Minhaj’s Diary
It’s several months since it flooded Marudur. The fast pace of time frightens me. The thought only leads me to realise we have only a limited reserve of time left out in our earthly life.
Marudur people, who were directly affected by the flood, have almost forgotten the disaster. The agony of the flood has faded away from the folk's memory. Many people behaved as if the flood never occurred in the first place.
Over time, the flood will remain a distant memory that has nothing to do with the present. Is this what we call “collective dementia” or “collective forgetfulness”?
When I think of collective forgetfulness, I am unable to forget the fate of my geography teacher, Mujahid Sir. I was at my Advanced level at the time. I feel a collective guilt till this moment for what happened to him though I have no share in his fate.
Mujahid Sir was not like other traditional geography teachers. He was excellently knowledgeable of the subject he taught, an intellectual, and one of the teachers who truly inspired me.
Mujahid Sir was in his mid-twenties at that time. He was not a Marudur-native. He was born somewhere in the Nuwara-Eliya district. Sadly, his knowledge and skills went unrecognised in Marudur.
I was a school prefect at the time.
One day, after finishing my morning prefect duty, I started walking towards my class.
The first two periods had been allocated for geography subject. Mujahid Sir was walking in front of me towards my class. He saw me and smiled at me as usual, and greeted me.
“Minhaj… I thought of talking to you”
I was surprised, “Me? about what, sir?”.
“Very important matter, Minhaj. First, have a look at this…,” he gave me some A4 sheets.
“First, have a look at this one, after reading this, come and meet me in the staff room. I will be free for the fifth period”.
“Okay, sir, sure”.
I used to be a fast reader. It took me no time to finish reading those papers. It was written in his handwriting. I can still remember some of the lines from the writing;
“We recently noticed in Marudur some constructional patterns that are able to pose serious environmental hazards in the near future. These constructions often destroy paddy fields of Marudur where a large portion of rain water is reserved. These construction sites also block the current of water streams and the river. This means that there are possible natural disasters, especially floods, in the near future”.
It had never flooded in Marudur since I was born. I had never heard of floods that occurred, even before I was born, as far as I can remember. Many people would find it difficult to accept what Mujahid Sir had predicted. But, as a geography student, I had no difficulties understanding it.
I went and met Mujahid Sir.
“Did you read the papers?” he asked me.
“Yes, sir”
“What do you think, Minhaj?”
“There are going to be serious problems here, sir”.
“Yeah, Minhaj, that’s right, there are going to be extremely serious environmental issues. Marudur might get affected by floods. It will not take long to witness the impact of these irresponsible constructions on the environment".
I nodded my head, “yes, sir”.
“We have to do something about this, Minhaj”, said Mujahid sir thoughtfully.
“Yes, sir”, I said. But, I did not understand what I could possibly do.
“I thought of publishing this paper as a pamphlet. We should make awareness to the public about the grave consequences of these irresponsible constructions”.
“That’s a very good idea, sir, it will be very useful”, I complimented.
Mujahid sir was a young teacher and was in his mid-twenties. He was a fresh recruit to the teaching profession. I was in my teen years. Though I considered Mujahid sir a mature person, both of us were very young and were fascinated by this environmental activism.
“But, I need your support, Minhaj”, went on Mujahid sir.
“Sure, sir. Any support, sir, if I can”.
“Yeah, I want this paper to get typed and printed. I have zero experience and knowledge with those printing related technical things. You know, technology and myself have always been mismatched since my childhood. That’s why I need your help. I could bear the costs; nothing to worry about. But, I need your help in typing and printing, and of course in distributing”.
I was also not experienced in printing-related work. Even the printing-related terms such as leaflets, A3 sheets, font size, and italic letters were alien to me. But, I was proud of myself as a quick learner and capable of learning new things and skills. So I took responsibility. I learned Tamil typing for this purpose and managed to finish it. Just like any other beginner’s experience, it was challenging. I could type only one letter at a time. It was nothing more than an hour’s job for someone experienced though, it took me two days to finish it.
I went to Vijayapura several times to get the printing done at Salam Printers. But I enjoyed it.
I found it interesting the number of my friends who came forward to help me distribute leaflets door to door and after Friday prayer. Finally, a noble mission was executed successfully. I did not know at the time that this was the beginning of Mujahid sir’s ill fate.
It appeared none of the villagers took the leaflet seriously. No one came forward to condemn the irresponsible constructions in the paddy fields and the closing of the free flow of the water.
One day Mohideen Haajiyaar asked me to meet him at the Akbar mosque office.
I went.
It was the afternoon after the Luhar prayer. The sun was burning.
There were three people seated in the mosque office when I entered.
One was Mohideen Haajiyar.
The other one was Saththar Haajiyar.
There was also another person. He had shifted to Colombo long before and rarely visited Marudur. But, he maintained his vital contacts, more importantly, his influence over Marudur in various ways.
All three of them owned environmentally harmful buildings.
Only Mohideen Haajiyar appeared to be calm. The other two were apparently as angry as boiling kettles. They reminded me of angry roosters getting ready to battle with intruding roosters.
Saththar Haajiyar tried to say something angrily to my face. I didn’t understand what he was trying to say.
Mohideen Haajiyar calmed him down and said: “Saththar brother, let me talk, please, as we decided earlier”. Then, Mohideen Haajiar looked into my eyes and told me sternly: “Minhaj Son, we invited you to talk about the handbill that you distributed in the village”.
“Yes, uncle, I guessed”.
“Well, Mujahid sir of yours wrote the note, isn’t it?”.
I hesitated, and there was no point in denying it; it was public knowledge that Mujahid sir wrote it. We did not attempt to maintain the secrecy of the subject from the beginning. It would have been impossible either if we had tried.
“Yes, uncle, that’s right”.
“There are responsible people in the village. Why didn’t you ask us before publishing this one?”.
I had not anticipated such a reaction from a person like Mohideen Haajiyar.
I always had great respect for him. After all, he was one of my father’s close friends. It never occurred to me that we should have obtained permission from him before publishing the leaflet.
I did not know how to reply to him. Mohideen Haajiyar repeated his question.
“Why didn’t you ask us, Minhaj Son?”.
“I thought…. it was not that important”.
“Do you mean, Marudur leaders are unimportant?”.
“No, I didn’t mean that way, Uncle. We simply thought the leaflet was not that important. So, it never occurred to us that we should gain permission”.
“You have criticised many well-respected Marudur leaders, directly or indirectly. How can you say that the leaflet was not important?”, Mohideen Haajiyar coughed for a moment. Then, he uttered with a smile as if closing the conversation, “It’s okay, son, you are a good boy, we know, don’t do these kinds of things again hereafter”.
That was the end.
A simple end. The inquiry was over.
I could have stood up and departed. But, my teen blood did not leave me alone. I impulsively said: “uncle, we didn’t have to ask your permission either. You, people, have constructed these buildings in an environmentally unfriendly way. Then, some people in the village come forward to condemn your sins. You ask us to obtain permission from the very same people. It sounds like asking permission from a chicken to grind turmeric. Should we come and ask your permission only to be denied? We have the right to condemn these things and will continue it. No one can stop us. Don’t behave as if running a government”.
Three of them did not expect these words from my mouth. They remained silent as if spellbound. I walked out.
My teen mind was expecting the adventure of further reactions in the next few days. Strangely, it never came up. The big shots remained very calm and silent.
Everyone forgot the leaflet. At least, I thought so.
****
Several months had passed since the leaflet episode.
Evening hours I used to visit Uncle Thajudeen’s hotel occasionally and chat with him. I helped him if it is necessary. Whenever I get reminded of my father, I used to meet Thajudeen uncle.
One reason was he was in the close circle of my father. Despite acquaintance with affluent business people and big shots, my father treated only a few of them as his close friends, despite their financial backgrounds. One of them was uncle Mohideen. The other one was Uncle Thajudeen. Despite maintaining the ties of my deceased father, uncle Thajudeen was a kind man. He treated me just like treating his own son.
We came outside the hotel when we heard several high-pitched voices shouting. Many boys seemed to be beating someone.
Someone remained in the middle and lay on the ground. That person was visibly severely beaten. More and more people started gathering at the junction. Most of the people did not know what was going on. Eventually, the news reached my ears through word of mouth: a male school teacher had given a love letter to a local girl.
It was strange why he gave a letter in this technologically advanced age. I did not know who this school teacher was. Eventually, I knew that the man beaten was Mujahid sir, my geography teacher. The boys started shaving his head and beard and put a chain of slippers around his neck.
Saththar Haajiyar was among the crowd and posed to be leading them. He encouraged the boys and told them ;
“Let us take him in a parade around the village. Ladies also should see him. Let it be a lesson to anyone who tries to do the same immoral thing this dog did”.
All I could do was merely watch what was taking place by taking a spectator’s role.
There must have been many people in the crowd who disapproved of what happened. But no one dared to interfere. Finally, Mohideen Haajiyar arrived. He literally jumped out of his van before the van stopped. He came running towards the crowd. There was no slipper on his legs.
He shouted: “Stop this atrocity, stop, come on”.
“Don’t interfere, Hajiyar, without knowing what this dog did. We should treat him worse than this”, said Saththar Hajiyar. After saying this he forcefully kicked Mujahid sir in his stomach. Uncle Mohideen got furious. I had never seen him so furious like this ever before.
“Saththar, you are hitting him, in front of my eyes, have you gone mad?”.
“Don’t talk without knowing what happened”.
“Whatever happened, this is not the way to treat it, I say stop it”.
“Our village is backward because of you, Mohideen, you behave like a blind idiot”, Saththar Haajiyar shouted at uncle Mohideen without any sense of respect.
“Come on, don’t create a new issue, leave him alone, he is one of the teachers. You people behave like thugs, if you don’t stop it, I will have to call the police”.
“Yeah, Mohideen Haajiyar is right, leave him”, many people raised their voices in chorus, supporting what Uncle Mohideen said.
I saw a frightening sight of vengeance in Saththar Haajiyar’s furious-looking eyes. I saw the same in his eyes when I confronted him at this very place several years later after finishing a tutorial class. I saw a similar vengeance when my father argued with him about the business properties when I was just a kid.
That was the last day I saw Mujahid sir. He left the village at once and never came back. I don’t know to this day whether he is alive or dead. After one or two weeks, everyone completely forgot Mujahid sir and his ill fate.
Everyone forgave the ones who beat and degraded my respectable teacher. No one bothered the person in question will ever be ready to forgive and forget so simply.
“collective forgetfulness”.
****
The fate of Mujahid Sir occurred an era before when I was still seventeen. Now I am almost twenty-seven. A decade ago? I can not believe how fast time has passed.
I could not leave the memory of another “collective forgetfulness’’: the kidnapping drama performed by the Principal Sir. I still remain unable to digest the disgrace I felt when I got arrested. I had not in my whole life stepped on a police station premises, even at least to obtain a police clearance certificate. Being locked up behind the bar was the last thing I ever expected. But, this poorly performed drama caused me to stay three nights and four days in the station.
Police inspector Ajantha arrested me and others on Monday for the suspicion of kidnapping the Principal sir. He questioned us for formality. Apart from that, he treated us respectfully. There was nothing to blame him.
Inspector Ajantha seemed to be an honest officer. His subordinates seemed to truly respect him. They were afraid of him. Probably, he had a lot of political pressure in this ‘missing case’.
During our stay at the station, one or two politicians directly visited the station and went home, losing their faces. Inspector Ajantha was apparently not the sort of person these politicians expected. They tried to bark at him for making him scared, only to know they were uselessly barking at a lion.
The ice got broken on Thursday. Inspector called me and others.
“You can go home, sorry for the inconvenience. I had to arrest you all as part of my duty”, the inspector added, “before leaving, you must meet someone extraordinary".
We meaningfully looked at each other. We did not comprehend what Inspector meant. But all of us felt happy to be released. I realised the value of freedom and how harsh it is to be a prisoner.
We waited until this 'important figure' showed up. Eventually, the figure showed up with a handcuff. Surprisingly enough, that figure was the Principal sir.
We were sitting on a couch. The Principal Sir apparently felt uncomfortable when he saw us.
I wondered how they caught the Principal and where he was hiding all these days.
Inspector told him angrily: “I set you free only because of the dignity of your profession, understood? Never dare to play this dirty drama ever again. Do you know how much public money you have wasted? Moreover, your friends have personally given me a lot of mental torture”.
The Principal sir tried to sound apologetic and polite; “I am sorry, sir, I didn’t….”.
Inspector interrupted before concluding the sentence,“Enough, enough.... I have no time to listen to your monody. Right now, I am in a good mood, so I set you free, don’t remain in front of my eyes, please get lost”.
We were silently observing the whole scene as silent spectators. The inspector turned in our direction and said: “Maappula was hiding in his sister's place in Negombo and was playing this abduction drama. I apologise to all of you for the whole inconvenience. I only did my duty. But, it is this Mappulla sir who caused this whole chaos”.
The literal translation of the word 'Mappulla' is a groom. But, inspector meant as an idiomatic expression, referring to the Principal sir as a culprit.
Thank God, at last, the Principal was found alive. I was released. I tasted once again the blessing of freedom. Though I spent just three nights and four days behind the bar, it sounded as if it was a decade.
Everyone in the village began chatting about this kidnapping drama for the next one or two weeks. Then, the memory in the public mind started fading as usual. Sometimes people acted as if the drama never occurred in the first place.
"collective forgetfulness".
((To be Continued...))
Next chapter: chapter 26 - demise and downfall
Previous chapter : chapter 24 (2) - the approaching evil
* 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
