Fiction
Poribanu
(The first segment of this short story appeared last week)
The food arrived soon after, and Haroon almost pounced on the food like a hungry animal. He was least bothered about what others would think. Even though there was water in front of him, he didn't feel it necessary to wash his hands. Ravenously, he started eating; the way he was eating it seemed that he didn't have something good to eat for a long time.
The meal over, Haroon kicked off the conversation: "Sir, my house is at least twenty miles away from here. Now you listen to why I have come such a long way to you. I have come for some weapons. We have some freedom fighters with us, but we don't have the right arms with us excepting three active and inoperative rifles. Even rifles don't have adequate cartridges. Some of them have run out of cartridges even. How shall we put up a resistance against their machine guns? Muktibahini is almost falling apart due to the shortage of arms and ammunition. You can't fight with empty hands. Their morale is sinking. Already some of them have crossed over to India; those who are here are also going away in different directions. Since you have good connection with some political leaders, you might try to get us some weapons."
Disappointedly I answered: "It's no point telling it to me. We are also in the same boat. We formed a group of Muktibahini here, too. Conducting some paramilitary training, like rifle shooting and parade, eventually we also couldn't give sufficient arms and ammunition to the freedom fighters. When the Pakistani perpetrators will come here to attack, how are our fighters going to defend? It's not our problem only, it's everywhere."
Stunned by the disclosure, Haroon cast a blank look at me. With high hopes, he had come here from such a great distance, but now he would have to return disheartened. What else could I do? Like him, I was also helpless in this regard. Finally, when Haroon could understand that I was in a quandary, he didn't pester me anymore with it.
To veer away from the topic, I asked: "How's your wife? Since you are on the move always, how does she spend her days?
Poribanu, Haroon's wife, was known to me. The name 'Pori' wasn't uselessly given to her by her parents. Not only was she stunningly beautiful like a fairy, but also she possessed admirable qualities. Unfortunately, often they would squabble over trifles jeopardizing peace in their small family. When their bickering would transform into a fracas, Haroon wouldn't bother to announce publicly his plan to divorce his wife. But when he would calm down, all those utterances would go buried deep under his chest. This was how their tumultuous life kept going. Initially, it came to me as hearsay, but later on, Haroon himself disclosed it to me.
Is there any family where there is no internal strife? Under heavy family burden and compulsions, it is obvious that the husband and wife relationship would at times reach a breaking point and would bring a fresh fragrance immediately after.
Grilling Haroon over this issue, what I could retrieve was that Poribanu had a significant trait in her character. The common factors that would trigger hitches in a husband-wife relationship were not the ones responsible for their family feud. Although Poribanu was a girl from an ordinary family, she had an opportunity to study a little. She wanted her personality to blossom in a free environment outside the confines of the kitchen. It was her quality, not fault. Perhaps such desires remain locked in the hearts of many girls like her. A lot of impediments stand in their way when daughters and daughters-in-law of a Muslim family try to pursue their dreams. However, a serious blow was hurled at the girl who was determined to pursue her goal. As a result, perhaps many of them were forced to abandon their ideas. Or else they had to rise in revolt to break the shackles despite the possibility of denouement. Poribanu was that type of a girl who would go for the last option.
That was the main reason behind their quarrel. At least, this was the idea I had formed about Poribanu listening to Haroon on different occasions.
But just the opposite happened today. When I picked up the Poribunu subject for our talks, to my utter surprise, Haroon evinced great interest in her and started praising her spiritedly. He seemed unstoppable in his passionate outburst – to him she was a girl not yet discovered fully. His delightful outpourings of emotion, however, made me laugh.
"Haroon, but you said something otherwise one day about her…"
"Just forget about those days, Sir. Whatever I said that day was not my actual realization. Now I can understand that I did wrong that day. Instead of looking at the thing straight, I twisted and misinterpreted it in a different way. That's why; I always tried to stifle her hopes and aspirations."
In our male-dominated society, this sort of attitude by males towards females wasn't very uncommon. But what surprised me was his straight and plain recognition of the truth.
"How and when did you come out of this wrong perception of reality?" I asked.
"It wasn't long ago," smilingly he said, adding, "For the first time I could realize this truth through our present movement a few months ago. I was engrossed in thoughts and activities about the movement. I didn't have the time and the appropriate mental state to look at her. All of a sudden, Pori asked me one day whether Bangladesh was for the males only. Also she wanted to know whether or not the names of females were meant for inclusion in the pages of the census report only."
"What sort of a question is this? Why are you asking me this question?" It had been Pori's curious inquiry.
"Still you want to know why? The movement for an independent Bangladesh has been on for so many days. You people have been conducting meetings and processions, but did you ever call us for any duties?" She had exuded her genuine concern for the apathy we had shown towards our female counterparts.
I just kept mum for some time. In such a combative atmosphere, her words of wisdom gave me a good feeling. Our strength would have increased manifold if the girls had joined us in our fight against the pillaging hordes. It sounded so true! Immediately, I recollected what I had advised Poribanu one day. In a commanding voice I said: "Home is the best place for the girls, not outside. Like the so-called 'civilized' girls, I wouldn't like to see any girl going crazy and becoming deliberately whimsical." Perhaps Poribanu had been thinking about the same thing that time, but she hadn't wanted to embarrass me by reminding the same thing.
Hesitatingly, I told Haroon: "Do you think the girls of our homes will come to the street with us breaking apart the traditional barriers existing in the society for a long time? Our society…"
Interrupting me, he said: "Won't they come? Why not? Don't their minds crave for it? Like us aren't they the people of this country? You people forcibly keep the door shut for them; that's why they can't come out. Opening the door, why don't you call them once? See what happens."
Pausing briefly at that point, he looked at me and then continued: "We'll talk about the rest later; let me talk about me. If I join you people, will there be any objection? I hope there won't be any trouble between us like before." Meaningfully, he smiled as soon as he finished the last sentence.
"Poribanu joined us. Also, she regularly kept bringing new girls to join the work. This was how the number of the group members kept rising. Instead of creating impediments, I facilitated her joining us. Since then we have been working together, at times staying close to each other, at times maintaining a distance. In fact, we have been in agreement with each other while carrying out our duties and work. Sir, you are my teacher; as a student I shouldn't tell you these things.
(To be continued)
Haroonuzzaman teaches English at Independent University, Bangladesh (IUB).
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