They are going to take Moti Miya’s eyes out with a date thorn tonight. During the evening prayers. Idris from Nobiganj is going to do it. He’s done it before.
They are keeping Moti in Borkot Shahib’s shed. Moti’s hands and feet are tied up. Several people are standing around to guard him. This is not necessary. Moti is not strong enough to sit up, let alone run away. His collarbone is broken. All the fingers on his right hand have been crushed. A line of blood is coming out of his nose. His white panjabi is bloody and stuck to his body. An hour ago, he was unconscious. Now he is conscious, but it does not seem like he is thinking straight. He does not seem to be very upset when he hears that his eyes are being taken out. He sighs and asks, “When will they be taken out?”
When he hears it will happen during evening prayers, Moti seems relieved. He says calmly, “I want some water. Give me some water.”
If someone asks for water, you have to give it to them. You will be cursed otherwise. If you don’t give someone water when they ask for it, on Judgment Day, your throat will dry up and there won’t be a single drop of water for you anywhere. So they put a jug of water in front of Moti Miya. Moti is annoyed. He says, “If you don’t pour it on my face, how am I supposed to drink it? My hands are tied. What’s wrong with you?”
The person who brought the water looks over at someone and asks, “Should I pour the water for him, Hasan Bhai?”
Hasan Ali was the one that caught Moti and brought him over from Kenduya. So everyone knows that Hasan Ali has the most rights over Moti. When decisions are being made about Moti, Hasan Ali’s opinion is important. He provides no comment on the water. But he says angrily, “Look at how the bastard talks! Makes no sense, does it? His eyes are coming out tonight but he’s not too worried about that, is he? You bastard. Not even afraid, are you?”
Moti doesn’t respond. He spits on the ground. Blood comes out with his spit. The crowd around him is getting bigger. News is spreading. A live person’s eyes are being taken out with a date thorn. This sort of thing doesn’t happen every day! They are hoping that by evening, there will be a huge crowd of people! And it is not just ordinary people coming to watch. Important people are coming too. The retired stationmaster is coming from Kenduya. The headmaster of the high school arrives as well. Hasan Ali gives up his own chair for the headmaster. The headmaster takes out his glasses to take a proper look. “So this is Moti?”
Hasan Ali says cheerfully, “Yes Sir, Mister Headmaster, Sir. This bastard is Moti. At evening prayers, we’re taking the bastard’s eyes out.”
“How did you catch him?”
“That is a long story, Sir.”
Cups of tea and biscuits are brought out. The headmaster chews enthusiastically. “Let’s hear it. Keep it short.”
Hasan Ali comes forward to tell the story. So far, he has told the story of how he caught Moti eleven times. He will have to tell it many more. Several important people have not arrived yet. Everyone will want to hear the story individually. That is fine. You can tell the same story a thousand times. Hasan Ali clears his throat.
“There was no kerosene at home. The wife said to me, there’s no kerosene! I got angry at her. On market day I bought kerosene, and today she tells me there’s no kerosene. Anyway. I took the bottle and went out. I saw Suleman on the way! Suleman said, Uncle, where are you going?”
Moti listens appreciatively. Every time he hears it, the story gains a few branches. Suleman had never come into the story before. It is unclear what Suleman’s role is.
Hasan Ali finishes the story. The headmaster is impressed. He says, “You’ve been very brave, Hasan. Very brave indeed. It’s a great thing you’ve done here. Did he have any weapons on him?’
“No, Sir.”
“Well, Allah saved you then. If he had weapons that would have been it. He would have killed you.”
Everyone who was standing around nods in agreement. The headmaster says, “So it’s true then? You’re taking his eyes out?’
“Yes Sir. It’s true Sir. This is what everyone has decided. It’s the people’s choice. Taking his eyes is the only way to stop him, Sir. There’s no point going to the police.”
“That’s true, very true, no point at all. But you better watch out that the police don’t cause you any trouble.”
“We are, Sir. We’re looking into it. Member Sahib has gone to talk to the police.”
Moti notices the headmaster looking at him. The headmaster’s eyes are gleaming with delight. It seems that he is going to stay until evening prayers to watch the event. Moti is not scared yet. The first big storm had passed, that was the main thing. They could have taken his eyes out right at the beginning. Since that did not happen, there is still hope. Before evening someone might still say kindly, “Leave it be. Forget it. There’s no need to take his eyes out. Just give him a good beating and let him go.” If just one person says it, others will agree. But that first person has to say something. It won’t work if Moti asks for forgiveness. That will just make them even angrier. If Moti appears weak, it is all over. Nobody pities weakness. People hate weakness. Moti thinks about it calmly. He will have to find a way to save his eyes. There is still time. Evening prayers are a long time away. However, thinking about it calmly is proving to be difficult. He hurts all over and his whole body is dry from thirst. The water is right in front of him but if nobody pours it on his face how is he supposed to drink it?
The headmaster lights a cigarette. “Hey Moti. Want a cigarette?”
Everyone laughs. This is not a good sign. Moti starts to worry a little. They are laughing at him. People laugh at animals. Everyone was starting to think of him as an animal. An ugly animal, tied up. There is nothing difficult about taking out an animal’s eyes. Also, people are coming from far away to see this happen. They will not be happy if it does not happen. Moti looks at the headmaster and says politely, “Sir, I’d like to drink the water.” Someone dumps the entire jug of water on his head. Everyone laughs again. Moti’s heart lurches. Things are not looking good. He will have to do something soon. Is he really going to lose his eyes? Love and kindness really are just vanishing from the earth. There was a time when the punishment for people like him was just to shave their heads and put a string of shoes around their necks for a little while. Then they started breaking people’s legs. Make a man a cripple by breaking his legs. Now this whole thing with the eyes. Poking them out with a date thorn, just like that. All these people around him, and nobody looking at him with even a drop of kindness. But there is still time. Kindness does not just appear. It takes time to grow.
Moti looks over at Hasan Ali and smiles. A smile is a strange thing. Animals can’t smile. Only humans can smile
Hasan Ali shouts. “Look, the bastard’s smiling. He’s not scared at all! His eyes are coming out, and he’s still smiling! Slap him. Slap him!”
Somebody slaps Moti across the face. He would have fallen over if his hands and feet were not tired. For a minute, Moti does not know what is happening. His ears buzz. Everything goes dark. Have they taken their eyes out already? Probably. The thirst is gone! That is a good thing. But his head is spinning, the way that happens before you faint. Fainting is a wonderful thing. The pain goes away, the body goes light.
No, his eyes aren’t gone yet. He still has them. He can see around him. Moti says to himself, look at all these people! Looks like a party. Is it time for prayers already? No, not yet. There is too much light. They moved him outside. That is why it seems brighter. He asks, “What time is it?”
“Who cares? The time is almost here. That’s all you need to know. Look around while you still can, Moti.”
Moti looks around. There are no small children. No women. They had probably all been told to leave. But there is a crowd of people sitting in a circle around him now. And there’s someone in a blue shirt and a white lungi sitting on a little stool right in front of him—is this who is going to take his eyes out? Is this Mister Idris from Nobiganj? When did Idris get here? This man is different from the rest of them. He has a strange look in his eyes. But more importantly, the other people are all looking at Blue-shirt too. They aren’t even that interested in Moti anymore. Now everyone’s waiting for the big event. Moti could talk to Blue-shirt and figure out what’s going on. He waits for Blue-shirt to look at him. As soon as Blue-shirt looks over, Moti will say something. There’s no pleasure in talking to him if he doesn’t look at Moti. But Blue-shirt isn’t looking at him.
“Hey Mister. Mister!”
Blue-shirt looks at Moti. Moti says immediately, “Is your name Mister Idris?”
Blue shirt doesn’t reply. He turns away. Moti says, “Mister, are you going to take my eyes out?”
From behind him someone cries, “What’s the bastard saying!” Everyone laughs. What is so funny? Did he say it in a funny way? Some people could say ordinary things in funny ways. Like his wife. She would say the most normal things in such a way that you’d laugh and laugh. She’d put out the rice and say—dinner is ready. Do you think you could trouble yourself to have something to eat? No, now is not a good time to think about her. Now he has to figure out a way to save his eyes. If he saves his eyes, he can think about her. However, he can also think about her if he does not save his eyes. He does not need his eyes to think about his wife. But he tries not to think about her very much. He thought about her when he was in jail. Then he liked thinking about her. The poor girl, she never stopped suffering. Whenever he was in jail the guards and the police and all manner of people would show up at her door. Why? Just to check in. To see if Moti was back yet. A beautiful girl. Alone in the house. Of course they were going to show up. They’d show up. Have something to eat. Have some other things. A thief’s wife is everybody’s wife. Women don’t put up with it. His wife stayed with him for a long time. Moti was always terrified when he went back home after he had been away. That he would go in, and no one would be there. He would find an empty house.
His wife finally left last spring. No one knew where she went. He asked a few people in the village about her. No one knew anything. Somebody said—she stayed for a long time, Moti. How much more? Go ask at the market. She probably has a room at the market. He accepted this fact of life, just as he had accepted many facts before. Thieves’ wives always end up at the market. They are all right, at the market. They put on their makeup and call out in the evenings, in high reedy voices. Oh, come here, come have a smoke. You should warm up on a cold night.
When Moti had time, he wandered around the markets. He knew he would feel better if he found her. He would never marry her again, or bring her home. What good would that do? But he could visit her sometimes. If you found your own people and went to them, maybe sat with them in the evening sometimes, you felt good. Your people were always yours. It didn’t matter if they were your wife in your house. Or if they were a woman at the market, calling out in the evenings. Your people were always yours.
He had gone to Kenduya on a rumor that she might be there. These rumors are never true. But this time it was! His wife was there—she was there! She was calling herself Morjina now. You needed a new name if you had a room at the market. He was on his way to see her when he got into the trouble he was in now.
The call to prayers begins. It is almost time. Moti turns over with great difficulty. When will they do it? Surely not before the prayers. There was still a little bit of time. So much could happen. Once he got caught at the train station. They would have killed him. A young girl jumped off a train and ran over. She screamed, are you going to kill him? Stop! What are you doing, stop right now. Everyone stopped. They were all stunned. Moti was stunned. He never even thanked her for saving him. The train left. The girl went wherever she was going.
There are so many people around him today. Surely, surely one of them is like that girl. In the very last moment, someone will run forward and cry, what are you doing! And Moti’s eyes would be saved. You had to have that much faith in people. Moti waits. Who will it be? What will they look like? Will their eyes be full of compassion, like the girl on the train? The sort of eyes that made you think, perhaps, of being a bit better? Moti waits. He is excited to see who it will be. It’s all right, to wait.
HUMAYUN AHMED wrote more than 300 fiction and non-fiction novels, many of which were best-sellers in Bangladesh. His breakthrough novel Nondito Noroke was written when he was an undergraduate student; he continued to write best sellers until his death in 2012. Nobel Laureate economist Muhammad Yunus assessed Ahmed’s overall impact: “Humayun’s works are the most profound and most fruitful that literature has experienced since the time of Tagore and Nazrul.” Similarly, according to poet Al Mahmud, “one golden age of Bengali literature ended with Tagore and Nazrul and another began” with Ahmed. Times of India credited Humayun as “the person who single-handedly shifted the capital of Bengali literature from Kolkata to Dhaka.” Sunil Gangopadhyay described him as the most popular writer in the Bengali language for a century. Ahmed’s brother, Muhammed Zafar Iqbal (also an eminent author and scholar of Bangladesh), has been known to say, “Humayun Ahmed taught an entire generation of Bengalis how to love.”
YESHIM IQBAL has a B.A in Psychology from Cornell University and a PhD in Applied Psychology from New York University. She is a psychologist and researcher working in contexts of conflict and crisis around the world. She is also the founder and director of Kaan Pete Roi, the first emotional support and suicide prevention helpline in Bangladesh. She is a mother of two, the author of four translated novels in Bangladesh, and works on reading, writing, and translating whenever she can.
KELANA is a creative studio for experimentation and exploration.
