Finding the Unseen

by Taj63622

  Chapter 32

  Man takes the form of water. Like water, they have no fixed form, and their circumstance alone determines it. He felt like the water of a waterfall, suspended in the air, waiting to land somewhere that could determine his form, or at least give him a direction.

  “IN a country where an unmarried girl of marriageable age can only hold a relationship as someone’s granddaughter, daughter, niece or sister, I share a room with her. We hold no legitimate relationship between us. The room is small. The only furnishings are two simple beds, a small wardrobe and a desk. A flickering kerosene lantern overlooks my paper as I write this article. The flame threatens to douse. But I ignore its warnings and continue my task. Occasionally, I look over my shoulder at the unmarried girl. Reassured that she is safe, my attention returns to the article.

  She is an eloper, who revolted against the marriage her brother agreed for his financial benefit. I was the instigator behind this revolt. I outlined the reasons against her making the sacrifices of her hopes and expectations. Her suitor was an elderly man of four children. I refused her to lend herself to a man, who willed to revive his youth by marrying a girl who was closer to being a sister to his children than fill the void of their mother. Then, I believed I gave a voice to the girl’s suppressed desires. Now, I find myself running around the country like a fugitive, desperately trying to protect her from her brother’s clutches. I have had several addresses since. Life has been taking strange turns. My restless legs have travelled from Dhaka to Sylhet, from lodge rooms to this guesthouse. I am not alone. The girl travels with me. An Englishman and a Muslim girl are alone in each other’s company. It was not a common sight to the average passer-by. She knew very well the speculation she was encouraging by being with me. She understood that her honour was at stake, and yet she endured their startled glances and disapproving looks. She did not feel the need to justify his company. The truth does not demand proof or reason.

  A thousand questions must be on her mind. A thousand times more, she was unable to ask them, for she could not speak English, or I any Bengali. Yet, somehow between us we developed a trust, enough for this girl to share the same room with a foreign stranger.”

  The pen kept contact with the paper, but his hand came to a stop as his mind pondered on the next sentence. This was the first draft of his article. Much work still needed doing on it if he is to telegram it to his editor in London tomorrow morning. Though his friend John was witness to these events here, and trusted him equally well to relay it fully to his chief, he could not idly accept his salary. He felt ashamed of taking a salary without inputting any effort into his employment. He was a man of principle.

  Life has reached a stalemate with their troubles. A whole week has gone since they left Dhaka. They have been living as husband and wife in this guesthouse to avert other's confusion. Until they do not hear from Jameel, they must remain in these characters. He has sent Jameel two telegrams to his home address, using the cover name of Ayub. He alerted him to their whereabouts, and desperately sought his help. He shamefully stated his financial constraints, despite being aware of Jameel’s modest earning. He could do little else until he hears from Jameel. Yet, his situation was a little better than the girl’s state. She was in an irredeemable complication. She had no home, no family and, given her sex, she did not have the prospect to earn a living. He did not know either how to overcome her complications, but ascertained that much that he will not leave her until he has not resolved her case.

  He reread his article once again, making improvements here and there. His watch informs him of the late hour, quickly reaching two in the morning, yet he continued writing. Shortly, he came to a stop, not knowing how to begin his next sentence. Every time he made a start, he would revise it to find it not reaching his approval. He scribbled it out fiercely. This starting and restarting irritated him greatly. The exercise made him warmer, accentuated by the stale heat of the room, which the heat emitting from lantern only furthered. There was no convenience of a fan in this simple room. He flapped his vest with one hand to produce some cool air, while his other hand firmly held the pen upon the paper. The lantern beside him flickered violently, as if wanting to state its threats are not empty. He was finding it difficult to write, but now he was in danger of not being able to see what he willed to write.

  His head still directed towards the paper, his eyes become alert to a sudden emergence of light. He follows it to the source, finding another lantern standing on his desk.

  She could not sleep either. Though she lay with her back turned to him, she was able to conclude the Englishman’s equal difficulty in sleeping. It was so quiet in the room that she could hear the distinctive sound of his pen as it travelled the surface of the paper. Everything else was so still that his shadow on the wall beside her flickered, compelling her to learn the cause. Therefore, instead of letting the lantern futilely burn beside her, she believed it better to let it assist the Englishman. ‘Thank you,’ he passes on his appreciation.

  The impending deadline returned his attention upon the article. He briskly writes away, while her gaze stretches onto the paper before him, noticing the many pages of writing. She could not read a single word, but grew eager to know what he wrote that denied his eyes of sleep. Thus, she sat on his bed, and watched him curiously, as he wrote.

  An unusual silence comes to his notice, eventually, appealing his attention. His gaze lands on the Nargis, who was sitting on his bed, peering at his work. He nodded his head questioningly at her, and in reply, she pointed at the paper before him and gestures as if to ask, “What are you writing?”

  ‘Newspaper,’ he answers, confident that the word was familiar to her understanding. ‘I,’ he says pointing to himself, ‘write,’ and enacts the respective word, ‘newspaper,’ he informs by lifting his article. She looked very impressed.

  ‘This newspaper,’ he nods towards the papers in his hands, ‘is about me,’ he gestures to himself, ‘and you,’ he points at her. These updates startled her. She felt increasingly uneasy to have her name and accounts become public news. ‘Don’t worry,’ he laughs, reading her uneasiness accurately. ‘No Nargis,’ he says shaking his head. ‘Only me, Francis. London read Francis in East Pakistan.’

  Her tensions instantly vanish.

  ‘You write?’ he asks her with the corresponding gesture.

  ‘Bengali,’ she answers, wanting to add "but not much."

  ‘Write name, your name, Nargis,’ he instructs, offering her a pen and paper.

  The flickering flame of his lantern finally announced its expiry. The light now depended on her lantern alone. He brought the pen and paper closer to her. His insistence ultimately compelled her to take pen to paper. ‘Amar naam,’ she says as she writes her name, ‘Nargis.’

  She wrote something else.

  ‘Francis,’ she reads, then pointed at him. ‘Francis,’ she repeats, taking a strong liking to the name. She never called the Englishman by his name before. He smiled, his name sounding very different from his mouth. In this merriment, an idea suddenly struck him. It was very likely that the girl and he will be in each other’s company for some time without an interpreter. They must do something to overcome this communication barrier. He turns towards his desk and excitedly wrote the first seven letters of the English alphabet down on the paper, while she watched him in puzzlement. ‘A,’ he says slowly, pointing to the first letter.

  She looked from the paper to the Englishman, her confusion deepening.

  ‘A,’ he instructs again.

  She followed.

  ‘B,’ he said next, pointing to the second letter.

  She repeated after him.

  ‘C,’ he reads the next letter, which she promptly repeated after him.

  This lesson went on until they reached the letter G, after which he returned to A and revised the letters again.

  She remembered A, B and C, but hesitated on D. He reminded her, and she tested herself by saying the letters f
rom A again. Successful, she applies the same tactic to the remaining letters, going from A to G. He heard each pronunciation carefully, his lips unknowingly moving as she gives voice to each letter. He was impressed at her quick grasp of the alphabet, and he willed to teach her more of it, but the hour did not recommend it. Thus, he advised her to go to sleep, gesturing correspondingly. He makes a start to take the paper out of her hands, but she makes her claim on them stronger. Silently reciting the letters, she gets up from his bed. He also prepares to go to sleep. A small smile crops upon his lips, as he lay in his bed, watching the girl entranced, admiring her as she chanted the letters. Perhaps she felt his gaze on her, for she looked up from the paper and at him. He did not care for what she may perceive from his daring eyes, but he was unable to look away.

  As she held her gaze with his, she was coming to a peculiar realisation. Questions rose and dropped from her mind. Her difficulties and the uncertainty of her future have not vanished. Yet, when he looked at her, she found herself in a strange reassurance. Beginning to fear the implicitness of her own eyes, she closes them tightly. It was a false reassurance. The Englishman was not here to stay. Soon, he will be gone. She knew this. Yet, why does it feel, as if she was only becoming aware of this eventuality? Why did the prospect of an uncertain future seem more appealing than a future without her Englishman?

  A fear grasped her tightly, and she pacified her heart that it must bear the Englishman's inevitable return home. But the obstinate heart was unwilling to take heed. She struggled to understand the reason, or rather she feared to accept it.

  Her brother was still in custody. He will remain there until someone does not bail him out. She felt a violent pang knowing that her brother was in the merciless condition of a prison. Her inability to help him tore her heart. How she wished he behaved justly with her, and spared her the regret of reducing him to a prison. How dearly she wished to have a brother.

  Now she can only pray that his release is soon, and that he will reflect on his past actions and seek reformation. Until then, her brother will be a constant threat. Upon his release from custody, there was the strong possibility that he will seek out Jameel to obtain her whereabouts. To avert the possibility, Jameel and his family were staying at his wife’s maternal home. Until matters do not settle down regarding her future, Jameel and his family will be staying in another district of Dhaka. Since moving, he has been visiting his abandoned house to collect the post. Amongst them, there were many telegrams from the Englishman, leading him to this guesthouse. Unknowingly, she has caused many a great inconvenience. But Jameel is here now. The two men can finally reach an ultimatum about her future.

  ‘I can keep her as my sister,’ he reasons, ‘and take her far away as possible from her brother, but she will never be safe from this accusing society. Their prying and disapproving gaze will constantly follow her. People will form shameful conjectures about her living with me. You are all too aware of the vulnerability of her sex. I cannot keep her with me for long. It will be wise to have her married. She will have a fresh start. I shall begin a search for a worthy suitor. ’

  Astounded by Jameel’s decision, he looks at Nargis in fresh fears.

  Having heard Jameel’s translation, a feeling of losing grasped her. Instead of lowering her gaze modestly, she looks at the Englishman appealingly. Her marriage was a sensible decision to make for her future security, then why does she suffer this hesitation? Why does she want to voice her objection to marriage yet again? Only this time, she did not find legitimate reasons to support her quiet objection.

  ‘Marriage?’ her Englishman asks in disbelief, struggling to recover from his shock. ‘Does every solution here end with marriage!’ he says in helpless frustration, rising to his feet, looking away from her, as if willing to hide something. His tone of voice and expression marked his disagreement with Jameel's decision. She looked gratefully at him, that he should speak that which she could only feel.

  ‘Then what else do you propose?’ Jameel enquires, defending his decision. ‘What else shall we do with the girl? You are only a guest amongst us. You will go home to England, but she will become my responsibility. She has no other family to provide for her. How long can I keep her in my house unmarried? What answers am I to give to the interrogative society? And we cannot forget her lunatic brother. If he should get the slightest whiff that she is here, then he will attempt to harm her again. Where will I hide her then? Marriage is the only sensible solution. She will have her own home and family. I will choose a good man for her. I will choose wisely.’

  ‘If the care of her responsibility is beyond your means to cope, then you need not have to worry.’

  He was aware of the spite audible in his voice. He did not intend it, but such was his feeling towards the prospect of her marriage.

  ‘That is not what I meant,’ Jameel replies in anger.

  The two men argue their respective points, while she watches helplessly, unable to understand their dialogue. Yet, their raised voices provided sufficient evidence to their conflicting opinions regarding her. She was the reason. Her brother was suffering the hardship of a prison because of her. The Englishman has been unable to return home because of her, and Jameel has had to relocate his family because of her. She has caused them to discard their homes and family. She is the misfortune, the curse upon their peace. She is responsible for their troubles. Had she anticipated that speaking her mind would lead to such outcomes, then she would have happily condemned her life to marriage with the old man. She would have made peace with her misfortunes, instead of having to bear the guilt of becoming the reason of other’s hardships.

  For the sake of marriage, their troubles began, and only by marriage, it will be undone.

  Her hesitant steps took her before them. So engrossed they were in their arguments that she went unnoticed. She had to yell over their voices to gain their attention. ‘I agree,’ she says quietly again, the words sounding distant to her ears. ‘Jameel bhai is right. I must marry.’

  She carefully avoided her gaze from her Englishman. She feared his encouragement. She abhorred his help and the constant hope she gained from it. None of it is real. Her life was here. He was not part of it.

  Her downcast eyes were evidence enough to the struggles she was undergoing on proclaiming a decision that objected with the truth. For some time, he said nothing. He looked at her expectantly, that she will look at him very soon, so he can read in her eyes that, which her mouth did not have the courage to admit. But not once did she look up. Neither could he remain silent.

  ‘You are under no compulsion to marry,’ he begins, and Jameel dutifully translates.

  ‘I know,’ she says in an unsteady voice. She felt her eyes smart, yet she restrained her tears, ‘but I want to marry.’

  The translation fell bitterly to his ears.

  ‘It is my life,’ she defends her decision, his disappointed look stinging her unbearably. ‘Do I not have the right to decide? Why can I not marry? Why did you not let me marry? Who gave you the right to interfere? If you had not poisoned my mind against my suitor, then I would have had a family of my own today. Why did you think I would not be happy in that marriage? You ruined my life, made me subject to scandal because you wanted a story for your newspaper. I was just a story for your newspaper.’

  Affronted by those claims, he shook his head at her. He wished to deny those claims, but he was too overwhelmed to find his voice.

  ‘What was my crime?’ she asks fiercely, cautiously avoiding the Englishman’s gaze, lest they should weaken her desired intention. ‘I am a girl, that is my crime,’ she says, struck by the realisation. ‘I do not have the right to choose. That is the reason my brother arranged my marriage without my consent. That is why, when a stranger told me to refuse marriage, I foolishly agreed. No one asked what I wanted. I must do what everyone else wants. Now, again, I am ordered. One tells me to do this and another tells to do that.’

  Through her tear-stained eyes, she
looks at them meaningfully. Jameel’s gaze drops in shame, while the Englishman looks at her hurtfully. He looked torn between compassion and anger at her outburst.

  ‘I will do what I feel is best for me,’ she affirms again. ‘I will marry whoever Jameel bhai chooses for me.’

  ‘You can’t,’ her Englishman suddenly says, a dread overcoming his face.

  ‘Why can’t I?’ she demands.

  ‘Because I –’ and there, he stopped short, not quite knowing the reasons himself. Why could he not let her marry? He objected previously because it was an unfitting match, but now, despite knowing that Jameel will choose wisely, why could he not let marry? How should he justify his objection?

  ‘I wanted to get another story out of you,’ he answers at length. ‘But I was being selfish. Jameel is right. You should marry.’

  What else was she waiting to hear that his answer should at once crush all her hopes?

  He walks away. His pace and manner denoted that her bitter words had hurt him. She forced herself to bear the distance. It was the making of her doing. She should be happy that her action had met the desired outcome. Yet, she suffered an anguish that beat her relentlessly. Her Englishman would not leave her any other way. He was not hers to keep.