Nazir ran out of the room. Reshma didn’t stop him, he couldn’t be brought back now. He was terribly touchy. Reshma knew the man would simply go to his employer’s compound and lie down there. And he’d also come back late at night. Nazir’s house was close to the garment factory, just across the road. Reshma too felt depressed all of a sudden. After all, it was only for the good of the family that she told him off, the man didn’t seem to get that.
Nazir was simple and guileless, but Reshma was not like that. She had many a complication inside her, she was of a crooked nature. Nonetheless, she loved her husband a lot. She stayed up for a long while. But Nazir didn’t return. She grew anxious. She slowly walked out of the house. There was not a soul on the road. It was desolate in these wee hours. As soon as she approached the factory, she was taken aback. Nazir had sat down to work even at this time of night. Reshma could hear the roaring sound of the sewing machine from afar. That sound shot through the road and knocked at Reshma’s ears, at her conscience too. She then began weeping in solitude. Oh no! She had humiliated the man a bit too much. Reshma proceeded to console him, disregarding the darkness of night, as if on a love tryst, as if Radha was running to her Krishna.
If one heard the tailoring couple’s conversation the following night, who would suspect that there had been numerous quarrels between them?
‘Remove the mosquito net, dear, it’s so hot. I’m thinking of installing an AC in the room. Ha ha ha!’
Reshma moved the sleeping child from her bosom and quietly laid it down beside Nazir; she then stood up. As she untied the strings of the mosquito net, she replied, ‘When I hear you sometimes, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. For the sake of two thousand rupees, you left home and went to sleep in the factory last night, and now you’re dreaming of an AC?’
‘What’s wrong with dreaming? Just you see, we’ll also be well-off folk one day. Like Maruf.’
Reshma turned absent-minded as she untied the mosquito net. It was the matter of the dues to the goldsmith that was foremost in her mind. Her younger sister-in-law was defeating her time and again. Apparently, she had ordered another necklace this time.
‘What happened? Why are you standing silently? Aren’t you coming to bed?’
Nazir grabbed the hand of the standing Reshma and pulled her. Her petite figure fell into Nazir’s bosom with a single tug. She was skittish. She whispered, ‘Hey, not now, let me go! I’m telling you, let me go! I think Nilufa’s awake.’
‘No, she’s not; come closer! I’ll get a necklace made for you now, just you see! Let the work for the coming Pujas get done…’
Reshma knew from experience of over eight years of marital life that men said a lot of things at such moments of intimacy, which made no sense at all. They forgot all about it come morning. That’s why she didn’t respond to his words. She only said, ‘Leave behind two thousand rupees tomorrow, I have to pay the goldsmith. Don’t forget.’
Like an obedient boy, Nazir nodded in assent. And then he dived into a bottomless sea.
When they lay side by side impassively after their amatory tread in the waters, Reshma said, ‘Do you know, people are coming from the boy’s house to view Fulsura.’
‘Kalu Chacha’s daughter, Fulsura? Where are they from?’
‘I don’t know. I heard that they’re very wealthy folk, with a booth or stall in the wholesale market. Chachi asked me to be there. To take Fulsura to the boy. May I go?’
‘Your friend Riziya too is of marriageable age, aren’t any proposals coming for her? She’s really beautiful.’
‘No, she wants to study now. She’s joined college. Her Chhoto Mama was dead against that. It’s only because of Suman Master that she could continue her studies. She’s very good at studies, you know.’
‘What’s the point of going to college? She’ll still have to wash the pots and pans in the kitchen. What’s the use? It would have been best if the orphan girl got married.’
Kalu Miya had a proper name. Abdul Matin Miya. His relations with the mosque went back a long way. He had a black mark on his forehead. They too were quite wealthy at one time. Now his family consisted of two working sons and one unmarried daughter. He had got his elder son married. He worried about his daughter. She was getting older and older. And his younger son Raqibul, or Raqib, aka ‘Rocky’, was a depraved boy who had gone to waste. Kalu Miya had to lose face in society only because of him. He had decided that as soon as his daughter was married, he would arrange something.
Salaam Miya was Kalu Miya’s brother. He had a son. Salaam Miya had a child quite late. He didn’t have a daughter of his own, but he had raised the daughter of his cousin like his own daughter. That girl was Riziya. He had decided to keep this girl who had lost both her parents. He did not have any children then. Many people said that the brothers did that for property-related reasons. Be that as it may, Riziya was not in difficulty here. Although she lived with Salaam’s family, Riziya spent most of her time with Fulsura. After her Higher Secondary exams, she was keen to study in college.
Another set of people were coming today to view Fulsura Bubu. Riziya was in a joyful mood. Nazir’s wife, Reshma, and she were dressing Fulsura up. Riziya loved that, although she didn’t like dressing up herself. Fulsura was not dark-skinned, but she wasn’t really fair-complexioned either. She looked quite pretty after she was made up. The ghatak, or matchmaker, had arrived earlier and informed that the boy standing on the north side would be the prospective groom. ‘You take a look at him too, if you get the chance.’
Five people in all arrived to view the girl. Kalu Miya had arranged for them to eat to their fill. Reshma entered the room accompanied by Fulsura. She whispered into her ear, ‘Offer salaam!’ Fulsura, clad in a sari, sat in front of five unknown men. An elderly man cleared his throat and said, ‘Raise your face a bit, dear, yes, that’s fine. So what’s your name?’
‘Fulsura Khatun.’
‘What’s your father’s name? How many brothers and sisters do you have?’
‘My father’s name is Abdul Matin Miya. I have two brothers.’
‘Have you read the Holy Koran?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘How many times?’
‘Many times.’
‘Fine! Can you recite the Ayatul Kursi please, dear?’
Fulsura was silent. Although she knew the Ayatul Kursi, she seemed to have suddenly forgotten it! She wasn’t able to recall it at all. If she was prompted with the opening line, it would all flow out.
As Riziya looked through the gap in the window, she felt annoyed. She wanted to shout out the first line for her, ‘ … Allahu la ilaha illa huwal haiyul kaiyum, la ta…’
Fulsura tried hard to remember, but she failed. The elderly man smiled and said, ‘It’s all right. Learn it later, okay. Which class did you study in school till, dear?’
‘Class Nine.’
As soon as he heard that, he scowled momentarily at the ghatak. It was clear that the matchmaker had exaggerated. Nevertheless, he said, ‘Can you write down your name and address, dear? Let’s see what your handwriting is like!’
Fulsura promptly wrote out her name and address. She knew that well. The elderly man stood up, gave her something as nazrana, and said to Reshma, ‘You can leave now.’
Two days later, the boy’s family sent word; they hadn’t approved of her. Fulsura was not upset when she heard that. But inwardly, she felt somewhat dejected. Standing all alone in front of the mirror at night, she wondered – was she really un-pretty? Would it have been better if she was more fair-complexioned, like Riziya? Or did she need some more flesh on her? After all, she had acquired all the domestic skills required to run a man’s household.
A peculiar attitude was prevalent in this society. The boy who had come to view her had only studied till Class Five. But even he wanted an educated wife. Although he never performed the mandatory prayers five times a day, the bride simply had to know all the nitty-gritty of Islam, all the prayers and blessings. Even if none of that had any value once she was married. But that was what the custom was. The match would be cancelled if she didn’t know all that. Kalu Miya came and stood beside his daughter. Shame and humiliation were writ large on his face. He said remorsefully, ‘If only you could have recited the Ayatul Kursi properly, it wouldn’t have been cancelled. Anyway, let it be. I think I’ll ask the new Imam Saheb in the mosque to teach you for a few days. It will be good if he can come to our house after the Asr prayer and teach a few girls.’
