Finding the Unseen
Chapter 1
March showers were pelting upon her with such fury, as if each drop had a vendetta to settle. The cool waters thrashed against her unprotected skin, yet she continued to run wildly, in her desperate effort to reach home. So desperate she was that she neglected the importance her coat could have served in this weather.
It was fast approaching six in the evening. The realisation struck fresh fear within her, yet she ran and ran, ignorant of time, fighting against her own weight, for being wet did little to encourage her light-footedness. Her jeans have become two shades darker with the wash of the rain, sticking to her lithe legs and suffocating the strained muscles. Her top hung limp from her slender shoulders, water trickling from the hem as if it was being rinsed from a washing line. The length of her dark hair increased as the wetness added on noticeable inches, and her pumps were equally drenched as her feet overlooked the numerous puddles.
At last, she reaches the long awaited road of Kensington. That house in the middle belongs to her. She climbs the cursed steps and rings the bell. There was no answer. She began to fear the worse. Refusing to take heed to Misfortune’s temptation, she rings the bell again. At length, the door opens. Her father answers the call. His face possessed a look of evident distress, speechless and concerned, confirming all that which she until now believed to be some misconception, a tyranny of fate. He called her in, and she entered in haste, towards the desired room.
The door was ajar, invitingly open. Yet she stood stationary before it. There was no sound coming from inside. An unnatural silence emitted from there. Her breaths were heavy. She did not know what reaction to undergo at this point nor how to cross this final step. How foolish she felt that she risked her future to come here and when here, she fears to make that final step.
Sam watched his daughter's hesitance from behind, understanding precisely the reasons that stalled her from entering the bedroom. He walked up to her and, holding her gently by her drenched shoulders, led her inside.
Darkness and gloom at once befalls her eyes. Curtains were safely drawn and those sat around the bed had a solemn look about their face as they turn to see her. ‘Mayah,’ the weak voice calls her. ‘Amar shoona,’ her Dhadhi calls her yet again. ‘Kothai thumi,’ she asks lifting her heavy head from the pillows, searching desperately for her granddaughter.
Mayah quickly reaches the bed in which her Dhadhi lay, and grasped her tightly by the hand. Her Dhadhi’s eyes scarcely opened, but felt the familiar touch to know her grandchild was here at last in her close proximities. Mayah stayed in this arrangement for a long while. Everyone in the room slowly and quietly left. The door remained ajar, for it was her Dhadhi’s greatest fear to be inside a room locked. She would always say, “When the world no longer remains such that we can trust the words of another man, then how can man place his trust in the unspeaking.” Speak Mayah willed her Dhadhi. Do not let your words fail me now…
Flight after flight of stairs she was ascending. Scarcely did she climb one that another began, endless and ever growing. Yet she needed to reach the top. Someone was there, calling her, waiting for her arrival. ‘Mayah . . . the voice calls her name again, and as she looks up, the face disappears. Who called her? Who waited for her there? She felt herself panting again, experiencing the familiar sensation of restlessness, feeling the cramps at the back of her shins. Yet she knew she had to reach the top. ‘Mayah . . .’ The voice called her again. She must overcome this length and get there. She ran and ran through each staircase, upending each step with unyielding determination. Every time she believed to have reached a landing, the steps extended to form another flight of stairs, growing and growing. Yet no length could avert her eagerness. So fast was her pace that she could see nothing else but that peak, which she must reach. Her hastiness and desperation neglected her to see anything, not even those steps she was to put her foot onto next. Her foot misplaced, she lost her balance and . . .
Her whole body shudders with shock.
She woke with a start, but her eyes remained closed. Her head cushioned amongst the pillows and her body draped under the safety of blankets, Mayah soon realises that the violent start was in response to waking up from a bad dream. It was just a dream she recites to herself - that same dream.
This was not the first time she had the misfortunes to experience such a dream, and neither can she remember the first time it began to disrupt her sleep. She encountered the dream so often that the image of the ever-growing stairs has embedded itself in her mind, and only found the night as the proper hour to torment her. She was awake, but still recovering. Indeed, she could no longer distinguish dream from reality. To her it all appeared as both and nothing.
She would have continued her struggles in distinguishing one from the other had she not heard the unmistakable closing of doors. She felt the bed shook and with it her entire body. Her sleep now fully broken, her eyes were obliged to open.
Her grey eyes greet a cloudy darkness. She was in her bedroom. She rose up from her bed instantly, finding herself changed from the drenched clothes and into one of her pyjamas. Her head felt heavy. She put a hand to one of her temples to ease the pain, when she belatedly realises the loose strands of her hair dangling around her forehead are dry.
Then at once, she becomes alert of where she was.
In another overcoming of flurry, she reaches for her phone, which lay idly on the table beside her bed, and switches it on frantically. The time was past midnight. The update instantly immerses her mind with unkind thoughts of her Dhadhi’s health. She threw aside the bed covers, and removed herself from the bed to investigate her Dhadhi’s whereabouts, cursing herself for falling weak to sleep's enticement. Indeed, she could not tell when she fell asleep.
She escaped darkness and greeted another. The passageway lights were off, but voices from a nearing room indicated that not all were asleep. Her ears followed the unintelligible voices, and eyes therefore met with a door at the far end of the passageway. The door was conveniently ajar, through which the thinnest shaft of light absconded. She neared the room cautiously, careful not to step on that shaft of light. The convenient opening of the door permitted her ears to place names on those who were inside. It was her parents, who were in the study - her late grandfather's study. Her father only entered this room when he was in a trouble which going into that room can help him overcome. She therefore had sufficient proof to conclude that her parents were in some turmoil.
‘. . . it is not right,’ her father clarifies yet again. ‘To let Amma go in her health will not be right.’
‘It is her wish,’ her mother argued. ‘She did a lot for us, even after your father’s passing away. If Mum wants to go then we have no right to stop her.’
‘As her son, I do have the right to stop her. Besides, Dad would agree with me,’ her father affirms. ‘If Dad were here today then he would agree with my decision to refuse Amma's obstinate requests. What sin do you wish me to commit by allowing my mother to make travels to her native country? You of all people are aware of the risks.'
‘Are risks any less here? Mum refused to eat anything until you agree her demands. She put her obstinacy into act and you saw what happened? She fainted. She spent two days in hospital. The social services almost got involved. It was only by God’s will that nothing serious unfolded, that Mum gave her excuses for her poor health, or else what face would we have shown Mayah. What answers could you have given, Sam?’
‘My refusal is firm, Jill,’ her father says, willing to end the conversation. ‘I cannot knowingly put my Mum in danger.’
Silence succeeded. For a short undisturbed while, it continued in that trend until she could hear footsteps nearing the door. She could not deduce the reasons, but she was unwilling f
or anyone to find her awake. She was certainly afraid to have her parents find her in this proximity to their conversation. Thus, she retraced her steps quietly and quickly towards her bedroom, closing the door quietly and slipping into the bed. Twenty-one years of experience has taught her that her mother will enter her room one more time before retiring to her own bed. The doors open with gradual force, and soon her mother proves her suspicions correct. She closed her eyes as if she were peacefully asleep. Despite the darkness, she could feel the casting of her Mum’s shadow as she stood beside her bed. She then felt her Mum’s warm hand on her forehead, doubtless to check her temperature, for she had remained in those rain-drenched clothes for a long while. She received her Mum’s hand welcomingly. It exuded an untainted sense of affection, a familiar concern, and invoked a strange consolation that perhaps only a mother could give. She felt rather childish to seek this comfort, but as all are aware, no child ever becomes of that age so to have no need for their mother, and likewise a mother never sees an age in her child so to cease her concerns. Satisfied she had not caught a cold her Mum removes her hand and gently rearranges the quilt to tuck her inside securely. She did not leave immediately, and Mayah understood very well the reasons that stalled her Mum.
At length her mum overcomes those stalling reasons and leaves the room. Assessing her parents have safely returned to their rooms, she decides to leave her bedroom again, cautiously turning the doorknob until it releases to an open. She stretches her head out of the door, and no longer saw the thin spectrum of light absconding from the study. She left her room quickly, setting to the original route, from which that the overhead conversation had deviated her. Her feet lightly treaded along the carpet, quietly leading her to the intended room. She questioned the absurdity of having suddenly adopted the behaviour of a common intruder. She is a known face in this dwelling then why the fear of being discovered?
The door of Dhadhi's room was conveniently ajar, through which she quietly entered. There, her Dhadhi lay, sleeping peacefully in her bed. With more gentle steps, she nears the bed, sinking into the chair beside it, which doubtless seated many today, as they extended their wishes and sympathies. Here, she sat a long while, becalmed and watching absently the rising and falling of Dhadh’s chest. The soft light emitting from the lamp, stretched its rays towards the unwell, enabling her to see the true extent of the strain on Dhadhi’s face.
She was at a writer’s conference when her phone beeped with the alarming message that Dhadhi was in hospital last night, and that she was only discharged this morning. Her father informed her with notable subtlety, informing her of this incident once Dhadhi was safely at home. When she reprimanded him for not informing her quicker, he reasoned that he did not wish to worry her, and probably would have kept the matter outside her knowledge had Dhadhi not insisted to see her. Save for her bag she left everything and headed home, constantly suppressing the regret that she should not have left Dhadhi. Yet, she did not leave her side for pleasure. It's been almost four months since her graduation. But how many occasions have men dedicated their efforts in their chosen field and found the grounds infertile to apply their labours? Her quest for employment was not for financial stability, but for improvement of mind. It is her belief that a person’s mind must always remain occupied and hands should not be kept idle, setting to tasks that can exercise the mind. Despite her mother being a renowned author and her father being a City Banker, she had no clue of her own career. In the effort to reach a clarification, her mother suggested her to attend the writer’s conference in Solihull. It was a two-day conference, which required her stay there. The audience doubtless had given her curious looks as she hastily excused her way out of the auditorium. She was so much in a flurry that she did not return to the hotel to retrieve her belongings. Besides, all she needed was her bag.
Escaping her absent thoughts, she rises from the chair and walks over to the window, pushing aside the curtain slightly so to take a peak outside. Grey eyes scanned the skies with intrigue. The young night had transformed into the comings of a dark morning. The stars were seldom visible in these polluted climates, but tonight they showed the faintest inkling of their existence, veiling themselves behind the cashmere spreads. Absorbed under these views, she unexpectedly hears her name. Startled, she let loose of the silken drape, and turned her head towards the source to find Dhadhi calling her in a weak whisper. She retook her position beside the bed, cursing herself for becoming the cause of waking Dhadhi. Her Dhadhi’s eyes remained closed, allowing her frail hand alone to search for her granddaughter’s whereabouts. It did not take long for Dhadhi to locate her face, touching her soft jaw line. Mayah takes her hand into her own, confirming that she is here.
‘I know,’ Dhadhi says, a small smile curling on her dry lips, her eyes still closed. ‘You have been here for the last fifteen minutes. I was waiting for you to speak first.’
Nargis Nessa is Mayah’s paternal grandmother. Her Dhadhi’s past and adolescence is one of great bravery and often submerged the hearer into deep intrigue. Her story when narrated, as Mayah had often demanded to hear, often had the hearer to ask if what they heard was real or fiction.
In those days, Bangladesh had not formed let alone be an independent state (even if that today). She barely reached sixteen when she married Francis Young, who was well into his mid-twenties when he proposed marriage. He was a political journalist of a prominent newspaper, reporting on the tension between East and West Pakistan. The news did not appeal to many journalists, chiefly due to the inconvenience of location. Both parts of the country were struggling for their Independence. In 1963, sixteen years after India had declared independence from the British, he took up a career defining position in East Bengal for six months to cover reporting on the major political unrest between the two wings of Pakistan. Mahatma Gandhi’s patient tactics resulted in obtaining independence from the British, but a civil conflict broke out instead. Being a journalist, Francis found the opportunity in this conflicting division, installing himself in the true situation to absorb the political tension. The Bengali Language Movement was perhaps the most notable resolution to form from the conflict, and as a mark of achievement, Shaheed Minar was inaugurated in Dhaka in that year of his travel too, meeting the likes of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the 1st President of Bangladesh. In that year the East Pakistan’s political party, Awami League, rose to power and overshadowed the West Pakistani oppositions, becoming the major motivating factor in inciting the opposition and fuelling the ongoing tension.