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Retired Bureaucrat

Short Story

Rashida Sultana (Translated by Khademul Islam)
Fahmid saw the old man emerge from the flat beside the garage leaning on a cane and wearing a white cotton vest and a checkered lungi. A bony old man. He seemed to have trouble walking. But his voice had the roar of a tiger. As he came forward he was screaming (in English):
“ How dare you shout at my hoy? Who are you? Why you shout at him? Because he is a poor hoy. do you think you can do and undo anything with him? Who have you come to see? Which floor ?"
Fahmid was taken aback. He said the fourth floor. Fuad Sahib’s home. Fuad is my younger brother.
Still the old man kept on screaming.
Fahmid felt insulted in front of his wife and children. He too began to shout back, (in Bengali). "You tell me. what have 1 said to this guard of yours? And this boy of yours who still has all of his milk teeth, didn’t you see how he behaved with me?"
“Don 't shout at me." the old man kept on screaming. "Why are you shouting at me. beyadob?”
Fahmid too yelled back at him, “Why are you shouting at me? I came here on a visit and for nothing at all you're screaming and shouting with me. Your boy--here, you tell him. What did I say to you?"
The thirteen- or fourteen-year-old guard, sensing an opportunity, now stiffened his neck and said, "Huun, yes, you said I was insolent and shouted at me."
The old man joined in, “Yes, 1 have seen it. You were shouting at the boy. And you did it because he is poor. It is a gentleman s house. You can't do whatever you like here."
Fahmid's wife, seeing her husband subjected to such abuse, could not restrain herself any longer. She said, "You are a respectable elderly person, how can you behave like this? That boy was insolent, which is why Fahmid rebuked him. And you’re now calling him all sorts of names, whatever comes to your lips?”
" You see. your husband is an arrogant person. He has behaved badly with me. Does he know that my two sons are older than him ? My elder son is DIG Police, the other one is a full professor at American University. 1 was deputy secretary in the Ministry of Industries."The old man continued on in a high-pitched voice.
“I have no use for your high-sounding tales. Go out on the road and tell it to other people"--Fahmid said.
Lopa caught hold of her husband's arm and whispered urgently, "The old man is mad. Enough, you stop it! People witnessing this will only blame you for quarrelling with an old man."
Then Lopa turned to the old man, “Uncle, whatever's happened has happened. We re going upstairs. You should too."
The old woman on the ground floor vyho had been observing all this from behind a parting in the
curtain, on hearing Lopa's efforts to calm the old man down, now took courage and came forward. She took the old man by the hand and led him away, saying softly to Fahmid, "Baba, forget all these arguments.”
The old man was still screaming at the top of his voice, "I'm going to phone my sons and tell them all about this."
Arriving at his younger brother's new home for a visit, he had honked his car horn at the gates. When nobody came to open them, he had again honked the horn again. A thirteen- or fourteen-year-old darwan type finally had appeared. He had come forward and said, “From now on whenever you visit this building don't use your car horn. We open the gates even if you don't use the horn. And if you honk once, we do hear it. You don't have to honk three or four times. We are not deaf."
Fahmid said, “What? Who do you think you’re talking to in that insolent tone? Quite the tongue you have on you."
Fahmid's voice had kept on rising. And a little later there had been the explosion from the old man.
Fahmid's younger brother’s wife Molly said, “Bhaiya, forget it. He's got some problems in his h^ad. He sometimes acts like that."
Said Fahmid, “You people are the tenants. The old the whole thing” said Fahmid. Wearing his spectacles, Abdus Samad was crosschecking Prize Bond numbers. His wife's high-pitched conversation with the maid was making him irritable: “You hoydens, are you going to stop your yammering. Can't you see that I’m engaged in a serious task?”
His wife flew into a rage. "All my life I've seen you checking those numbers, but have you ever got anything?"
"How will you understand? These things are not for illiterate women.”
After lunch munching on a paan his wife said, “What will you do with these Prize Bonds? Our two sons are fine. By God's grace they have enough money too. Why would we need more money?”
"I don't like living in our sons' flat building. Didn't you see that some relative of that doctor's who rents a flat behaved badly with me, and those two, my son and his wife, gave me an earful about it. That I don't know how to properly handle the tenants, the guards and servants. If I win the Prize Bond money then I'm going to turn that tin-shed house in Bashabo into a flat building. Keep servants and guards of my own choosing. Stop having to listen to so much back talk from my son and son's wife. My whole life I've never
taken a penny in bribe. Had I done so then I'd have had quite a few flat buildings as grand as this to my name. Then I wouldn't have had to put up with this attitude from my son and his wife.”
There was to be a big feast at the house of the uncle who was a member of the village council. The news had been conveyed to Abdus Samad's father. Whenever festivities were held at the Member uncle's home, the arrangements (the buying of provisions, preparation of the guest list, etc.) usually were the responsibility of Abdus Samad's father.
The overseeing of the Member uncle's lands reserved for tenant farming was also his responsibility. The feast was occasioned by the death anniversary of the Member uncle's first wife. Buying the cow at the bazaar, hiring the cooks, all these were the responsibility of Abdus Samad's father. In the midst of greeting the guests he took out time to ensure that Abdus Samad sat in the front row. Loading meat onto his son’s plate, he said, "Here, just eat only the meat. Don't take rice, just the meat. At a feast like this it's best to go after only the meat.”
He heaped meat onto the plate. His son gorged on it. And all morning the next day ran repeatedly to the bamboo grove to defecate and then stumble to the ditch farther behind to wash his arse...
He sat down at the table with his wife, son and his son's wife. Ever since he was a child he had always loved to eat meat. When he pulled the beef dish near and lifted two or three pieces of meat on to his own plate, his son's wife pulled it back: "You know your stomach can't tolerate it, don't take too much of it. On top of everything you have high blood pressure too."
Silently, almost without eating, Abdus Samad rose and left the table.
His son had invited his colleagues over for dinner. Quite a few senior officers were also going to come. His wife handed him the pyjama-punjabi she had laid aside and said, "Wear these. And don’t go in front of the guests if your son doesn't call you." When he heard that the guests had arrived he put on his fancy Nehru coat and went to the drawing room to sit with them. With much bravado he regaled his son's colleagues with tales of his office and career. All in English. Said that it had been during his time that the bureaucracy had experienced its golden age. Told tales about the honesty, dedication and sincerity of the officers then. That the bureaucracy nowadays was passing through very bad times. He sat in the drawing room nearly the whole time. At one time his son went into the inner rooms of the house, returned and said, “Abba, Amma wants to talk to you.”
Samad Saheb rose and went inside. And didn't come back. When it was time for dinner the son's colleagues inquired, “Where is Uncle?”
He came back to sit down and eat with the guests. He ate whatever he wanted to: roast, meat rezala, ilish fish, prawns, which upset his stomach the next day. He kept running to the bathroom repeatedly.
Whenever Molly met and salaamed him on her way to or back from the hospital he would enquire with a fond air: “How are you, young doctor?"
If she happened to meet the old lady, the latter too would say, "My dear, you're such a busy person. Hospital, the children, looking after the household all must keep you busy. If you get the time do drop in for some tea.”
One day on her day off Molly went downstairs. After the incident with Fahmid the old man's son had come by to tender his apologies. When Molly went over both the son and the son's wife were at office.
The old lady upon seeing her had said, "Come in, come in, dear” and had led her into the drawing room. She had then called out to the old man, "Look, who's come.”
The old man immediately upon entering the room had exclaimed, "How are you, Madam Lady Doctor? Why alone? Where are your children? Are they in school? I love children so much. When I was ADC general in Faridpur, on national days I used to be the chief guest at the district parade. March pasts of the school children were really gorgeous."
“Yes, Uncle. The children are at school. How is your health?" Molly asked.
“Not good. Severe back pain. In fact I was hospitalized for a long lime. I was coming from Chittagong. Bus accident. The pelvic bone was displaced. One long year I was in hospital."
The old lady went into the kitchen to prepare tea.
The old man wanted to know, “Who is the DG of Health nouA"
“Mozakker Ali, Uncle," Molly replied.
“He must be much junior to us. Bureaucracy has got completely spoiled now. Getting more and more corrupt by the day. Its golden period was in our time. I was posted in the Health Ministry also. The secretary at that time was S MAH. He was really the son of a tiger. A tiger cub. Even the minister wouldn't bother him. He liked me very much. He used to say to me, You are a real officer, Mr. Samad. When you start something you are sure to finish it.' He liked me so much because I was one hundred percent sincere and honest. All my seniors used to like my Notes and Drafts very much. When I was a school student, my essay was awarded first at the divisional level. All my seniors were pleased with my writing skills."
Molly listened attentively to the old man's talk. When she stood up after finishing her tea, the old man and the old lady both accompanied her to the door.
Rashida Setana i? a short story writer and poet Khademul Islam is literary editor. The Daily Star.