It was afternoon. The shadows were growing. Asr, the afternoon prayer had already been performed. After raining for hours, the yellow evening sunlight was awesome.
The soil and the leaves on the trees were still wet, thanks to the morning rain.
The atmosphere was pleasant like a Ramadan evening.
“Where is brother Minhaj (Minhaj Nana)?”, Rushdha came to the backyard of the house asking her mother.
Rushdha had been sleeping all these hours after returning from Colombo. Her mother was watering her vegetable plants in the backyard.
“He went with someone searching for a boarding room”, replied her mother.
“Boarding room? For whom?”.
“For someone who is a new staff member in the school”, her mother said, “You know, that day this new boy came to our house. The terrible news came when he was talking to your brother. It seemed it was the first day of his job. What a terrible way to start a job…?!”, her mother was chuckling at her own joke.
The terrible news she was talking about was the attack on the principal.
“A poor soul”, Rushdha said.
“Umma, I wanted to ask you something”, Rushdha said hesitatingly.
“Yeah”
“Mm.. When is Minhaj going to get married?”.
Rushdha asked all of a sudden. Her mother felt as if she suddenly touched the fire.
“Minhaj? Getting married? What are you talking about?” mother got furious.
Her mother sounded as if the discussion of Minhaj getting married was taboo. She stood straight, stopped watering plants, and was ready to listen to Rushdha. "Why do you rush for his marriage?", the mother asked quietly.
“No. My brother is already twenty-six. He has to get married, right?”.
“That’s true. But, what to do? It’s our destiny. Your elder sister is still unmarried. She is twenty-eight”, the mother cried, “Then you are here. You must get married. We have to think of your brother’s marriage only afterwards”.
“I got an idea. It only crossed my mind on my way to Marudur from Colombo”.
“Yeah..”, her mother muttered, "What's that?".
“You know my friend Hamdha, right?”.
“Your friend? Who?”.
“Hamdha… Uncle Mohideen’s daughter”.
“Yeah, she lives next door. But, I have seen her only once or twice in my whole life”.
“She is a very good girl, Umma”, Rushdha was shyly struggling to find suitable words to make her statement perfect, “Why don’t we consider her for brother Minhaj?”.
Her mother got outraged.
“Are you crazy, my stupid girl?”
“Why, Umma? What’s wrong with her? She is so good. I know her very well. She is very pretty as well”.
“Simply forget this ridiculous idea, my girl? Where did you get this idea from? You came all the way from Colombo only to talk about this?”.
“Why, Umma? I don’t understand. What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing is wrong with her. She was brought up like a princess. How could she come and live in this poverty-filled old house?”, her mother said sorrowfully.
“Your brother doesn’t even have a proper job. He is a volunteer teacher. A job for the sake of having a job. He is earning just ten thousand rupees per month. Anytime he could lose even this job. Can he run a family with this salary? Your brother doesn’t deserve her”.
Rushdha remained silent.
“I always tell him to go abroad. At least, to search for a proper job. But, he never listens to me. I have done everything alone that I can do for you kids. Hereafter, you kids have to look after your lives. All my energy has gone away”, the mother got emotional. "All I want is to die peacefully and meet my God clean-heartedly".
Rushdha’s mother was weak and looked older than her real age. She could not be older than sixty; but, she looked like somebody above eighty.
“Umma, why are you talking like this? I am extremely sorry for starting this conversation. Please, forget it. You have done everything for us, Umma, even beyond your capacity. You have nothing to cry about. You have no need to have any sort of inferiority complex when standing in front of anyone. I am sure my brother Minhaj will get a good job very soon”.
“He has to make some effort to get any job, am I right? Jobs won't arrive on their own. Minhaj is always strong in his stubbornness. You know most of our family expenditure is covered with your elder sister’s salary?”.
“Yeah, Umma”, Rushdha’s voice got weaker, “I know… I know very well”.
Rushdha had no more strength to continue the conversation.
Umma was still watering her plants.
Rushdha went inside the house and laid on her bed.
She felt exhausted.
****
Travelling to and from the school was not as difficult as Shibly had expected. Many students used to travel in this lane on their way to school.
Many of them were walking. Some of them were riding their bicycles. These students easily recognised Shibly and offered to give him a lift to in their cycles.
Shibly thought he should buy a bicycle as soon as possible. It would provide him with a great sense of freedom of mobility within the village.
Shibly performed his afternoon prayer at the Akbar mosque. He was waiting for Minhaj, standing outside the mosque.
Shibly was recalling the events that happened on that day. He thought of his sister's voice message. His cousin Nifra was about to get married next Sunday. First, the news was shocking. After spending a whole day at the school, Shibly was feeling light-hearted now.
In the staff meeting, it was decided that no staff should start unilateral efforts regarding that terrible incident that happened to the principal. So, Shibly decided to discard the social media message that he had typed.
Minhaj had promised to pick up Shibly after evening prayer. He did not take long to show up.
“Did I get late?”, Minhaj asked with his usual broad smile, sitting on his bicycle.
“No. not at all”, Shibly said, “It’s difficult for you. I can manage in this boarding room, brother. Nothing to worry about. It's not a big deal".
“No brother, I know the condition of these boarding rooms. It is not as good. Even Rizwan sir and Izzadeen sir were worrying about you. I felt guilty for not helping you when I am in a position to help you”.
“But, I have finalized the contract for the room”.
“Come with me and inspect this room that I am going to show you”, Minhaj said, “then you can make a final decision”.
****
Shibly’s diary
I climbed up on Minhaj’s cycle. Despite my bad taste with cycle riding, cycling seemed to be a necessary survival skill in Marudur. I was also impressed by the fact of how helpful Marudurians are.
Minhaj probably felt it was his obligation to help me find a proper boarding room. He was unhappier than me about Akbar mosque rooms.
I felt like I got along well with Minhaj. He was the only staff member of my age. Most of the staff members were seniors than me.
Even Rizwan was six years older than me. My relationship with Rizwan sir was more like a student-teacher relationship. It had its own limitations. Despite my great respect, it had a long way to travel before transforming into a casual friendship.
Even most of the acquaintances I had established since I had stepped into Marudur, were older people. Boys of my age had often been preferring to keep a distance from me. Am I getting older? Am I going through a generational transformation? I didn’t understand.
In this sense, Minhaj was the only potential friend of my age in this foreign land. But, it was too early to jump into any conclusion. My stay at Marudur was not even 48 hours.
Minhaj took me to a house on a highland. It was a few hundred meters away from our school. Walking distance from my workplace. It was on a highland, passing around two hundred meters from the close-by Tayqa mosque. We had to walk climbing down from the bicycle. It was such a nearly right angle shaped road where cycle riding was impossible.
It was a somewhat big house. From the distance, it looked like a single-storeyed building.
The house owner must be over fifty years old. He was wearing a white colour saram and a sleeveless vest. He must be usually a clean shaving person, though having not shaved for the last couple of days. He took us to his concrete roof through the iron steps at the front of his house. In the far end corner of the concrete-roof, there was a room-like building structure. Its outside walls were neither plastered nor painted.
It was simply a bed room. A very comfortable room in fact, with an attached bathroom. On the spot, I fell in love with the room. It was like a golden treasure for a stranger like me.
To my satisfaction, the washroom was modern and hygienic. The inside wall of the room was recently renovated and was giving me a feeling of being home.
After inspecting the room, we came outside to the terrace.
The house was situated on a highland. The view from the terrace was amazing. I could see the whole Marudur from there.
It was an evening. It had rained for hours in the morning. Now, the sun, for the first time, was peeping into the world. He was trying to energize the earth at a flashlight speed as if he was busy visiting other places. Despite his efforts, the air was still cool. The freezing wind was embracing like a shower.
“Actually, I built this room for visitors. I agreed to rent out this because of Minhaj. Because of his recommendation”, the house owner said. “Let me talk about it frankly. I have three grown-up daughters in my house. You are a young man. People are always eager to gossip. I always want to maintain my privacy. So, I expect you should keep your distance and your dignity. You can use these separate steps outside. Please forgive me if I am talking rudely. But, as head of the family, I have to be responsible and protect them”.
“No, not rude at all. I would have said the same thing if I were in your shoes”, I said. Actually, I meant it.
The privacy was one particular reason for my preference for the Akbar mosque room. Most of the houses in Marudur were not having their privacy.
The houses were very close to each other. Most of them were just bigger than slums. If you speak in one house, it could be overheard from the other house. In an outbreak of an epidemic, people could hardly survive from each other.
There could be many cultural issues as well. Poverty is such a dangerous disease.
This was the reason why I was reluctant when Minhaj called me to inspect a room. But, this room had the privacy that I eagerly wanted.
The rent was more than the Akbar mosque room but was lesser than the market rate.
The room was appropriate to accommodate even a small family. It was obvious the man is renting out the room, not for money.
I felt a great sense of gratitude towards the house owner. Actually, he was doing me a favour. To my relief, I will not have to live with cigarette pieces any more.
When I got back to Akbar mosque, for my luck, Zubair Haajiyar was there in his office.
He gave me back my deposit money.
“That’s a good place. I know that house”, he said, “I was actually feeling sorry for you. Finally, you got a comfortable place to stay. All praise be to god”.
“I have stayed here for one night. I have used the place and its facilities. So I am obliged to pay the rent. Please, deduct my rent from this”, I said.
“No. That's fine”, he said. "You stayed just a night. Rent is not necessary".
“At least you must accept this”, I gave a five hundred rupee note. “I must pay. This is a public property”.
Zubair Haajiyar received the money. “I wouldn’t have accepted this if it was my own”. Zubair Haajiyaar had a great sense of caring tendency just like many Marudurians I had met, except the fact that he rarely smiles.
I shifted to my new room on that night itself. Minhaj and his cycle were with me throughout this whole process.
“How much will a bicycle cost?”, I asked Minhaj.
****
It was eight o’clock in the night.
The headache was so severe as if her head was about to explode. Her body was so weak. Hamdha thought she got a fever.
"Now how do you feel? Shall we go to take medicine, darling? Shall I check whether doctor Zaidh is at home?", Mohideen Haajiyar asked Hamdha.
"No dad, not necessary. I think I am just having a fever. Let me take paracetamol".
Mohideen Haajiyar touched her forehead and checked his daughter's temperature.
"It doesn't look like a fever in your body. I think you have some fever in your heart", Mohideen Haajiyar said, "You are my daughter. You are the princess of this house. You should always be strong. We can't always bother about the people who gossip at us".
Mohideen Haajiyar left. He was right. Hamdha was stressful. But, he couldn't guess the real reason. He simply thought it was because of the social media quarrel that was going on after the principal got attacked.
Hamdha alone knows the real reason. Shakira's words were repeatedly echoing in her ears. "You pretend to be innocent, Hamdha. But, you have a crush on your own friend's brother. What a shameful character you are…!!" “It is so disgusting, Hamdha”.
She couldn't distract herself from her thought-orbit, however, she tried.
Does Hamdha really have a crush on Rushdha's brother? Do the girls really gossip about it on her back? What Rushdha was thinking about this after all?
Rushdha came to her help at last. But, her face did not look so happy. She never smiled afterwards. Does she believe there is some truth in what Shaakira said?
Even Rushdha had asked whether there is any truth in what Shaakira said. A seed of doubt had probably been planted in Rushdha's heart.
Doubt is something very dangerous. It would not take long for this seed to blossom as a deep rooted strong tree. It could ruin and destroy the whole true friendship between her and Rushdha once and forever. Is this what Shakira wants? Is she taking revenge on Hamdha for his father? Shaakira still believes it was Hamdha's father who hit her father, the Principal.
What is Shakira's real motive?
Hamdha couldn't come to any conclusion.
Since the day she had been to Colombo, Rushdha became Hamdha's close friend.
All the girls in the Colombo hostel wanted Hamdha in their circle. One reason was she was not a troublemaker. Then, she was trustworthy. Everyone trusted her and shared their secrets with her.
For Hamdha, Rushdha was her only close friend. She was the only one she trusted, someone who could protect her secrets.
But, this matter is so sensitive even to Rushdha. Hamdha found herself to be lonely and no one was there to talk about it. Then, she remembered her closest trustworthy friend - her mother.
Hamdha stood up from the bed and came into the main hall.
Her mother was not cooking in the kitchen, as Hamdha had thought. She was reading the Daily Mirror.
"Mammy, I thought you are cooking?".
"Why? You are not happy when I am having a day-off?", Hamdha's mother asked her in a teasing tone.
"What? A day-off? What sort of thing is that?," laughed Hamdha.
"Your father said his daughter is worried about something. So, wants to bring something from Amaan Hut". Amaan Hut was a famous restaurant in Vijayapura road and was a popular takeaway restaurant for Mardurians.
"So what are you worrying about?", Hamdha's mother asked, still with a smile on her face.
"No, Mammy", Hamdha didn't know the appropriate way to start. "A small incident happened. Very small incident".
"Incident? What sort of?".
It had never been difficult for Hamdha to discuss anything with her mother.
But, this time it wasn't easy.
"Tell me. What happened? Anything to do with Shaakira? Did she scold you?".
"Scolding is a usual thing… a sort of thing happens daily".
"Okay"
"This is something different… a kind of very serious nature".
Her mother got curious. Her intelligent eyes were scanning Hamdha from A to Z. Hamdha's eyes couldn't face her mother's eyes eyes. She tried to avoid them.
"What is this different thing?".
"It was nothing… but…", Hamdha couldn't continue. She needed some reassurance from her mother.
"If it is nothing, why are you so upset? I am your mother. Tell me whatever it is. You have the confidence in me, right?".
"Shakira said….", Hamdha couldn't complete her sentence. She started weeping. Tears started flowing like a fountain.
"Ok, my darling? Please, don't cry. No need to cry. Tell me what happened. What did Shakira say?".
Somehow Hamdha told her mother about everything that happened that day morning at the restaurant on their way to Marudur from Colombo.
The mother was thoughtful.
"Tell me the truth. Do you have any such ideas, baby?".
"Are you crazy, Mammy? What are you talking about?".
Hamdha's face got reddened. The blood current was flowing very fast. Not because of shyness. Because of anger.
Her mother was looking at her pretty daughter's smart look when she was angry. She looked more like her father when she got angry. She could ascertain how genuine her daughter was.
"I am sorry, dear. How stupid am I?", her mother apologized, "I think Shakira is jealous of you. She is probably envious of you. You are a cute creature to be jealous of. Be very careful with her".
Hamdha was shaking her head.
"But, why did Rushdha have to say she is happy to have you as her sister-in-law?".
"Actually, she was defending me, Mammy".
Hamdha's mother was not convinced. "If she wants to defend you, she must have strongly said there is no such sort of ideas in your heart. But, she had sounded like she was accepting it as a matter of fact".
Hamdha remained silent.
"I feel so awkward, Mammy. I don't know what Rushdha is thinking about me. That is what I am mostly worried about".
This time Hamdha's mother remained silent.
((To be continued))
_ _ _ _
Next chapter: chapter 14 - "we are late, Minhaj"
Previous chapter: chapter 12 - what could she possibly doing right now?
* 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
