It was another depressingly sorrowful sunset. The bus was heading towards Shibly’s village. Shibly’s heart was heavy. For the first time, he stepped foot in Marudur at a similar sunsetting hour almost ten months ago.
There were so many differences between both of the travels.
It is a similar sunsetting hour. The scenes are still stunning. The weather is fine. The soothing evening wind of December is trying to calm down his mind.
But, deep down in his mind, the sadness and the worry are cloaking uncomfortably.
When Shibly came here for the first time, his heart was filled with hope, expectations and ambitions. He was enthusiastically looking forward to his first job. But now he feels empty and lonely. No hope for the future, no enthusiasm for the present and no contentment of the past remain with him.
What happened? Where did things go wrong? His uncle’s words are still echoing in his ears: “Teaching is like this. Same job. Same salary. Until you retire. There won’t be any forward movement in life. You will end up just like your father”.
It does not mean that Shibly is depressed and has lost all of his hope. It is not that way. He never lost his hope throughout this whole year. But, he wants a change, a more positive change.
Shibly has always taken all the steps of his life decisions thoroughly and carefully since he entered the blossom of youthfulness from childhood. He seemed to have committed a grave mistake concerning his first job. Where did everything go wrong?!
There needed some serious reflection.
The bus headed towards Shibly’s home town at a leisurely speed. Not many passengers were seated.
How do things change in life at lightning speed? When Shibly stepped foot in Marudur for the first time, he felt so young. Now, in less than a year, he felt older and matured.
Shibly’s Diary
I remembered a conversation I had with my father several months before. It occurred when I was still in my honeymoon days in Marudur, and I had such a positive attitude towards the village I had been working in.
Mr Shareek and the Principal had invited me to join Marudur-First as a part time worker. “You can obtain a payment also for your effort, Mr Shibly”, Mr Shareek had told me. It was on the day Japan Hajiyar had attacked Mr Shareek. On that weekend, I told my mother about it.
“Son, your mother told me you are going to work in a village organisation”, my father asked me.
“Yes, Wappa, I thought of working part time”, I said.
My father breathed deeply and did not utter anything at once. His eyeballs were fixed on a faraway object. He appeared to be in deep thinking.
Finally, he broke the silence.
“What is the name of this organisation, son?”.
“Marudur-First, Wappa”, I said. I felt proud when I pronounced the name of the organisation I was associated with.
“Marudur-First…!! Who is the president of this organisation?”.
“Our Principal”, I said, “the principal of the school where I work”.
“Then the secretary?”
“Mr. Shareek. He works in the Vijayapura divisional secretariat”.
“Mr. Shareek from Marudur. The name sounds familiar. I suppose I know him. I think he is not a Marudur native. He got married in Marudur”.
“Yes, Wappa, he is not a native Marudurian. He has got married there”.
“Okay, then I know him. I know both of them, the leaders of the organisation that you are associated with. But, remember, son, they are not as genuine as you think as far as I know”, my father uttered the words very cautiously.
My father was always used to treating me as a grown-up adult, not as a child like many parents do. He used to be a very friendly father to me. For this reason, I had a huge respect for my father. There were also so many other reasons to qualify him to be an excellent father.
But, on some occasions, I used to unconsciously disrespect my father. My relatives and neighbours from my mother’s side were mostly rich businesspeople. Thus, my teaching father did not have much respect within my maternal family. Unlike my grandfather’s time, the influence of teachers has tremendously declined these days. My father’s opinions were seldom respected within my maternal extended family circle.
On many occasions, there is no feeling that my father should have a say in common matters within the family. More often the decisions alone were communicated to him, without any input of his opinion. Even such communication did not occur directly: rather such decisions were conveyed through my mother.
My father was extremely uncomfortable with this arrangement. But, he was helpless to act against such an arrangement.
With the passage of time, my father’s communication with them got limited to a simple salam.
I was aware of my father’s two different types of personalities. One was a personality I had a great respect for. This personality was a talented teacher in the school where he taught.
Another personality was a personality I seldom respected. It was the personality I often encountered at home and in my home neighbourhood. To my shame, on many occasions, I unconsciously took my uncle’s (my cousin Nifra’s father) attitude towards my own father. “Teaching is like this. Same job. Same salary. Until you retire. There won’t be any forward movement in life. You will end up just like your father”.
Surprisingly, I got agitated when my father criticised Mr. Shareek.
“Mr. Shareek… the secretary of the organisation is a fox”.
I did not reply to anything. But my eyes were filled with fire. I did not know whether my father noticed it.
“Why do you need another part time job? You already have a full time teaching job, a permanent job in the public sector”.
“I could earn some extra money, Wappa”.
“If you want extra money, you could go abroad or look for another well-paying job”.
“By working, I also wanted to make some positive contribution to the village I serve, Wappa”.
“By teaching students and spreading knowledge, you are already equipped to contribute positively”.
“No, I didn’t mean it. I wanted to do something more, something big”.
My father remained silent for a few seconds and said, “Listen, my son, you are my flesh and blood. I have lived my life enough. I have no desire to live more. I should meet my God pure heartedly, that's all that I wanted”, he coughed for a second, “but, you are young. You have to live your life after this. Remember one thing. If you want to contribute to this organisation, Marudur-First, or any other community organisation, don’t ever receive a salary”.
I remained silent. I work more than other volunteers do. So, it was reasonable to obtain a salary and do things in a well organised way rather than executing bits and pieces of tasks. But my father viewed things with another spectacle.
“Son, if you receive a salary, you will not be like other volunteers. You will simply be their servant. Of all them. Then, you will be subject to a double-edged sword”. I stared at him without being able to grasp the meaning of this so-called “double-edged sword”. My father explained its meaning.
“Have you got any idea what’s the meaning of the double edged sword I am talking about?”, he asked and continued, “if you receive a salary in this community organisation, you should satisfy yourself with a nominal salary. There will not be many opportunities where you could demand for an increment. Because you are in community work. People would expect some sacrifice from you”.
“......”
“In the meantime, you will not be given the credit for the tasks you accomplish. Because, you receive a salary, don’t you? So, you will remain a mere servant. You won’t deserve at least a simple credit for your tasks. Worse than this, some others might enjoy the credits for the tasks that YOU accomplish”.
If I had thought for a moment about the great character of my father, I would have taken his words seriously, and things might have been in a different light. But, I was living in a dream. My maternal family’s attitude towards my father had been activated in me.
So, I merely decided to disregard his advice. “Wappa, what are you talking about? This is social work. I should do it pure-heartedly. But, you talk of this double-edged sword thing and everything. What is the meaning of this? Do you want me to be a selfish creature?”
I told him harshly. When I said that, I simply forgot how socially minded my father was. I also forgot how much he cares about the well-being of other people. He remained silent afterwards. He seemed to be in deep thought and muttered the words, “God is suffice for us”. Eventually, he said with a deep breath as if concluding the conversation, “I wish your superiors are as pure-hearted as you are”.
This conversation with my father happened in the early days of my Marudur life, before the leaflet episode.
I joined Marudur-First as a paid worker afterwards, disregarding my father’s advice. It did not take long to realise the magnitude of wisdom that was in my father’s words. The “leaflet episode” precisely exhibited to me the cruel, power-hungry character of Mr Shareek and the Marudur-First team.
In one way or another, they have used me as a tool for their power-hungry activities. Marudur-First may not be able to function so fast, if it did not have a full-time staff, that means me. My Marudur-First duty was, in fact, a full time job. The Principal asked me to do their work, even during school hours.
I never got the opportunity to teach or to engage with students after Minhaj left and after I joined Marudur-First. Once, I complained about it, and the Principal said, “Mr Shibly, you can’t develop education merely through teaching and academic activities. School is an extension of society. Students are part of this society. If you want to develop school, you should develop society first. Marudur is first. School is next. That’s what Marudur-First does. So, don’t worry, Shibly, you are on the right track”.
After this, there was no spare time. Time flew. There were no off days. I was rarely able to go home on weekends. My parents started worrying about me. I was in the state of a man who grabbed the tail of a tiger. There was no way to get rid of it.
My intention to clear the name of Minhaj was unsuccessful. Now it is too late. Minhaj went abroad. Mohideen Haajiyar is no longer alive. I realised how inferior I am. I am not a hero. I have just been a lonely traveller. I felt my life has been cramped and narrowed within these months since I started working in Marudur.
****
“Malli, Bahinneththa?” (Brother, don’t you get down?), the conductor’s question brought Shibly to the consciousness of the present. He got down in his hometown. The bus was gone.
The cold evening wind embraced him. There was no difference between the weather in his village and Marudur. But, Shibly now felt more independent. His mind was peaceful and hopeful. He decided to pray the Maghrib prayer in the nearby Masjid, before going to his house. He might meet some of his friends. He had not met them for very long.
Suddenly, his phone started vibrating. Mr Shareek’s name was on the screen. Shibly had almost always answered the phone call in the second or third ring whenever Mr Shareek or the Principal used to call him. Today, for the first time, Shibly decided to disregard the call. He fiercely cut the line.
A broad smile had imprinted on his face.
((The end))
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Previous chapter: Chapter 28 - Before I close my eyes
* 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
