The Telltale Tail

FICTION

by Sohana Manzoor

          Alone at home, Beli hung the crimson kameez against the grimy wall of their room. With the auspicious Eid just around the corner, the three-piece set had arrived in the shape of blessings for the thirteen-year-old girl. The dress was originally purchased for the daughter of a family her mother Chameli worked for. But the intended recipient hated it so much and threw such a tantrum that her mother had to give it away. That is how Chameli secured it for her daughter Beli, who had never imagined possessing anything so gorgeous. She had only seen such dresses on rich girls getting out of fancy cars. Lovingly she caressed the pink and white embroidered roses on the silky red fabric, then the contrasting green salwar and orna with silver spangles. The accessories she had acquired fell far short but would have to do—the cheap lipstick, eyeliner, and a bottle of nail polish supplied by her aunt, and a slightly faded golden purse that originally belonged to Nani, her maternal grandmother.
         Beli had already asked for a pair of golden sandals from her brother Bashar, who, after some grumbling, agreed. She wanted to be the best-dressed girl in the dilapidated building where she and her family lived with eleven other families. Bashar was not a bad brother, thought Beli. He could be quite generous at times. But as their Nani said, he was laziness personified, like their father before him. Neither the father nor his son could work anywhere steadily. Fortunately, Chameli’s work was good, and she earned well too. But she was out through the day and rarely returned home before 4 in the afternoon. They could never have lunch as Chameli had time and energy to cook only in the evening. Since Beli had grown a little older, her father often suggested that she stop going to school and do the cooking. But her mother did not agree. “I want my daughter to be educated and have a proper job. I don’t want her to live a life like mine,” she said. Her husband made fun asking if she intended to make her daughter a doctor or engineer. Chameli did not bother to reply.
         Beli was too young and did not have the patience to understand all the complexities of life yet. She had returned from school around 2 and after eating the leftover rice from the previous night, she sat with her dress. Covering her head with the heavy georgette orna she turned to admire herself in the only mirror they had. It was an old oval-shaped thing that her mother got from somewhere. Just as she started to dream of the Eid-day, she heard Chameli’s voice outside. She had returned home earlier than usual. Beli remembered that her mother had asked her to tidy up their one and only room, but she had forgotten all about it. Beli surveyed the room and the few pieces of rickety furniture. Of the two beds, one was shared by her father and brother, and the other by her mother and herself. Quickly hiding her treasured items in her share of the wall-almirah, she pulled away the bedsheets from both beds and dumped them in a corner. The moldy mattresses and oil-slicked pillows lay bare till she covered them up with threadbare but clean bedsheets and pillowcases. She tried to fluff the pillows without success and then started sweeping the floor and rearranging things. Luckily, Chameli was detained by their garrulous landlady, and by the time she entered the room, Beli had put things in order.
         Even though tired, Chameli seemed to be in a good mood and said, “Oh, you’ve done some work finally.” She put down the grocery bag she was carrying and wiped her sweating face with the end of her orna. “Got my Eid bonus today from one of the houses, and so bought some fish and veggies—we’ll have a full meal tonight.” They usually had mashed potatoes and dried fish with coarse rice for dinner. Once or twice a week, Chameli scrambled a few eggs and made lentil curry. But since the Ramadan began, they were having mostly milk and banana with rice. After working through the day while fasting, Chameli did not bother to cook at home.
         “What fish did you get?” Beli was a little disappointed that it was fish, and not chicken. It had been a long time since they had chicken. But surely, they would have some for Eid, she hoped.
         “Oh, the roadside vendors were selling poa fish for cheap. Got some of it.” Seeing her daughter’s face fall, her voice rose an octave. “What?” she asked. “Poa fish not good enough for you? What a princess!”
         “I didn’t say anything!” Beli protested.
         Chameli grumbled a little more about her ungrateful children and, carrying her bag, headed toward the shared kitchen on the rooftop. Halfway out the door, she came back and said, “Don’t forget to clean the old food-wagon in the veranda. Your lazy bum of a brother promised to paint it. Where is he, by the way? You better get him to do that.”

         Beli grimaced after Chameli. The food-wagon was not merely old, but ancient. Her mother should get rid of it and buy a new one. She did not understand why they were always broke. Why couldn’t her father and brother work like everybody else? It was true that her father had been working steadily for the past three months as an auto-rickshaw driver, but nobody knew when he would suddenly decide to stop. Beli had seen him giving her mother five thousand taka in advance for Eid this year. Chameli was pleased, but said with rolling eyes, “I’m sure you’ll want it back when you have no work.”
         “What do you say, woman? I never take back anything,” growled her husband. But there was some truth in Chameli’s accusations. When he earned, Bareq was quite magnanimous. But when he was not working, he asked for pin money from Chameli.
         Beli’s brother Bashar was no better. Chameli had tried to send him to school, but after grade 6, he refused to attend further. When his father gave him a good thrashing, he ran away from home. After he returned, Chameli took him to a nearby automobile workshop to work as an apprentice. He learned a little of the trade, then got into a fight, and ran off again. Between the ages of thirteen and sixteen, he ran away from home at least five times. Finally, Chameli gave up on him. She was heard to confide in her sister, “As long as he is alive, I don’t care anymore.”
         So, Bashar, who looked taller and older than his eighteen years, worked and slept as he pleased. Along with his father’s physique, he also had acquired all his good and bad habits. What worried Chameli most was that someday some naïve girl like herself would fall for his charms and marry him without knowing any better. And then, there would be more trouble. Life in the city of Dhaka for poor people like them was difficult. Chameli often wondered if they should all go back to their village in Barishal. But work there was scarce. These days Chameli’s only demand from her son was that if he wanted to live with the family, he would have to give her two thousand taka per month for food and board. Otherwise, he could go to hell. Bashar somehow managed that and money to run his old smartphone and smoke with his buddies too.
         Beli, the youngest member of the family, was quite unlike her brother. She was a good student and got a scholarship from school. Her mother expected her to become a professional nurse or a schoolteacher so that she could avoid the scum of poverty. Moreover, Beli was not considered a beauty even though she had good features. She inherited Chameli’s dark skin, something that was a cause of disappointment for her family when she was born. These days however, her mother felt safer because none of the boys bothered her much. Only last month, the local hooligans abducted a pretty young thing from the neighborhood. There were rumors of her being transported to some brothel. Chameli shuddered to think of such a prospect for her daughter. She warned Beli, “If you stop going to school like your brother, I will get you married to the lame beggar that sits near the mosque.”
         Beli whined and said, “I’ll never marry that beggar. What do you take me for?”
         “You’ll marry him if you flunk your exams,” said Chameli. “I am spending a lot on you, and you better be careful.”
         Still, Beli wished her mother was a little less stingy. Whenever Beli asked for something, she said she was saving for the future and her education. Life could be beautiful at present, too, couldn’t it? Why keep on waiting for an intangible future?

         That evening, they broke fast with puffed rice, jilapee, and lightly sweetened lemonade. Bashar said, “I paid my full board this month. How come you only have puffed rice and jilapee for iftar? Why can’t we have some of those fried goodies like peaju or beguni?”
         Chameli glowered at her son and said, “You should be thankful that you’re getting to eat anything. Go to the bazar tomorrow and see how much things cost.”
         Beli tried to play the peacemaker. “Brother worked a lot today,” she said. “He painted the food-wagon and I guess that’s why he’s hungry.” She had to make sure that Bashar did not forget her sandals.
         “So?” her father looked up from his plate. “He slept through the morning while I pulled rickshaw all day even though I was fasting,” he said. “If he doesn’t like what his mother cooks, he can leave home and see what other mother will feed him for a measly two thousand taka.”
         Nobody heard anything after this.
         Later at night, Chameli returned to their room from the kitchen with several pails of freshly-cooked food. “We have curried beans and fish here,” she said. “I have cooked rice too. It’s all hot. Beli, keep watch so that rats don’t climb into the food. I’m sure I saw a couple of pinkies the other night.” She paused and added, “I’m going for a shower. Cover up the food once the steam is off and don’t leave it in the middle of the room.”
         With both her father and brother at the mosque, Beli got another chance to admire her fineries. She wondered if it would be possible to wear the new dress to school. Her classmates would be green with envy.
         Someone knocked on the door. Beli hid her things quickly and opened the door to let her mother in. Chameli entered with a fresh soapy smell and her gamchha wrapped around her head.
         She tsked when she saw the pails on the floor. “Haven’t those cooled off yet?”
         “They’re quite hot, ma. Don’t worry, I’ll cover them up a little later,” said her daughter.
         “I’ll take a nap then. Open the door when Bashar comes. You father is staying at the mosque tonight and will return for sehri.” Chameli took off her headgear and spread it on the windowsill. She combed her hair with her fingers and lay down on the bed, exhausted after the day’s work.
         “Don’t let the rats get into the curries,” were her last words before falling asleep.
         Beli didn’t dare to take out her things again. Her mother might just throw them out if she was too angry. Instead, she went to sit in the sliver of a veranda by their room and watched the evening crowd loitering in the streets. Yes, she was a good student, and when she thought of earning a lot of money once she grew up, it felt wonderful. But then, would she really be able to lead a good life? What if she ended up marrying a good-for-nothing like her father? Her mother had a difficult life, like her mother before her. Beli shook herself and rose from reverie. She went back to the room and twisted the knob of the ceiling fan hoping to have some cool.
         She was not sure when she had dozed off. A noise in the next room or the street woke her up. Then she remembered the food her mother had asked her to cover. Jumping off the bed, Beli went to look at the pails. Rice seemed all good as was the dish of beans. But what was that thin ropelike thing hanging from the side of the bowl of fish curry? Slowly, Beli poked the curry with two fingers and pulled out a small dark object. She held up the thing to see better and then sat stunned. What was she going tell her mother? She would definitely beat her black and blue, and there would be no more Eid visiting. She looked around furtively and then tiptoed to the veranda holding the dark object between her two fingers.

         It had been a week since the lame mendicant Zulfi had changed his spot for panhandling. The mullahs of the mosque had chased him away saying that he was a pest to the mosque-goers. Cursing under his breath, the poor man had taken up a place in front of a two-story building. He wondered often how much a room cost in one of these buildings where many of the local rickshaw-pullers, garment workers, and their families lived. He glanced up as a drop of something fell on him. Was it raining? Then a more solid blob landed before him and he jumped in fright. Looking carefully at the dropping, he started to wail. “What’s wrong with people these days?” he moaned. “I might be a beggar, but I don’t eat rats!”

         Chameli woke up at hard knocking on the door. She saw Beli asleep on the other side of the bed and there was nobody else in the room. She got up muttering, “Coming, coming! Are you going to break the door or something?”
         It was Bashar and he was back from the mosque.
         “Do we have anything to eat?” he whimpered. “I’m ravenous.”
         Chameli looked around and was relieved to see that for once Beli had gone to sleep after covering everything up. She had even stashed the pails under her reading table.
         “Yes, yes, I cooked rice and beans. We have fish too,” she said.
         “Fish?” Bashar perked up. “That’s good news,” he said. “Let’s eat then. Why’s Beli sleeping?”
         Chameli called her daughter who just rolled on to her other side. “I’m not hungry,” she mumbled.
         Bashar laughed and said, “All right, I’ll have her share of the fish too.”
         Chameli smiled and said, “You go and wash up. I’m getting things ready.”
         Bashar left for the shared bathroom while his mother spread a mat on the floor. Then she started to dish out rice and beans on a plate. She took out a big piece from the bowl of fish and froze. What was that small creature dipping its nose in the curry?
         She looked at her sleeping daughter and cursed softly. But to throw away the whole pail of fish would be such a waste. And Bashar would be furious and bring down the whole house over this. She picked up the ladle and carefully dug out the small rodent. It should be just fine.
         Bashar ate with a gusto. “Ma, you’re the best cook in the word!” he said, taking a third piece of fish. He added with an impish smile, “It’s just that you don’t like to cook for us. Your mistresses and their families are so lucky!”
         Chameli harrumphed, but she beamed at the praise. She called Beli again, but the girl slept on.

         It was much later at night, almost around the time of sehri, when Bashar cried out, “Ma, oh ma, it hurts so much!”
         Chameli woke up in terror. She rushed to her son’s bed. “My son, what happened to you?” she cried. Bashar sat up and then lay down again, hugging his abdomen with both hands.
         Soon the whole house was up and Chameli sent the landlord’s son to the mosque to get her husband. When they carried Bashar out of the house, he was moaning pitifully. Bareq and a few other men arranged an auto-rickshaw to take the lad to the hospital.
         Beli was wide awake by now and asked her mother, “Ma, what’s wrong with brother?” Her voice was barely audible.
         Chameli was wailing, “Oh my boy, my poor boy! What did I feed you?”
         Beli watched transfixed as men carried Bashar out and her mother howled like a woman possessed. Chameli continued to cry and Beli slowly crawled to a corner recalling her science teacher at school. Didn’t he say that eating rat-juices could cause death? The full implications of her mother’s words and her own actions hit her hard and she started to tremble.
         Chameli wanted to go with them, but her husband told her to stay at home with Beli. It was not safe to leave a growing up girl all by herself at night.
         “Assalaatu khairum minan nauum” (prayer is better than sleep). The muazzin called out after what seemed like a very long time.
         Chameli raised up her shaking hands. “Allah, save my son,” she wept. “I’ll cook fresh food for him every day.”
         “Give my brother back, oh Allah,” murmured Beli. “I’ll donate my Eid dress. And I’ll never ask for anything again.”
         Whether the Lord of the Universe would listen to their prayers among his busy schedule was a different question altogether. Nevertheless, the mother and her daughter sat by the window and waited fervently for the sun and morning to bear some good news.