Ummath

by Sharmila Seyyid

  ‘Kala, stop defending her!’ Pathma added fuel to Vathsala’s fire. ‘We’re perfectly aware of what needs to be done, so we don’t need your advice. Don’t shout, child,’ she said, turning to her first-born. ‘We’ll do exactly as you say. Siththandi Maama’s house? I’ll take care of that.’

  Kala ran into the inner room sobbing heartbrokenly. Yoga consoled her saying she liked Siththandi Maama, and furthermore he himself had invited her to his house when she met him recently.

  Wiping her eyes, Kala fell on the mat by Yoga’s side. ‘But, Akka,’ protested Kala, ‘don’t you want to be here for my wedding?’

  ‘I do, Kala,’ she said, embracing her little sister. ‘However, even if I do stay on here, I’ll be languishing in my corner like this! What will I see? So, it’ll be much easier for me to go away.’

  Kala sat up sniffing. ‘If you are okay with it, then it’s okay by me,’ she nodded, and smiled.

  As soon as talk of Kala’s marriage had begun, Yoga’s internal struggles had multiplied. She didn’t know how long she could continue carrying the burden of her heartaches within her.

  Thoughts of Sathuriyan were still fluttering their wings in her mind and breaking off their feathers. Although it was six years since Sathuriyan had said that he would return for her, she lived with him every day of her life, savouring her thoughts of him. Love formed a moat in her mind not allowing any other thoughts to enter where only his loving gentle face existed. Cocooned in her memories of Sathuriyan she remained frozen in time awaiting their reunion. That dream embraced and comforted her.

  The six years that they had been apart had flown by in a flash.

  ‘My beloved Sathuriyan could be languishing in Boosa or Welikada prison. He doesn’t know where I am, but I’m certain that he will find me because he knows I live in Mavadivempu.’

  She regretted having left behind his precious letters to her. They would have been a consolation to her in her time of loneliness. However, the shape of the alphabets in each and every word he had written had branded themselves into her brain, and she remembered them all clearly.

  She only had the ring that he had gifted to her on her birthday as a keepsake. She had worn that ring for the first time during the last battle, when they were told that the army was approaching, and all the women in the Kilinochchi Women’s Rehabilitation Centre had decided to run away. To this day she had no idea why she had decided to wear that ring during that crisis.

  For Chittirai, Thaipongal, Deepavali – whatever the festival might be – the LTTE unfailingly bought new clothes, traditional snacks and gifts for all its cadres and celebrated the day splendidly. Sathuriyan had bought her a very pretty cotton dress for Pongal. It had tiny butterflies printed on a white-and-yellow striped background. He had told her that he loved the vibrancy of butterflies and wanted her heart to be ‘as full of life, beauty, love and joy as these creatures’.

  Every time she saw butterflies, Yoga felt like she could see Sathuriyan. She kept her love alive by talking to him every single day.

  There were times when she wanted to confide in Kala about her love, but something withheld her.

  ‘Until the day Sathuriyan finds me, there is no need to tell anyone about this. They should all witness him striding in to clasp my hands and take me away and wonder how I managed to get myself a true prince!’

  To Yoga, Sathuriyan was a prince among men. Although he lacked the contingent wealth, he had the bearing and physique of royalty.

  Amma had called Siththandi Maama to inform him that Yoga had accepted his invitation to spend a while at his place. Pathma and Kala would escort Yoga to his place and return home to carry on with the wedding arrangements.

  Her prosthesis had broken several months ago and Yoga missed it. With the crutch she felt at a disadvantage because her handicap was clearly evident.

  ‘Thawakkul Akka hasn’t come back with any news,’ she thought to herself. ‘If she comes here after I go to Siththandi, Kala will be here, and she will somehow convey a message to me about it.’

  Just then the bamboo gate opened and almost like she had willed them into existence, Thawakkul and Sahayawathani entered the courtyard.

  Yoga delightedly welcomed them and invited them to sit on the veranda chairs facing her. ‘Oh my God, I was just thinking of you,’ she laughed. Hearing the sounds of their conversation and laughter, Kala emerged from the inner room and smiled.

  ‘How are you, Akka? Where were you all these days?’

  ‘I just got back from Colombo yesterday afternoon,’ said Thawakkul, smiling at the sisters. ‘I’ve brought some good news for you, Yoga.’

  ‘Do tell us, Akka,’ replied Kala eagerly. ‘I’ve prayed to Lord Vinayaka every single day for something good for my Akka.’

  ‘That is why I have come. But first, Yoga said that she was thinking of me as we came in. Tell me why.’

  Yoga beamed from ear to ear. ‘Oh, it was nothing, Akka! I was merely wondering what we should do if you dropped by while I was in Siththandi.’

  Though she had some misgivings, Yoga told them about her going to Siththandi. ‘Why are you going to Siththandi?’

  Perhaps Sahayawathani had asked that question conversationally, but it was a pertinent question.

  Kala and Yoga exchanged glances. Yoga looked away feeling embarrassed to reveal the true reason for the trip. However, because Vathsala and Amma were not at home, Kala explained what had happened. This would be the first time that Yoga would get out of this house since her arrival from Vavuniya.

  Amma was out running an errand for Siththandi Maama. Thawakkul and Sahayawathani realized that they would leave for Siththandi as soon as Amma returned.

  Quickly and impassively Thawakkul explained to the girls, ‘On my way here, I spoke to an organization for the handicapped to get a new prosthesis for you, Yoga, and they’ve agreed. However, the measurements have to be taken before the order can be placed. They said that even if we were to take you to them immediately, they could send off the requisition. Do you absolutely have to go to Siththandi today?’

  ‘I understand what you are saying, Akka,’ replied Yoga, slowly. Although she felt that this was much more important than going to Siththandi, asking for Amma’s permission to let her go with Thawakkul and Sahayawathani was something that frightened her.

  Kala felt that such an opportunity should not be missed, where people had come to their door-step to help Yoga. She too wondered how to get Amma to agree.

  Thawakkul told them about the women’s home in Anuradhapura. ‘Normally, homes like this are only about timely meals; however, in this place, everyone works: they study something, they read, they dance, they sing, they do gardening … and I think Yoga will like the place. Not only that, I have asked them to make arrangements for Yoga to use her electronic hardware skills. Hopefully we will get a good reply, Insha Allah.’

  She looked at each of the sisters in turns as she said that. Although Kala baulked at the idea of her Akka being sent to a home, she realized she should not stand in the way of what would give Yoga peace of mind. She also knew for sure that there was no other way, so she remained silent.

  ‘Akka, just listening to you gives me strength. Please send me to that place. How long can I stay like chaff tied up in a sack? Even if I just do some gardening and grow vegetables I will feel useful.’

  ‘Let’s see. We have to get a reply from them. But first we have to do something about getting you a leg. If you go to Siththandi, when will you come back?’

  As she hadn’t made the arrangements for this journey, Yoga had no idea when she would return or if she would come back at all.

  Thawakkul put forward an idea.

  ‘Yoga, come with me to Batticaloa. We’ll go to the organization for the handicapped and give them the measurements. Depending on what they say, we’ll decide what to do next. You can go to Siththandi another day. You can stay with my family in my house. The most important thing is to get a new prosthesis for you.’

  Kala f
elt that this was an excellent plan and one that would bring Yoga a lot of happiness. Considering that this trip to Siththandi was not something that Yoga had wanted or planned, no one would be affected by postponing or cancelling the trip for the time being. All Vathsala wanted was for Yoga to get out of the house and didn’t really care where she went. Kala knew that Yoga would be happy and have peace of mind if she went with Thawakkul.

  Although she liked Thawakkul’s suggestion, Yoga felt that no decision could be taken without asking Amma. She requested Kala to start the conversation when Amma came back.

  Amma generally danced to the tune Vathsala played on her magudi (the wind-instrument played by a snake-charmer). Yoga had given up waiting for Amma’s heart to soften towards her. Amma had just watched dispassionately as Yoga had attempted to commit suicide.

  Although Amma’s hard-heartedness hurt her, Kala didn’t want to wash their dirty linen in public, therefore, in Thawakkul’s presence she didn’t argue with Yoga about asking their mother’s permission.

  When Amma came back, she listened quietly to Kala’s hesitant narrative, cast a fulminating glance at Thawakkul and Sahayawathani and vanished indoors.

  Thawakkul was taken aback and disappointed with Pathma’s attitude. She seemed to be an unnatural mother to behave in such a cruel manner and not even understand that this move would be a deliverance for her daughter.

  From inside the room Pathma shrieked, ‘Kala, ask those people whether it would be possible to go straight to Siththandi from there, after the work is done.’

  Before Thawakkul could reply, Yoga put forward her idea, ‘Let’s call Siththandi Maama. He has a van, Kala. Surely he will come to Thawakkul’s house and take me.’

  ‘Yes, Akka, if you call, he’ll definitely come,’ was Kala’s endorsement and it became the general consensus.

  As soon as this was decided, Yoga went in to say good-bye to her mother. But Pathma turned her face away.

  ‘As far as Amma is concerned, I died a long time ago and she has buried me mentally. Only her promise to Appa has forced her to do this,’ thought Yoga bitterly.

  She felt both sorry and cross with her father for having forced Amma to make this stupid promise.

  ‘If Amma hadn’t come to Vavuniya, some other paths would have opened up for me. But because of Appa, those avenues disappeared without having manifested at all. Long ago, poverty and the need for security made them abandon me to the mercy of strangers to work as a maid. Now it looks like she can’t wait to bundle me out with Thawakkul.’

  THREE

  When the darkness lifts, then do men see

  The Truth; blissful they are, and from all delusion free.

  (Thirukkural 352)

  1

  ‘Asalamu Aalaikum…’

  When she heard a male voice calling out this greeting, Nisha adjusted her head-covering.

  Her hands were covered with the viscid innards of a jackfruit. She had been massaging oil into her fingers and palms to wipe it off, but her hands were still sticky. She scrubbed the stubborn residue with dishwashing detergent in the kitchen sink and wiped her hands on the kitchen towel. The aroma of the delicious Urukamam jackfruit that Habeeb had brought home the day before had permeated the house, rendering it difficult to concentrate on her work. Whichever part of the house she went to and whatever task she tried to do, the jackfruit drew her to itself. She had resolutely decided to take up the jackfruit project only after she completed the household chores. As Habeeb had promised, the pulp segments were light orange in colour and incredibly sweet like they had been dipped in honey. She had been wholly engrossed in extracting the fleshy pulp from their bed of gooey thick fibre and seeding them. It had been a labour of love, because her whole family loved the fruit.

  ‘Asalamu Aalaikum…’

  The same male voice repeated politely and the doorbell pealed this time.

  ‘This has become a nuisance with beggars ringing the doorbell. Soon they will start using cell phones to beg,’ she grumbled wearily. She started moving towards the door but ran back to the kitchen, opened a cupboard and groped around inside a plastic box. She took out a ten-rupee note and ran again towards the door.

  The door-bell was ringing non-stop.

  ‘Che, today I should say something. He just came the day-before yesterday. Not just coming to the door, he is also in a great hurry!’

  She was thinking of the beggar who came two or three times a week. She opened the door in an irritated manner.

  Four nattily-dressed, beefy young men stood on the porch, three of who were bearded. Two motorbikes were parked by the gate which had been left wide open.

  ‘Who are you and what do you want?’ she asked, her eyebrows raised in suspicion.

  ‘This is Thawakkul’s house, isn’t it?’

  She was fairly sure that these men were neither Thawakkul’s colleagues nor her acquaintances. Their manner clearly indicated that they were the self-styled ‘leaders of the community’ who considered themselves the bona fide Sunnah, who believed that they adhered strictly to the Islamic way of life prescribed in the teachings of the Prophet. Nisha sensed that they had come to cause trouble and hence, although she was on the defensive, she remained polite. She was relieved that there was no one else at home.

  ‘Yes, this is Thawakkul’s house. What is this about?’

  ‘Thawakkul is your daughter, isn’t she? Where is she? And where is Thawakkul’s Vappa?’

  The series of questions worried Nisha.

  ‘They aren’t here. Who are you and what do you want?’ Her voice sounded firm and a little irritated.

  ‘Why are you agitated, Umma?’ said one of them rudely. ‘It isn’t enough to just bear a girl-child, you have to know how to bring her up properly. Your daughter is roaming around like an untethered nanny-goat. SINCE YOU WON’T REPRIMAND HER, WE WILL!’

  ‘Young man, kindly lower your voice. We’re respectable and honourable folk,’ she replied calmly.

  ‘So, we’re shouting and you’re living with “honour”? Can you even tell me what that looks like? Thawakkul! Thawakkul!’ the man bellowed craning his neck to peer past Nisha into the house. ‘She and her name!’ he sneered. ‘We now realize that you do not understand this kind of talk, so we will speak in a language that you do understand. We have come to drag your daughter to the mosque and tonsure her. We’ll then flay her with serrated palmyra leaves. She is arrogant enough to think that she is a man.’

  ‘We have lookouts posted everywhere to throw acid on various parts of her body,’ snapped a tall, dark man in a louder and harsher voice. ‘The time has come for her to be crushed and destroyed!’

  Nisha’s legs trembled so badly that she nearly lost her balance.

  The dark man walked out through the gate and the other three followed him, glaring at Nisha.

  ‘Yah Allah, what kind of a trial this is? Why do these devils have their eyes on my family?’ thought Nisha in despair, her heart palpitating wildly as she carefully shut the door and bolted it. She paced the floor agitatedly until her legs gave way. She leaned against the wall and slid to the floor in a daze.

  Her first instinct was to telephone her family immediately and then she decided not to alarm them needlessly.

  ‘But Thawakkul has gone to Mavadivempu,’ she thought. ‘What if these fellows waylay her? And she has such a temper. I think I had better call her and ask her to return immediately.’

  Should she, shouldn’t she? She was so confused. She couldn’t even stand up, she felt utterly drained.

  She eventually tottered to the telephone and dialled Thawakkul’s number. Twice, thrice and then ten times … twenty-eight times. There was no answer; the telephone just kept ringing at the other end.

  ‘Allah, you have to save her!’ she muttered trying hard not to panic. ‘You have to guide her and keep her safe,’ Nisha sobbed.

  The dire threats of the villainous-looking men kept reverberating in her ears. She sank back to the floor, leaned against the wall and pl
aced the cell phone on her knee. It was a sweltering hot day and Nisha was sweating profusely. She continued trying to contact Thawakkul.

  She remembered that Thawakkul had hired Azeem’s auto-rickshaw for the trip and decided to call his number. Unfortunately his phone was switched off.

  The door-bell rang making Nisha’s heart skip a beat. Who could it be?

  The bell pealed again, and then, again. To Nisha’s terrified ears it sounded like the bell was getting louder by the minute.

  She stood dithering in front of the door wondering whether or not to open it.

  Her tongue had cleaved to the roof of her mouth and she couldn’t even ask who it was.

  She braced herself and opened the door.

  ‘Why so long to answer the door, Umma? Where were you?’

  Upon seeing Gulfer, all her pent-up emotions burst forth and she hugged her daughter and wept. Her hands shaking.

  ‘Umma, what happened? Why are you crying? Talk to me, Umma!’ said Gulfer in consternation.

  Only Azeem knew what Thawakkul did on a daily basis and he alone knew her schedule for the following day. Several busy bodies had tried in vain to pump him for information about her.

  He was aware that he had temporarily evaded them but they had taken his cell-phone number. ‘Just tell us your whereabouts when we call you,’ said one of the thugs. Frightened, he had switched off his phone.

  Although Thawakkul invariably told him her plan for the next day, he wouldn’t tell anyone about it, not even the people in his house.

  When the bullies tried browbeating Azeem’s poor Umma, she had said, ‘He never tells us anything about all that. He goes out in the morning and is usually home for the evening prayers. If he does not go far, he comes home for lunch.’

  Azeem knew some of these men.

  During the four or five days that Thawakkul had been away, several events had occurred that did not bode well. A group of malcontents had assembled and planned to mete out their idea of justice to Thawakkul.