Khadam

Somdatta Mandal

Original: Syed Manzoorul Islam

Translation: Somdatta Mandal

 

[This short story is taken from the collection Sukhdukkher Golpo (Dhaka: Nymphea Publications) containing twenty stories that Manzoorul Islam wrote between 2005 and 2010. They are about ordinary lives contained in real, absurd and magic realistic situations.]

 

1

Up to a certain age Russell was enamoured of his father, but after that, with the inevitable rules of the world, he got the real knowledge about his father or entered that phase. Now he has lots of problems with his father which are rather complex. If possible, he wants to ignore them, deny them, or declare him a prodigal father. If possible, he would like to leave home or go abroad where Baba will remain only as a shadow and not as a real human being. If possible …let it be, Russell hasn’t reached that age of possibility, or maybe he has reached the age, but his feasibility hasn’t been born yet. However secretively he might be engaged in giving a few tuitions, in the end he must be totally dependent on his father for his subsistence, isn’t it?

 

Russell studies in the second year at Sylhet Medical College. He is a brainy student, and idealistic too. His ideal is left-oriented and that is why he feels he has a distance from Baba. Baba is wealthy, an established businessman. But Russell wanted him not to be wealthy, but liberal hearted. He would distribute all his money among the poor, the suffering farm labourers in the north, a couple of friends from his student union who had been tortured by the police — those who couldn’t afford a treatment at Bangkok but at least could go to Madras Vellore and possibly regain their lives. Russell doesn’t have the courage to say these things to Baba; he knows what his reactions would be. He told Ma, Ma might have told him mildly or maybe not. The result was zero.

 

His studying at Sylhet Medical College was also due to Baba’s arbitrariness. Russell had got a chance to study at Dhaka Medical College but Baba didn’t allow him to go. He said, ‘Such a small boy, let him stay at home and study here.’ He said it to Ma, not to Russell. Ma had tried to voice her son’s objection in a faint tone and said, ‘When he wants to go to Dhaka, let him go.’ Baba stared at the ground for a while and then said, ‘I don’t want to send my son beyond my eyes right now. The house will be empty if he goes away, my …’

 

Baba often doesn’t finish his sentences. It is his old habit.

This is another problem that Russell faces with his Baba. Except for the little period of ignorance that he had in his childhood, a good communication with Baba had never been established.  However much he might be annoyed, Baba never expressed his feelings  externally. At the most he would stop speaking. That meant a wall was erected on all four sides. Russell neither had the ability nor eagerness to demolish that wall.

 

The golden time that he communicated with Baba lasted for four years. Russell was born at a difference of five years after the birth of two daughters. No, it wasn’t exactly for that reason Baba held him high above his head. Russell was quite stubborn since childhood. And he would cry very little. He would cry a little if he was hurt or for some other reason; but for the rest of the time, he was jovial, or stubborn. Baba liked this kind of a character. If someone picked him up on his lap, especially Baba, he would forget his stubbornness. He would remain in his lap, play with his hair, play with his spectacles, go to sleep on his chest and his saliva would wet his kurta and vest. If ever he saw Baba go out of the house, he would start screaming. There had also been certain days when Baba had taken him to his godown or factory, and Ma sat at home turning blue out of worry. There was a huge burning furnace in the factory, and Ma feared that very much.

 

At the age of four, Russell rediscovered his mother and sisters. Ma and the sisters were overwhelmed at this rediscovery. In the meantime, Russell also started going to school along with his sisters. The distance between Baba and himself gradually started growing wider.

 

At one time Russell felt that Baba was a complicated character. He had joined the local cricket team, and he was told to bring some donations from his father. They needed money to buy bats, balls and pads. Russell had told Baba about the money, and he had said he would buy him a bat, but not for the entire team.

‘Why Baba, you have lots of money’.

‘Yes, I have plenty of money, but I have earned it for good work, and not for buying cricket bats for other children,’ Baba had replied.

 

In reality, Baba had bought a beautiful bat for Russell. With a marker pen he had even inscribed the following words on it  — ‘ Labour is greater, not expecting the result — from Baba,’ just as he would inscribe on the pages of the books he gave him on his birthday.  But Russell didn’t even touch that bat; he and his friends went in a group to the businessmen of Bandar Bazar and Mahajan Patty and collected donation to buy all necessary articles required to play cricket. Of course Baba wasn’t told about that. Maybe he should have told him. Who knows?

 

While studying in college Russell got involved in politics. Not out of excitement; he succumbed to the thoughts and philosophies that were accumulating in his heart. Apart from attending the meetings and processions, he woke up at night to write posters and even went out to stick them everywhere. One day Baba called and told him, ‘Son, this is not the time to get involved in politics. Besides …’

 

Russell had expressed his thoughts very clearly. He said, ‘Baba, whatever I am doing is from the dictates of my conscience.’

‘If you want to get involved in politics, do that, but son, finish your studies before that. If you don’t study …’

Before Baba could complete his sentence, he was engrossed in so much of a sigh that Russell had gone away from his presence. He told Ma, ‘If Baba asks you, tell him that politics is also a part of my education.’

Ma said, ‘I couldn’t understand it, son.’

‘What cannot be learnt from books, politics teaches you more than that. It helps us to understand life closely.’ After this, Ma also had to keep quiet.

 

2

His distance with Baba also increased due to Baba’s lifestyle. Though involved in leftist student politics, though he selected a revolutionary lifestyle for the rights of livelihood for the poor, in some matters Russell’s feelings remained somewhat bourgeois-like. His elder sister Farhana or his younger sister Imrana had lots of fun about it, but Russell didn’t take them into consideration. Baba wore lungi, vest, and kurta at home, and a white lungi and a long shirt when he went outside. Russell felt irritated looking at this attire. Imrana said, ‘Bhaiya, you are fighting the cause for the lungi and gamcha, so why can’t you tolerate the lungi?’ Russell replied, ‘The bourgeois society wants the poor to remain forever clad in lungi and cannot ever afford any better attire. I am against the lungi.’ He considered Baba’s white lungi to be a tasteless attire. The white lungi according to him was seen as an empowerment of village leadership displayed by the headman and also as a symbol of decadence. He didn’t feel like telling Baba about it but told his mother instead. Ma smiled but told Baba about it as well. Moving his hand upon Russell’s head, he said, ‘The day you buy me a shirt and a pant with your own money, I will wear them then.’ After that he burst out into a loud laughter.

 

Baba would caress him in this manner by running his hand over his head when he was a child, during his period of innocence. That day also he ruffled his hair. As a result, Russell’s angry words remained stuck in his throat.

 

Both Farhana and Imrana are married now. They are busy with their own lives. Even after that, when they come to visit occasionally or spend a few days with their parents, they don’t forget to voice their concern with Russell. They believed that politics was a deplorable thing. They cite several examples of boys who have spoilt their lives after joining politics and have regressed in life. They even speak about boys who have been crippled after getting involved in political fights or even have died and this mention is from a concealed apprehension: they begin their speech with the following words – ‘God forbid….’

 

Russell gets irritated. He believes that his sisters protested about politics under Baba’s influence. ‘Both of you are reactionaries like Baba’, he said. ‘You all want to hold on to wasted, worm-eaten ideas, properties and class positions.’

 

Both the sisters had practical experience of Russell’s stubbornness. They knew it was not worth poking him. Only Farhana, out of her unconditional and absolute love for Baba, protests against Russell’s comments about him. ‘Whatever you might say, you cannot call Baba a reactionary at any cost, beware.’

Russell said, ‘Baba is only increasing his wealth. Also, his influence and prestige. Is he going to stand for the elections? It seems soon he will hold the flag of nationalist or fundamentalist forces.’

Farhana got annoyed. Like Baba she stops talking when annoyed. After that she got up and left the gathering.

Russell understood he had spoken a bit too much, but his stubbornness took over. He said, ‘Have you seen how Baba applies surma in his eyes nowadays?

 

Farhana was not sitting there to listen to Russell. Imrana was there and she said, ‘So what’s wrong?’

‘What do you mean by what’s wrong? White lungi, white shirt and surma in his eyes. Don’t you understand which direction Baba is going?’

‘That politics has entirely spoilt your head, you scoundrel. Baba has been wearing white lungis even before you were born.’

‘But what about surma?’

‘The eyes feel comfortable if one anoints surma. What is your problem?’

Imrana said, ‘You do something brother. Make a list on paper all the reasons for which you cannot tolerate Baba. Also make another list of what Baba should do to make him acceptable to you. I will see that Baba gets both the lists.’

Imrana spoke a lot when she was annoyed. She ended her talk also. But she has very little similarity with her Baba. Even after that her knowledge about Baba remained in the stage of ignorance.

 

3

If Russell sat down to make a list of the things he disliked about Baba, it would become really very long. But at this moment the only object he really wanted to put at the head of the list was Baba’s pair of wooden khadam. After Imrana was annoyed and left, Baba entered the room by making the clopping noise with his khadam. ‘What is wrong son, why is Imrana annoyed?’

This was another problem with him. Baba would get upset even if something insignificant happened to his children. Once Russell had told him, “Baba, we are all grown up. Why do you think so much? Why do you create such a scene for petty reasons?

Baba had smiled and replied, ‘Children never grow up, son.’

Today Russell didn’t want to speak to Baba, but his kharam forced him to speak. ‘Can’t you stop wearing this horrible thing, Baba?’

‘What are you calling horrible? This pair of khadam belonged to my father. Besides …..’

Russell didn’t have the time to wait for his father’s incomplete thoughts to take concrete shape.

 

4

Baba would occasionally wear dada’s pair of kharam, but Russell couldn’t figure out why it had become his constant companion. Now Baba was even going out wearing them. His friends would laugh at it. Some even snickered. All right, if you must wear the kharam, wear it at home, and that too a pair which has straps attached to it. The one he had now was a pre-Christian model. It was a one-inch-thick solid wood in the shape of the foot and in between the first two fingers there was a high peg or killock. That was all. It was difficult for a human being to even stand on it, let alone walk. By human being he meant only his father. Who else wore this sort of a hideous khadam? What was it called? A peg khadam? A khadam with two fingers? Killock khadam? A Darwin khadam? Russell found the Darwinian theory of the apes being reflected in the manner the two fingers were pressed to walk on that piece of wood.

 

Russell did a lot about the khadam, but nothing worked. He told Ma about it, told his younger uncle about it, he even did something which he never did in his life before–  told his elder sister’s husband, his dulabhai, requesting him to do something about it. The elder dulabhai was a government official. He respected his father-in-law. Even then he kept his word. But his father-in-law told him, it was like returning to one’s heritage. He liked the explanation. He said, ‘Russell, respect your heritage. That would also improve your politics.’

 

After this Russell had bought a pair of expensive sandals from Bata for Baba with the hidden money he saved from tuition. Baba wore that pair of sandals after a small celebration. He showed them to everyone around the neighbourhood, and even took some pictures with his daughter and son-in-law with those sandals on his feet. ‘See, my son has bought me these sandals,’ he said. But that was all. He didn’t stop wearing the khadam. Of course he didn’t wear them inside the house too much.

 

One afternoon when Baba was asleep, Russell went to throw the khadam away, but he found that Baba had kept them right next to the Bata sandals that he had given him. A piece of cloth was neatly spread upon them so that dust didn’t accumulate over the precious items.

 

Russell was disgusted and he left the room.

 

5

A patient had died at the Medical College Hospital and people were saying it was due to the doctor’s negligence. The patient’s relatives had attacked the doctor.

 

He was no ordinary doctor. He was a big shot in the government association of doctors. Everyone, including the hospital superintendent as well as the principal of the college pampered him. The government group was with him, along with the student’s union of that group. How could one touch such an influential person?

 

The result was as expected. The police arrested the poor relatives, beat them, and dragged them to the police station after tying ropes on their hands and feet. Being a leader in the government association, the doctor of course didn’t have to practice his profession, his occupation was leadership. The real reason for the patient’s death was of course that neglect. But who had the courage to tell the truth? He had seen that critical patient just once and shelving the responsibility upon his juniors, had disappeared from the scene. He hadn’t actually disappeared; he went to the Circuit House to meet an influential minister. The proposal was to name a woman’s hall in the name of the minister’s wife.

 

Russell’s student’s union had taken the side of the patient. They were friends of the poor; besides they were greatly disturbed by the various wrongdoings of the doctor-leader. They called a strike demanding the removal of the doctor and the release of the poor relatives of the dead patient.

 

Now the government student’s union entered the scene. As was expected, the inevitable thing happened.  The police, government contractors, the government doctor and nurses’ association, government educational associations  — all joined in the fray.

 

6

Ma had repeatedly requested Russell not to go to college. Baba was away in Dhaka for his business. If he was around, probably Russell would not be able to go so easily; he would have to play a lot of hide and seek before leaving. Whatever it might be, till now Russell hasn’t reached a position to directly challenge Baba. But Baba would return after four days. This was a small golden period for Russell. So why should we be surprised to see him at the head of the procession?

 

We would say, Russell was foolish, his friends were also foolish. But if a black shadow covers the white day, and if some foolish young boys stand protesting against that black shroud, will we curse them, or wipe our tears and stare at them with hope and say, ‘Just because you are there, we are still surviving, sons. But, please return home. The mothers shouldn’t cry.’

 

One of Russell’s friends was a fool and so he made his mother cry. Russell was probably a little less foolish than him, otherwise why would he be beaten by government student cadres, and get hurt by police batons and their boots, and the police would lift him on all four, thrust him into their van and give him shelter at the police station?

 

But instead of calling it a shelter it should be called a dump yard. Just as dead dogs or cats are thrown in the dumpsters, similarly Russell was thrown away by two policemen. Just as the municipal garbage truck carries the dead dogs and cats and buries them in some garbage dump or burns them, he also would be taken from the locker of the police station to the court. Russell knew if he was taken to the court in a senseless condition, he would also be burnt or buried.

 

The incident took place in the late afternoon, that meant the attack upon the procession, the fighting, and arrest; now dark evening was spread outside. There was a skylight in the prison cell, and darkness was entering through it. A low-powered lamp was lit in the room. Russell was lying on the floor, next to him were a few of his fighting mates, along with a few thieves and rascals, and plenty of mosquitoes. But Russell wasn’t in any condition to notice any of that.

 

When he got the first beating, a blow from the baton of a government cadre which had fallen upon his back and thigh, he fell on the ground. After that he tried to get up and run away but got beaten for a second time by the police. It was baton blows. Once he fell down he received kicks from boots. Russell had lost his consciousness after receiving blows in his lower abdomen. That saved him. Lying senseless on the floor, the police and the cadres gave him a couple of more blows and left for the next target.  Probably they left him because they thought he was dead, though he regained his consciousness when they were putting him inside the van. After he was thrown inside this prison, he regained some strength to stand up, but that too only to realize the actual physical condition of his body. That the real condition was pitiable, he needed to be told about it. The back was bruised; the stomach was bruised – at least that was how he felt. He had great pain in his arms, blood was oozing from the raw wound in his thigh. He couldn’t ascertain whether his head was cracked or not.

 

He lay on the floor in an overwhelming state. He couldn’t understand what had happened to him, why it had happened. No one ever raised their hands over his body – neither Baba, nor anyone else. Today when he was constantly being beaten, only one realization perplexed him. This beating with the baton and boots, was it on his body? On the body of Khaledur Rahman Russell’s body? Why? Why?

 

In between a state of existence and non-existence at one time he heard someone saying, ‘Don’t let him go out alive’; another one as if echoed the same thing, ‘Let it be a little later at night, sir’. One person said, ‘Murder case’, another one said, ‘He should never be able to walk again in his life.’ Russell was surprised. He could hear the words clearly, but could not understand who was saying them, about whom and why.

 

At least Russell understood that his body wasn’t within his control. He felt very perturbed why they had beaten him. With batons and boots. With a sense of arrogance he lay down with his face turned on the other side.

We cannot say upon whom he extended his pride.

 

7

Russell regained his consciousness late at night. The question of time arose in his mind, but he didn’t get an answer. Someone had taken away the watch from his hand which his elder sister had gifted him on his last birthday. The mosquitoes were flying like pestilence. They were sucking blood and sticking to the body. Groaning sounds were rising nearby. Once he regained his consciousness with the sound of a tremendous shout. Maybe he was one of his compatriots, or anyone else. Russell didn’t bother to find out who or why this inhuman shout. He only went on feeling he was not there, or he was someone else. If he was there, he would be living by borrowing someone else’s life. Actually Russell was now lying down in his own room, on his own bed. He had his dinner while watching the games on television at night, after that he had chatted with Ma about different things that happened during the day and fell asleep after that. Ma had gently pulled a sheet upon his body.

 

His sleep was broken at the shout of his compatriot. After that he had once again sunk into a sort of oblivion, of half sleep. Blood was oozing out from the flesh of his thigh, and a lot also from his back. He couldn’t think of the medical term that would define his falling into a deeply unconscious state.

 

Probably it was quite late at night. The smell of darkness that came in through the skylight of the prison room was quite strong. Russell again started to think about what, why, when and all these things. But he felt he was someone else. He couldn’t think like Russell.  This life in the prison cell was definitely someone else’s, not his. Anger was growing upon his senses; a dark uncertainty was casting a shadow upon it. He could understand the cells of his body were revolting. They were not under his control.

 

He started feeling afraid, terribly afraid. This fear was for the first time. Earlier he wasn’t in the state of feeling afraid. As the fear exacerbated, it pulled his nerves once again. And now he felt like innumerable needle pricks over his whole body. As the pain increased, a terrible sense of fatigue began to engulf his whole body.

 

I don’t know what this condition of Russell is defined in medical terminology.

 

8

Russell heard, or he thought he heard, a clop clop sound, just like when someone walks in a pair of khadams.

 

For a second his nerves suddenly grew very strong and jumped like a mechanized doll. Who? Who? What was that sound? But the sound faded away. After lying down for a while, he felt annoyed with himself. He felt he should punish himself. This police station has plenty of sounds – some human, some biological, some brutal and some metallic. But why was he overwhelmed with this kind of sound? Forgetting himself, his condition completely, did he surrender to this continuous emptiness? And what was even more dangerous, he started thinking about something which was not at all compatible with his situation?

Russell wanted to punish himself, but how? He didn’t know and couldn’t even guess. His anger gets diluted and takes the form of pride. And with the attack of this anger and pride, he again turns limp and takes shelter on the floor.

 

And Russell feels after a long time – cannot remember how long – he starts weeping. Really crying.

 

Don’t ask us why he was crying. We are ordinary folks, unable to judge such things.

 

9

Clop, clop, clop, clop. Again that sound. Now it was stronger and clearer. And gradually the sound started increasing. As if someone was rushing towards his prison cell wearing a pair of khadams. The khadam-clad feet were shivering with some apprehension, some anger, or maybe both apprehension and anger.

 

Now Russell couldn’t disclaim this sound. No, this sound was not being created in his head, it was not being produced in some secret, hopeful atrium within him, it was being created outside the long corridor of his prison cell.

 

Half the wall of this prison cell comprised of long iron rods. From that room the outside could be seen easily, and from outside the inside. Russell was lying down on the floor looking outside towards the veranda.

 

He heard the clop clop clop clop sound for a while. Now it didn’t take time for him to know or understand the source of that sound. The source was a pair of khadam.

 

What Russell saw: The two first fingers of both the toes and the second finger seemed to clasp the peg or killock of the khadam with tremendous rage and was moving at an impossible speed, going up and down, up and down as if they would break down any moment upon the world, beat flat the hands that held guns and other weapons, the heads swelling with the power, and the terrible giants wielding batons. Russell also saw above the khadam clad feet the border of a white lungi with a white tornado arising from there, beneath whose strength the khaki pants and heavy boots seemed helpless. Before Russell’s pride evaporated from his eyes and shut them,  he saw a pair of khadams that bore the footprints of his grandfather grind all the walls and prison cell like the might of balls emanating from the two canons belonging to Tipu Sultan ; and anyone who stood in front of them were shot by the incessant canon balls: clop, clop, clop, clop, clop.