Tangents
The Vendor <i>of Amulets</i>
Mr. Hossain With Merchandise. Photo: Ihtisham Kabir
It was in Rampura that the man with brilliant henna-dyed hair and beard caught my eye. He had walked down the road holding a seven-foot pole when an old woman stopped him and started talking. The pole was covered with merchandise trinkets and costume jewellery, it appeared. I stopped for a closer look. “Have you been selling these all your life?” I asked. “Only five years,” he replied tersely. His name was Md. Anwar Hossain. He was seventy-six. In another life, he said, he had been a soldier, first serving in East Pakistan Rifles, then Bangladesh Rifles. He started in infantry and rose to Subehdar rank. “There are 850 miles of border in this country. I have seen it all, north to south, east to west,” he barked, military style. But tragedy struck soon after he retired: his entire life saving was robbed from his village home in Jamalpur. He was going to start a small business with the capital, but now found himself in dire straits. “I came to Dhaka and went without food for seven days until a kind Bede showed me this business. That's how I got started,” he said, his voice surprisingly free of regret or self-pity. [Bedes are nomads who live on boats and wander around the country.] I looked over his offerings on the pole and realised my mistake. Those were amulets and talismans he was selling, not trinkets. There were several types of tabij, large and small, empty and filled. The latter contained tiny scrolls filled with prayers. He had small shells worn around the chest for ulcerous pain; rings and metallic bangles for joint pain; and black rubber rings for the ankles of those having trouble walking. He also carried the latest fashion among amulets, a silver tabij shaped like a bullet. His 60-70 items cost between five and twenty Taka each. On a good day his sales approached 1000 Taka, he said. How about today? He extracted a few notes from his shirt pocket. “That's it?” I asked, disappointed. Signalling me to wait, he emptied several other pockets. “I sold close to five hundred Taka today from 9:30 to eleven,” he declared. “Do you always sell in Rampura,” I asked. “No, I sell everywhere from Shonir Akhra to Mohammedpur to Badda,” he said. “Shonir Akhra is quite far. Do you take the bus?” I asked. “I walk everywhere, a different place each day,” he said. Mr. Anwar told me he had two grandchildren by his son, back in Jamalpur. “When will you see them?” I asked. He gave me a “you-have-to-be-kidding” look. “At Eid, of course! I will take a week off.” A swarm of women appeared unexpectedly looking for medicinal talismans. I watched Mr. Anwar fit a rheumatism ring into a woman's finger. As she negotiated the price down to ten Taka, I decided to take my leave. It was turning to be a good day for the vendor of amulets.
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