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Boomerang...

Maleka Parveen
(Continued from last week)
Mother gets up and, casting a pensive look at her peacefully sleeping granddaughter, gives out a silent sigh. An unhappy expression overshadows her aged face.
On the other hand, Shaila, though at first getting somewhat irritated at her mother's pompous sermon, gradually begins to realise the ramifications it would have if she really invited Manjur to her house right now. She has been living in separation from her husband for more than two months. Her husband visits the house only to meet his daughter when Shaila is at work. They do not even have a single conversation over the phone either during this whole period of living apart from each other. She does not know what is in store for two of them. A feeling of uncertainty and insecurity pervades her whole consciousness when she comes to think about her little daughter. In such ongoing streams of multifarious thoughts, sometimes she gets stiff and hardens her mind to take a final decision like sending the ultimate 'divorce letter' to that rogue. Shaila shrinks in her innermost self in a complex sensation of doubt and disgust toward him. How once she was charmed by his handsome appearance and sonorous voice has now dwindled into something abhorrent she hates even to give a second thought to.
Shaila comes back to her bedroom. It is clear her mother would not like her to invite Manjur to their house. She feels embarrassed. Does her mother smell something fishy in her desire for Manjur to pay a visit on her birthday? True, she has not yet made up her mind. But, also true, a speck of thinking vis-a-vis Manjur has sprouted in the very distant depth of her heart. She herself is not fully persuaded about it. She does not want to acknowledge it right away as well. She will be waiting for some more time. First of all, she would have to be sure about Manjur. Does he still have a liking for her? Up to this day his behaviour, even after her offensive refusal of his proposal, shows that he, though felt hurt, does not bear any ill-feeling against her. At least his positive attitude and good manner do not demonstrate that. As a true gentleman, he always lends a very patient ear to whatever she has to share with him. Any other person in his place would definitely express his impatience in very clear terms. Even Shaila herself, if the situation were vice versa, would find enough reason not to be that much tolerant as Manjur presents himself commendably. All these considerations lately make Shaila ponder anew about Manjur. After a reasonable gap of time, so that the whole affair does not create any noticeable amount of hullabaloo, she would approach him. If all signs give an affirmative nod, she would propose him, this time herself without any wavering. 'Manjur is the right man for me-so gentle, so patient, so respectful', Shaila gets lost in her ruminations.
Manjur was busy at the computer in his office room. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. As he turned around to take a tissue paper, he caught sight of Shaila, standing in front of his table with her arms crossed. A rare posture of her, he hardly remembered observing any time before. Today she looked devastatingly beautiful, absolutely different from how she normally appeared before him during the last two or three months. A deep magenta crepe georgette sari with multi-coloured floral motifs made her complexion glow with a pinkish gleam. Though a feeling of anguish ran through him, he wheedled himself out promptly to be as at his ease as ever. He was determined not to display any of his weakness for her. The very first thought that came to his mind at this particular moment was if she had reconciled with her estranged husband. Then his intuition signalled some other thing in embryo: No, it's not the usual case. Today Shaila had a different story to tell him. With alacrity he got all geared up to offer his patient ears to her.
With a smile, Manjur asked Shaila to sit down.
“Ahem, you look gorgeous. What’s the matter? I hope everything is on the right track”.
Shaila looked straight into his eyes as if to read his mind and waited for a few seconds till she muttered the words long rehearsed for the last day.
“Yes, I wish it would be so. Everything should be put on the right track before it gets altogether derailed. But, I'm afraid you're not in the right direction. You're not supposed to. Manjur, I've something else to tell you today”.
She gave a cursory look on her right side to be sure the office staff was not present around. Luckily for her, there was no one to overhear.
“Don't be mysterious. Tell me what it's all about”.
“Manjur”, Shaila pronounced his name with added softness and sentiment, giving him a little jolt, “are you ready to marry me”?
Manjur knew that his sixth sense proved very much right in clearly seeing through the actual thing in the vibrant presence that Shaila made today before him. This was ' purusher chokh'. But he was also ready. He was prepared as well to avenge himself of the shame and pain she caused him five years ago. Everything, every word she uttered and every body language she exhibited, was hitherto vivid in his memory as if it happened yesterday. No, Manjur would not entertain any slight bit of idea of his being labelled vindictive by nature. Fie was far from that. He did not even have any bad wishes for her. Rather he always wanted her to be happy as ever. Which is why he did not fail to attend to her daughter's first birthday which she celebrated very lavishly in a five-star hotel.
However, as the nature of this sort of relation is, there will always be a 'but' in determining the extent of how far it can be carried on. And, in such peculiar situation as Manjur finds himself now, no flesh and blood can totally disengage himself or herself from savouring the predicament of the opposite sex, without even being necessarily rancorous innately. Thus also Manjur, from the very first day Shaila began coming to his room and telling him of her unhappiness, was cherishing sort of devilish delight. 'Poetic justice it is', he reflected, 'she ought to have lived through it'. Then he tried to reason himself out of this spiteful feeling with self-reproach. 'No, I must not think this way. It's her choice not to choose me. I can't blame her for that. Now also I should not feel happy in her misfortune. I must sympathise with her, though I should maintain a reasonable distance as well’.
“Are you kidding”? Manjur assumed a stern face deliberately.
“Not at all, why should I? You know everything. At this critical point in my life, I'm not in a position to make fun of anything. Believe me, I'm serious”, an imploring note was obvious in her tone.
“What made you think that way”? Manjur became more rigid.
“I've mulled over it for quite some time. You don't think that I don't remember how I behaved with you five years ago. Now I want to repent and repair it. Of course, I'm not pressing you. I dare not think about that. You're free to think otherwise. I only tell you what I think I must tell you”.
“Okay, Shaila, fine. I feel good now that at long last you’ve come to me with a changed mind set-up, though not without treading many different paths and alleys. But don't you think it's too late? What you said five years ago is very much fresh in my mind. During all this time I've learnt hard to consider you only as a very good friend, a reliable colleague, nothing more than that. Sorry, Shaila, I've to repeat the same words which you said to me then. I don’t have anything else to say. And a request, please, don't misunderstand me”.
Shaila was twisting the aanchal-end of her sari in her elegantly nail-polished fingers. She flung a vacant look outside the window and saw a solitary crow, sitting on the roof-top of a near-by five-storied building. A perturbed feeling caused a violent swing in her stomach. She felt like vomiting. But she controlled herself with some efforts. She looked back at Manjur to find him observing her, or what her reaction might be, intently. (Concluded)
MALEKA PARVEEN, A SENIOR DIPLOMAT, WRITES FICTION AND POETRY.