It was Tuesday afternoon.
The second day in Shibly’s profession was over. He had decided to vacate the school quarters on that day itself.
He had called the contact number of the Akbar mosque that the Imam had given that morning.
The rent for the Akbar mosque room was very reasonable.
Izzadeen sir was to return to Marudur after the previous day’s unfortunate incident, changing his original plan of staying in the Eastern province until next Sunday.
Rizwan sir and Minhaj Firdaws were too busy and unable to help him find a suitable place in a hurry.
Shibly thought it was better to finalize and get the Akbar mosque room.
He knew that it would be difficult to rent a room in Marudur. It is not an urban area and is in fact a remote village, despite having easy access to Vijayapura town.
Rarely do outsiders get to stay here. So renting out a portion of a house was not a popular income source for many people in Marudur. Even if there were facilities, people would have concerns when renting out to a bachelor. In this sense, Shibly thought it would be more comfortable staying in a room attached to a mosque.
He packed everything. His stay in the quarters was not long enough. There were not many things to arrange and clean. He locked the house and got to the walking path.
He should hand over the key. He went to the Principal’s house and pressed the calling bell. A young man opened the door.
Shibly had seen him before.
It was Hamzy, the principal’s son. He had seen him in the hospital along with Mohideen Hajiyar and Doctor Zaidh.
“Hi, it's the bookworm? Welcome, bro”, the take-it-easy looking young man told Shibly.
****
Shakira was too upset to concentrate on that day’s lessons. She was the Principal’s daughter and a law student.
The Lecturer was explaining the legal system of Sri Lanka. “What is the residuary law of Sri Lanka? Residuary law means the basic law. Many people think it is English law. But, it’s not. Roman-Dutch law is the residuary law of this country. It was introduced by the Dutch. When Ceylon was ceded to the British, the British assured in their 1799 declaration that the existing laws of the country would continue to exist. That is how the Roman-Dutch law became the residuary law of this country”.
Shakira was struggling to keep his concentration on what the lecturer had to say. He felt the lecture hall to be unprecedentedly hot. She was sweating badly. Somehow she managed to take down the notes properly. Eventually, the lecture that continued for an era came to an end.
Shakira and her friend Nilanthi started walking towards the canteen.
“You alright?”, Nilanthi asked Shakira, “You looked so tired. Anything wrong?”.
“Not really. My father wasn’t well. Someone hit my father. That's why I was worried”.
“Oh my goodness..! What happened? You didn’t tell me...!?”, exclaimed Nilanthi.
“No. he is alright. Nothing to worry about”, Shakira said, “there was a family problem between my father and one of my uncles. That uncle is one of the powerful men in our village. Yesterday someone hit my father. Everyone knows it was my uncle”.
“Really? Oh, my god..! Are you sure it was your Uncle?”.
“Hundred percent. There is no one else with the guts to wag their tail at my father. Now they say that two grade nine schoolboys hit my father and they have decided to keep their names secret to protect their future”.
“Incredible. Any police complaints lodged?”
“I don’t know. The only reliable source of information I have is my brother. But, he is an idiot, as stubborn as my mother”, Shakira said, “Nilanthi, please give me a minute. I know how to get the things done out of my idiot brother”.
Shakira dialled her brother Hamzi's mobile number.
Hamzi’s phone was ringing. It was a Tamil caller tune song. Shakira got irritated. She was not so fond of Tamil songs.
Hamzi answered after several seconds of ringing.
“What are you doing?”, Shakira asked.
“What do you want me to do?”.
“No, I just asked, what are you doing?”
“What else? playing table tennis”.
“You are an irresponsible fellow, Hamzi. You are playing when a terrible thing has happened to our father”.
“What else can I do? I am not a doctor. If I was, I would have gone to the nursing home and been bandaging him. Unfortunately, I am not a doctor. I am extremely sorry, sister”, Hamzi said in a mocking tone.
“Our father is so lucky that you are not a doctor. At least, his life is safe from your stubbornness".
“Ah, Ah, It is so funny. I will laugh later, okay?! I must tell you something, sister. You’ve got some sense of humour these days. Keep it up”.
“Jokes apart. I am not talking about our father's physical condition. I know he is alright. He is recovering. But, what about our dignity?”
“Dignity? Have we ever got such a thing?”
“Hamzi… just shut up your radio box mouth and listen”.
“Go on”
“You know those two grade-nine boys, right?”
“You mean those two boys who hit our father? Of course, I know them very well. They live close-by Akbar mosque. I saw them with my own eyes when they hit our father. Such a terrible scene”.
“Okay, Listen. You send a voice note to all Marudur social media groups with the information about the incident and those boys”.
“Why? Uncle Mohideen told me to keep this a secret”.
“You are so obedient to uncle Mohideen, it seems?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your so-called uncle Mohideen knows very well that our father is the most powerful rival to his position”.
“So, what?”
“He had planned to hit our father”.
“How do you know?”
“My instinct says”.
“Really? My dear sister, you are a law student. Do you know there is such a thing called ‘presumption of innocence?”
“Here you go. Often you prove that you got a brain. Don’t try to be over smart. Because you are not. Spread the news as I said. Soon it will be clear who is innocent”.
Hamzi heard the calling bell ringing.
“Someone has come. I’ll talk to you later”.
“Listen Hamzi, do what I said if you have any backbone”.
“Will see”.
The line was disconnected.
“Hamdha, see what happens. I will teach you a very harsh lesson”, Shakira thought.
“Shakira, have you finished? Shall we go?”, Nilanthi came and asked Shakira.
****
“Hi, it's the bookworm? Welcome, bro”, Hamzi told Shibly. It would have been an understatement if we said Shibly got angry.
“Hi… I am Shibly. You must be Hamzi. Nice to meet you. I was staying in the school quarters. Now vacating the place. Shifting to a new room in Akbar mosque. I just came to hand over the keys”, Shibly tried to be as polite as possible.
“Your name is Shibly, Ah? Actually, my father told me another book worm has joined. Don’t take it personally. He has nicknames for everyone. Come in, bro”.
“No, thanks. I have to go”.
“You have your luggage. Got any vehicle?”
“No. I have to get down a three-wheeler or walk along”.
“Akbar mosque is not within walking distance. You can’t make it with the luggage. I will drop you. Come in and have a cup of tea, bro".
“No thanks, bro, I am not thirsty”.
“But, I am thirsty. Come in and give me company”.
Hamzy was either too immature or too smart. Shibly couldn’t ascertain this boy's character. Hamzi must be in his early twenties soon after his school years.
Shibly got into the house and sat on a sofa. It was a moderately luxurious house. Even his house looks this way. He felt comfortable.
“You went to the hospital?”
“I went today morning. My father was talking about you”.
“About the book worm?”
“Excellent, bro. That’s right”.
“How is your father?”.
“He is alright”, Hamzi said as if nothing happened. “You know, bro? My father has a nickname too?”
“What’s that?”
“Hitler”, Hamzi said, “I also have given a nickname to my elder sister. Guess what?”
“Mm… no idea….!!”
“Hitlera”.
Shibly could not control his laughter.
“Just now she called me. Giving me orders saying do this and that. I want to get rid of this whole lot of dictatorship”, Hamzi said.
Shibly was still laughing.
Hamzi’s mother brought them tea and handed over the tray to Hamzi.
“How are you, son?”, she asked Shibly customarily and went inside. It looked like she was crying.
Shibly realized his mistake. A terrible thing has happened in this house. Hamzi’s father practically faced a near-death last evening. Of course, he is alright now. However, the shock wouldn’t be so easy to overcome. In this situation, how could Shibly laugh this aloud?
But, it was because of Hamzi. It is he who was talking about all these useless things without any sense of seriousness. Shibly wanted to change the direction of the conversation.
“So, you must have finished your schooling?”
“Somehow finished”
“Where did you study?”
“Actually, I joined a famous boys’ school in Kandy. Every day my father was getting complaints. To save his face, he brought me here. I did my whole studies in my native soil”, Hamzi said proudly.
“Now you are a law student?”
“No, who said?”
“I just thought, because of this souvenir”, Shibly showed a souvenir on the table.
“Oh, it was my sister’s. She studies law. Not me. I always wanted to be a software engineer”.
“So, you study software engineering?”
“No. I don’t even have a computer”.
“Really?”
“My father didn’t buy me a computer. Finally, I said I must learn at least typing. Can you guess what he did?”
“No, what?”
“He bought and gave me a second-hand typewriter”.
“Typewriter? I think you're kidding”.
“All I say is nothing but the truth. The typewriter is over there. I type all my assignments using this one. My lecturers are scolding me. My friends are mocking me. You should understand what type of personality you are going to work under, I mean my father’s personality”.
Shibly burst into laughter endlessly.
“So, what do you really study now?”
“Business Management”.
“Now your father is happy?”
“Not at all. He has his own definition for everything. For him, management and software engineering are not knowledge at all. He likes only the hardcore sciences like chemistry, physics and biology”.
“Okay Hamzi, let me leave. It’s getting late. See you later”.
“Wait, bro. I will drop you”.
****
Shibly’s Diary
It was evening 5.30 pm.
I was travelling to Akbar mosque on Hamzi's bike.
Many traditional aspects were still parts of this village. Kids were playing many traditional countryside games. Women had gathered in the courtyards and were gossiping. Life looked as if it was moving at a slow pace.
All these pleasant features were part of even my village, several years ago. Nevertheless, life has completely changed over the years. We had to sacrifice the comforts of the countryside for the sake of urbanization.
The Akbar Mosque area was not the core part of Marudur. It was separated by a crystal clear stream and an emerald green paddy field from one end to another. It was one of the finest scenes I have ever seen in my life. I fell in love with the scene at the first sight.
Marudur is not a rich neighbourhood overall. However, this Akbar mosque area looked so rich. There were big mansions. Even the mosque was so big. Just like Minhaj’s neighbourhood.
I got off the bike. I felt a true sense of gratitude towards Hamzi. If I had to walk, I would have suffered. It must be more than two kilometres from the quarters.
“Thank you, Hamzi. It was so helpful”, I said.
“Forget it, bro”, Hamzi said, “I want to show you something”.
He showed me the images of those two grade nine boys.
“These are the culprits who hit my father”, Hamzi said.
I was looking at him questioningly.
“Why are you showing this this to me?”
“I couldn’t do anything. But, I hope you will be able to do something”.
“What can I do?", I said helplessly, "I am a new person. Having no remarkable contacts here”.
“Writing a social media post wouldn’t be a hard task for you. Would it be?”
“Social media post? What am I supposed to write?”.
“I don’t know. I have no idea. You could write your perspective about the incident as an outsider”.
Hamzi left. I was standing for a few more minutes being unable to comprehend what’s going on.
((To be continued))
_ _ _
* 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.
** Vijayapura and Marudur are fictional places.
Riza Jaufer
Akurana -Kandy,
Sri Lanka
