by Taj63622
Chapter 24
Independence. To prove its very definition one must live alone, entirely dependent upon their selves alone.
Man will always be obliged to depend on something or someone. A child is dependent on its mother, even when it reaches the age where youth alone provides strength to confront struggles. Equally true, if Man is to progress into the wiser years and leave an evidence of his existence, then he depends on seeking a partner. Man will always be dependent upon man. Those that quest to make way for themselves, ask them how many support keeps them steady? To earn a living, the earner must depend on its employer, and he upon his customers.
He had a similar dependence. His upbringing was in a small family of differing backgrounds. His mother was Bengali, with a colourful past, and his father was an Englishman, with a past of his own. Somehow, between them, he formed a unique identity. Adolescence was not easy, and like every growing child, he enjoyed the worst and best of both it. He had the liberty of belonging to two very different countries. He did not know another world outside the three members of the Mohiddin-Young family. He did not have many relatives. His father was an only child, whose parents passed away very young. It was a lonely upbringing. Perhaps that is why, after losing his father, he became more protective about his mother’s health. A father himself, he still felt like a child. He still needs his mother.
It has been almost two weeks since he last saw or spoke to either his mother or daughter. Mayah has been good enough to keep him regularly updated about their health through the convenience of text messages. However, regardless of the information he received, he yearned to see his mother and daughter, and receive the visible confirmation that they were both fine.
Mayah has not once answered or returned his calls. Only this afternoon, he tried calling Mayah to inform her of his arrival, but she did not answer. He tried calling the landline, and again, he received no answer. The worst thoughts ran through his mind at the lack of response. He began to sense something unsettling and helplessly feared the worst regarding his mother’s health. He was aware of both women’s recklessness, but not to the extent that they should cease verbal communication with him. He has been feeling restless for the last few days. Thus, after work on Friday, he travelled up to their country home in Hertfordshire. This was a sudden decision, which he did not share with Jill either. She often talked him out of making visitation to their Hertfordshire home, citing that he will unnecessarily disturb his mother. Two days ago, he suggested Jill that they should spend some time in Hertfordshire with the rest of the family. However, she was strongly against the idea, advising him not to intrude, and silenced him by saying his mother and Mayah will come home when they are ready. Each time, he agreed with her. This time, he did not seek any advice or permission.
An hour and a half later, the gravel winding paths of the family cottage greets his entrance. If stones could express emotion, then each one would have looked astounded upon seeing the familiar but unexpected face. If they could speak, then they would have most certainly enquired to his sudden arrival, or better yet, urged him to reverse his steps. Men have erected great walls have to discourage collision, yet there was a wall here that could not halt another’s progression, despite being aware of the wrecking outcome.
‘Sam!’ the neighbour, Mrs Jacklin, delightedly calls him, stopping him immediately. ‘What a stranger you have become!’
He returns a cordial greeting, enquiring after Mr Jacklin’s health.
‘Oh, he’s fine, just a bit of a grump since retiring. Are you here alone?’ she asks interestedly.
‘Yes,’ he answers. ‘I did offer Jill, but she’s busy with her new project.’
‘How exciting!’ Mrs Jacklin says equally excited. ‘What about your mother? How is she?’
‘Oh, she is fine,’ he answers, before abruptly realising the question he answered.
Unable to speak, the stones watch the collision like spectators.
He repeats silently Mrs Jacklin’s question, realising at length what he answered.
‘And Mayah,’ continued Mrs Jacklin with her enquiries. ‘How is she? Did she find a job?’
She asked questions, and unknowingly provided answers to his confusion.
He was in a visible shock, to which a worried Mrs Jacklin made a start to enquire, when her husband required her inside. She made few attempts to ignore him, which strangely became easier after his retirement, but his persistence ultimately drew her inside.
Sam was scarcely able to move, frantically recalling Mrs Jacklin’s every word. He paces towards the main doors, and frantically rings the bell.
There was no response.
Fumbling over the keys, he manages to find the right one and hastily lets himself in. ‘Amma!’ he calls into the stillness. ‘Mayah!’ he tries next.
There was no reply.
Mistrusting his ears, he entered each room of the house, but neither his mother nor his daughter comes into view. He could not ascertain which he felt more, angry or worried. Reaching for his phone, he calls his wife. Her voice eventually comes through, and he relays all that he has discovered.
She expected Sam to make the discovery soon. It was an inevitable eventuality. She was realistic on the effectiveness of her excuses to hinder her husband from learning the truth. Yet, how unprepared she was on a confrontation upon confession. In many ways, she was relieved. Overcome by compassion, she agreed her mother-in-law and daughter to travel to a country they knew little about. However, it soon became evident that her maternal yearning was unwilling to suffer anymore. Her growing concerns for her mother-in-law and daughter were beyond consolation now. The quick email Mayah sent was but a temporary remedy to her pains. More days have passed since, and she has received no further updates on their progress. The worst thoughts crossed her mind. With Sam having learnt the truth, she now had the liberty to contact her family abroad. She can cease all necessity to conspire.
‘Such lies, Jill?’ Sam says in disbelief again. ‘Such deceit! To whom? To me, your husband?’
His anger is justified, and she was willing to bear it all, so long as he will contact Mayah.
‘Do you realise what you have done? You’ve put my mother and daughter in danger.’
‘They are my mother and daughter too,’ she says, his words stinging her painfully.
‘I know that!’
She did not quite know how to reply to that acknowledgement. In truth, he did not know either. Such was the turnout that it reduced the pair to reflect on their behaviour shamefacedly. This bewildering silence triggered a rather hysterical air to rise, making them laugh foolishly. It was not yet necessary to address the reasons behind their laughter, but the unsanctioned therapy was seemingly working wonders to alleviate their anger. The coming of better feelings had realised each that this was not the occasion to place accusations or surface faults in the other.
The hysterics gradually fading, he sits down, burying his heavy head into his shaking hands, as frantic thoughts flash through his mind. He did not know what to say or do.
‘How are they?’ he asks very calmly, his head still buried in his hands.
‘They are doing well,’ she answers, her confidence faltering slightly. ‘They found Jameel Uncle.’
This update had Sam shoot a startled glance at her, his grey eyes observing her disbelievingly.
‘They are staying with him and his family,’ she continues. ‘They have all been very helpful. They are doing everything to find your uncle –’
‘I have no uncle,’ he abruptly reminds her, grey eyes flashing indignantly at the mention of his mother’s brother. She scarcely opened her mouth to reason, when Sam quickly stops her. He wished to be alone for some time.
Ask a man how is life with three female companions, each from a progressive generation, and none would be better equipped to answer than he will be.
When in want of some quiet contemplation, he will most definitely come here. A cemetery in East London, in a
distance to a mosque from where he can hear the Friday azaan, rested his father. A Friday of every month, he would come here to pray beside his father’s grave. His father was a strange person. He held no firm religion, yet when it came to decide the inevitable burial, he was determined for an Islamic ceremony. The decision resulted from one of those bizarre conversations that began as a general subject, but ended as a major reflection. He adopted the surname Mohiddin to agree with the Islamic Marriage Act. He did not disapprove of other religions, but believed each one tended to the same concept, conformed to similar guidelines of discipline Man, to enable him to differentiate the good from the evil. His father always said he held strong principles. He did not require any guidelines. Just as his writing carried the credibility of truth, for he wrote what he saw, he only did what his instincts advised. Marriage to a woman many years junior to his age and from a completely different background, was not an impulsive decision, but a helplessness of his heart, a realisation of love. Stuck between these two cultures was him, their only son and child.
He objected to neither cultures, and strangely adapted rather well to both. Neither did he have any personal objection to the country from where his mother originated. It was a world he knew little about, despite his mother sharing stories of her childhood there. At the coming of adolescence, his mother revealed the truth of her family, and the circumstances, which united his parents. His mother did not speak bitterly of her experience, and portrayed the events as not to infect his tender mind. There was no doubt that the country was beautiful, but the people are not the equal.
He detested his mother’s brother. As far as he was concerned, he was unrelated to that part of the world. He had no other family apart from his parents, wife and daughter. He only belonged here. He was happy and comfortable with his small family. Where there are less people, there is less confusion.
‘Where there is less confusion,’ he hears his father interject, ‘there is clarity. Yet, alone you sit here, seeking it.’
He gave me no response, his gaze fixed at his father’s grave.
The boy was terrible at hiding the truth.
It was no secret that Sam would have wanted a big family, and spare Mayah the feeling of loneliness that he suffered throughout his upbringing. He had both of his parents’ affection, but a child without siblings made the family picture appear incomplete. A child needs to quarrel with his sibling, and yet realise that despite the bitter exchange, affection between them remains unchanged. He did not realise this. He did not realise that his mother still had a brother, from whom she cannot sever her connections. He did not appreciate that whether it was a sibling's defeat or success, he will also garner the praises and consolations, for he will be termed the brother.
Had he been financially better, he would have given Sam a sibling. The decision to have no more children was a conscious one between him and Nargis. However, where lack of fortune discouraged him from expanding his family, Fate’s cruelty prevented Sam from expanding his.
They met at university, and were in the same year. She was a member of the vegetarian society, and met Sam when she was carrying out one of her surveys. Love happened, and shortly after graduation, they married. To please her parents, Jill also married before a priest at her local church. After marriage, Sam began his career in investment banking, while Jill got a job as an underwriter at a publishing firm. She was also from a small family, having only one brother. The want of having children existed in both her and Sam. The poor girl suffered two miscarriages, before becoming pregnant with Mayah. During this time, she published a short novel. Her writing career consequently took off, overshadowing her inability to bear another child. Mayah and their busy careers suppressed their want of becoming parents again. But the desire of being part of a big family had never vanished. It is apparent from Jill's writing that she feels the injustice of her womb and her constant inability to overcome her husband's repressed wish. He never complained or made his desires visible. However, when he saw Mayah among those that did have siblings, he felt her yearning closely.
Fate’s injustice is not without reason.
‘What are you angrier at?’ he enquires, his voice gentle as to invite Sam to open up to him. ‘Is it their sudden leaving or that they did not seek your permission?’
‘I’m not angry at anyone,’ he admits. ‘I am just worried. You know how Mayah is. She is obstinate and thoughtless, naïve and inexperienced. With these traits, she has gone to an unknown country, where most people are like Amma’s brother. What if someone takes advantage of her innocence?’
He said nothing and allowed the boy to disburden his heart.
‘Amma too has left no stone unturned to form my worries,’ Sam continues. ‘Why is she so adamant to reconcile? Why does she want to reunite with her brother? Why should she apologise? She did nothing wrong.’
‘You’re worried about the “whys”,’ he inputs cautiously, ‘whereas I am worried about the “what”.’
He smiles pleasingly at the success of receiving Samsul’s perturbed reaction.
Mayah is an innocent, very naïve, girl. When she wants something she does not consider right or wrong, or any consequence of her action. She does what she feels is right. She is reckless, and that is evident in her courageous decision to go to Bangladesh without your consultation. She is out there, and has the single care of an old fragile woman. Two lonely women, impulsive and thoughtless, are staying in a country where the people will not hesitate to take advantage of their being tourists.
‘Also,’ he continues, ‘you cannot forget that beast, your mother’s brother,’ he clarifies. ‘He had no compassion for Nargis then, his very own blood sister. What can we expect of him now? What if seeing his estranged sister all of a sudden, with her mixed-caste grandchild, incites him, and matters takes a turn for the worse?’
He need not continue any further.
Sam began to reflect on the formidable consequence, eventually realising the likelihood of them occurring. Thus, he rises to his feet frantically, overtaken by the fear that his father provoked within him.
He smiles to himself delightfully, as he sees his son heading towards home. Old habits are hard to overcome because their effect never ages.
