Monira Akhtar would not leave without having tea or betel nut. In the morning, the sun is just beginning to rise. I was then preparing to go to the Mallicks’ house in Purwapara. In the meantime, Monira sent me through Akta’s people to meet me, I thought she called to share her sorrow. As it is sometimes called. And when I came, I sat down with stories of the old days, many of which I had seen myself, many of which I had heard many times from him. But when I came to Monira Akhtar’s house, I was a little surprised. His long slumbering house suddenly wakes up. Cluttered home climate. After a while I realized that Monira Akhtar’s younger son Adil had come. I heard that he came and fed the Mullah of the mosque. Rose is doing so much market. It sends it to the neighboring houses. Bahari is cooking. Monira Akhtar’s happiness seems to have reduced her age. He is running around with swollen feet.
Adil was sitting next to me. He took the pumpkin jam in his hand and gave it to me. A gust of warm air came through the window and blew away the pages of the years-old calendar hanging on the wall. I know Monira Akhter can’t cook anymore. Cooking does everything. As Adil will come, he has made marmalade with Nahar. That means Adil wrote the letter before coming. The boy came after the festival.
A sunny summer afternoon. A gray and white tired yard lies just outside the open door. A black-and-white cat sitting under the Ata tree is licking its body. A pair of jeans hangs next to a few feminine sarees on a clothesline. I was listening to Adil while cutting pieces of hard sweet marmalade with my eyes on it.
It’s not a very long story. Adil has a good job. He’s bought a 2400 square foot flat in Dhaka. His mother is old and needs constant care and attention. Due to his busy schedule, he can’t find the time to check on his mother. Because of his work pressure, he hasn’t been able to visit his village to see his elderly mother even once in the last three years.
So, he doesn’t want to leave his mother in the village anymore.
He wants his mother to live a happy life with her son, daughter-in-law, and grandchildren in his newly bought spacious flat.
He’s telling Monira Akhtar, who’s coming to his house, about his plans. Monira Akhtar is truly touched by her son’s love. Her eyes were gleaming with affection and pride as she talked about her son. Seeing this, I felt at peace.
I knew Hasib Sarkar, Monira’s husband, quite well. He was a dealer. He was a good man. With his ancestral property and his own earnings, he had a good life with his wife, two daughters, and two sons. But since childhood, I’ve noticed how self-centered his children were. Especially the eldest son, he never listened to his parents. After Hasib Sarkar’s death, this became even more apparent.
A man, robust for his age, passed away unexpectedly about five years ago. His children were all grown up and independent at the time. He had married off his daughters with great pomp and circumstance while they were still in college, ensuring they were well-settled. The daughters were devastated by their father’s death. They stopped visiting their mother, leaving her to manage a full household alone. The two sons did visit, but only individually and without their wives. The elder son, Nabin, was preparing to go abroad at the time. Overwhelmed with his own affairs, he didn’t give much thought to his grieving mother. Before leaving, he simply said, “Uncle Amin, I’m leaving. I don’t want to see my mother. She’ll probably be crying and wailing over my father. I don’t have time for such drama now.”
Nabin never returned. I heard he settled in Australia. I’m a bit of a vagabond, always hustling to make ends meet. I’m quite well-known in the land-dealing business. My work takes me to various houses in ten different villages, including Monira Akhtar’s. As a land dealer, it’s my job to keep track of who’s buying and selling property. Through this work, I get to know a lot about people’s lives. Whenever I met Monira Akhtar, she would sigh and say, “I’ve borne four children, but when I die, no one will be there to even give me a sip of water. Can you imagine, Amin Bhai?”
Mobile phones are the easiest way to stay connected these days. People I knew bought me one, but I didn’t have any of my children’s numbers. Who was I supposed to call? Sometimes, villagers would borrow my phone to call their relatives. One day, I suggested she write to her children and ask them for their numbers. That way, she could call them. Monira Akhtar had poor eyesight, so I wrote two letters for her. She gave me the addresses, but I don’t know if they were correct. In any case, she never received any replies. I couldn’t write to Adil because Monira didn’t have his address.
Monira Akhtar lives alone. After her husband passed away, she inherited his property. Because she lives alone, people don’t often take advantage of her. Additionally, Hasib Sarkar’s younger brother’s family lives a few houses away. They also keep a more or less watchful eye on her. I check on her from time to time. The old woman has no financial difficulties. She has no trouble with food or clothing. Yet, her unspoken pain hurts me. She cries thinking of her children. Sometimes while talking, she starts crying. She hasn’t seen her daughters in so many days. Sometimes I feel like I could have brought Monira Akhtar to her daughters’ homes.
Adil stayed for quite a few days. Before leaving, he called me. From the mother-son conversation, I guessed they wanted to completely sell the land in the village. Adil has a good job and wants to take his mother with him. This is connected to the fact that the company is not willing to hand over the newly bought flat for a small amount of money. I understand this issue involving the buying and selling of land.
Hasib Sarkar was a wise man. During his lifetime, he gave his daughters their due. And he left all the remaining property in his wife’s name. Since the elder son, Nabil, doesn’t inquire about anything, whatever land and homestead is currently in the village, in Monira Akhtar’s absence, all of it belongs to Adil. At this moment, their intention is to sell the village land and this homestead and leave the village altogether. The reason for calling me was to arrange for the sale of these as soon as possible.
Adil was in a real hurry. He gave me just ten days to sell his land and house. He said he would come back in ten days to collect the money and belongings.
I told them that it would be difficult to find a good buyer and get a fair price in such a short time, and suggested we take our time. But I could see they were unhappy with my suggestion. I realized that if I insisted, they might find another agent. So, I agreed to sell everything within ten days.
Two days after Adil left, on a hot summer afternoon, I went to Monira Akhtar’s house to discuss the sale. To my surprise, I saw that the house was empty and the furniture was being loaded onto large carts. It turned out that Adil had sold the furniture, and the buyer was taking it away.
I saw Monira Akhtar sitting on a mat under the jackfruit tree. Bits of yellow sunlight were dancing on the mat. The leaves of the tree rustled slightly in the intense heat, offering a bit of relief. I said, ‘Sister-in-law, you could have taken care of this later. Where will you stay if the house doesn’t sell soon?’
Monira Akhtar wiped the sweat off her face with her sari end and said in a tired voice, ‘Brother-in-law, please try to sell it quickly. Adil says he’s losing a lot by not being able to move into the new flat. And don’t worry about me, it’s just for a few days. I’ll spend the nights on a mat and pillow.’
Ten days later, Adil came to take his mother. The sale proceeds were with me.
Upon hearing the news, I came to give her the money. Monira Akhtar had a large sack and two cloth bags with her. Seeing so much luggage, Adil irritably asked, ‘Why have you taken so much with you?’
Because she was going to her son’s house, Monira Akhtar had filled a sack with various offerings like rice, coconut, and spices. And the two bags were filled with clothes.
But Adil didn’t want to take anything except a bag of clothes. He said, “There are no cars here. We have to take the bus. It’s too much of a hassle to carry all this stuff on the bus. Let’s go to Dhaka, I’ll buy you all new clothes. And you can find all kinds of modern stuff in big departmental stores. You can go shopping with your mother-in-law and buy whatever you want.”
Many neighbors came to bid farewell. Monira Akhtar apologized to everyone and got into a rickshaw. Adil had already gotten into the rickshaw. The rickshaw slowly disappeared from our sight.
I went to Jamshed’s tea stall in the market, where there was a crowd and people were talking excitedly. Everyone was discussing a news item in the newspaper. I asked someone what had happened. He said, “A son left his mother at the bus stop, saying he would call a CNG to take her home, but he never returned. The old woman has been spending nights at the bus stop shelter for the past two days. The old woman doesn’t have any money. So she hasn’t eaten for two days. She doesn’t know anything about her son’s name, what he does, or where he lives.” Hearing the news, my heart sank. Monira Akhtar has also left the village with her son two days ago.
I prayed silently, “Oh Allah, may such a thing not happen to Monira Akhtar.” I reached out for the newspaper. Someone sighed and said, “Alas, what a wicked son. He left his old mother like that!
