The ones who has ever visited the greatest cities in the world like New York, Tokyo and Paris might call our village a “Hamlet”.
It is a hamlet in some respect, with its natural green surroundings, beautiful landscapes, thick bushes, skywards-grown trees, grasslands, paddy fields and more importantly slow-moving time where people have a lot of spare time to put their noses into other people’s lives.
But, it is not a hamlet in many other aspects.
Beside its twenty million population, Sri Lanka is a small nation in terms of its geography. Hence, it is only a few hours' distance to access any major metropolitan city from our so-called Hamlet.
Two ways of travelling to and from Colombo would cost not more than eight hundred rupees if you are a ‘stylish type’ to take an air-conditioned bus service.
Normal cheap bus services would cost half of this fare. So our people have sufficient outside contacts.
Don’t forget about the literacy rate of our country either. It is one of the best in the world. So our village is not real Hamlet, despite being in a somewhat remote location from Capital Colombo.
****
Seven O'clock in the morning.
A pleasant hill country morning.
The heated discussion could be heard as far as this end of the street lane.
They were very familiar voices belonging to the most influential people on this street.
Hussain Nana, Razmi Hajiyar, Insaf and Lareef sir. In our country, teachers of the male gender are respectfully addressed by the title 'sir'.
The land was still wet after last night’s rain. The morning coolness was prevailing everywhere. Despite it, the heat of their conversation could be felt in the whole village.
Many people dared not to come to the street and rather decided to take spectators’ role and watched through their half-opened doors or windows.
****
Their conversation was revolving around the complaint lodged by someone against their poultry farm. It was situated at the centre of village. The poultry farm belonged to Hussain nana and his son Insaf.
“Almost five years since we opened the farm. So far no problems. If anyone wants to start it now, after all these years, he did it beacause of jealousy. Jealousy alone. Nothing else…”, Hussain Nana declared.
“This is an open challenge to our status and dignity. whoever did it, we can’t just be idle” Razmi Hajiyar said angrily, who otherwise usually remains to keep calm.
“Does anyone know who did it?”, someone asked.
“Who Else? There are not many people dancing here. It is Azam. I have no doubt about it. Our village thug”, Hussain Nana’s son Insaf said.
It was obvious that they hated not only Azam, the one who dances but hated pronouncing his name itself.
Razmi Hajiyar talked now with his usual calmness. “As son Insaf says, Azam is the first suspect - the prime suspect indeed. Even if he didn’t, he would definitely have a hand on this”.
He stopped a second and watched around and then said in a voice that could be heard by only those three, “Everyone knows Azam would be the first one we would suspect. Such has been the quality of his relationship with us since he was a schoolboy. But, we shouldn’t forget that even Sahl sir or Banu could've done it. Their houses are far closest to the farm”.
“Possibilities are there. No doubt. But, I don’t think they could've done it. They haven’t got such strong spines”.
“Both of them are fearful creatures. That's definitely Azam’s handcraft. There's no reason to doubt it…”
“Yeah that’s right. We shouldn’t show mercy. We should teach him a tough lesson. Very very tough lesson”.
Razmi Hajiyar was thoughtful for a few seconds and then said: “All of you are right. Even If we think Azam didn't lodge the complaint, someone did it with a definite hope of Azam’s help, or probably by Azam’s encouragement. The lesson we teach Azam should be a lesson to the real culprit as well if the real culprit is someone else by chance… Azam needs a lesson for a long time. We have been merciful all these years simply because he was too young…”,
Razmi Hajiyar finished his concluding remarks and everyone agreed.
Azam and Insaf were classmates and both the young men were in their mid-twenties now.
“These days he's made it a habit, to quarrel with us, for everything”
“He started troubling even before our farm construction started. Right?”
“Yes of course he did. Huge trouble. We've to teach him who we are and how least valuable he is in the village. We've to settle the whole unsettled balances”.
“Shall we do something?”, Lareef sir asked.
They talked in a way that could barely be heard by others and then entered Hussain nana’s house.
After a few seconds, the street looked silent and normal as usual, as if nothing happened a few minutes ago.
****
Hussain nana is not just another normal average village person.
He was an extraordinary type of person. He used to wear trousers even in the eighties ?! Wearing trousers was not yet in common use in Muslim villages right back then.
Six feet height and appropriately built physique. He still resembles Bollywood stars though his young appearance has somewhat faded away with the passage of time.
Anyone in the village talking to him regarded him as highly educated. None of them knew his real educational qualifications though. It can't be, of course, more than secondary school.
Reading newspapers was one of his compulsory daily obsessions. So he was well familiar with national and global events.
Most of the news items did not have any practical significance in his daily life. Nevertheless, such knowledge accumulated was one of his key instruments in maintaining an efficient conversation alive with the village folks. It helped him to maintain a necessary status distance from other village folks.
He would talk to them about the details of the news that an average village folk rarely finds time to pay attention to.
He is one of the types of people who are capable of always leaving a good first impression.
He had married Razmi Hajiyar’s elder sister, and it was alone one of his sufficient credentials.
Despite staying in his bride's home that a dowry-gift his wife brought with herself, he could maintain a well-decorated image within the family and the village.
Razmi Hajiyar is a multi-millionaire.
Lareef sir had married Razmi Hajiyar’s younger sister. For some reasons, Razmi Hajiyar’s both the sisters’ husbands were not financially well off.
Insaf was Hussain nana’s only son and all his other children were girls.
****
Safeguarding the poultry farm was so important for all these four influential men of our village for one reason or another.
The farm is being run in the name of Hussain nana and his son Insaf.
Real investment had secretly come from Razmi Haajiyar, except the land of the farm which is in Hussain nana’s wife’s name.
Before the farm was constructed, Razmi Hajiyar himself thought that the farm should be constructed out of the residential neighbourhood, possibly in one of his own lands.
Hussain nana, however, wanted a stronghold on the business and insisted that the farm should be constructed within his own land, regardless of his land being situated in the residential area.
Hussain nana worried that Insaf should not wander wildly with village boys, after finishing his studies.
Hussain nana calculated correctly that Insaf might sometimes be unable to find a proper job straight away after his graduation.
In a highly populated country with a poorly performing economy like ours, who could assure you, you would be able to find a job straight away after your graduation?
Such a struggle for employment would be a definite black mark on Hussain nana’s status, let alone Insaf’s.
Nobody would care about the economy that is unable to create sufficient jobs.
Nobody would consider the long queue of youngsters competing for a single position.
It would be treated as Insaf’s and his father’s problem alone.
Eventually, Hussain Nana and Insaf would be the ones at the end of the day to be at the receiving end of the blame.
This poultry farm was a result of such a pre-thinking.
Insaf would graduate, come back to the village like a King who has won all the countries in the East and the West and then simply take responsibility for the farm.
All mouths would get shut. Problem over.
For Lareef sir, the fourth influential man in the village, he was well aware that his power source was completely rooted in the destiny of the other three powerful men and therefore, he has always been their wholehearted blind supporter.
In this way, the poultry farm was special to all of them.
****
For all logical and rational reasons, it is important to the whole street, if something is important to these four men.
Even in public matters, as responsible people, these four men will first discuss and take decisions, and only afterwards others would be invited to the discussions.
Amazingly the final decisions they take in public are more likely to be similar to the outcome of their initial “closed-door discussions”.
***
For the next few days, well-organized propaganda was held. Men, women, children, elders… everyone took part. All available propaganda means were used up.
The plan was fairly simple. Issuing a request letter to the respective local authority to license such kind of business initiatives for the economic growth of the village, which is otherwise least developed without sufficient livelihood means.
The letter was also requesting the authority not to be blinded by the selfish few who do have other personal agenda.
They knew well it may not be sufficient on a legal ground. But, it has fulfilled a more fruitful function. “Azam should feel he is isolated and that everyone in the village is with us, including his close relatives”.
“More importantly Sahl sir and Baanu should be with us. Insaf..! it is your responsibility. You are the right one to tackle those two”, Razmi Hajiyar had uttered with a meaningful smile.
*****
Congregational maghrib prayer came to an end in the Masjid.
Sahl sir was praying ‘after maghrib nafl prayer’.
Insaf had to wait for Sahl sir outside the mosque.
Twilight was amazing.
It was dark-orange in the far edge of the western sky.
Sun has already set. Maghrib prayer has been performed.
Night has officially started despite still being in its adolescence. Still, the night had some features of the dayhood.
Your eyes could still sense a remarkable natural light.
Insaf wasn’t interested in all this nature’s art of twilight and the sunset. Even the pleasant evening wind did not comfort him.
His only focus was on Sahl sir, and this meeting was part of his propaganda.
“Assalamu Alaikum, Uncle”
“Wa... Wa... Wa'alaikum Salam”, Sahl sir said with an uncomfortable smile.
At first, he had not noticed Insaf.
Sahl sir's eyes took some seconds to adapt to the darkness of the twilight shadow from the artificial lighting of the mosque.
Moreover, he wasn’t fond of this often intruding dominant-seeking young man who is still in his mid-twenty.
“Is it Insaf? How are you? I thought you were in Colombo”.
“No, uncle, I couldn’t leave. Noone of us left. You heard of the mess Azam has made, right?”
“Yeah, of course, I heard about it. Everyone talks about it”.
“I don’t know what he is thinking about. Always starting quarrels. Never corporates with the village. Always having some old problems in mind. Our village has a thug now”, Insaf laughed at his own joke.
Nowadays, it has become an obsession of the Hussain nana family to frame Azam as a "thug".
Sahl sir remained silent, with obvious discomfort.
“We all live side by side. Everyone is blood relative in one way or another. He didn’t consider any of these things. He simply went and filed a complaint with the authority”.
Sahl sir never thought this to be a pre-planned meeting. He thought it was just a coincidence to meet Insaf. At first, he did not take it seriously and he was just talking casually.
After breathing, Insaf continued, “If our farm is a problem, then it must be a problem to you and Banu Dhadha, in the first place. Because, your houses are closer to the farm than Azam’s. Am I right, uncle?”.
All the same, without the pre-warning, Sahl sir found himself checkmated.
Many things flashed in his mind.
As Insaf said, his house was one of the closest to the poultry farm. It has given tremendous troubles all these years. Not only the night hours but also the day hours were filled with mosquitoes.
The flies and the bad smell were so disgusting and unbearable.
Sahl sir was a God-fearing, just man. Nevertheless, he felt in a position to be so weak to speak out against the influential men of the village.
He was helpless.
In fact, he was secretly happy for Azam’s dauntless efforts…
Within a fraction of a second, all thoughts flashed in Sahl sir’s mind.
He was reluctant to respond to Insaf's question.
Insaf’s sharp eyes did not fail to notice this hesitation.
“Oh… Yeah”, finally words came out of Sahl sir's mouth.
Both men had almost reached Sahl sir’s residence.
“Insaf, Why don’t you come and have a cup of tea. It is long since you visited us”, Sahl sir invited. It was not a real invitation. There was not any real emphasis in his voice.
Insaf was aware that it is a customary invitation and the appropriate response must be a ‘no’.
Unlike his father Hussain nana who prefers to have a respectable distance from others and never intrudes in other’s privacy, Insaf was an intruding character and he did not want to lose this opportunity.
After all, an invitation is literally an invitation; could Sahl sir say that he did not invite?
Indeed no. Then why on earth he has to hesitate…!
“How can I deny it, when you warmly invite me?” Insaf said sarcastically and both entered and sat on a chair in the outside veranda of Sahl sir’s undecorated house.
Insaf was wise enough to keep the scope of the conversation within the radius of the ongoing issue.
“Dad, Razmy uncle, Lareef uncle, myself and all of us were talking about it. Our village is still a hamlet. We are the least developed. No sufficient opportunities for livelihoods. We can’t always be relying on Colombo, Kandy and Kurunegala. Government policy is also favouring the concept of self-sufficient villages. We have to move from our old way of thinking. Economic prosperity in a village would not ever come into being from nothing. Someone should invest. Someone should be ready to take risks. In fact, we have to sacrifice some of our comforts. No pain no gain”.
Sahl sir was speechless. ‘Spellbound’ would be the accurate word.
“What has Azam done for the development of this village? Has he done at least a single good thing to this village?”, asked Insaf and he himself answered, “No, nothing at all. When others try to do something, he makes all the mess to somehow put a full stop…”.
Character assassination would be the accurate phrase this time. At the end of the day, Insaf has all the qualities to be a politician. Who knows, he might be someday...!!!
‘Thug’ Azam’s character has been sufficiently assassinated for the last few days. Banu Dhadha (elder sister) came out of her house after hearing Insaf's voice.
The distance between both houses was a few seconds.
“See Insaf Thambi (younger brother), the dog’s work Insaf has done. I went to Azam's house today. His mother and sister were acting as if they knew nothing”, the middle-aged woman was telling while she was still walking towards them.
“Yeah Banu Dhatha, We all are blood relatives. Living side by side. Neighbours. Still from time to time he doesn’t fail to show his true colour and his thug nature…”.
“Absolutely right. I almost cried when I first heard the news…”, Banu Dhatha said.
“No one is happy. That's what I was talking to Sahl uncle. Let’s all of us in the village hand over a letter to the local authority. Let’s request to allow our farm to function as usual as before. Let’s say these types of businesses are necessary to develop our village. The farm has been functioning for five years, and has caused no trouble at all, to anyone”.
****
People and trees were jogging backwards.
Railway stations reminding of our British colonial past were passing one by one.
Udarata-Menike was restlessly heading towards its hill country destination, from Colombo Fort.
A pleasant sadness of another sunset and twilight.
Orange dyed clouds all over the sky.
Sky touching green mountains had almost changed their colours into black.
The world was slowly falling into the hands of the darkness.
Azaam was returning home from Colombo.
His sister had whatsapped all events in the village. She was Azam's only supporter after all.
Even his mother was not so passionate about what he has been up to these days. She simply wanted him to behave himself.
The news was not unexpected.
Everyone in the village had signed the letter requesting the local authority to license the poultry farm to continue its function as before.
“Thangachchi, who are the people who signed?”
“Almost everyone. Except myself and Umma. Even people abroad have sent their letters signed”.
“Really…?! What about Sahl Uncle…?”
“Yes. He too…”
“Baanu Dhadha?”
“She was the first one to sign…”
Azam felt exhausted and felt lonely.
Poultry farm was causing serious environmental and health problems. It must be built off the residential neighbourhood in the first place. This is not his personal problem. Rather a serious public health hazard.
He sternly stood against the idea of the poultry farm since the beginning, and he personally met everyone in the village and explained.
Nothing happened.
No one dared to support him and everyone decided to keep silent.
Never mind.
They may be helpless and dare not to talk. At least, they could have refrained from signing.
What to say about Sahl sir and Baanu Dhatha?
Their houses are closest to the farm. They are the ones most affected, nevertheless, they have decided to sign.
Legal actions may still be possible. You can’t change the laws for your fancies and the whims. However, his moral right to take any further steps has been questioned.
The village has sternly said, “Please shut up, oh the son of Izzadeen, concentrate only on your own business. You are not entitled to talk on behalf of us”.
He was more than sure that the ‘Four Men’ wanted him to be psychologically isolated. Nothing more.
The village was under control when his Father Izzadeen Hajiyar was alive.
In his white Jubba and white Sarom, he was a fair-complexioned strong man, resembling an Arab.
He was a god-fearing, just, honest, kind and brave man those days.
He was an ideal father and an ideal village leader.
When it came to anything jeopardizing the wellbeing of the village, as a leader he was not flexible to anyone, regardless of their political parties, movement backgrounds or financial status.
It was a situation when he was financially well off.
His social status flopped along with his financial flop.
When Izzadeen Hajiyar passed away when he was still in his early forties, his social reputation was also forever buried in the grand mosque maqbara.
None of its leftovers remained for Azam to enjoy when he grew up.
There are many social activists in the village, who have their head offices in Colombo.
They were mostly happy and content in completing the tasks given by their Colombo leadership.
They had a lack of will to face the bitterness and the harshness of the ground reality and were hardly ready to talk the truth to the authority when they were supposed to talk.
Many people backbit behind the backs and hypocritically praised them on the face.
There have been others too who chose to keep silent. They were higher than Azam, in the social and financial ladder, higher …. and higher than he can ever dream of...
Azam felt a true sense of honour, contentment and happiness for having completed his responsibility, within his limited capacity and within the boundaries of the law. He wholeheartedly praised God for giving this opportunity.
“I played my role. Rest is up to the people in charge. They are the ones who have to answer in the court of God in the hereafter”, his heart was content. Even in the grief of defeat, he felt his heart to be unprecedentedly pure and to be as clear as a mountain stream.
End
Riza Jaufer
Akurana - Kandy,
Sri Lanka
(Characters, events and the places in this story are fictional and a mere product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real-world events or characters is merely coincidental).
