Tuesday, Morning
Full moon holiday
Mohideen Hajiyar’s dining hall. Mohideen Hajiyar and his wife Ziyana were having their breakfast. Hamdha had left for Colombo.
"I think you still want to take that boy with you, don’t you?", Ziyana asked her Husband.
"Which boy? Taking where?" asked Mohideen Hajiyar.
"You are talking like you have no idea of anything. I am talking about this boy Minhaj. About taking him with you to Saudi Arabia".
“Ah, Yes, Ziyana. I have given my word. It was me who invited him. It is not appropriate to change my promise. He did no mistake, did he?”.
“No, Hamdhan’s father. Please, respect my feelings. I won’t say anything without reasons. I hated your idea of taking Minhaj with you to Saudi Arabia from the beginning. But, I had no reason to convince you”.
“Now you have what reasons, Ziyana?”.
“I have very serious reasons, Hamdhan’s father. For the sake of our kids and for their future, please stop this. If you really want to help that boy, give him something as a charity. I will not interfere. But, this idea of yours taking him to Saudi Arabia... please stop it”.
Mohideen Hajiyar uttered nothing and started thinking.
Mohideen Hajiyar did not want to upset his wife. She has genuine reasons to be angry and to be worried about. At the same time, he did not want to break the promises he had given to Minhaj.
There should be an alternative plan. Mohideen Hajiyar was the one who wanted to help Minhaj in a way that Minhaj would feel dignified. Of course, Minhaj could be a trustworthy human resource. But, Minhaj needed Mohideen Hajiyar several times more than Mohideen Hajiyar needed Minhaj.
Mohideen Hajiyar always discusses things with his wife. But, he cannot do it in this case. She is part of the problem here. He is unable to discuss this even with his own kids. There are men to consult in his public life and in community affairs. But, he never discusses his family affairs with any of them. If he ever wants to discuss, that will be Ubaidullah Hazrath.
Ubaidullah Hazrath is his spiritual mentor. He is the sole human being he ever discusses his personal affairs if he ever wants to do so.
“You are still silent, Hamdhan’s father. You seem to dislike my idea”.
“No, rather it is sensitive”.
“Sensitive?”.
“Yes, Ziyana. Minhaj's father was my childhood friend. I just wanted to show gratitude to my friend. He is no longer alive and may God show mercy upon him”
“What sort of gratitude are you about to show? You have a number of childhood friends. You are going to show gratitude to all of their kids in this way?”.
“No, Ziyana. Minhaj’s father was a special friend”.
“..........”.
“Yes, a kind of very special friend. He was one of the reasons I am rich today”.
“........”.
“You know, my father wasn’t rich. My grandparents denied him his due share of inheritance. So, he struggled throughout his life. So, I was born poor. I was unable to continue my studies above ordinary level. I worked in a factory as a labourer. Minhaj’s father helped me to establish myself in the business field. That was the first step of my financial success. I can’t forget my gratitude”.
“I haven't seen you being so emotional about this friend of yours ever before, Hamdhan's father”.
“I did not have enough time to reflect on the important people who played important roles in my life, Ziyana. I was too preoccupied with work. My friend is no longer alive to pay my debts, Ziyana. It is my responsibility to look after his son”.
“If you really want to help this boy, help him find a good job. I heard his mother is so worried about him because he hasn't got a good job”.
“He can find a good job on his own, Ziyana. He will not need my help to find a job. Finding a job is not a big deal”.
“So, let him find a job. He is educated. He can build his career on his own. He can look after his own life. You can recommend him to someone, if you really want to do any help at all”.
“No, I will never do injustice to other youngsters just to help the son of my friend. All he wants is to establish himself in business. Not finding a job. I am in a position to help him. So, I must support him, Ziyana".
“This is what I am asking? Why should you support him?”.
“I already told you, Ziyana. He is the son of my friend. My friend is no longer alive. He was one of the good human-beings who ever lived in this village”.
“But, you are so emotional. So emotional about your friend and his son, Hamdhan’s father. But, you can't realize the feelings of your wife, can you? You can't understand how much I am worried about our own kids. I hope you will understand my feelings at least after I die”.
“Ziyana, don’t talk this way. This is not the time to talk about death. Who knows who is going to die first? I could be the first one to leave this world. God alone knows. He should give us long lives. You and I should live together for many more years, Ziyana. Our grandchildren should grow up in our hands”.
“....”
“Please don’t relate this business trip with the marriage idea of our son, Ziyana. Both are different”.
“Listen, Hamdhan’s dad. I will never agree to this marriage. This girl, Minhaj’s elder sister, is older than our son. I will never accept this age difference as long as I am alive”.
“I understand, Ziyana”.
“Will you agree to this marriage as she is the daughter of your friend? To show your gratitude to the deceased friend of yours?”.
“......”
“And about our daughter, Hamdha”
“Yeah, Hamdha? What about her?”
“I will never agree for her to get married in this village”.
“Okay".
“Especially to that boy Minhaj”.
“What are you talking about, Ziyana? We never had any idea to consider him for Hamdha”.
“We will never have any idea here after as well”.
“Why do you speak this way?”.
“I just have an instinct you might consider him for Hamdha to show your gratitude to your deceased friend. My daughter should go to a house with money and status”.
“Money and status aren't the primary things to consider in marriage proposals, Ziyana”.
“You may not consider those things. But, I have to consider. I am a normal human being. I am worried about the future of my kids”.
****
Shibly’s Diary
Tuesday, the Full moon holiday
This is the third week since I moved into Marudur. It is Tuesday. My 16th day here. It is a full-moon holiday. Full Moon days are public holidays in Sri Lanka.
Under usual circumstances, I should be at home enjoying my holiday. For me, things are unusual these days. I have to work with the principal during office hours and off-office hours.
I have to complete not only the schoolwork but also the community works of Marudur-First. I have been forgetting my original teaching profession itself. I have almost transformed into a community worker from a teacher within a week since Minhaj got fired. That irresponsible fellow...!
The principal had asked me to look after ‘some of the works of Marudur-First’.
I like community work. I liked Marudur-First. So, I agreed. Unfortunately, ‘some of the works’ eventually turned out to be 'all of the works'.
I have been working day and night for the last couple of days.
Marudur-First is an organization of ambitious, enthusiastic professionals from Marudur. It is surprising to understand the number of professionals from this backward village. I loved to work with them. These professionals dreamed of a modern Marudur. They wanted to develop every aspect of Marudurian life. Unfortunately, I learned later that they did have very little time to spend on their dream.
Last Friday, there was a brief meeting of Marudur-First at the principal’s house. It was arranged in a hurry to welcome the new academic staff. Many Marudur-First members did not participate as it was a weekday. As the members' turn-over was lower, another meeting was scheduled for Tuesday, the full-moon holiday.
Friday’s meeting was rather short one. It was agreed that some of the work must be finished before this Tuesday, the full moon day meeting. There were only three days in between.
Some works related to a water project.
Works related to the free distribution of exercise books to poor students.
Preparing a pamphlet and submitting it for the final review.
Preparing a powerPoint presentation about the works of Marudur-First to be presented in the next meeting.
Everyone was eager to take responsibility for one task or another.
“Well, everyone has taken responsibility for completing all the tasks. Mr Shibly, why don’t you coordinate the activities?” the principal asked me.
Coordinating the activities? Me? I thought it was a great privilege. “Yes, sir, I am honoured to”.
“Well, make sure every task is executed properly, Shibly”. That was the end of the meeting. But the beginning of a disaster.
My work with Marudur-First would have been a pleasant experience only if things had gone as per the original plan. But it went terribly wrong for the last few days.
I have no experience with community work before. I only now realized how hard it is to get things done with volunteers.
The whole plan went wrong. Every member had an excuse for not being able to complete their task. There is no paid full-time staff for Marudur-First. I have fallen into the trap of working for Marudur-First full time without any salary.
No work got done by the members on Saturday. I called the principal that night.
“Sir, nothing seems to work as it was planned. None of the work has been done”.
“It happens in community work, you know. Everyone is busy. Never mind, Shibly. Today is Saturday. The meeting is on Tuesday, Isn’t it?”.
“Yes, sir”.
"There are two days in between".
"Yes, sir"
“Well, we should make sure all the tasks get done whether others participate or not, Shibly. You know, we have our new staff, we should create a good first impression”.
This is how the tasks that were to be completed by teamwork fell on my head eventually.
Marudur First has been working on a water project and free exercise books distribution project for desperate students. I had to attend to those works.
I had to visit Vijayapura several times within the last two days. I did not have any travelling arrangements. I used to walk up to Marudur junction and then take public transport. It was frustrating. Buses were packed with crowds of people during peak hours.
A pamphlet had to be prepared to be distributed next Friday after the Friday prayer. I have to send it for printing today. Before that, it needs a final review and an official confirmation from the members.
The persons who took responsibility to prepare the pamphlet also did nothing. So, again I was the scapegoat. I had to call the members of the Marudur-First and compose the leaflet.
Its content was something similar to this one :
“Mohideen Hajiyar, the illiterate leader of Marudur should step down from all his posts and leave space to the professionals to take up leadership roles”.
Finally, preparing the powerPoint presentation on Marudur-First came to me. The organization had worked for the last three or four years. But, no documentation was available.
I had to collect details and photos from many people. Some of the members were not helpful.
They asked me to visit their houses and collect the photos. They were not ready to bear the slightest discomfort of sending the images through email or through any other means.
I had to physically visit them frustratingly when I had already been running out of time.
The last two days passed without me realizing it. I was overwhelmed by work that I had not imagined. Having finished everything, Tuesday morning, I am sitting right now in front of Marudur-First members. The meeting is held at Saththar Hajiyar's house. I had a bad first impression of this saththar Hajiyar, but I was wrong. He is one of the few rich men in the village who support Marudur-First. He truly stands for a genuine positive change within Marudur.
I am exhausted. I have not slept properly for the last two days.
I could not concentrate on the meeting.
My face muscles are reluctant to support me to smile at the faces of people. I feel like falling sick. The whole Marudur-First team is sitting with their confident smiles and professional posture. Many of the faces are new. I have never seen them before. Mr Shareek starts the meeting with his usually motivating speech.
I really wanted to engage myself in the meeting. But I am likely to fall asleep.
I do my best to keep myself awake. The principal is now presenting the PowerPoint presentation that I have prepared with my painstaking effort.
The principal is obviously creating a positive first impression on the new staff as he terribly wanted. I am helplessly leaving a negative impression on the whole Marudur-First team with my exhausted look.
Frustratingly, my name was never mentioned as a credit for the breathless work I did for the last two days.
People again discussed big ideas. They expressed their opinion.
They decided on new tasks for the coming week.
Everyone enthusiastically took responsibility. What if people went out of time? No one seems to bother about it.
But I know. I am going to be the scapegoat again. I am madly angry with the principal, his Marudur- First team, and with this whole village.
I am frustrated with everything.
****
After the Marudur-First meeting on the full-moon holiday, Mr Shareek invited the principal and the new school staff for a tea party at his house. Shibly was also invited as a new staff member. But, he was extremely exhausted from participating in the party. He went to his room with an excuse.
Others set to move towards Mr Shareek’s house.
Mr Shareek was taking the principal in his motorbike. The principal had not yet started riding motorbikes after he was hit.
The attack seemed to have left behind a slight trauma. He was afraid of riding motorbikes. He was yet to overcome it.
Other staff were about to take a three-wheeler.
Mr Shareek and the principal were travelling on the bike. In front of the Thajudeen Tea store, They were about to turn right into the cross street.
Japan Hajiyar was standing on the road and extended his hand and gestured to them to stop. Mr Shareek stopped the bike.
"How are you, Japan Hajiyar? What's going on? When did you join the traffic police?"
"You ask me what's going on, right? I am waiting here to talk to you about my money, one million rupees," said Japan Hajiyar angrily.
"One million? What?" exclaimed Mr Shareek.
"Yes, one million rupees. My money? Did you forget?"
"I don't understand what Japan Hajiyar is talking about. Has anyone stolen your money?".
"Absolutely. My money was stolen. You are the one who has stolen".
"What nonsense are you talking about? We have a party at our house. I have no time to play with you".
"You all are having parties with my money. Did you think I have picked money from mango trees? I earned it in Japan with my hard work, you know. First, get out of this bike" Japan Hajiyar took hold of Mr Shareek's shirt collar in a disgraceful fashion.
Mr Shareek and the principal got down from the bike. People were watching by standing around. But, none decided to interfere.
Mr Shareek felt humiliated. He was trembling.
"Tell me where is my money?" Japan Hajiyar asked him while still holding Mr Shareek's shirt collar.
"What nonsense are you talking about? I have no idea about any of your money".
Japan Hajiyar got furious and kicked Mr Shareek in his stomach very strongly. Quickly, he held Mr Shareek's neck around tightly from behind with his arms. Mr Shareek screamed in pain.
Now the principal got tensed and interfered in a hurry.
"Leave him alone. Are you crazy, Japan Hajiyar? Your son hit me. Now you try to kill Mr Shareek. Who do you think you are?" cried the principal.
"Ask him to tell me what happened to my money, one million rupees," shouted Japan Hajiyar.
"Leave me first, please. I am unable to breathe", screamed Mr Shareek.
"Tell me. Where is my money?"
"Which money?"
"One million rupees."
"I don't have any idea what the hell you are talking about".
"What money are you talking about? He says he has no idea. You are behaving like a thug. First leave his neck," shouted the principal.
"You have no idea. He has no idea. Ask your son then. He has the idea. Call him and ask. Now".
"Ok. Do you want me to call my son right now? Wait. Calm down. Let me call him. First leave Mr Shareek". The principal dialled his son Hamzi in a hurry and asked him. "Hello, Hamzi? Do you have any idea about Japan Hajiyar's money? One million rupees, he says".
Hamzi answered in his usual take-it-easy tone. "One million? How many zeros are there for one million, dad? What nonsense are you talking about?".
"Ok, Hamzi, let me deal with it" the principal disconnected the phone. "He says he has no idea. You are behaving like a drunken man. You are about to make trouble, Japan Hajiyar".
"Am I drunk? It is your son who is a thief”.
“Look, don’t talk about my son in a bad way. I will not tolerate”.
“You can tolerate or not tolerate. It's your problem. But, your son is the thief. He stole my one million rupees”.
“Japan Hajiyar, first you accused Mr Shareek. Now you accuse my son. What is your real problem?”.
"How many times do I have to tell you? I want my money back. One million rupees".
"Here you come again. Please, let the two of us leave this place. Otherwise we will have to call the police".
"Call the police? Ah? Your son and this Shareek gentleman will be the ones who end up in jail, if you ever call the police," said Japan Hajiyar and left.
Mr Shareek and the principal felt humiliated. They were still trembling.
"What is your problem with Japan Hajiyar?" Someone in the crowd asked them.
"Let's see what he is up to" both of them quickly got on the motorbike and left the place with an accelerated speed.
Thajudeen Nana was watching everything from his shop with a worried look.
****
Minhaj’s Diary
I am confused. What is actually going on in my life? Last week I had a quarrel with Saththar Hajiyar in front of Thajudeen Nana's shop. It was exactly one week ago.
I lost my job immediately. It was not a real job, though. Still, I was doing something in the name of a job. It gave me a sort of identity.
Do you know the worst thing that happens to you when you do not have a job?
Everyone you meet would repeat the same question: “what are you doing now?”.
Everyone would become your consultant and well-wisher. For me, I have two special “free advisers”, uncle Shareek and Aunt Fauziya.
They could find holes even in heavy rocks. Already lost my job, I am openly exposed to their “free consulting” torture. My Saudi Arabia trip has been getting late for one reason or another. I must quickly establish myself and settle. Otherwise, I will not be able to close the mouths of these two “well-wishers”.
“How can you go abroad without a contract?” Uncle Shareek has repeatedly been asking me questions about my Saudi Arabia trip with Mohideen Hajiyar.
My mother was also worried.
“Your Wappa (father) did business without anything in writing. Finally, what happened? We lost everything” she repeated the same stanza again and again.
“You Wappa was unable to bear what happened. He died. Doctors said it was a heart-attack. But, it was a lie. His business partners killed him. I don’t want the same fate to happen to you”.
It was true. I am unable to deny it. My father lost everything to his business partners because nothing was in his name. Eventually, the shock caused his death. He died because of a sudden heart attack. In the words of my mother, ‘his business partners killed him’.
My father has been a good man. He has lived an ideal life.
I could not help myself not thinking about him. I have heard many good things about my father recently from the tongues of many people. His memory still prevails in the air of this village even after many years of his demise.
He gave his hands to many people who were broken or had fallen in their lives.
I can still remember the black day he died. I was just nine years old and had been studying in grade four. I was returning home after playing cricket with my friends.
My house was unusually crowded then. People were talking to each other in a modest volume as if whispering. Despite the number of people at our house, there was an uncomfortable silence. The house was filled with sadness and emptiness. The faces were tightly shut for any smile.
Women were crying.
My relatives were crying. They were not screaming. But, the accumulated chorus of their crying voices was burning the deepest part of my stomach. It was not difficult for me to assume something had terribly happened. My mother was lying on her bed and crying uncontrollably.
My siblings were sadly watching my mother cry.
None told me anything. But, I knew my father was dead and was no longer alive.
I knew what the meaning of death was. Wappa used to leave for our Polonnaruwa rice mill. But, he would return within a few days.
Once Wappa and Umma went to Mecca to perform Hajj. We stayed with our grandma for a month. Within a month, they came back.
But, this time, Wappa would never return. He went to meet his God.
My father lived as a good well-mannered man.
He was kind and help-minded.
He prayed five times regularly. He did charity without the knowledge of his left hand.
God would show mercy upon him and provide him with paradise. The highest level of paradise called ‘Firdows’, as his name was.
Maybe he would be expecting me by sitting close by a crystal clear paradise river or under a tree with the longest branches and pleasant shades.
I should live as a good boy as he always dreamed of. I never listened to many things that Wappa said. Sometimes I behaved naughtily.
I have fought with my brother.
I have scolded my sisters.
I am sorry, dad. I am so sorry.
You will not be able to hear me, will you? But, I really miss you, dad. I terribly miss you. I will forever miss you. Hereafter, I will be a good son. I will grow up as a responsible man.
Did you think about me and worry about me before you breathed your last breath?
Don’t worry, dad. I will be a good son.
I will be the son you always dreamed of.
Everyone tells me I look like you. I will also do good deeds as you did, dad.
I have learned that parents get rewards for the good deeds their kids perform. I will do good things for you. I will look after my mother. I will be kind to my brother and sisters. I will help the poor as you did.
I was thinking about all these things wandering here and there in and out of the funeral house. I was so tense to sit at a place. I was afraid I would cry. I never wanted to cry, especially in front of so many people.
Let them leave first. Then, I would cry. I would pray to God to ask for a paradise home for my dad. It would be a secret prayer just between myself and God.
“Minhaj is too playful. He is not grieving,” I heard Aunt Fauziya telling someone. My sisters and brother were with my mother as if nailed with her. Maybe they were too worried to leave her alone. They never moved from their places. They were crying endlessly.
I would never cry. I must be the one who should lead the funeral prayer for my father. Usually, the elder sons lead funeral prayers. I am just a kid. Still, I am the elder son.
My father is no longer alive.
I should behave like a responsible grown-up man now.
I have no idea how many hours passed this way. Our house was spacious. Still, the place was overcrowded even at midnight. People were standing even in the streets.
News of the death had created a shocking wave in the village.
Late at night, Ubaidullah Hazrath came and sat on a chair in the courtyard with the crowd of people.
He looked tired as he has just returned from a long journey. His eyes were reddened. Maybe he had cried a while ago. When he saw me, he kindly gestured to me to come closer to him.
I walked towards him and was standing in front of him. He kindly combed my hair with his fingers and made me sit next to him. He embraced me by placing his hands around my shoulders with paternal kindness. My grandfather would have done it if he had been alive, I thought.
I could no longer control myself. Now I behaved just like a kid. I cried for the first time for the demise of my father.
The endless stream of tears was flowing from my eyes. I cried seamlessly.
I cried without the awareness of the crowd around me.
I cried without bothering the eyes of people that were watching me curiously.
I cried and cried.
Why should I feel ashamed to shed tears for my father?
I did not know how long I cried. Then, I asked Ubaidullah Hazrath with a sobbing voice, “Can I lead the funeral prayer for my Wappa, Hazrath?”.
Ubaidullaah Hazrath embraced me even more strongly with his heart. Now, I was sure he was also crying. He could not hide his flowing tears.
((To be continued))
_ _ _ _
Previous chapter: chapter 18 - the age difference
Next chapter: chapter 20 - the solar system turned upside down
* 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
