I would not take up my post until early next year, and hopefully be married by then.”

  “Do we have a profile of his daughters?” I asked.

  “No, but we are going to see them in person. There are three in total and we take our pick,” he replied.

  “I hope we don’t pick the same one,” I said.

  “Then we would have to toss a coin,” Harun answered.

  We were both giggling as we headed out of Heathrow and into the busy streets of London.

  The young boy in the back seat with us, with large staring brown eyes and a white complexion, kept looking at me.

  Every time I moved my head to look at the streets of London I saw him glancing at me. I thought that I was under scrutiny.

  If he was going to be my future brother-in-law, out of politeness I should have a chat with him.

  I asked him what his name was and whether their summer was always hot like today.

  He replied, “My name is Ali and our summer this year is very hot. I like your American accent,” he continued. “Do you live in America?” he asked.

  “Not at the present moment, I worked in Egypt,” I replied.

  “You must be the American professor my mother talked about,” he remarked.

  “Enough now, Ali,” Abdullah his father scolded him

  Harun and I looked at each other.

  We were going into North London, forty five minutes journey from Heathrow Airport.

  Shortly afterwards, when we reached our destination, Abdullah pulled up outside a semi detached house in a quiet Cul–De-Sac location, overlooking a playing field.

  We all got out and I thanked Abdullah and took my suite case from the boot of his car, then he shook our hands.

  He told Musa that he and his wife would come over in the evening; I thought perhaps to cross examine me.

  He went back into his car with his son now sat in front with him and he waved to us as he drove off.

  Outside the front door Uncle Musa said to me and Harun that we were going to see his two daughters on Saturday at his house.

  Uncle Ismael appeared in the door-way, and greeted me and gave me a hug, like he had always done.

  I entered into a large sitting area which was two rooms made into one, with colourful wall paper hanging from the ceilings.

  There were large sofas with matching cushions and curtains, and fitted carpet throughout the rooms and corridor.

  Mahogany wooden furniture was dotted around, and vases of plastic flowers, including ornaments from other countries were placed on the mantel-piece.

  I sat down to admire the interior design, which was practical and colourful its blending effects were both relaxing and homely.

  The way the English decorator
the interior of their house fascinated me compared to other countries.

  Minutes later a woman in her late fifties came in followed by Maymun carrying a tray of tea.

  I was told that in England the people drank a lot of tea even on a hot summer’s day, just like the Egyptians would smoke hookah.

  Uncle Ismael said, “Hasan, this is my sister Nazmoon, the eldest of the family, she is a State Registered Nurse.”

  As a mark of respect, I stood up and greeted her with Salam; she responded to my greetings and then she came up to me and gave me a kiss on both my cheeks.

  She said, “Welcome to my home, now I can say that I kissed a Prince and a handsome one indeed,” she uttered.

  I was stunned at her remark, I thought I left this princely past behind me in Hope Village, and to start a new beginning in another land, but it seems it was back to haunt me.

  If I had not found out about my ancestors I would be standing in a state of shock at the sudden out burst of the woman.

  I looked around me out of curiosity at the others in the room, and it seemed they all knew.

  Maymun sat opposite me and asked, “Did you know about your ancestors.”

  I nodded my head and said, “An old lady who used to live a few doors away from me told me what she had heard from my grand-father.” I answered.

  I thought that it was all a myth, as there was no proof to back up her story.

  My great grand-mother was not an imaginary person, she was real, but yet I was not convinced.

  “Please forgive me, I apologise, if I did not share that part of my life with uncle Ismael and Harun.

  I want to be me, the young man from Hope Village on the West Coast of Berbice, and not a prince whose identification is blowing in the wind.”

  “Never mind son, Musa remarked we must find you Cinderella to complete the picture.”

  “I would rather this information remain within these four walls uncle, until I leave London,” I said for my benefit.

  “We would not expose your secret, Hasan, to money man Abdullah, and his family,” Musa remarked.

  I looked at Nazmoon for reassurance; she was sitting on a foot stool in the corner of the room.

  “As you wish Hasan,” she answered.

  After having tea and snacks, all of us men went to the Mosque for prayers which was five minutes drive away.