My fingers and toes are trembling uncontrollably, a result of shattered trust and the agony of defeat. I desperately want to escape this life, to vanish, to hide myself away.
The castle of lies that I had proudly built in my heart over nineteen years has crumbled to pieces in an instant, like dry leaves.
I can only stare, speechless.
The thought of facing Rahman sir at the office makes me break out in a cold sweat. The same man I reprimanded just yesterday for living a life of greed with his wife and children.
I had always taken immense pride in being a loving husband and a caring father.
I am Amjad Hossain. I work as a clerk in a private office. My salary is meager, barely enough to make ends meet. I live in a district town while my wife and two children live in our village. My elder son is in the tenth grade, and my younger daughter is in the fifth.
With such a low income, it’s difficult to manage my own expenses, my family’s, and my children’s education. I barely make ends meet. To supplement my income, I take two tuitions before and after office hours. But the earnings are minimal. I use this money to pay for my children’s private tuition.
I considered myself the happiest person in the world. I visited home twice a month. My wife would stay up all night waiting for me, along with our two children. They would stay up late too, waiting for their father. Whenever I came home, I would bring them chocolates and chips, and they would take them with both hands and happily go to their room.
I want to take on two more tuitions for the sake of that pure smile on my children’s faces. Even knowing it’s a sin, I want to share some of the extra money from the office.
I’m home only two days a month. My wife happily circles around me. She cooks my favorite food. She tries to keep me happy. What else can a third-class employee like me ask for in one life?
I have known this truth for nineteen years. On the strength of this truth, everyone in my friend circle is proud of me, some even envy me. Even friends with much higher salaries are not as happy in personal life.
My wife and children’s eyes are only on my pocket. If there is any shortage of money, everyone’s lazy side comes out. I felt sorry for them. I regretted not being able to make my children human, not being able to love and explain to my wife.
I felt like the happiest person in the world, how well I am with my wife and children even with a very low-paying job. They have no extra demands.
For nineteen years, I was happy nurturing this lie within myself.
Today, when a friend was asking for money for his son’s operation, I felt that his son’s operation was more important to me than my son’s school fees, my daughter’s tuition fees, and my wife’s saree. So I went straight home after giving all the salary money to Rajiv at the hospital. I felt very very bad for my own son. Rajiv’s son is also the same age as my son. But he broke his right leg in a road accident on his way to school. My son also goes to school on a bicycle.
I left at night and returned home to my wife and children with an empty pocket full of affection, affection, love, compassion.
If necessary I will pay the school fees after two days, or at the same time next month. What will happen?
By the time I reached home, it was three o’clock in the morning. Shayla opened the door when there was a knock on the door. Shayla is my wife. Our nineteen years of family life. I may not have been able to give him abundance, but I have never kept him in want. I quit smoking after marrying him. I saved that money and bought sarees for her, bought cosmetics. Shayla likes to eat sweets, the day she comes home, if she can’t bring anything, she brings at least one kilogram of sweets.
Shayla would have been happy, I would have been satisfied seeing her smiling face.
The night passed as usual. In the morning the children are very happy to see their father. Because I wasn’t supposed to come home today. I don’t come home except Thursday, but today is Tuesday.
The boy came and handed over the list, his school salary, private teacher’s salary, picnic bill will cost a total of two thousand rupees. The girl handed over the list, her school dress had pen ink, it has to be repaired, the salary of the private teacher has to be paid and she will also need about two thousand rupees.
Not much of a mother of children. A little visit to father’s house. One hundred and five will be enough for the fruit dessert.
After everyone’s seriousness was over, I naturally said-
‘Fathers spend this month somehow. I could not afford the fare. Inshallah, I will try to pay your teacher’s salary within the first fortnight of next month. No picnic this year. Your Rajiv uncle’s…’
Without letting my words finish, the boy immediately assumed the form of Agnimurti
‘What are these things! What will I say to the school sir? Must go to the picnic, must pay! Today is the 29th of the month.’
The boy moved away, growling in anger. No matter how many times I called, he didn’t even come. The girl is crying because she can’t make a school dress. What will his friends say, his eyes are full of sadness.
The children’s mother is even more angry.
‘When I plan to go to father’s house, you don’t have money. No, I’m not going anywhere. Just pay the children’s salary.’
He also left before me carrying the fire idol.
I look helplessly at the half-torn dry bread in my hand. Today, three people have moved forward with bread. No vegetables or eggs to eat with bread, no tea, no water.
The ground beneath my feet began to shake as my familiar world suddenly became so unfamiliar. My hands are shaking, my legs are shaking. The heart that grows with the pride of a woman’s child in the chest is silenced by shame, humiliation, dishonor and fear.
I got up and went to the room. A lot of guilt is at work. Why did I come home empty-handed with all the money on my head? On the other hand, why didn’t I come after two days with some money, I was very angry with myself. I went to the children to explain them, I patted them on the head.
But no one looked back in anger. I hugged forcefully. But there is no emotion, no compassion, no illusion, no love. Everything seems unfamiliar.
I was home all day, yet both the children and their mother seemed distant and indifferent. It’s as if the love that brought me rushing back here in the dead of night a few days ago means nothing. Why did I come back if not for money? They’re all worried about school fees, picnic expenses, and where the money will come from.
Having spent 24 hours in this unfamiliar, suffocating environment, I found myself wandering aimlessly in the darkness, my vision blurred. Behind me, I left the home I had built on trust and love—a home filled with three people connected by blood.
People who don’t value me, who don’t care about me. All they care about is money. My presence means nothing to them. I looked back at the roots I had planted. Now, I’m a stranger. I won’t shirk my responsibilities. I’ll send the money at the end of the month, but I won’t be coming back here.
I walked until I reached a busy crossroads. It was late at night. Fireflies flickered in the darkness. I looked up at the vast sky, feeling lost and alone.
The world is truly a mask of deceit and illusion.
