by Taj63622
Chapter 22
Jameel Dhadha and Shuhel Chacha have been gone to Dhaka for two days now. Their hopes depended on Jameel Dhadha now, and the success of his findings depended on His generosity. Since their departure, they have received only one phone call. They were at the early stages of their investigations, but it was a promising start. Indeed, Jameel Dhadha voiced a strong determination to stay in Dhaka until they do not at least find some solid clue about the whereabouts of Dhadhi’s brother
In their absence, she has kept her idleness occupied by partaking in small activities whenever they presented themselves. Unpacking luggage, helping Salma in the common household chores, and spending time with Taheera and many of the locals helped pass her time greatly. The children call her English Didi, which is a title of respect for older sister. Those similar to her age call her Mayah boyn, which simply translates as Mayah sister.
Spending time with the locals was an educating experience and greatly helped to divert her mind from the experiences she suffered at the train station. She learnt a great deal about household chores too, and her Sylhetti language was improving progressively.
Most notably, she gained a remarkable insight to the daily routine of housewives. Afsana Chachi and Salma share the chores between them. Once they finish cooking and cleaning, Salma prepares the lunch table for Iqbal. He starts work early in the morning. The cool of the morning meant that tourists preferred having their tour at that hour. If it is not a scheduled tour, then he will report to a tea estate, whose owner requested his attendance. Many Brits owned one of the tea estates. Incompetent in the native language, they have employed him to be the communicator between them and the tea-pickers, due to the rarity of English speakers. His lunch break only lasts thirty minutes, and some days he is so busy that Salma sends one of the local boys to deliver his lunch to him.
One evening, she and Salma were exchanging talks on the tourist sights of England and Sreemangal. Salma spoke delightfully of a seaside called Jaflong, where rock collectors gather to make their earnings. She mentioned a famous river called Piyain, insisting that she must take a boat ride along it. She even confided a small secret with her. Apparently, Iqbal secretly took her for a boat ride along Piyain soon after their marriage. He had to keep the truth from his parents. It was not the custom of the country to talk openly of affectionate gestures between a husband and wife. They must show modesty. She listed more popular tourist spots, including the blessed Shrine of Hazrat Shah Jalal, and a rainforest called Lawacherra. She talked animatedly about the various plantations, and of the tribal villages on the hills. Indeed, Salma had described each place in such mesmerising detail, that she could not help but want to visit before she returns to England, in spite of knowing the purpose of her visit to the country. One evening, Iqbal and Dhadhi overheard their conversation, and so he offered her and Dhadhi to join him in his next tour.
Nargis could not neglect that her grandchild still had a right to enjoy the sights. It will be unfair to have Mayah sacrifice her unsaid wishes out of respect to unresolved family problems. Youth had a natural openness to freedom and a keenness to explore. She did not want to repress Mayah’s freedom.
She has only seen that much of Sreemangal’s famous tea estates as she did on passing it from the Parabat Express. For Iqbal, the period between March and December is the busiest time for him, for it is the tea season. His first tour was at eight in the morning. The tourist group were mostly American nationals, and were here for a two-day visit. Tomorrow they will be visiting Lawcharra Rainforest. Today’s visit will primarily consist of exploring the tea gardens.
There are a total of hundred-and-fifty tea estates in Sreemangal. Even a brief guide of each one will unarguably have half-a-day exhausted, hence Iqbal advised the tourists to visit the popular ones. The British owned seventy-two tea estates. Wealthy Bangladeshis owned the remaining ones, save for a few that belonged to the Tea Boards for research and study. Once tourists taste the famous seven-layer tea at the roadside tea cabin, many tourists usually break-off to visit Lawacherra Rainforest, which is eight kilometres from Sreemangal. Some tourists decide to stay in the Main Tea Resort, depending on the approval of the estate owner. Iqbal often plays the mediator in such situations, bargaining a good price, which can benefit both the owner and tourist.
The air carried the distinctive scent of tea. It was inviting, and encouraged many to pass on their positive comments as they entered the thick green terrain. The leaves grew mostly on alluvial, flat lands, with some growing higher, on the hilly areas. Tea-pickers scattered the whole area, their bright clothing easily distinguishable against the vast greenery. Iqbal explained that the labourers, who are all females, are mostly Hindus. When the British first constructed the tea estates in this region in 1857, they were unwilling to invest in new labourers. Instead, they employed the skilled workers from Assam, Orissa and West Bengal. Since then, this part of Sreemangal has chiefly had Hindu inhabitants. Large cloth baskets hung behind them, into which they collect tealeaves, while large straw hats protected them from the Sun.
Only a handful of tea estates were easy to enter, having little or no security. Others, such as Hustley’s and Dunlope’s Tea Estates, were impossible to enter, fenced and gated carefully. Warning signboards at the gates made the restrictions more wilful, instructing tourists to go away. An angry guard stood at the entrance at all times, and gave them a disapproving look every time they passed him.
Contrarily, the tea pickers were very friendly. They were accustomed to having tourists around them and taking pictures with them. Perhaps Mayah and Dhadhi would have conversed in greater lengths with the tea-pickers, but learning that their earnings depended on the weight of the leaves collection, they refrained from becoming too much of a disturbance.
‘And this one is Oleson’s Tea Gardens,’ Iqbal gestures towards another British owned estate. This one was located on the hilliest part of the gardens, with moderate security. There was a uniformed and stern looking guard sitting by the entrance gates. Iqbal goes over to him and acknowledges him of their appointment. The unfriendly looking guard stretches his gaze, as he silently counts the number of tourists. The number matching that of what Iqbal gave, the guard notes it down in his logbook before letting them all in.
It is a shame, and completely unsurprising, that managers are not as friendly as the labourers are. Of the eight estates, they have seen so far, not one manager smiled genuinely at them. Some of them did not even allow the tourists to take pictures. Their greeting was usually short but polite, and their smile was only on the surface. Once they made the cordial exchanges, the manager looked away abruptly and began yelling at the tea-pickers to increase their pace. Whenever a tourist tried to talk to one of the tea-pickers, the manager would stare disapprovingly, for the distraction was clearly not benefiting him. If the conversation between tourist and the labourer went on for long, then the manager would approach them and look into the tea-picker’s collection sack with an unimpressed expression. Sometimes Mayah and Dhadhi felt as if the managers were venting out their anger, which the tourists caused, upon the innocent labourers.
Iqbal advised his group to keep distraction to a minimum, especially in these British owned estates, for the British are strict keepers of time. Other tour groups were also about, taking numerous pictures of the garden and tea-pickers. Many tea-pickers shied away from the camera, whilst others poised in great comfort. Upon Dhadhi’s insistence, Mayah also takes pictures with her phone. She was in the middle of taking a picture of one of the tea-pickers, when the girl suddenly runs past her. Alarmed, she and Dhadhi look at the scene that directed the woman’s attention. They notice a group of female and some tourists gathered about something. Iqbal and his tour group quickly reach the scene of commotion, finding an elderly woman lying unconscious on the ground.
‘Amma,’ the distraught girl, who they were taking pictures with, calls the elderly woman, indicating that she is the elderly woman’s daughter, ‘What happened?’ s
he asks, desperately trying to get her mother into consciousness. ‘Water,’ she anxiously calls out. ‘Bring some water.’
Many tourists helpfully offer the girl their bottle of water, which she picks at random. She tips some water into her hand, and sprinkles it onto her mother’s face. A few desperate attempts later, the elderly woman regains consciousness.
A relief descends throughout the whole crowd. Fellow tea pickers help the woman to a sitting position, offering her some water to drink, while the others replaced the tealeaves into her sack, which scattered everywhere upon her fainting. Iqbal’s concern was clearly visible, and he desperately enquires after her health.
‘She’s fine,’ one of the estate supervisors says, glowering over the incident almost unaffectedly. ‘It happens to her all the time. Iqbal, tell her to rest it out.’
Iqbal dutifully conveys the message, while the supervisor orders the other tea pickers to resume their task. The crowd disintegrates, leaving the daughter to her mother’s care.
‘You should not have come to work today,’ Iqbal scolds her gently. ‘Why didn’t you stop her?’ he tells the girl.
‘I did, bhaiya,’ the girl answers, ‘but you know how adamant Amma is. Has she ever heeded to my advice?’
Iqbal offers to take her home, which the woman fearfully objects.
‘No,’ the unwell refuses decidedly, although her flailing voice did not match her determination. ‘I can’t go home. Your Sasa is not well. I have to make enough this week if the physician is to get your Sasa’s medicine from town this Friday. Or else I will have to wait another whole week, before the physician goes into town again.’
Iqbal shakes his head hopelessly at her. ‘Neelu is here,’ he says, nodding towards her daughter. She will see to it. If there is a difference remaining, then I will settle it.’
‘No,’ the old woman fiercely declines. ‘I already owe you so much. Besides, you have a family of your own. It will be unfair on them and more unfair on the other workers. If you keep showing partiality towards my family, then someone is bound to have a reason to dispute.’
Before giving Iqbal an opportunity to reply, the old woman quickly heads towards her duties, immersing herself within the tea leaves again. Her daughter frantically follows, pleading her mother to drop her obstinacy and return home for some rest. Her mother took no heed to the advices, resolutely attaching the basket to her back. Like the other tourists, she and Dhadhi also watch the frail woman in bewilderment. She took to her duty, foolishly ignorant of her health and her daughter’s concerns. The girl, defeated before her mother’s obstinacy, looks at Iqbal, her face depicting one who has lost all courage.
A helpless Iqbal could not do much either to convert the woman’s obstinacy. He never could.
The time was perfect to take a break. He suggests everyone to take a break at the Tea Cabin, which was a short distance from this particular estate. The group, still recovering from the disturbing sights, welcomed the suggestion. He led the way, but found Mayah and Dhadhi still peering at the old tea picker in the distance. The two women were of a tender disposition, and experiences like this affected them quite easily. He seeks their attention and prompts them to follow him. He walked alongside them. They were in deep thought, and to better their moods, he initiates a conversation.
‘Looking forward to the famous seven layer tea?’ he tactfully asks.
Dhadhi nods in reply, while Mayah was unheard to the question.
‘You know,’ he continues brightly, ‘the secret to the seven layer tea is closely guarded. Lal Sasa was even offered a job in a top hotel of Sylhet, but he refused, simply because he didn’t want to share his secret. He earns little here -’
‘But passion seeks no profit,’ Mayah unknowingly finishes the sentence. Her comment incited Iqbal and Dhadhi to exchange an uneasy glance. ‘How much does each tea picker earn?’ she asks, speaking her mind without consideration to Iqbal's ability to answer.
So unexpected was the question that his smile briefly slips away. He was unwilling to answer, and began designing many tactics in his head to deter from doing so. However, Mayah’s grey eyes observed him in such hope that he was unable to put design to practice.
‘They make enough to earn a modest living,’ he says with a light smile.
‘What is considered a modest living here?’
Below, at the foot of the hill, Iqbal notices his group patiently waiting for the remainder of the party to join them. His smile disappears again, looking at Dhadhi somewhat entreatingly.
‘Why should it matter to us?’ Dhadhi says, having read Iqbal’s hesitation.
‘How much do they earn, Iqbal bhai?’
Dhadhi wished to get Mayah off the subject, but Iqbal quickly stops her. He regards Mayah carefully for some time, eventually giving her an answer.
‘Let’s talk it over some tea.’
