Until We Meet Again in Jannah

by Laki Khan

  He appeared hesitant and then replied, ‘I have some clothes that need washing if you wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Of course I don’t mind, that’s what I am here for,’ I reminded him. As Omar left for the day I began mine by sweeping the back courtyard before the arrival of the midday sunshine.

  Chapter 10 – White Picket Fence

  I gathered the laundry and headed towards the concrete path leading out of the house towards the big pond. I liked going there as it made me happy seeing the children play and interact and behave mischievously. As I approached the pond the sound of joyful laughter filled my ears. It was the same children and it appeared that today they had mastered the art of swimming, hence the absence of the banana tree.

  ‘Apa, Apa,’ shouted the little boy in excitement, running towards me. ‘I have learnt how to swim – now look, watch me,’ he said, diving into the water to demonstrate his swimming talent. I clapped my hands and laughed with him. I spent a short while watching and encouraging him as he swam around like an excited hilsha fish. I then began my primary task of the day. I fastened my hijab, tightening it around my burning head, and washed Omar’s clothes as swiftly as possible. I waved goodbye to the little boy and set off to return to the house. I was becoming so used to walking on concrete that when I walked on the ground I realised how much I had missed the feel of the muddy soil under my bare feet.

  I returned to the house with the wet laundry and looked for a place to dry it. It suddenly occurred to me that I had never been up on the rooftop. Curious, I unlocked the green gates leading to the outdoor staircase up to the rooftop. When I reached the top, I was immediately mesmerised by the sheer beauty. The rooftop was large with a white picket fence surrounding it. Three large benches were placed in the middle with flower beds scattered in the corners, planted with beautiful coloured flowers such as roses, lilies and marigolds. It was a beautiful, serene sight. I pondered how I had not discovered this place earlier. There was something peaceful about sitting here in the breeze amongst the aromatic fragrances of this enchanting flower garden. I closed my eyes, indulging fully in the moment, and remembered sitting near the stream with Sumayah, dipping our toes into the cool water. The serenity of this rooftop reminded me of all the happy moments spent in laughter with Sumayah and Ammu. I stood up and walked over to the front of the rooftop. I could see almost out to the big pond, past the concrete path and the neighbouring houses. I could even see the mud houses on the other side and watched as a lady played marbles with her children in the open mud courtyard. The trees lining the pond were visible, providing a perfect landscape for the eyes of the beholder. I watched Layla playing with her daughter. Seeing the village from this perspective increased its beauty, an image I otherwise could not have imagined had I not been standing here looking down at it from this point of view. My mind was truly captivated by this vision and I came to the realisation that the beauty of life does not decrease just because our viewpoint has altered. If anything, logically, a new point of view should only enhance the beauty of life. I wondered if perhaps this had been a subliminal message from God informing me that all would be well, and that this may be the next chapter in my life which I should throw myself into wholeheartedly, without a doubt or reservation. Perhaps this was the new beginning I needed, to be able to finally erase Hamid from my mind. I closed my eyes, taking an oath to remain positive no matter how difficult the struggle. With that thought in mind, I headed back downstairs, beginning my journey of a thousand miles with a single step.

  I wondered whether physical exhaustion had overtaken me as I stared, puzzled, at the sight ahead, which initially I thought to be shadows. The papaya trees and the huge kathal tree I had walked by a few days earlier were splendid. But I was shocked to see Ammu standing near those trees today with someone who looked like Omar. She seemed to be leaning on him for support. I had presumed Omar would not return till late evening and I had left Ammu in bed. Immediately I began to walk across the back courtyard towards them. I wanted to run to Ammu to ensure she was all right, but I did not want to offend Omar, so I composed myself and walked over slowly. I enjoyed the sound of Ammu talking and laughing; she was telling Omar how much she and Abbuji enjoyed eating jackfruit and I smiled, listening to her serene voice. I heard Omar tell her that his late father had planted those trees, which was why he maintained them to ensure they stood strong. There was sadness in his voice that expressed an untold story.

  Standing still, I wondered if I should approach them or turn back; I did not want to intrude on their conversation, especially as Ammu had ventured out of the house for the very first time since our arrival here. As silently as I possibly could I raised my foot to walk back, but stepped on a twig causing it to snap. Immediately they both turned around to find me standing behind them. I stood there, expressionless, feeling a little guilty for interrupting them. Ammu and Omar stared at each other smiling, only adding to my guilt.

  Suddenly Omar raised his hands up in the air and said, ‘I’m sorry, I should have let you know I was bringing Ammu here. It’s very peaceful so I thought it would be refreshing for her, and she did warn me that you would worry. I promise I have been looking after her.’

  I looked at him and smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed, and then looked over to Ammu. ‘This is the place I was telling you about the other day, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

  ‘Saira, why are your clothes wet?’ she asked. I looked down to discover the bottom half of my kaftan soaked with water.

  ‘Yes… I was just going to change. I will do that now,’ I replied and swiftly walked back towards the house. Ammu appeared happy, which I was eternally grateful to Omar for; the kindness and hospitality he had bestowed upon us was immeasurable and something I could never reciprocate. I returned to the house and smiled as I saw them both pointing at a large jackfruit, and I hoped I had not offended him in any way. Now, after so long, I was beginning to feel a sense of positivity. It seemed that Omar’s smile and love for life were contagious and he had infected both me and Ammu. I began dinner preparation as I could hear Ammu and Omar outside; he was holding Ammu with one hand and the large kathal with the other. He placed the not-so-ripe kathal on the courtyard floor as Ammu watched, and without explanation I understood that the menu for today was curried kathal – a dish relished by my father.

  ‘Saira, I will ask Abdullah to cut it open and he can take half for him and Layla, and we will keep the rest,’ Omar said.

  It was twilight and I welcomed the moonlit night almost like an inviting beacon high up in the heavens. I intended to serve the cooked kathal with egg fried rice, and knocked on Omar’s door to tell him dinner was ready.

  That night I gathered a little courage. ‘Thank you… thank you for taking such good care of my mother,’ I stuttered.

  He looked at me, smiled and then said, ‘There is no need to thank me, I enjoy her company,’ and walked towards her room.

  The three of us sat at the table immersed in the sweet, distinct aroma. ‘I have a confession to make,’ Omar said, looking at Ammu with a stern look upon his face. ‘I have never tasted curried kathal before.’

  Ammu laughed in response, and her laughter made me giggle. She encouraged him to try the food, explaining that this was one of our favourite dishes and, to my surprise, just like my Abbuji, Omar decreed it had now become one of his favourites. It seemed today was a day of revelation. The many unanswered questions in my imagination received their answers. Omar divulged the mystery behind his grand house but simple lifestyle. He explained he had no immediate family and that he was raised by his paternal uncle and aunt, Chacha and Chachi, with whom he resided in London. His parents had passed away leaving him in the care of his uncle and the little memory he had of them was living in a tiny mud house with very little to call their own; this was the mud house that was now occupied by Layla and Abdullah. Omar told of how his parents always wanted a better life for him, so to fulfil their aspirations he worked hard, with little support from his uncle, and ed
ucated himself enough to start his own real estate business. He then built this very large house and bought acres of land where crops such as rice were cultivated and handed out to the needy villagers who, like his parents, had very little to survive on. He explained he visited once a year as it allowed him to feel close to his parents, and he spent that time building water wells for the less wealthy.

  Ammu and I listened in awe and I could not help but notice the sadness in his eyes that told of the difficult life he must have led, but in which he had found the strength to become the exemplary character he was today. I wanted to applaud him; Ammu held his hand stating that his parents would have been proud of him. He smiled shyly and was deep in thought for a moment. I expected he must have been thinking about his parents, so attempted to redirect his thoughts to the dinner we had just eaten. I brought out the roasted oval-shaped jackfruit seeds. He seemed amused and said, ‘I’ve never tried these before, either,’ and began laughing.

  I brewed ginger tea, which took me back to our happier times; now I was able to cherish those memories, after learning that Omar had not even had that, yet somehow he managed to live a life full of positivity, and perhaps I needed to take inspiration from that. We sat out on the front patio relishing the warm tea as the entire village slept. I listened as Ammu and Omar talked about his plans for the next day, for which he needed to leave early. I stared up at the scattered bright stars that gave light to the dark night and wondered where this journey would take me next, wondered where we would go when Omar returned to his home in London. Although we had only known him a short time our lives had become interconnected in more ways than one – whether it was through sadness or joy I was uncertain. I was sure about one thing: that this connection was one that ran deep and pulled at the delicate strings of my heart. I was thankful that he had entered our life at a point of much-needed hope, and he made Ammu happy in a way I was no longer able to. That night I lay in bed in contemplation and recalled a saying from my village: ‘The darker the night the brighter the morning’, and I secretly hoped this was true.

  I rose early to the sound of birds and villagers preparing for the day ahead, under a perfect blue sky with clouds that were slowly moving from blue to white. I prepared Omar’s breakfast, knowing he needed to leave early, and he sat at the table gulping down hot tea as quickly as possible. ‘Saira, I will be back very late today, so please don’t wait up for me,’ he said in a tense voice. I nodded, wondering why he appeared tense and if there were anything I could do to help.

  I checked on Ammu, only to discover her sitting up with her legs curled right up to her chest, grimacing in pain. I panicked and rushed to her side at once. ‘Ammu, what’s wrong? What’s happened?’ I asked her frantically.

  ‘It’s okay, Saira, I’m just having a little trouble moving my legs today,’ she replied, clearly in excruciating pain. I squeezed out the remainder of her pain-relief ointment and began to massage her legs, but she complained of more pain.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Ammu. I will go to the doctor right away to collect some medication for you,’ I told her, almost crying. I grabbed my handbag securely placing the little money I had left inside it. I wrapped my headscarf tightly around my head covering all the bits of untidy hair flying around my face and wiped away my tears. I had no idea how to even get around this village or where I could take a rickshaw to get to the doctor’s office. I went to Layla and asked that she look after Ammu. I was glad Omar was not around today; the last thing I wanted was for him to question my commitment to the responsibility for this house.

  In confusion I ran to the big pond, oblivious to the women who were staring at me. Much to my relief the angelic-faced boy was splashing about in the water as usual. I asked him to show me where I could hail a rickshaw. ‘Apa, come with me I will show you,’ he said, taking my hand and leading me towards another path that led beyond the big pond – almost a secret path that no one knew about as it was covered by another tree canopy. I walked as quickly as I could, passing the route by which we had entered this village; suddenly I halted as the image of Hamid came into my mind. The thought of being discovered by him and his family sent shivers down the small of my back. But I had to cross the boundary of this village today out of duty to my mother. I sprinted back to the house and grabbed a thin, holey shawl and placed it around my head and shoulders.

  ‘My Ammu wears one of those when she goes out,’ said the little boy, taking hold of my hand again. I smiled at him. We came to a concrete bridge that passed over the river connecting this village to mine. I watched as people crossed the river in boats just as we had. The boy led me over the bridge and onto another, wider, mud path. I saw a gentleman sitting on the side of the path selling candy and various other household items such as bowls and fans from a rusty cart. The boy approached the gentleman and asked him to call the rickshaw boy. Just a few minutes later a rickshaw came round a bend and stood beside us. The little boy said, ‘There you are, Apa, he will take you where you need to go and will bring you back here too.’ I kissed him on his cheeks, forever grateful, and climbed up into the rickshaw, promising to buy him candy upon my return. The driver asked for my destination with a polite smile. ‘The doctor’s office in Jaggannathpur, please,’ I replied anxiously, careful to conceal my face.

  Jaggannathpur was another town that lay towards the eastern side of Sylhet, approximately an hour away. Dr Uddin had treated any ailments, be they minor or major, for me and Ammu for as long as I could remember, and I trusted that he would treat Ammu better than anybody else I knew. Jaggannathpur was a large town consisting of many shopping complexes, with a large bazaar and many official buildings providing ample opportunity for employment. Seeing vehicles here such as cars was common as the roads were made from concrete and much larger, accommodating the needs of the wealthy, whereas the less fortunate still relied upon motorcycles and rickshaws. I felt myself swaying from side to side in the rickshaw on the uneven road. The sun felt hot on my bare feet, and I anxiously waited to arrive at my destination; I knew that it would take a while, travelling in a rickshaw. The lightweight three-wheeled cart that was pedalled by a driver always fascinated me as a child. I loved sitting in the chair-like body mounted on springs and pulling the collapsible hood over my head. I closed my eyes as the wind blew over my face and recalled the time that Ammu, Sumayah and I had all squeezed into one rickshaw all the way to Jaggannathpur. We had laughed so much that Sumayah almost fell out. I looked around at the changing scenery; more rickshaws and cars were travelling alongside us now, as well as people walking, and animals strayed between the moving vehicles causing havoc on the road.

  We finally arrived at the doctor’s office. The heat of the sun was humid and sticky and I could feel a burning sensation on my head as I climbed down and out of the rickshaw. It was extremely busy and chaotic. The road was congested with people, cars and cattle. I could see a variety of stalls in the bazaar, vibrant with the colours of our native land. There were people gathering round a fish stall and a spice stall with colourful packages, containing cumin, turmeric, and fresh cloves of garlic to name a few. I hadn’t been here for a very long time, hence the richness of its beauty fascinated me all the more. With a fearfully beating heart I walked into the doctor’s office and asked the receptionist who already held a record of Ammu’s treatment to prepare her medication. I waited anxiously as the lady handed me the bag, but when I went to pay I realised that I only had sixty takkas and the cost of the whole prescription was 130 Bangladeshi takkas. I trembled as I counted the money in my hand for a second and third time only to discover that I could not afford to purchase the medicines. I just about mumbled that I would return in a short while to the staring lady at the desk and walked out of the office as quickly as I could. I stood outside, unsure of what to do as the money I had would barely cover my travel costs. My distress gave way to panic. How could I return home without any medication for Ammuji? What could I say to her? I climbed back into the rickshaw and headed back to the village, quietly c
hoking back tears of failure.

  I stepped off the rickshaw, thanking the driver, and began to walk back to the house empty handed and dishevelled. My thoughts were jumbled and disordered as I thought about what I would say to Ammu. Exhaling a deep sigh I entered the house, where Layla stood with her daughter, giving me a warm smile. She informed me Ammu was feeling much better and was resting in her room; I nodded.

  ‘Saira, Saira, are you okay?’ I heard Layla call to me as I meandered past her.

  ‘Yes, just a little tired,’ I replied as I continued to walk into the house. I felt guilty that I was unable to care for Ammu the way she deserved, as if I had let her down. Swallowing intense feelings of anxiety deep into my stomach I entered Ammu’s room. She was sitting up smiling, with both her ankles and all the way up to her knees covered in a thick green paste of crushed leaves.

  ‘How are you feeling, Ammu?’ I began. She smiled, handing me a much-needed glass of cold water which I drank almost instantly, splashing some of it onto my bright red cheeks and forehead.

  I sat beside her as she held my hand and said, ‘Saira, you look so tired, is everything okay?’ I forced out a smile; a feeble attempt to conceal my distress and failure at the same time.

  ‘I’m fine, Ammu. I have ordered your medication and it should be here soon.’ I lied to her, feeling disgusted and ashamed of myself. I couldn’t tell her the truth.

  ‘I’m feeling much better now. Layla was kind enough to press neem leaves together. She has even massaged it onto my legs and it’s helping,’ she said, pointing at the paste. The neem plant was very popular in our village. The leaves were crushed and turned into a paste and used as a homeopathic remedy to cure and suppress ailments such as migraines, dermatitis, joint pain and arthritic pain. I spent a while sitting next to her staring at her angelic face while she slept, and felt physically sick knowing that today for the very first time I had resorted to lying to my mother.