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Maleka Parveen
yed Kabir rose that day at 6:15 in the morning when his alarm clock rang. He got up from his bed feeling uneasy, with a bad headache. On other mornings, while getting up from his bed, he would take his time, lying curled up on the bedsheets for four or five minutes before determinedly, in an act of will, lifting himself up and out of the bed. Then he would jump out crisply in order to • avoid drifting back into another round of luxurious sleep. So today he rose, clasping the sides of the bed as he got up and then walked to the attached bathroom, feeling a numbness in his movements. He tried to think if it was due the lingering effects of a dream, or if it was because he had taken a strong sedative last night before getting into bed in order to dive deep into the nirvana of a deep, refreshing sleep, something which had been eluded him these last one-and-half months.
Taking his shower beneath the stream of cool morning water, Kabir felt fresh and revived. For the time being he forgot about the difficulties of these last few months. Of course, nobody in his family had any idea about the troubles he yvas facing in his office -not even his yvife Sabera. despite the fact that he had always felt her to be his real, true comrade-in-arms ever since they had begun their married life eighteen years back.
But for reasons he himself yvas not clear about (maybe it was something unconscious, he reasoned to himself) he couldn't discuss yvhat was going on at the office over the last month and yvhat had been tormenting him since then. He knew that Sabera would feel terribly unhappy if she came to know about the whole sordid details: she could even begin to harbour doubts about his character - his integrity. Why had been implicated in such a type of underhand dealing when there yvere so many others who could easily have been indicted on similar charges? No, she yvould not understand! She might think differently about him. He knew she believed in him absolutely, thought the world of him, and he could not bear for her to be suspicious about him regarding anything. She had such faith in his moral nature that she yvould rather die before see any proof of a reversal of her belief in him.
"Have you finished? Your breakfast is getting cold" - Kabir started violently at Sabera's voice. He had finished fifteen minutes earlier, but stood holding the green hairbrush in his right hand he used to comb the remains of his once yvavy and lush thick hair, lost in thought. Awakened from his contemplation, he found himself standing in front of their old dressing table of old teakyvood, one of the many gifts from his father in-law given to adorn and furnish the new life his only daughter was embarking on. His lather-in-law Quazi Shariful Islam's sole mental satisfaction, when marrying his daughter off to Kabir, a petty administrative official in a shipping company, had been that he had discovered his prospective son-in-law to be a very honest man both in word and deed.
'What is the definition of honesty? Is honesty something tangible or something abstract w hich can only be talked about and be achieved at the expense of some other thing? Where is honesty when you do not know anything about a matter thrust upon you solely for your to take the whole burden so that someone else could fly away free and happy?'- Kabir gripped his head with both hands, letting the comb fall down on the floor.
“What's happened to you? Are you feeling unwell? I have been calling you for the last twenty minutes and you are not even dressed for office. You will surely be late today - that boss of yours will find another reason to make you overstay at the office, something which you've been doing too much of recently”-Sabera hurled at him, standing at the doorstep of their bedroom and looking visibly annoyed.
"No, it’s nothing. You go. I am coming in five minutes".
2.
At the dining table Sabera looked at her husband's somber face. It was not his usual facial expression. Kabir was a jovial man, always making fun of things at the slightest opportunity. Sometimes his jokes irritated Sabera, even made her quite angry at times. How could he act so happy when his wife had to struggle hard to maintain their family of five on such a meager income? Thank God her kind father had left her with some fixed deposits in the bank, on which she had been depending ever since their three children had started going to school.
Sometimes she wondered what had charmed her late father so much about this poor man. Her father had not been a very rich man either, but she and her brothers had been brought up in a certain kind of middle-class comfort. But the moment she had entered her new life with this poor man as her partner, she had instinctively realized that she was going to have to endure difficult times in the future. Over time, she had found that her instincts had been right.
‘Are you coming today after your normal office time or you will be late at the office again?”
"I am not sure. I will try to finish my work today on time. If I cannot, I will let you know. Please take it easy. People like me frequently have to work late at their offices. The last one-and-half month, I have had to look after so many issues...”
"Ok. But you've changed. You don't smile any more, you keep saying there's too much pressure now in your office. It 's never been like this since our marriage.”
"I know, but you have to be understand,.." Kabir checked himself abruptly. He looked at his watch and got up quickly from his chair.
"You haven't taken your tea. You are already late, so you might as well have it." Sabera wiped her sweat-smeared nose with the palm of her left hand and started moving towards the kitchen.
"No, I'll be back on time tonight. Should I bring some samosas or singara?”
"You need not bring anything. I just want you home earlier.” Sabera then was surprised to suddenly feel her lately-changed husband lean forward and brush his lips against her forehead in a soothing way. She rushed to the bedroom, trying her best to hold back her tears.
3.
Kabir felt relieved to be out on the open street filled with crowds. He was a lowly official, somebody whose signature did not carry any weight whatsoever. He was full of niggling worries: Was he to be scolded for making some mistakes in his drafts of letters? Why did his boss do nothing except whisper over the telephone with women, even though he had a beautiful wife and two little children?
A microbus carrying some schoolchildren screeched to a sudden stop right behind Kabir. The driver shouted at him, "Hey, old man, are you blind? Where is your walking stick?" Kabir did not reply, but instead looked up at the late morning sky, which appeared to him like a spread batik printed sari with irregular patches of white and blue.
He stood a while to draw in some long breaths and then started for the place where he had been spending his whole day for the last one-and-half months. It was a big green park with lots of trees and two lakes. He took his usual seat on a bench by the side of one of the lakes and stared vacantly in front of him.
What should he do now? How long would he be able to continue like this? Would his wife believe that he had been suspended for the last one-and-half month for an alleged involvement in embezzling some official funds? Wouldn't Sabera faint first before hearing the details of the whole matter? Would his children be ever convinced that their father was a dishonest man? Nothing had been proved. Yet, how long could a man like him endure such pressure? Shouldn't he come clean with his wife?
Something pressed at him from inside. He took two or three gulps of water from the bottle in the lunch bag his wife prepared for him every day. He could not endure any more. "Oh! Sabera, please forgive me. I could not make you happy. I ,.sorry....forgive..." Kabir collapsed on the park bench.
4.
After sending the children to the school and tidying the whole house, Sabera was in the kitchen washing up. She was still in a state of stupor - she could still feel the loving touch of his dry lips. She did not know what had lately changed him. He had never been like this. He never set out for his office without holding her hands in his for some time, smiling into her eyes. But, all of a sudden, a drastic change had come over him. She did not understand it, nor did she try to find out why. Sometimes she thought that she should go to his office and enquire. However, she had not done so because he would not like that. And she would certainly not do anything that would make him angry, or annoyed, in the least.
The telephone suddenly screamed and the cup from which her husband usually drank tea fell from Sabera's hand. Unhappily, she waited for the ringing to stop. Yes, at last it did. Nothing to be worried about. Just as she bent over the dining table to wipe drops of water on it, the phone began ringing again. She again wanted to ignore it, but decided to finally pick it up.
"Hello!"
"Hello! Is this Mr. Kabir's house? Who are you speaking, please?”
Sabera got annoyed. It was 11:30 or so in the morning and someone was calling at a time for a person who would obviously be at his office. With some effort she controlled her annoyance.
"Yes. But he is not at home now. You may call him at his office.”
"Sorry. Are you his wife?"
"Yes."
"I'm calling to inform you that he's been admitted to a clinic. Please, take down the address...Try to come as soon as possible. Don't worry, please. He is recovering.”
"What are you saying? What has happened to him?" Sabera stuttered out the words, leaning her body against the wall in order to steady herself.
The unknown kind person, who had tried to break the news gently, now said, "Please try to take it easy. He was seen lying unconscious on a park bench. There was a lunch bag found beside him.”
"Yes, now I understand. Could you please once again give me the clinic's address?”
Maleka Parveen Senior Assistant Secretary at the Foreign Office of Bangladesh.