Ummath

by Sharmila Seyyid

  ‘Yah Allah! We have nobody but you! These neighbours just come to watch the fun and won’t lift a finger to help us and our relatives live too far away. Save us, Yah Allah!’ she prayed.

  ‘We beg Him several times a day, but it makes no difference,’ she thought; and then she quickly told herself that she should not lose her faith and told herself firmly that Allah will not forsake them.

  ‘Magal Thawakkul, its morning. Everyone get ready quickly!’ said Habeeb.

  ‘What are you saying? Where are we going?’ asked Nisha haltingly.

  ‘It’s not like we have no one to support us,’ replied Habeeb. ‘You’re going to Oddamavadi to Subair Chacha’s house.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Don’t waste time asking questions, Nisha,’ he replied brusquely. ‘Take the children and go. I have a few odd jobs to finish; I’ll get them done and join you.’

  Nisha, however, stubbornly refused to leave the most important member of the family behind at this critical juncture in their lives. ‘If we go, we should all go together,’ she insisted.

  ‘Magal Thawakkul, convince Umma to go with you girls. I have to deposit enough cash for a cheque I have issued. If I don’t do so, people will say that is why we ran away from the village. Call Azeem and ask him to hire a van for you to travel to Oddamavadi. As soon as I finish my work here, I’ll catch the ten thirty bus and join you there.’

  Thawakkul’s mind felt frozen. She walked around like a mechanical doll.

  Azeem had been trying all the car hire companies he knew, but no van was available on that day.

  By now it was nearly eight in the morning.

  When they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching, they thought it was Azeem.

  But then the sound of booted feet didn’t sound familiar. Habeeb came out to the porch.

  ‘Are you Habeeb?’

  ‘Yes, sir!’

  ‘Is your daughter Thawakkul?’

  ‘Yes. What’s this about?’

  ‘We’re from the Intelligence Department. We need to interrogate Thawakkul alone.’

  When he heard the words Intelligence Department, Habeeb’s heart skipped a beat. Why on earth was the Intelligence Department interested in her? He furiously searched his mind for a plausible explanation.

  Thawakkul, listening from inside the house, came out to the porch. Nisha pressed her hands to her chest to still her palpitating heart.

  ‘I’m Thawakkul,’ she said. She asked them to sit down in the front room and then sat herself down. ‘So, tell me, sirs, what have you come to interrogate me about?’

  Her face remained placid and her words clear. She understood the reality that the only way to deal with this situation was to confront it in a calm and controlled manner without resorting to histrionics and drama. She had completely overcome the fear she had felt in the morning.

  ‘We have heard that you have been working to reform the LTTE.’

  ‘Allah! That is a lie, sir, my daughter would never do something—’ began Habeeb

  ‘Shh,’snapped one of the men. ‘Nobody else should speak!’

  ‘I think somebody has misinformed you, sir. I work as the chief co-ordinator for the Forum for Social Unity’s Batticaloa office. As I care deeply for the society and feel sympathy for those who have been adversely affected by the political circumstances, I also work in association with a few other welfare organizations to do the best I can to rehabilitate these unfortunate people.’

  Habeeb was silently praying and glancing worriedly at Nisha, who was weeping copiously into her pallu. Their younger three daughters were sitting silently in a bedroom with strict instructions from Nisha not to show themselves to the men. Wide-eyed with fear, they were listening intently to the conversation. Sano was sobbing silently.

  A tall, dark man with a broad chest and a very harsh appearance asked, ‘You frequently go into recently liberated areas, that—’

  ‘Our organization is working on a plan to help women who are suffering because of the war. Therefore, I visit all the offices in all the villages within the district. I try to meet all afflicted women…’

  ‘You’ve allowed some women Tigers to stay in your house—’

  ‘I don’t see them as Tigers. I see them as women who have suffered because of the war. I have helped them get the medical help they require and find jobs to rehabilitate them into peaceful society.’

  ‘Which organizations do you work for?’

  ‘None. I’ve helped many women as a private individual. For my work with the Forum for Social Unity, I’m paid a monthly salary as their co-ordinator. However, I’m not merely a co-ordinator, I also work as a social activist.’

  ‘Has the Forum for Social Unity given you an identity card?’

  ‘They have, sir.’

  ‘Can we see it?’

  ‘I’ll show it to you, sir. But before that, you said that you’re from the CID. May I see your identity card, please?’ Thawakkul asked softly.

  The men exchanged glances, their expressions deadpan.

  ‘You don’t need to see it,’ replied the dark man. ‘Just answer our questions.’

  ‘Magal, bring your ID card and show it to them,’ Habeeb urged worriedly.

  ‘Sirs, I believed that you were from the CID and answered all your questions. Please understand, I’m not saying that I will not show you my identity card. I just want to feel confident that I’m indeed addressing my answers to the CID and not somebody impersonating intelligence officers. Although I’m only trying to help others with the purest of motives, I’ve been persecuted for quite some time now, along with my family.’

  The four rose with one accord.

  ‘Why doesn’t she just show her ID card and be done with it instead of talking so much?’ wondered Nisha irritably. ‘What if they get angry and do something terrible?’

  ‘We understand your position, Thawakkul. It’s okay. We believe you. But we’ll have to keep you under surveillance and you may have to come to our office in Batticaloa for interrogation at some point.’

  Their heavy boots thudded loudly as they filed out.

  The neighbours, who had been watching these strange goings on with bated breath, rushed in to quench their vulgar curiosity. Habeeb and Nisha patiently answered their silly questions. Thawakkul walked away and disappeared into her bedroom.

  ‘Look at your state, Habeeb. This is what comes of allowing a girl to do a man’s work.’

  ‘It must be serious if the CID themselves come to question the girl!’

  And so on and so forth.

  ‘Magal, why didn’t you show them your identity card?’ asked Habeeb when he managed to break away from their invasion of neighbours.

  ‘Vappa, I don’t think they were from the CID. Why didn’t they show us their ID to prove it? They seemed to have a lot of information about me, and more importantly, about my field of work. Most probably it’s the work of Ranuka and Powsan who gave me trouble in Anuradhapura; that is what I suspect.’

  ‘It could be that they gave wrong information to the CID to frame you. What if these men were definitely from the CID? From their cropped hair, their broad chests, their walk, they definitely looked like trained CID agents. Perhaps they had come without identity proof; they may have been hesitant…’

  ‘Oh, magal, what Vappa says must be true. The way they talked and acted, they didn’t seem like impersonators. Allah! What other disasters are you going to visit upon us?’ cried Nisha.

  ‘Allah is there for everything,’ said Habeeb, herding his family into the house. ‘Please hurry up and pack…’

  In his view, it would be better to get as far away from this problem as possible and take stock of their situation before deciding on their next step. Trying to establish justice could end up destroying his daughter’s future.

  ‘Azeem spoke, Vappa. There are no vans available in the village at the moment. One van that was hired for a trip to Colombo should return probably in an hour’s time,’ said Gulfer in a low
faltering voice…

  ‘Why not send the girls in Azeem’s auto-rickshaw?’ asked Habeeb.

  Although this suggestion seemed to make the most sense for the present, the girls seemed hesitant. They didn’t want to be separated from their parents. However, they held their peace and remained silent.

  ‘Vappa, come,’ said Thawakkul reaching for her father’s hand.

  ‘I’ll come with Umma, magal. Go safely and call us as soon as you reach.’

  Halfway to the auto-rickshaw, Thawakkul turned and came back into the house.

  ‘Forgive me, Vappa,’ she said softly, her lips trembled.

  ‘No, da. This is all merely a test by Allah, just as He tests all the righteous. We have to go through it. Allah is testing us to see if we can come out of this better than we were before. Don’t worry, da. You are my brave little girl,’ he patted her head.

  ‘I have been nothing but trouble for you! I’m truly sorry.’

  ‘Magal, you’ve done nothing that I need to forgive. Rumours and gossip do not make us guilty. In Allah’s judgement we are innocent. Now chin up and cheer up.’

  Nisha and Habeeb embraced their daughter and patted her on her back.

  Although it was a tight squeeze in the little auto-rickshaw, no one minded, and the four girls huddled together quietly.

  Azeem sped across the distance to Oddamavadi. For the past several days, he had been worried that he was being tailed, and had parked his vehicle in a different place every night. He had returned from his periamma’s house in Kamminkuda only that morning.

  He felt very sorry at the plight of these normally vivacious young sisters.

  ‘Don’t worry! Allah will not let you down,’ he said encouragingly over his shoulder.

  When they went through Siththandi, Thawakkul thought of Yoga.

  She remembered her telephone conversation with Theivanai the previous day.

  ‘Yoga won’t be able to handle the news of Sathuriyan’s death. She’ll call me as soon as she gets her identity card. However, she should be told the bad news only after she is sent to Anuradhapura…’

  Her heart felt overcast with foreboding.

  7

  It was a pleasant evening with a cool breeze blowing in the pale yellow twilight. Yoga was with Sathuriyan in a banana grove with the light filtering through the long light-green leaves. Parrots, sparrows and other little birds trilled in the flowering shrubs around them. The scent of the myriad flowers wafted around in the moisture-laden air. Sathuriyan, holding Yoga’s hand, was whispering in her ear. She had just asked a question that was very intimate and poetic and she was laughing shyly at herself and she was giggling.

  A butterfly came by fluttering its wings, shining like something that has had a bath in vermilion and turmeric, its wings striped in black and blue.

  ‘Aiii, butterfly! Yoga clapped her hands delightedly.

  ‘Would you like me to catch it for you?’ asked Sathuriyan, his eyes transfixed on her beautiful face.

  ‘No, no. See how free and happy it is as it flies around. Capturing it would be so wrong.’

  ‘I agree, Yoga. I hate to see a bird caged to be raised as a pet. The nature of a bird is to fly, to not let it fly and to cage it is such a dreadful crime. Not allowing a bird to fly is a crime. Nevertheless, there are some sinful things that give us great pleasure.’

  ‘When we know it’s a sin, wouldn’t it be better to avoid it?’

  ‘All I would like to do is to spend my whole life like this, holding hands and talking to you.’

  ‘Me too. Can we change into butterflies, like this one here? We could flutter our wings and fly all around the world.’

  ‘Hold my hands tight, Yoga. I’ll never let you go and take you wherever I go. You are mine, Yoga … Yoga…’

  Cool hands were caressing her cheeks. Love is an edifice of dreams. Had her bridge of dreams taken her to Sathuriyan? She woke up with a start.

  Poovarasu was sitting beside her and caressing her forehead.

  ‘Maama … you! When did you come?’

  Agitated, she straightened her dress and tried to sit up.

  ‘Why are you so upset, ma? It’s only me,’ he said gently.

  Till then the days she had passed in Siththandi Maama’s house were halcyon days.

  ‘Maama, have they all … Maami, Thatsaaini, where…’ disjointed sentences emerged from Yoga’s still sleepy mind.

  She was uneasy at the thought of Maama watching her as she slept and caressing her.

  ‘No, they haven’t returned as yet. They plan to stay there overnight. Only I, your Maama, came back because you are here all alone. Only your Maama thinks of you. Who else is there to care about you?’

  His words filled her with revulsion.

  ‘How was Kala, Maama? How was she in her bridal finery? I feel really bad that I could not see her as a bride,’ she tried to talk in her normal affectionate manner without revealing the disgust surging within her.

  ‘Ah … she, of course, looked beautiful. But I was worried only about you.’

  ‘Why, Maama, I’m doing so well. I lack nothing here.’

  ‘Che! You seem to be a female with no understanding at all! I just want to keep you from lacking anything. It is really great to be born a girl. Yoga … Lakshmi…’

  His facial expression and tone were something she not seen or heard before. He caught hold of her hands and caressed her fingers. His voice was pleading in a sickening manner. Why was he behaving like this? She squirmed in confusion. He had never before entered her room.

  ‘I can’t believe that these soft hands carried a rifle!’

  His hands that were caressing her fingers now moved up her arms.

  She could barely believe that it was really Siththandi Maama who was behaving like this.

  It had been several weeks since she had moved here from Thawakkul’s house. Perhaps it was because she was a temporary guest that everybody behaved in an affectionate manner towards her.

  Poovarasu had four sons and two daughters. The youngest was a girl, Thatsaaini, who was younger than Yoga. She adored Yoga and very lovingly called her ‘Akka’.

  They had all wanted to take Yoga with them to Kala’s wedding. Poovarasu alone knew that she had been bundled off here only because they considered her a jinx. He had told them that Yoga had come to stay with them for a change of scene after being confined to her home for several months.

  Yoga appreciated the fact that he had cared enough to spare her the humiliation and shame and had not revealed her true situation to his family.

  However, the most important favour that she required of her Maama was still to be granted. He seemed to have completely forgotten about it although he had assured Thawakkul that it was his responsibility to take care of this matter. Yoga tried to remind him of his promise every other day.

  ‘Maama, won’t you help me get my identity card?’ Yoga had mock-chided him the previous day.

  ‘Be patient, ma. I’m looking into that as well. I’ve spoken to the village officer. He said we need your photograph. I thought we would take you to get photographed after Kala’s wedding.’

  ‘As soon as I get my identity card, I could go into the Home,’ thought Yoga. ‘I don’t know if they’ve spoken to Theivanai about my Sathuriyan. I must call Akka and ask her.’

  When Amma had come two days ago, Yoga was happy to see some changes in her. ‘What are you doing here, child. Do you like it here?’

  Just as Kala had predicted, with Vathsala Akka moving away, it looked like Amma was back to her old self.

  Amma had come to invite Maama’s family to come early and help with the wedding. As she invited them, she looked at Yoga from the corner of her eyes and sighed. Amma also noticed that her artificial leg had been fitted and seemed happy about this.

  An awful suspicion rose in her mind that perhaps Amma was merely pretending to be affectionate because this was Maama’s house. But she squelched that uncharitable notion. Yoga looked at the world through rose
-coloured spectacles and truly believed that all her castles in the air would soon be a reality. ‘What will I, an unlucky cripple, do in an auspicious place?’ She said, pretending that she had opted to not go to the wedding.

  ‘What Akka, how can you say that?’ Thatsaaini had protested. ‘Don’t you wish to see Kala’s wedding?’

  However, Yoga believed that the price of living was to deal with disappointments and sorrow with a brave face.

  ‘That child does not wish to go,’ Poovarasu had asserted. ‘Who knows what sorrows and problems she has?’ and at last they all stopped badgering Yoga.

  She extricated her hands from Maama’s clammy grip. ‘Yoga, your Amma has sent some food for you. Get up and come and eat.’

  ‘No, Maama, I’m not hungry. Please go to bed. I’m sleepy.’

  She had never imagined that Maami and the children would stay behind there. They had all left early in the morning. They had left early in the morning. Her lunch had been delivered by Maama’s younger son Tharshan who was a student at the university. He had great respect for Yoga.

  Poovarasu’s eldest daughter and two older sons were married. The daughter lived in Batticaloa town and the married sons lived with Poovarasu and his wife as a joint family. The house was very large and able to accommodate four or five nuclear families. Despite the occasional bickering, they lived fairly peacefully. Poovarasu, who could not bear to be parted from his grandchildren, had insisted that his sons stayed with them.

  Yoga had waited up until past nine o’clock that night, and when there was no sign of anyone returning, she had retired to bed somewhat disappointed.

  What a lovely dream that had been.

  And this old man had ruined it!

  ‘Yoga, why are you rejecting the love of this Maama?’

  ‘Maama, please go away … I don’t like your attitude … don’t you understand?’ Her voice was filled with rage and she pushed away his wandering hands. Poovarasu began to touch her legs.

  She tried to get up with the help of her walking stick. Poovarasu snatched the stick and flung it away.