Ummath

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Ummath Page 5

by Sharmila Seyyid


  ‘I live in Eravur, Theivanai. You could stay in my house. The press is close to my home. Don’t worry about it.’

  Theivanai was put in a spot by this. Both among the Muslims and the Tamils, such misconceptions had become commonplace. Getting rid of them was a very difficult task.

  ‘You start your training as early as tomorrow.’

  ‘I can come this afternoon, if is that’s alright with you. I spoke to the head of the Home yesterday and have the permission to leave.’

  ‘Excellent, Theivanai … I’m off to Vaharai now and even if it is late by the time I return, my Umma and sisters will be at home and will help settle you down.’

  Thawakkul was satisfied with the way she had been able to accomplish the first job of the morning and got into Azeem’s auto-rickshaw to go to Vaharai.

  ‘Have you forgotten me completely, Thawakkul?’

  The moment she heard the voice at the other end of the cellphone, Thawakkul’s face froze. She could not speak to him with the ease that had been the norm before, but for some reason, as if she was forced to, she did just that and spoke to him in her old accustomed manner.

  ‘I have been very busy for the past two days, Sufi, which is why I couldn’t speak to you. As the Chief Coordinating Officer, I had to sign papers for a new plan to rehabilitate girls affected by the war. I went to the areas which have been liberated from occupation and checked on the conditions there. I had planned to call you tonight.’

  ‘What is your answer to what I had spoken to you about?’ his voice was hard and he showed his impatience and irritation.

  Although, both Sufi and Thawakkul were fully aware that their love was a thing of the past, they continued to ignore the elephant in the room. Sufiyan, who had never seemed bothered about her emancipation and independence, had now begun to resent her work and had told her to stop all her social work activities.

  However, her social work activities were her life blood and she was unwilling to be separated from them. Unlike other girls who were home-makers and breeders, she believed that Allah had blessed her with the ability to do good to the society.

  Although she had dithered for a while, cogitating over Sufi’s ultimatum, she was now absolutely sure that she would never give up her community service duties which gave her immeasurable peace and satisfaction. Every day, when she raised her hands prayerfully in supplication to God, that was all she asked of him.

  ‘Ya Allah, you’re using me to work your wonders and get good deeds done. This fills me with great comfort and satisfaction. Do not take that away from me, my Rabbu. Please help the people understand my intentions. Do not let me become the target of people’s censure and condemnation.’

  ‘There is no new decision to take in this. You have a problem with accepting me as I am.’

  She said this very slowly staring into the distance. She was disillusioned and wondered if she should live with a man who was determined to change her very nature.

  ‘Thawakkul, you do not understand. Do you know what the people of your village say about you? My teeth are on an edge just listening to the language they use. Do you remember the photo in the paper of you giving relief materials to someone as part of your rehabilitation work…che, che, they start saying things within my earshot, you live in Colombo, they say, you don’t have any idea about what is happening here…she roams around and does just as she pleases…’

  With every word he uttered, an unbearable disgust of him rose within her.

  ‘It is not necessary to dwell upon the stories that are told about me. I need to know whether you trust me or not.’

  Her firm and resolute tone seemed to throw him into some confusion and he said after a pause, ‘Thawakkul, I want you… that is all that I can say. However, if you stubbornly insist that you will live as you wish, I’m afraid I cannot adapt either. My family isn’t happy with what they hear about you. Anyway, we plan to come to Eravur soon. We can talk in detail then. I will give you some more time to think about it …’

  He hung up.

  She suddenly realized that she was still in Azeem’s auto-rickshaw. When she had been talking to Theivanai, Azeem had parked his auto-rickshaw at the kerb. She was embarrassed that she had spoken for so long and that Azeem had been listening to everything.

  ‘Shall we go to Vaharai?’

  He did not turn around but stared straight ahead.

  ‘You heard everything that was said, Azeem? You told me that your friends spoke about me in a demeaning way…Sufiyan also must have heard some such comments and …’

  She trusted Azeem as a brother, friend and bodyguard. She shared a lot of information about her life with him. She even invited Azeem to festivals in the house and treated him like a member of the family.

  ‘I could follow your conversation. It is a complicated situation indeed. You could just give up all this social work, marry Sufiyan and settle down in Colombo. Colombo is not new to you. You’ve studied and worked there. I think marrying him is the right choice. I’m not telling you what to do, Thawakkul, you can take a good decision on your own, I know.’

  Her manner seemed to say that she saw no point in taking a fresh decision on something that had already been decided. ‘Let’s go to Vaharai. I have a meeting at the DS office at eleven,’ she said.

  She remained quiet and thoughtful throughout their journey. She had met Sufiyan when she was studying English in the university at Colombo and working half a day at an institute teaching computer courses. He was an accounts graduate, working for a large company and simultaneously pursuing a management degree.

  They were at the same university and had several opportunities to meet and fall in love, although they were following two entirely different streams in education. He fell in love with her and declared his love for her; all that passed as a beautiful dream sequence in her life.

  At first, her mind would not accept his love. Except for the fact that Sufiyan was so much in love with her, he himself did not attract her in any way. She had never floated in dreams of love and marriage. She had no wedding fantasies or huge expectations about it. But she had a mental blue print of what she considered important in a life partner, a man who had respect for all human beings, who was capable of love and believed in always following his conscience.

  Sufiyan’s educated and well-to-do family fiercely opposed his love for Thawakkul. Their class-conscious minds felt that it was beneath them to accept a girl from a small-time business community when there were several rich girls more suitable and more than willing to marry Sufiyan. Their opposition grew stronger with each passing day.

  His determination and stubbornness drew her to him. It made her believe in his love. As in most love stories, their love too was beautiful and pleasing. They looked like a couple who were so well-suited to each other that they would turn heads wherever they went. Her skin was a healthy pink colour, she had huge dark almond-shaped eyes, generous red lips; he of medium height with a thick moustache, large lively eyes and a well-proportioned body. Everyone who saw them perceived them as a real handsome couple.

  The divergence in their outlooks caused friction between them, but then they made up every time. Sufiyan had a deep-seated conviction that everything had to be the way he wanted; everything that he believed in was the right belief. Whenever he put forth such views it always resulted in bitter quarrels.

  He began to understand her only when they started going out together. All his cherished beliefs lost meaning when he was with her as she respected other people’s feelings, desires and rights. She thought that through his meaningless convictions he was losing out on the simple little pleasures of life and the happiness and satisfaction that one can attain easily.

  One day the two of them went to a restaurant for lunch. That day a strange feeling made them both walk together very quietly.

  The sun’s rays were beating down furiously. They sat in the Queen’s Café’s glass-enclosed section. She seemed more beautiful that day than ever before in a white salwar-suit
with long sleeves. She sat lost in her own thoughts before both decided to break the uncomfortable silence. They discussed Chandrika Bandaranaike’s poor show in the elections. Their differences of opinion began when they discussed the government’s corrupt practices and lack of proper planning for the future of the country.

  ‘I do not make plans and act on them. I just do whatever I think is right.’

  ‘I do not want to live any which way. I have certain ideas on how I should live…of course reality may make us change. We should have the courage and strength to accept that…I don’t say that everything I want should definitely happen…’

  Saying that, she laughed out loud. Her laugh irritated him. I do not appreciate your philosophical musings, he seemed to want to say, and turned his face away and stared at something on the other side. All he wanted was to move away from that place. In public places if she acted in a natural manner, more natural than his own usual manner and if she laughed out loud, he did not like it at all. He did not know how to stop her. Her silence after that made him tense. She was caressing some flowers that were in a glass vase on the table; he felt like taking out the flowers and flinging them away. He controlled his rage. That day he thought handling her was difficult; it was a contest that would make him lose. He kept quiet but produced strange sounds from his throat in his anxiety.

  He quickly hailed a passing waiter and ordered their lunch – two glasses of lemonade, two biryanis and two vanilla ice-creams.

  Her head tilted to aside, her face resting on her palm, she asked, ‘Why two of everything?’

  Her question both surprised and irritated him, but he made an effort to hold on to his temper and smiled dryly.

  ‘Are you teasing me, huh? … it’s for the two of us…’

  ‘For us?’ she looked at him in surprise. ‘Why, Sufiyan, won’t you ask me what I would like to have?’

  ‘It’s not like that … just for today, why don’t you have what I have?’ he replied heatedly.

  ‘Why? Do I have to prove my love for you by eating only what you like? You eat what you like … I’ll eat what I like. I don’t want lemonade before the meal. I prefer to have soup. Also, I would prefer a fruit salad to an ice-cream after lunch. And chicken biriyani is something that we eat very frequently … I’d rather have a Nasi Goreng for a change.’

  She said that in a most natural manner with the smile never leaving her face, and then went back to caressing the flower in the vase.

  His face darkened. He felt she was deliberately being annoying.

  He looked at the waiting waiter sheepishly. A book and pencil in hand, the waiter was watching them with great interest.

  ‘Oh, alright then,’ he said. He hit the table with both his hands spread wide. He shook his shoulders. He sighed gustily and ran his fingers through his hair and ordered again. He waited until the waiter left and then asked her, ‘Why Thawakkul … will you not respect my wishes? You claim to be someone who respects the wishes of others – is that all a lie?’

  ‘Sufi, you have misunderstood what I mean when I say that I respect the wishes of others. Did I forbid you from having lemonade? Or did I say that you should not have the chicken biriyani and ice-cream. No, all I said was that I will eat what I want. There is no harm in my asking you to eat what I like and you asking me to eat what you like. It could happen in the normal course. But how can you force me? It should be something born of love. Only when there is no question of force between two people will they be able to live in peace and harmony.’

  He had lost the capacity to listen and internalize Thawakkul’s explanations. He turned his face away to avoid listening to her babble. At that moment she seemed like an ogre with a pretty face.

  Love had turned sour and churned inside his stomach. She concluded that, for the time being, the bitterness in their love was not something that would just go away on its own.

  There were more than a hundred women at the Vaharai Divisional Secretariat. Vani, the assistant to the Divisional Secretary, was at the gates to welcome her.

  ‘The DS has gone to attend a very important meeting in the District Secretariat. She called to tell me that you would be coming here.’

  Vaharai had been under the control of the Eelam Movement during the civil war. Only after the area had been freed from Eelam rule had a Divisional Secretariat been set up. So, the office was fairly new.

  The crowd of women who had gathered there had all been affected by the war in some way or the other. It was rare to see people who had not been affected by the hostilities.

  ‘Our occupation is selling honey. One day, my husband went to gather honey and never returned home. I’ve no idea what happened to him. Our two daughters, who were babies at the time, are now young women. I’ve worked hard to bring them up. I would be grateful if you could help my girls find some kind of employment?’

  If ordinary people’s needs are as great as the sky is high, the needs of those who have been subjected to the injustices of society are well beyond that. The appearance of those women was enough to break the most hardened heart. Their sunburnt skin seemed dry and dehydrated as was their hair. Their clothes had become threadbare and so badly faded that the floral prints on them were history. The embroidery on their saris had given way and there were holes where the threads should have been.

  ‘I am in an orphanage, Akka. My parents and little brothers died when the house was bombed. I wasn’t at home that day. I wish I had been home on that day and died with them. I’ve passed my O level exams. I want to do A-level science. I hear that you can help me go to town to study. I would be very grateful if someone could sponsor me to study. I’m a good student. Here’s my mark sheet…’

  ‘Don’t worry, ma… I’ll definitely arrange for you to study. There are so many organizations that help youngsters aspiring to study.’

  Her face shone with happiness. A mother had brought her twin daughters. ‘My daughters attended a school and were fine until the war. After that, their brain has become addled and they don’t talk at all. We went to the priest who performed some ritual, but it was in vain. They threw away the talisman that was tied around their necks.’

  Thawakkul did not know whether to feel sorry or get angry with the mother who wasted her time and money by going to shamans instead of giving her children good medical care or to lash out at those who had perpetrated the violence against them.

  ‘It would mean a lot of expense to go to the town hospital. I do not have the means for all that. I do not know whether their father is dead or alive. Nine years ago, he went to work in the fields and never returned. There isn’t a god that I haven’t prayed to…’

  ‘Did you file a missing person’s report with the police? They should be able to help, or at least give you some kind of support.’

  ‘We complained to the Eelam Movement who were ruling here. They said that the army shot my husband.’

  ‘I will tell the DS about you. We’ll see in what other way we can help you. But, ma, what you have to do at once is take your girls to the town hospital. I will help you with the expense of going there and coming back. In the government hospital there is one wing dedicated to mental health. Your daughters have become like this because of shock and trauma. Give me your address and if you have a mobile phone, that number as well…’

  As she did not have the means to own a phone, a woman who was her neighbour came forward to help and offered her number.

  Most of the women were mutilated with loss of limbs, sight or scarred badly. Some among them had been fighters in the Tamil Tigers army. Most of them did not have identity cards. Asking for help to set up some little business on their own was the only demand these girls made. The fact that they had the motivation to work again was remarkable considering all that they had been through. They were not like our so-called people’s representatives who wanted power and position. All they wanted was a bit of land and a handful of rice. Power and position, they knew, would not change their lives in any significant way. With grea
t clarity, they knew that only hard work would fill their kitties. They were hugely relieved that the war was finally over and they demonstrated it very clearly in their behaviour.

  Thawakkul was making a list of the kind of businesses they wished to start. Vani generally lunched at her office desk, taking a short break after that. She had telephoned Thawakkul several times before one o’clock because she was very hungry.

  ‘No, Vani. How can I go and eat while all these people here are waiting. Please have your lunch, Vani, don’t wait for me.’

  The meeting got over around three o’clock. Thawakkul decided that she would do her al-Zuhr prayer before leaving.

  ‘Vani, may I pray here?’

  ‘Here… I’m afraid there is no particular prayer area, but you can pray in any one of the available rooms.’

  So Thawakkul completed her prayer in the waiting room of the Divisional Secretariat.

  ‘Yah Allah! I believe that your will is always for our good. You are capable of removing all the problems faced by these people. It would be an honour for me to be a tool in your hands to do some good for these unfortunate folk.’

  Her heart felt buoyant. Thawakkul believed that just as the face and body are cleansed because we wash them every day, so it is with each prayer the heart and mind become clean and shed their complacence and conceit. Prayer decluttered the mind of confusions and dilemmas.

  Although Thawakkul reached home before six o’clock, both Azeem and she were exhausted. Azeem was silent, immersed in his own thoughts. The sun was setting in red hues. Sufiyan’s tiresome conversation returned to haunt her. She could never be a wife who just wanted her comfort and pleasure. As she stepped into her house she recollected her invitation to Theivanai. Her parents, Habeeb and Nisha, and her sisters, although they had no idea who their unexpected guest was, had kindly welcomed the young woman and had done their best to make her feel at home.

  ‘Why? Did you not talk to her? She is quite articulate.’

  ‘She didn’t seem to want to talk to us. As soon as we showed her to her room, she just stayed there.’

 

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