Shame: A Novel

by Taslima Nasrin

  He bought a packet of muri from a grocer's shop at Islampur. The shopkeeper cast a sidelong glance at him. Suranjan got the impression that this man, too, was aware of Maya's abduction. He just walked on blindly without any destination in his mind. He took a seat on the rubble of the devastated monastery at Nayabazar. He couldn't find ease. The topic of the Babri mosque would invariably be brought up anywhere he went. The other day, Selim blurted out, "If you could destroy the Babri mosque, then what's wrong with our smashing up temples?" Selim had been joking when he said this. But many serious thoughts are expressed through casual jokes.

  If Maya came back home, of course, it might be like that. Let her at least come back, even if she had been raped. This led him to believe that Maya had returned. Suranjan trudged back home only to find two persons with their senses alert, sitting stone still, hoping for Maya to come back

  What could be more cruel and ruthless than the revelation about Maya's still not being found? Sinking his face in the pillow of his bed, Suranjan lay supine. The sound of Sudhamay's groaning reached him, piercing the night's stillness. Kiranmayee's feeble weeping, like the drone of crickets, also could be heard. All this kept Suranjan awake the whole night. If only he could lay his hand on a vial of poison, then all three of them would end their miserable existence by taking it. The agony of being torn in bits and pieces could be put to an end forever. What did they gain by staying alive? There was no point in remaining alive in Bangladesh as a Hindu.

  Sudhamay guessed that something like cerebral thrombosis had struck him. He would have certainly been dead if the attack had accompanied by a hemorrhage. What was the harm if he were dead? Sudhamay was frantically wishing for a hemorrhage. He was half-dead; if only he could save Maya in exchange for his own life. She had a deep craving for life. She went to Parul's house all alone just to stay alive. It was only his sickness that had brought her back, only to be carried off by those cruel monsters. His sense of guilt, just like woodmites, caused a persistent pain in him. His vision became blurred repeatedly. He held out his hand to Kiranmayee. But no one was there. Suranjan wasn't near him, and Maya had just vanished. He felt thirsty-his tongue and throat had become parched with thirst.

  He had caused Kiranmayee lots of suffering. She had been used to worshiping the household deity every day. After their marriage, she was told to give up that practice. At one time, Kiranmayee sang quite well. But the people around would call her a shameless woman for singing in public, pointing at her as an illustration of the immodesty of Hindu girls. So offended was Kiranmayee by these ac cusations that she had given up singing completely. When she finally stopped singing, how much support did she receive from Sudhamay? Perhaps he, too, was swayed by the thought that when people called it bad, there was no point in pursuing it. For twenty-one years, he had slept by Kiranmayee's side, but only to protect her chastity. What was the reason for his keeping guard over his wife's chastity? Wasn't this a sort of perversion? She never coveted expensive saris or ornaments. She had never insisted on having a particular sari or a pair of earrings of her own choice. Sudhamay would often ask, "Kiranmayee, are you keeping some sorrow from me?"

  Kiranmayee would say, "No, not at all. All my pleasures and dreams are linked with this family. I don't crave any special pleasure for myself."

  Sudhamay wanted to have a girl. Before the birth of Suranjan, he would place the stethoscope on the bulge of her abdomen and say, "I can hear the heartbeat of my daughter. Would you like to hear it?"

  Sudhamay would say, "Daughters invariably look after the parents in their old age. Sons go about their own way after marriage. On the contrary, daughters often neglect their own husband and family to nurse their parents. This has been my experience in the hospital. It is the daughters whom I find nursing their ailing parents. Sons visit them like guests, no more."

  Placing the earpieces of the stethoscope in Kiranmayee's ears, he would make her listen to the drumming of the fetus's heartbeat. While parents all over the world craved sons, Sudhamay alone wanted a daughter. Sudhamay even went to the extent of dressing baby Suranjan in a frock on outings. His long-cherished dream, however, came true following the birth of Maya. Sudhamay himself named his daughter Maya after his own mother. He would say, "One mother is gone, another has come in her place."

  It was Maya who would administer medicines to Sudhamay during the nights. Now the time for his taking medicine had long passed. He called to his cherished daughter, "Maya, Maya...." The neighbors were asleep and his anguished wail was heard only by Kiranmayee and Suranjan, who were both awake. It was also heard by the black-and-white cat.

  'he bloody riots that had broken out over India in the wake of the demolition of the Babri mosque at Ayo- dhya in Uttar Pradesh was grinding to a halt. The number of dead had already exceeded 1,800. Occasional clashes still caused tension at Kanpur and Bhopal. The army had been called out in states like Gujarat, Karnatak, Kerala, Andhra Pradesh, Assam and West Bengal. The offices of the banned parties had been locked up.

  In Dhaka, all the parties were spontaneously staging processions for peace and communal harmony. So what? On the other hand, thirty girls on Shambhu-Golakpur had been raped, girls like Chanchala, Sandhya, and Mani. Nikunja Datta was killed. An old woman, Bhagabati died of heart failure in sheer panic. Girls had been raped at Go- lakpur in broad daylight. Even the girls sheltered in the Muslim houses were not spared. The betel nut storehouse of Nantu Halder with a stock of nearly one and a half tonnes at Daser Haat market had been burned to ashes. The police, magistrates and the district magistrate were mute spectators when the temples in Bhola town were caught in the demolition spree. Jewelry shops had been looted while people looked on. A Hindu washerman's colony was burned to ashes. In Manikganj town, Lakshmi Mandap, Community Shib Bari, Dashora, Kalikhola, the area of goldsmiths, the beverage and cigarette stock center of Gadadhar Pal had been smashed up. There truckloads of rowdies launched attacks on Twara, Pukuria, Uthli, Ma- hadebpur, Joka and Shivalaya police station areas. In Betila village, about three kilometers from town, Hindu houses were looted. A similar attack was made on a hundred-yearold Nat Mandir at Betila. The fire which was set to Jiban Saha's house at Garpara also consumed his three cowsheds, as well as several hundred kilograms of paddy. All the Hindu shops in Terashree Bazar under Gheor police station, all the Hindu houses at Gangdubi, Baniajuri and Senpara were set on fire. A Hindu housewife at Senpara had also been raped. In Phirozepur, the Kali temple, the Sheetala temple, the Shiva temple, the Narayan temple, the temple of Madanmohan image, Akhrabari, the temple of Rayer Kathi Kalibari, Krishnanagar Rairasaraj Sevashram, the hermitage and temple of Dumurtala Sirguru Sangha, the Kali temple of Suresh Saha at South Dumurtala, Naren Saha's Manasa temple in the same place, the Manasa temple of Ramesh Shah and his residence, the Dumurtala community Kali temple, the household temples of Sucharan Mandal, Gauranga Halder, Narendranath Saha, the Kali temple beside Dumurtala High School, the temple of Panchadevi, the community Durga temple of Hularhat and firewood shop of Kartik Das, the Sanatan Ashram Kali temple at Kalakhali, Jujkhola Gourgovinda Sevashram, the Sanatan Dharma temple of Harisabha, the household temple of Ranajit Seal, Jujkhola community puja pandal, the community Durga temple beside Gabtala School, Bipin Halder's household temple at Kirshna Nagar, the community Kali temple at Namajpur, the temple and monastery of the Biswas household at Kalikathi, the Kali temple at Lairi, the community temple at Inder Haat under Swarupkathi police station, the Durga temple of the Kanai Biswas household at Inder Haat, the cinema hall owned by Nakul Saha, the Durga temple of Amal Guha's household, the household temple of Hemanta Seal, the Kali temple of Jadab Das under Mathabaria police station, all these were burned down. The Shiva temple at Mistiripara in Syedpur was also pulled down. The community temple at Ratan- danga village under Narail district, the community temple at Ghona, the community cremation ground at Kurulia, the household temple of Nikhil Chandra Dey, the household temple of Kalipada Hajra, the household temple of Shibu Prasad Pal, the household temple of Du
lal Chandra Chakravarty at Badan village, the household temple of Krishna Chandra Laskar, the community temple in Taltala village, the family temples of Baidyanath Saha, Sukumar Biswas and Pagla Biswas in Pankabilla village, the community temple in the same village and the Narayan Jiu temple of Daulatpur Purbapara under Lohagara police station were ransacked and destroyed. Ten temples in Khulna faced identical fates. Four or five temples in Rauh, Sobnadas and Baka village in Paikpara were ransacked and several houses looted. Two temples in the Talimpur area under Rupsa police station were demolished and the adjoining Hindu houses were looted. Three temples in Dighalia and Senhati were sacked and set on fire on the night of December 8. Some processionists raided thirteen houses in Sahadebpur village in Feni. Led by one Moazzem Hussain, some two hundred people from Langalboa attacked the residence of Gobinda Prasad Ray. A man called Kamal Biswas, who had been seriously injured in the attack, was in his death throes.

  Birupaksha, Nayan and Debabrata continued to spew these revolting tales of devastation. Suranjan lay on his back with his eyes closed. He didn't utter a single word after hearing all these narratives of destruction. None of them was aware that not only the houses in Bhola, Chittagong, Pirozepur, Sylhet and Comilla had been looted, but from this house at Tikatuli, a nice girl called Maya had also been snatched away. Women were somewhat akin to property. That was why, just like gold and other valuables, Maya had been whisked away by them.

  "What's the matter, Suranjan, you are so silent, what has happened to you?" Debabrata asked.

  "I want to drink. Isn't it possible to drink to my heart's content today?"

  "Do you want to drink?"

  "Yes, I will."

  "I've money with me. Let someone go and get a bottle of whiskey."

  "Do you mean to say you'll sit at home and drink? What about your parents?"

  "Let 'em go to hell. I want to drink and I will. Biru, please go. You'll find it at either Sakura or Piyasi."

  "But Suranjan."

  "Don't hesitate so much, go now."

  The sound of Kiranmayee's wailing from the other room reached them.

  "Who's crying? Auntie?" Birupaksha asked.

  "Once you are branded as a Hindu, can you escape tears?"

  The three youths were dumfounded. They, too, were Hindus. But why should aunt alone cry, they wondered. A muffled cry also rose from their chest. Birupaksha rushed out of the room carrying the money. As if going away would spare him all his agony. Just like Suranjan, who was seeking escape through drink.

  As soon as Birupaksha left, Suranjan said, "Well, Debabrata, can a mosque be set on fire?

  "A mosque, you said? Are you crazy?"

  "Come, let's burn down the 'Tara mosque' tonight."

  "Debabrata cast puzzled glances in turn at Suranjan and Nayan.

  "There are twenty million of us Hindus in the country. If we want, we can target the Baitul Mokarrumit mosque as well."

  "You never identified yourself as a Hindu. Why are you doing so today?"

  "I used to describe myself as a human being, a humanist. The Muslims did not allow me to remain a human being. It was they who made me a Hindu."

  "You are changing very fast, Suranjan."

  "That's not my fault."

  "What do we gain by destroying a mosque? Will we get back our demolished temples?" Rubbing his nails on the broken handle of the chair, Debabrata said: "Perhaps not. But we can show we are capable of destruction. Mustn't we show at least for once that we, too, have the right to express our anger? If the Babri mosque was a four-hundred-fiftyyear-old structure, the home of Chaitanyadev, too, dated back five hundred years. Aren't the four- or five-hundredyear-old traditions being crushed in this country? I feel like razing the Sobhanbag mosque as well. Gulshan mosque was built with the help of the money supplied by Saudi Arabia. Come, let's occupy it for its conversion into a temple."

  "What are you saying, Suranjan? You've really gone crazy. Didn't you previously think of digging lakes in place of temples and mosques and then releasing beautiful ducks on their water?"

  "Did I say only that? I used to say: 'Let the pavilions of religion be ground to bits. Let the bricks of temples, mosques, gurudawaras, churches be burned in blind fire, and upon those heaps of destruction let lovely flower gardens grow, spreading their fragrance. Let children's schools and study halls grow. For the welfare of humanity, let prayer halls now be turned into hospitals, orphanages, schools, universities. Let prayer halls now become academies of art, fine arts centers, scientific research institutes. Let prayer halls now be turned into golden rice fields in radiant dawn, open fields, rivers, restless seas. From now on let religion's other name be humanity.' "

  "Just the other day I read an article by Debesh Roy," said Debabrata. "He has written about the great maestro Bade Golam Ali singing playing that small harp-like swaramandal, singing Hari Om Tatsat, Hari Om Tatsat. Bade Golam sang that bhajan till his end. But those who escaped after stealthily installing the Ramlala image after demolishing the Babri mosque, those Hindus were incapable of hearing this devotional song. This song is not meant for Advani, or Ashoke Singhal, nor for Rashtriya Swamgsevak Sangh or Bajrang Dal, those outfits of Hindu fanatics. Bade Golam All was a Muslim. Yet this devotional song Hari Om Tatsat remains beyond the hearing of those Muslims who believe that the only way to redress the demolition of the Babri mosque is to destroy temples."

  "So you mean to say the smashing of a mosque is no real retaliation against the destruction of temples or mandirs? You are echoing my father's ideology. I hate him. I hate that old haggard."

  Suranjan had been lying down. He now sprang up in excitement and stood erect.

  "Calm down, Suranjan, calm down. What you are suggesting is not really a solution."

  "No? Well, for your information, this is the only solution that I am looking for. I, too, want choppers, daggers and pistols in my hands. I want thick rods. Didn't they go and piss on the ruins of a mandir in old Dhaka? I also want to piss on their mosques!"

  Debabrata whispered, "Suranjan, you are becoming communal."

  "Yes, I am becoming communal. I am becoming communal ... communal."

  Debabrata and Suranjan had worked together in the same political party, but Debabrata could no longer recognize his old colleague. He was shocked beyond measure by Suranjan's behavior-he wanted to get drunk, he declared himself to be communal and he even abused his own father. Debabrata was horrified.

  Riots can't be equated with floods in which rescue from their marooned state and later some relief supply can tide people over the crisis for the time being. Riots can't be equated with fire either. Fire can be extinguished by throwing water on it. But during riots people keep the sense of humanity in suspension. The poison accumulated in the human mind finds a release through riots. Riots are not natural phenomena or disasters. Riots reflect the perversity of human nature. Sudhamay sighed as he mused over this concluding portion of his thought. Kiranmayee, after a long break, swung back to her god for whom she placed her head against the wall in the corner. Somewhere he had found a picture of Lord Krishna and his consort Radha, and she touched the picture with her forehead. Shedding his tears in silence, Sudhamay, his body immobile, wondered if either Radha or Krishna had enough strength to bring Maya back. They were nothing but pictures of mythical characters. Just a figment! How could they rescue Maya from the harsh, rigid, merciless clutches of the fundamentalists? He was not getting security in this country although he was its citizen, and as a citizen he had taken part in the movement for the recognition of Bengali as a state language, fought in the war to liberate it from the domination of Pakistanis. And from nowhere this mythical couple of Radha and Krishna would emerge to ensure security for them! These blind devotees had no other serious work to do. This irrational faith had made them oblivious of the realities reflected in the forcible occupation of his house by neighbors known to him since his birth, his countrymen living next door abducting his daughter. Yet you expect the naughty cottage cheese pilferer Krishna of the my
thical tale to free you from your distress. And he would be assisted in his task by his mythical consort, Radha, who was Ayn Ghosh's wife. If you are to be rescued from your misery, the task can be undertaken only by those people who fought for the country's liberation, waging the war as a single nation in a united front.

  Sudhamay, in a tired, pathetic voice, called his wife, "Khan, Khan."

  Kiranmayee went to him, moving mechanically like a robot. He asked, "Didn't Suranjan go out to find out Maya today?"

  "I don't know."

  "I heard Hyder had engaged men to trace her. Did he come?"

  "Does it mean Maya can't be found?"

  "I don't know."

  "Would you please sit by my side for a while?"

  Kiranmayee dropped to the bedside like an inanimate object. She just remained immobile. She neither reached her hand out for his inert limbs nor looked at her sick husband. The sound of clamorous shouts came from the other room. Sudhamay asked, "Why is Suranjan raising his voice so much? Didn't he go out to look up Hyder? Had I been fit as before I could have gone. If I had my former strength, nobody would have been able to touch Maya. I would have beat them to jelly. If only I were fit, I would have gone myself to bring Maya back home." Sudhamay made a frantic bid to raise himself, but slumped back on the bed. Kiranmayee made no move to help him get up. She kept her gaze fixed on the dosed door, in anticipation of hearing the sound of a familiar knock heralding Maya's return.