By Meher Abrar Elma
Blessed be the visionary behind the invention of digital timekeeping devices, for without such technological marvels, Arham would have long surrendered to the eons, losing all sense of the days and hours.
Time, at times, appeared a swift phantom, slipping through Arham’s grasp like elusive smoke. Each morning, he awoke to the routine of a monotonous existence, navigating his day in a trance-like state before surrendering to the embrace of sleep. A cycle of ennui, strangely comforting for the fifteen-year-old.
In the nexus of his existence, the television emerged as the sole harbinger of suspense. In an era where youngsters favored the boundless realms of the internet over archaic contraptions like the television, Arham stood as a divergent soul. His affinity for the television stemmed from a peculiar fondness for the enigma it presented. Unlike the internet, which laid a buffet of information at one’s fingertips, the television dictated the narrative, leaving Arham in delightful uncertainty regarding the content of his next viewing.
In this paradoxical tragedy, the television became the flickering beacon of excitement in an otherwise mundane life, a solitary spark illuminating the shadows of Arham’s existence.
The break of dawn ushered in Arham’s routine, commencing with the wake-up call preceding the fajr prayer. A familiar ritual unfolded as his mother’s persistent feline companion, with its plaintive mewls, launched an ambush for sustenance just as Arham prepared to depart for the mosque. In the face of this daily adversity, the boy had honed a repertoire of ingenious yet morally ambiguous stratagems. Fortuitously, his feline adversary proved a less-than-astute opponent, rendering Arham’s manipulations less a test of creativity than an exercise in exploiting the cat’s limited acumen.
Without investing undue effort into innovation, Arham perpetuated a well-practiced ruse each morning. He would casually select a nondescript item and cast it to the farthest reaches of the house. Oblivious to the duplicity at play, the cat would ardently pursue the imagined treasure, convinced it had chanced upon a succulent chicken bone. Little did it fathom that the boy had adeptly slipped through the door, evading its feline scrutiny. This artifice, repeated ad infinitum, constituted a staple in Arham’s repertoire, a trick as old as time itself, yet one that continued to elude the feline’s discernment.
Post the morning charade, Arham embarked on his pilgrimage to the mosque, where the rhythm of prayer unfolded. Upon completion, he found himself enveloped in the camaraderie of local uncles, their hearty pats on his back a testament to their admiration for the young boy’s seemingly boundless piety.
Those of greater audacity would seize the opportunity to inquire about his mother’s well-being. Arham, with an air of measured politeness, would respond that his mother flourished under the benevolence of the Almighty. He would then artfully embellish the narrative, attributing her well-being to a serendipitous gift dispatched by his father from the enchanting realms of the Middle East.
Returning homeward, Arham traversed the familiar path with an unwavering determination, eschewing any extraneous halts. In the winter months, he assumed the mantle of a thoughtful son, procuring warm vapa pithas to bring solace and comfort to his mother. However, in the current temperate weather, with the morning void of vendors vending their delectable treats, he proceeded homeward without interruption, the rhythmic cadence of his footsteps punctuating the quiet canvas of his solitary journey.
Upon his return home, a palpable sense of joy enveloped Arham as his mother warmly welcomed him, promptly serving a breakfast that bore witness to her culinary prowess. Throughout the meal, she animatedly delved into the intricate tapestry of neighborhood gossip, her words flowing ceaselessly as Arham, chewing on parata, assumed the role of a semi-attentive listener.
Weekdays ushered him into the domain of the madrasa, where the true haze of his existence took hold. A veil of isolation descended, rendering him a silent observer in a sea of faces that seldom acknowledged his presence. On fortuitous occasions, the day unfolded without a soul engaging him; however, on less favorable ones, a teacher, with an air of authority, would summon him to decipher Arabic texts, subjecting him to the scrutiny of his peers.
As the classroom emptied in the wake of such episodes, a chorus of mockery and derision echoed in his vicinity. Returning home just before maghrib, Arham retreated to the sanctuary of his room, where the solitude allowed him to engage in a heartfelt prayer. The ensuing hours found him seated before the television, accompanied by his mother, their shared viewing becoming a nightly ritual that served as a respite from the tribulations of the day. It was in these nocturnal interludes that Arham found solace, the culmination of a day spent navigating the complexities of adolescence and education, often completing his homework surreptitiously within the confines of the classroom.
Fridays, the coveted respite in Arham’s week, held a special place in his heart. On this blessed day, the only venture outdoors transpired at dawn for the fajr prayer. The ensuing hours unfolded within the cocoon of his home, where he immersed himself in the captivating world of television, punctuated by interludes for prayer. As the sun cast its warm glow upon his world, Arham reveled in the tranquility of his indoor sanctuary, cherishing the serenity that Fridays brought.
On the Thursday night of the 14th of November, as the world slept in anticipation of the approaching day, Arham, too, succumbed to the embrace of slumber. His anticipation, however, wasn’t rooted in the celebration of a birthday, but rather in the simple joy of knowing that the morrow held the promise of a Friday—a day that beckoned with the allure of uninterrupted serenity and sacred moments.
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Arham harbored occasional suspicions that his mother’s corporeal form served as a mere earthly tether, constraining her from leaping through the celestial gates of Jannat. The way she carried herself suggested an unwavering assurance that she was destined to stroll through the gardens of paradise. On days when her demeanor soured, Arham found himself contemplating a morbid notion—whether a benevolent act could transport her to the heavenly realms she believed to be her true home.
Despite his name, which embodied the essence of kindness, Arham seldom felt the warmth of such benevolence. His father, residing in the Middle East, left him in the sole company of his mother, Rokeya. Their opulent abode in Mohammadpur resounded with the echoes of a dominating maternal presence, compensating for the absence of paternal guidance. Arham, realizing early on that resistance proved futile, chose the path of acquiescence, finding it more expedient to heed his mother’s directives than engage in futile battles.
The red threads of fate intertwined Rokeya’s destiny with the life of Arham’s father, Shareef. Former madrasa students, their paths never crossed until the threads of fate wove them together. Shareef had long graduated before Rokeya, precluding any meeting during their shared educational journey. A pivotal moment transpired when a fourteen-year-old Rokeya awoke one morning with tears of joy, proclaiming a divine encounter with Prophet Muhammad in her dreams. The news spread through the madrasa like wildfire, transforming Rokeya’s life irrevocably. Respected and revered, she became the embodiment of purity and divine favor.
Her remarkable standing was evident when the wealthiest man within a twenty-kilometer radius sought her hand in marriage for his eldest son, Shareef. Against the backdrop of that summer, not even the fiercest kalbaishki storm could thwart the union between the fifteen-year-old Rokeya and the twenty-two-year-old Shareef. Their wedding became a testament to the alignment of destiny, sealing a union that transcended the ordinary constraints of age and circumstance.
Everyone thought Rokeya would be suppressed by her wealthy and older husband. They even assumed she’d be abused since her husband and her did not have the best relationship. They were half right. Rokeya and Shareef were indeed an ill matched pair. There was a constant battle of dominance in their town home. Shareef wanted to be respected because he was a man of god. Meanwhile, Rokeya demanded respect because she was loved by god. Ultimately, Shareef gave in. Even kings feared Allah and he was nothing but a small man. However, he was a man nonetheless. If he couldn’t win, there was no reason for the game to exist in the first place. Hence, he left his wife and infant son behind and flew to the Middle East for business. He did not completely abandon his family. While he never bothered visiting, he made sure to send ample amounts of money back to his wife. It was more than enough for Rokeya and son to move to Dhaka and buy a luxurious home with four bedrooms.
However, Rokeya soon realized that was a huge mistake on her part. The city did not care for her and whom she dreamt of when she was 14. She once told one of the next door neighbors, Asma Vabi, about that glorious morning at the madrasa girls dormitory. Rokeya knew her words were not believed when she saw Asma Vabi biting her cheeks to restrain a laugh.
However, even if the whole world turned their back on her, Rokeya knew that she had God and God blessed her home with a healthy son. By the time Arham was three, she was already preparing Arabic tutors for him. The boy learned haraf way before he learned bangla alphabet. Almost every week her sisters would sourly listen to their wealthy older sister brag over the phone about how her son could barely speak Bangla and instead spoke Arabic like a native arab. As much as they envied their older sister’s godly fortune, even they bragged to their neighbors about their blessed nephew.
However, the only one who wasn’t as thrilled about Arham’s Arabic proficiency was Arham himself. He had no siblings. The kids in his neighborhood were either too old for him or too young for him. To make matters worse, he was horrible at his mother tongue bangla. He struggled to speak full bangla sentences until he was 8. Hence, he had problems speaking to kids at his madrasa. To make matters worse, the instructors at his madrasa used to glorify his fluent Arabic publicly, which garnered him endless envy from his peers. Even though Arham struggled to speak Bangla for a while, he understood it perfectly. His classmates used to speak uncouthly about him right in his face, thinking he would not understand. However, he did. Arham begged his mother to move him to a regular school. Sadly, Rokeya refused to raise a son that was anything but an Arabic scholar. But her resolve was soon tested when her sons’ peers finally communicated with Arham in the universal language of kicks and punches. After a black and blue Arham was delivered to her doorsteps, she begrudgingly hired Bangla speech tutor. Her son soon lost his monolingual tendencies. Much to her chagrin, he never spoke a sentence again in Arabic unless he had to — which was very rare.
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The morning of 15th november was never special to Arham. His birth brought nothing special to this world. Then why is his birthday any different? Rokeya, however, took the 15th very seriously. It was a day in which she flaunted her wealth and generosity to the maximum for everyone to see. The local orphanage housed nearly 500 hundred orphans and all of them had the grandest meal of each year on that day. Arham did not care for it. He had the same biryani at least once a month. He asked for a vanilla cake once. However, his mother denied his request saying that having cakes on birthdays was part of western culture. Instead she made him baklava. Arham did not feel an ounce of joy from it. Baklavas were too syrupy and the taste of cardamom annoyed him. Yet, seeing the eager look on his mother’s face, he pretended to be overjoyed while chewing the wretched desert.
Yet that morning of 2005 was very different. Arham wanted to scream out of jubilation, yet nothing came out of his parched throat. He saw someone in his dreams and he knew who it was. His noorani face flashed vividly behind Arham watery eyes. God had not turned his back on him. All these years of suppression did not go to waste. Allah had sent their greatest prophet in his dreams just as they did to his mother years ago. The holy person in his dream did not speak. Yet Arham instinctively knew who it was.
The boy rushed out of the bed and immediately imprisoned himself in the restroom for oju. Within a few minutes, he was ready for Fajar’s namaz. There was a jump in his step. He couldn’t recall the last time he felt this confident. Yet that morning he felt that nothing could defeat him.
Not even his mother’s annoying white cat, Qitt, deterred him from his happy mood. The white cat meowing in the morning could put a hundred roosters to shame. Every morning when he tried to leave for the masjid, the stupid cat blocked his way and demanded to be fed. Originally Qitt was his cat. Arham had a phase in which he was determined to get a pet. He had no friends nor any siblings. Only cute animals could bring him some joy. His prime choice was a dog. However, mother reprimanded him harshly and said that dogs are unclean animals. A dog had supposedly urinated at the Kaba Shareef. Ever Since then, muslims are forbidden from having them at home as it will repel angels from visiting. 12 year old Arham saw no logic in his mother’s words. What heinous things had humans had not yet done? They waged wars, killed millions of childrens. Some were even capable of raping their own mothers. Yet one ignorant dog was enough to denounce the whole species while humans are considered as “Ashraf-ul-maKHluqaat” —- the noblest of all creatures. That day Arham had been the most tempted to question his mother. However, questioning his mother might be equivalent to questioning god. After all, religion was called faith for a reason. The moment you question it, it’s all gone. As much as Arham loved dogs, he was not willing to his status as a devout muslim. His mother wasn’t completely heartless to her son’s loneliness. Therefore, she bought an overpriced white persian cat from Katabon. She purchased cat because the Prophet Mohammed supposedly also owned a cat. Arham always thought cats were beautiful despite his bias towards dogs. However, this cat made him question life. It had a flat face and golden eyes that looked in two opposite directions. Arham had a theory that it walked into a wall right after coming out of the womb. Despite how ugly the cat was, he tried being friends with it. He even named it “Qitt”, which meant cat in arabic. Yet for some reason, the cat detested him. It hissed like a snake and growled like a tiger whenever Arham tried going near it. Qitt was very intimate to Rokeya on the other hand. Every evening the cat would sit on Rokeya’s lap and purr like an engine. After a month of attempts, Arham accepted that this was his mother’s cat, not his.
That morning on the 15th was the same. Qitt yowled hungrily at Arham as he tried walking out with his shiny blue prayer mat. However, this morning Arham felt no urge to step on the face of the ugly cat and make it even flatter. He repeated his morning deception and went out on his merry way. His heart was at peace as he arrived at the mosque.
As he prayed, he felt the most connected to Allah than he ever felt. Nothing affected his jolly mood —- not even the sight of two eight olds kicking each other off the prayer mats while restraining giggles. Someone forgot to turn off their cell phone. Hence, during the sijdah, the melodious voice of Andrew Kishor singing “Beder Josna Amay Kotha Diyecche” rumbled through the prayer hall. Not even that made Arham flinch.
As he walked out of the building, he finally heard a sound that rudely pushed him out of blissful reverie. It was the sound of a sharp yelp and the sound of tyred screeching. The sight before him soured his mood even further. A brown dog had been run over by a truck. Blood and intestines grotesquely stained the pavement. What was even more tragic was the puppy. It was a fat white little thing. It was yelping on the other side of the street. Arham could tell it was trying to cross the road and run towards its deceased mother. However, the car intimidated it far too much.
Arham’s eyes had a determined look as he silently observed the pitiful puppy. This must have been a sign from Allah. This tragedy had happened right as he walked out the mosque must have been because Allah wanted him to take this puppy home. God had heard his prayers and blessed him with the animal he earnestly desired. So, Arham did not hesitate. He crossed the bloody road as the soles of his sandals stained red. As soon as he reached the other side, he picked up the distressed puppy and power walked away from the scene.
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Arham’s one arm held the blue prayer mat while the other held the fat puppy who was whining and shivering. Arham hesitated walking inside the house. He knew what would happen if he walked in. His mother would make hell on earth and possibly do something horrid to the pup. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, it left him as soon as the memory of the dawn resurfaced. He took one step forward and his pace quickened slowly.
He had nothing to fear. This morning he had become his mother’s equal. All the power that his mother held over him was because of her dreams. Today God showed him how beloved he was. Why should he fear the opinion of his mother when he had god by his side?
Therefore, when Qitt strutted towards him confidently as he walked in, he finally unleashed the kick he had been withholding for the last two years. Qitt let out a sharp yelp and slid to the other side of the room. For a moment, it stood stunted as if it could not believe this abuse had happened to them. The next second, Qiit zoomed out of Arham’s vision like the wind. Arham watched it with a satisfied smirk.
However, the commotion attracted the attention of the other living being in the house. Rokeya’s voice could be heard from the entrance as the smell of cardamom and caramelized sugar wafted through the air.
“Arham? My sweet child! Have you come back from the mosque?”
For a moment, Arham’s heart melted. However, he quickly hardened his stance. If he did not establish himself in front of his mother’s eyes today, he might never get to stand up and do the things he wanted.
When Arham did not reply to Rokeya’s call, she walked out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon with hot sugar glazed on it. No doubt she was making baklava again. The thought of baklava soured his mood further. No, today he was going to get his vanilla cake.
Rokeya stood still for a moment and stared at the white ball of fluff in Arham’s arm with muted horror. The spoon in her hand shook violently as her eyes filled with rage.
“Did you — is that a dog?! You brought this napak animal to my house?! Are you trying to damn me to hell!? What will I answer to Allah in the afterlife!?”
Arham’s eyes also grew firm with resentment as he clutched the puppy tighter.
“Amma, do not talk to me like that! I have not done anything wrong! Allah wants us to be kind, so this is an act of kindness! Why do you always have a problem with everything I do!?”
Rokeya’s eyes were full of disbelief as she pointed the sugary spoon at Arham.
“You dare to talk to your own mother like that!? Is this what I have taught you!? You talk back to me and you dare bring a “kutta” to my home!? You are just as godless as your father! MUNAFIQ! No! I have given birth to a Kafir!”
Arham’s blood boiled harder than it ever had. He threw the puppy down, earning him a pained yelp. His other hand on the other hand held the prayer mat for dear life as his knuckles turned white.
“You think you are the only one, don’t you?! You think you are the only one who has seen him! All your life you have bragged about it! Well, I have seen him too! So don’t talk to me like that! I can have a dog if I want! It’s God’s will!”
Rokeya’s spoon fell from her hand as her eyes grew big. With a shaky voice she asked —
“What did you just say? Whom did you see? “
Arham could feel the overwhelming urge to smirk. Yet somehow restrained himself. A part of him told him that his mother should not see how pleased he was .
“Nobi-ji, Mohammad. Just like you had”
Rokeya rushed towards him and clutched both of his shoulders. There was a look of desperation in her eyes.
“Boy, tell me what you saw. Tell me everything about him. What did he look like ? What was he wearing ? How did he sound? Why can’t I —”
The sentence never met an end. Rokeya fainted before she could finish her sentence and Arham stared dumbly in muted horror. She fell backwards and there was an ugly cracking sound. The boy did not even have time to question his mother’s odd behavior. All he saw was his mother’s peach coloured veil staining red.
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Arham sat grimly by his mother’s hospital bed. He knew this birthday would be different from others. But he didn’t anticipate it would go this far. He woke up that morning smelling atar. Few hours later he was smelling nasty rubbing alcohol and disinfectants.
Rokeya’s head was bandaged as she slept soundly on the bed. Arham’s maternal grandmother sat beside him. Occasionally she would rub her hand on his back and recite some Surahs. Once in a while she would pause and sob for a few seconds.
“Choto nanavai, do not worry. Allah loves your mother. They won’t turn their back on us. Keep praying she will wake up soon. This is all work of the devil”
Arham didn’t say anything. He simply stared at his mother’s face. Usually, she looked stern and distressed even during her sleep. However, today she looked strangely serene. It seems he was not the only one who felt that.
His grandmother let out a mournful sigh as her aged eyes glanced at her daughter.
“You know, it has been a while since she looked like this. It almost looks like Allah gave my old daughter back to me. This might be a sign that my time has come”
Arham did not react. He only listened to her silently.
“Your mother used to be a very different person. She was soft and delicate. Her heart was filled with kindness. She used to pet animals by the road. Even dogs. Can you believe it?”
Arham stiffened at the mention of dogs. He did not remember what happened to the white puppy. He only recalled panicking and yelling for his neighbors.
“Perhaps she became too pure and Allah themselves felt the need to firm her up. Maybe that’s why they sent the prophet in her dreams. That’s good, though. She became tougher. But sometimes I miss my naive daughter”
There was an ugly pause. It was as if his grandmother was in a daze.
“The last couple of years have been harsh on your mother. She told me many times that she forgot something precious to her and can’t remember no matter what. She constantly doubts if Allah turned their back on her. I never took her distress seriously. That was foolish of me. The devil must have entered your abode. As soon as your mother recovers, I’ll call for the Imam”.
Arham still did not say anything. However, his blood had gone ice cold. He knew exactly what his mother forgot; for he too, could not remember the face of the person that he met in his dream.