Shame: A Novel

by Taslima Nasrin

  Suranjan couldn't finish his tea. He said, "Let's go, Kajalda. I don't like it any more."

  "What's the big hurry?"

  "I'm not feeling well."

  n 1954 the National Assembly totaled 309 members, seventy-two of whom belonged to minorities. In 1970, the number took a downward plunge to eleven out of 300; in 1973, twelve out of 315; in 1979, just eight out of 330; and in 1986, seven out of 330. The number further declined to four in 1988 and rose slightly to become twelve out of 330 in 1991. In the Bangladesh army, there was not a single brigadier or major general from the minorities. Just one colonel out of seventy; only forty majors out of 1,000; eight captains out of 1,300; three second lieutenants out of 900; and, of infantrymen, barely 500 out of a total of 80,000. out of the same number of policemen, only 2,000 belonged to religious minorities. Out of 60,000 in BDR only 300 were Hindus. No additional Inspector General of Police let alone Inspector General. Out of a total of 870 police officers, minorities accounted for only fifty-three.

  There was no minority community member of high rank in the Home, External Affairs and Defense ministries. The situation in the secretariat was worse. There was no secretary or additional secretary from the minorities. Of 134 joint secretaries, there were only three and just twentyfive deputy secretaries from a contingent of 463. Of 46,894 first-lass officers of the self-governing organizations, minorities numbered 350. Among government, semi-government, or local self-governing institutions' first- and second-class officers the minorities figured less than 5 percent of the total number. Among 152 Customs and Excise senior officials, there was a lone minority member. The percentage was just 1 in the case of state sector industrial units, 3 to 4 percent among the employees and less than 1 percent among workers. There was not a single Hindu in the rank of chairman or managing director or branch manager in the entire banking industry, including the country's state bank. Industrial licenses were hard to come by for the Hindus unless they had Muslim partners. Besides no statecontrolled bank, particularly industrial finance organizations, ever sanctioned any loan to a Hindu entrepreneur.

  Suranjan hadn't had a wink of sleep the previous night. He had come under the spell of intense dislike for everything. Kiranmayee came once into his room in the morning. Perhaps she wanted to ask if Maya had been traced at all, or would she have to drag herself through another day without her daughter? Kiranmayee, too, had become quite listless these days. She had deep dark circles under her eyes, and her grim face was devoid of any smile or words. Suranjan lay sprawled on the bed as if he were asleep. He didn't make Kiranmayee guess the pain gnawing at him from within. She would silently place the dishes with his meals twice every day. Suranjan occasionally felt angry. Was she made of stone? Her husband was crippled, her daughter missing, her son there only nominally. Still why didn't she have any complaint against anyone? Kiranmayee led a strange life, like a zombie, without any complaint or feeling-a strange, still life!

  He decided he would sleep the day out. He needed sleep. He hadn't slept for a long time. If he closed his eyes he could visualize the inexorable approach of a sharp claw toward him. He felt suffocated. But those hands kept on coming at him, one following the other, to throttle him. He couldn't relax, peace eluded him.

  Nanigopal had come from Manikganj with his family, consisting of his wife, son, and daughter. He was distantly related to Sudhamay. The signs of plunder in the room failed to surprise him. He simply asked, "Your house, too, was not spared?"

  Lalita, Nanigopal's wife, had kept the part in her hair, although she had erased the vermilion mark of a married Hindu woman and covered her head with the loose end of her sari. Taking Kirnamayee's hands in her own, she shrieked, "Oh, Boudi!" Her daughter stood petrified. Sudhamay couldn't remember her name. She would be about Maya's age or perhaps a little younger. Sudhamay kept on staring at the girl. His eyes again became hazy. Maya wasn't there. He couldn't bring himself to believe that Maya wasn't there in the house. He felt she was there. Maybe she was next door or out tutoring, and would be back in the afternoon. Everybody in the house secretly entertained the conviction that, though raped and tortured, with wounds all over her body, Maya would come back some day.

  "Dada, we'll no longer stay in this country. I've a grown daughter now. I feel so scared. No one knows what's going to happen or when."

  Looking away from the girl, Sudhamay said, "Don't mention anything about going away to me. I heard the family of Gautam in the next house is leaving. What do you think you are doing? You speak of quitting every now and then. Aren't there any rowdies in your promised land? Is that country totally free from terror? Girls are at risk in every country. Isn't there a couplet that says, 'Sighs on this bank of the river, all the happiness nestles on the other side'? That's what you're thinking."

  Nanigopal was dressed in pyjamas and punjabi, usually used by Muslims. He had a stubble of beard on his face. Pressing his forehead with his palms he sat silently. Lalita suddenly began to cry once more. Kiranmayee made no move to comfort her or to talk to her. She could not even bring herself to say that Maya had been abducted. Nanigopal was bothered not so much about his wife as about his daughter. Who could say when the kidnappers would be coming for his daughter, Anjali. He said, "Dada, Lalita had a relative at Chandpur in Feni. He was hustled away by the property-grabbers, then they killed him. Don't you know that at Pingail in Jaidebpur, the fourteen-year-old daughter of Ashwini Kumar Ray was forcibly taken away and then raped? The girl died later. Similarly, the daughter of Harendranath Hira of Bedgram in Gopalgunj, Nandita Rani Hira, was kidnapped. At Banccharampur, Khitish chandra Debnath's daughter Karunabala met with the same fate at the hands of the Muslims. Added to this list are: Tandra Rani, daughter of Shobha Rani of Kalinath Bazar in Bhola; Sudhir Chandra Das's daughter Mukti Rani at Adalatpara in Tangail, who was abducted by a businessman named Abdul Kayum; the daughter of Purna Chandra Burman at Bhaluka and Jayanti Rani; the daughter of Inkari Saha at Taragunj in Rangpur district. Haven't you heard all this?"

  "When did all this happen?" Sudhamay asked in a tired voice. Nanigopal said, "In 1989."

  "And you have kept in your memory such old incidents?"

  "Can all these be forgotten?"

  "Why don't you know the cases of the Muslim girls like Pari Banu, Andwara, Manowara, Sufia, Sultana? They, too, were kidnapped, raped and tortured."

  Nanigopal reverted to his earlier posture of pressing his forehead. He said, "I heard about your illness. It's the worries about our own survival that deterred us from coming to see you. I thought just before our departure, I'd see you. Tonight we are leaving for the border station of Benapol. I couldn't sell off my property. I've asked a cousin of Lalita to try it out."

  Sudhamay came to realize that he couldn't make Nanigopal change his mind. He just couldn't find a reason for leaving the country in this manner. If the number of Hindus opting to stay further dropped, the persecution of those remaining would mount all the more. Who would then be the gainers-those who were leaving or others who would be staying back? Sudhamay concluded that no one would gain, everyone would be losers. It would be a loss for the poor, a loss for all the members of the minority communities. Sudhamay had a craving to know how many Hindu deaths in this country would be enough to pay for the sins of Indian Hindu fundamentalists in the past, present and future. If he knew, he could at least increase the requisite number of deaths by committing suicide. He would insist that others take a similar course if that could bring any sense of security to the surviving Hindus.

  Shafique Ahmed's wife came to their house in the afternoon. Her name was Aleya Begum. She used to drop in quite frequently in the past. But these days, she had stopped her visits. Similarly, Hyder's parents had also stayed away from this house. Sudhamay could understand Kiranmayee's loneliness. Seeing Aleya Begum, Kiranmayee was a bit surprised. Nobody was expected nowadays to visit this house which had the look of a deserted dwelling. Seeing the smiling face of Aleya Begum, her dazzling sari and ornaments, Sudhamay wondered if Kiranmaye
e was feeling downcast. Perhaps he had treated Kiranmayee wrongly all along. He had forced a girl from an educated and affluent family into his straightened, cheerless household and thereafter denied her basic physical yearnings for twenty-one long years. Sudhamay had always placed his own interest about everything; otherwise he should have asked her to marry again. Had he made this request, would she have gone away? Did she secretly nurture a dream of an equally resplendent life like Aleya Begum's? She was human, after all. She could have gone away had she liked. Fearing this possibility, Sudhamay had stayed close to Kiranmayee as much as possible, refraining from inviting his friends to his home. Now lying on his sick bed, Sudhamay blamed himself for preferring to forsake his friends even at the cost of becoming lonely lest Kiranmayee feel any attraction for any of the callers to the house. This selfishness gave his love for Kiranmayee a fierce intensity to keep her permanently attached to him. At least he wanted it to happen like that. But could love meet all one's needs? After such a long time, Sudhamay now felt that love alone couldn't fill the vacuum left in a life that required other things as well.

  Aleya Begum saw the wreckage in the house, Sudhamay's immobilized condition, and heard the incident of Maya's kidnapping with appropriate punctuations of sympathetic "ahs" and "uhs." At one time she said, "Well, Boudi, don't you have any relatives in India?"

  "Yes, all my relatives are there."

  "Then why are you left here?"

  "This is our country, that's why."

  Aleya Begum was surprised at Kiranmayee's reply. Perhaps because she realized for the first time that this country belonged to Kiranmayee also. Aleya Begum was perhaps wondering if Kiranmayee could be equally emphatic as she in claiming this country to be hers. Sudhamay understood at that moment that Kiranmayee and Aleya could not be regarded in the same light. A fine line of distinction was somehow emerging.

  oday was Victory Day. The country became independent on this day. The word "independence" stung Suranjan like the bite of a poisonous insect. The day was being observed all over the country. Parades were being staged. An air of merriment was everywhere. Only Suranjan did not partake in this festivity. In past years on this day, Suranjan would go out early in the morning, take part in different functions, and sing rousing songs riding on a truck. Now he thought how he had wasted his time in these meaningless exercises. What sort of freedom had he gained? How had he benefited from the independence of Bangladesh? "Victory to Bangla. Victory of Bangla"; "The sun has arisen on the eastern horizon"; "Blood red, blood red"; "The golden Bangla of Rabindranath and Bangladesh of Nazrul, the beautiful Bangla of Jibanananda Das has no end to its loveliness"; "Those who brought about freedom in exchange for a seaful of blood, we'll never forget them";

  "We fight to save a flower, we fight for a smiling face"-all these songs that he had sung earlier came back, sending waves reverberating through his heart. Only he couldn't respond. He didn't want to hear these songs. He deliberately trampled all the flowers of pleasant memories in his heart.

  His daylong stay in bed gave birth to a wish. He nurtured this secret wish and kept it alive so that it could grow up, sending out its branches. He made it stronger and in his mind reared this wish plant up to the flowering stage, even smelling its fragrance. After nursing the wish throughout the day, he went out of the house at around eight in the evening. He hired a rickshaw, giving the driver the freedom to go wherever he liked. The rickshaw, after going around Topkhana, Vijaynagar, Kakrail and Magbazar, brought him to Ramna. Suranjan watched the nighttime illumination. Did these well-lighted streets know he was a Hindu boy? Had they known, the asphalt underneath would have split open. Unless this wish were fulfilled today, the fire that was burning in every cell of his body would never be put out. He wouldn't be able to wrest himself free from this suffocating life unless he carried out his wish. What he would do wouldn't solve any problem; still, it would give him some respite, reduce a bit of his pain.

  Suranjan asked the rickshaw puller to stop outside the Bar Council. He lit a cigarette. Suranjan had virtually given up the hope of getting back Maya. He would inform his parents not to nourish their hope of having her back Let them seek consolation in the presumption that Maya had died in a street accident. Suranjan could no longer bear the lonely, helpless condition of a man like Sudhamay, who, till the other day, had been quite active. He now groaned throughout the day, suffering the pain of not having Maya back in his arms. Maya must have been treated the way carrion is, torn apart by vultures. They must be feasting on her. Were they enjoying her flesh just as cannibals did? These thoughts stirred up a terrible pain within Suranjan. It was as though he himself were being devoured by a pack of seven hyenas.

  The cigarette was still unfinished in his hand when a girl sauntered up to Suranjan. Her face looked unusually bright under the glow of neon lights. She must have put on lots of makeup. She was around twenty.

  Throwing the cigarette away, Suranjan beckoned to the girl. The girl stood by the cab swinging her body provocatively and smiling.

  Suranjan asked her name.

  "Pinky," the girl said, giggling.

  "Tell me your full name."

  "Shamima Begum."

  "Your father's name?"

  "Abdul Jail."

  "Your home?"

  „Rangpur"

  "What did you say your name was?"

  "Shamima."

  The girl was somewhat surprised at the number of questions. No one did that. What sort of customer was he, she wondered. Suranjan looked sharply at Shamima. Was she lying? Perhaps not.

  "Okay, get into the rickshaw."

  The girl did as she was told. Suranjan directed the rickshaw puller to go toward Tikatuli. He didn't talk with Shamima any more during the rest of the journey. Nor did he cast a glance at her. He remained unmoved by her con stant chatter, nestling close to him, suddenly breaking into a line or two of song, laughing and leaning on him. He smoked thoughtfully. The rickshaw puller, too, appeared to be in a jovial mood. He drove his vehicle in a zigzag. He sang an occasional refrain from Hindi film songs. The city was dressed up in red and blue illumination. Suranjan was going ahead with his plan in a cool, calculated manner and he was cold sober.

  He had locked his room from the outside so that he could silently slip into the room without calling anyone to the front door. Entering the room, Shamima said, "What about my fee? Nothing has been fixed."

  Suranjan cut her short, saying, "Shut up, not a word more."

  The room wore the same disheveled look. The bedsheet was hanging out. No sound came from the other room. Perhaps they had fallen asleep. Straining his ears, Suranjan could hear Sudhamay groaning. Did he realize that his beloved son had picked up a girl from the street and brought her in? He for his part did not view Shamima as a common tart. She was a Muslim girl to him. He would just rape Shamima, nothing but rape. He made the room dark. He tore away her clothes, making her he on the floor. He dug his nails into the girl's abdomen and sank his teeth into her breast. Suranjan could understand he was not making love to the girl but was wantonly pulling her hair, biting her cheek, throat and breasts, and scratching deep marks on her stomach, buttocks and thighs. She was a common streetwalker used to rough treatment from her customers. But she occasionally cried out in pain. Her cries gave Suranjan a strange pleasure. He crushed the girl with a grim determination to cause all the more pain to her and rape her. The girl, despite the pain, was amazed. She, too, had never had such a violent customer, who was virtually ripping her apart. Like a doe trying to escape from the clutches of a tiger, the girl collected her clothes to rush for the door.

  Suranjan was now quite gentle. He was feeling relieved of the weight he had been carrying. He had been able to fulfill the wish that had been haunting him throughout the day. He would feel overjoyed if he could now kick the girl out of the house. His chest started heaving again. Would he now aim a solid kick at this Muslim girl? The girl stood still. She didn't know whether she could leave now or would have to stay the whole night.
Since she had been forbidden to talk, she couldn't say anything out of fright.

  Where was Maya now? Did they tie her up in a closed room and rape her, all seven of them? Maya must have suffered like hell. Did she shout for help? When Maya was in her teens, once, while having a nightmare, she screamed, "Dada, Dada!" Suranjan, rushing to her, found her trembling all over even in the midst of sleep. He had asked, "What is it, Maya, why are you trembling?" Her tremors didn't stop even after waking up. She was still deeply engrossed in her dream story, which she narrated: "You and I had gone to a very beautiful village. We were walking through lush green paddy fields, talking between ourselves. One or two other people were also walking with us talking in bits. Suddenly I found the paddy fields had disappeared. I was standing in a desolate place alone and you were no longer with me. Rather, I saw some men were rushing to catch hold of me. I was then running in fright, looking up for you." Poor Maya! Again his breathing became deeper. He seemed to hear Maya crying quite loudly. But nobody could hear her shrieks. Her cries could reach no one. She was crying, perhaps in a dosed room surrounded by a pack of wild animals. Where could Maya possibly be now? It was a small place, yet he didn't know if his dear sister was in a garbage bin or brothel or floating on the water of the river Buriganga. Where was Maya? He wanted to drive away this girl standing near him by taking her by the nape of her neck.