A Hungry Old Man After A Storm

The tempestuous storm that seemed to have stayed for eternity left the world outside pistachio green. Cows were no longer howling, roosters had stopped shrieking – maybe they had the realization that the storm had subsided, or maybe they were simply tired. The frogs croaked on at irregular intervals, but other than their unsettling ribbiting, the world seemed to have fallen awfully quiet.

It was nearing dusk, thought the old man. Or was it dawn? He was never sure these days. He watched on through the small crack of the mud wall of his house, trying to determine if the sun was coming up or going down. He shut the window a long time ago when the storm started, but he couldn't do anything about the crack in the wall – the wind through the crevice had made him go so cold that he borrowed a semi-torn saree from his wife, who had a couple of sarees on her throughout the whole ordeal. He must have fallen asleep since he couldn't remember what time it was and whether he should prepare himself to go for prayer.

“What time is it?” He asked his wife.

“The clock doesn't work,” she replied. Her eyes were closed. Maybe she also slept through it, thought the old man.

“Will they call for the prayers?”

“I can't tell. Maybe. If it's time.”

Her guess was as good as his, so he decided not to bug her anymore. Instead, he wondered if it would be safe to get out of the house. If he timed it right, maybe there would be an opportunity for him to get some ration off of a struggling housewife who might need help with some physical labor. He hadn't heard the sound of thunderstorms for a while now – in fact, he couldn't hear anything other than the frogs outside, and he was almost sure he hadn't fallen asleep for the past few moments.

So, he got up from the broken bed that he and his wife were curled up on. The bed creaked horribly, and his wife started. The old man felt desolate and guilty for waking his wife up from her torpor. “Get back to sleep, I'm just gonna be outside for a while,” he said.

“I wasn't sleeping,” she replied indignantly.

The old man removed the massive water jar he placed in front of the broken door of his mud hut with a lot of struggle. Then, he looked outside and struggled to see anything but pools of water. It had stopped raining, so at least the water would come down eventually, he hoped. He squinted his eyes as much as he could – and to his delight, he found patches of roads here and there amidst the seemingly endless reservoir of water. He got rid of the saree he borrowed from his wife to emerge with his solitary shirt on his upper half and had his lungi tightened with a well-placed knot. He walked onto his front yard barefoot – he didn't have any pair of sandals after his only pair were lost during the last great storm just a month ago.

The water reached up to his knees as he struggled forward. After a few steps, he wondered if it was a mistake for him to get out so soon. He couldn't see where he was stepping – and the possibility of snakes was very real. Just last year, Goni Miya, a man almost as old as he was, died from a venomous snake bite. He deserved it though, thought the old man desperately. In his old age, the man had lost his head completely; he announced he didn't believe in God anymore not long before his death. Granted, this announcement came up only after the village chairman ruled that the religious ruling for Rahat raping his ten year old granddaughter was to get them married. The old man sympathized with Goni Miya’s granddaughter, and was delighted that the village had such an honourable and just chairman to enforce such a fair judgment. However, Goni Miya's egregious outburst was met with disdain from all. He was ostracized with immediate effect and was banned from attending the wedding of his ten year old granddaughter with her former rapist and current husband Rahat. He died from the snake’s venom not long after that – and nobody turned up for his funeral since everyone was banned from arranging one. The condemned soul would be lost forever in the purgatory, making amends for the blasphemy it caused shortly before its departure from the mortal world – the religious leader explained to the villagers.

The old man didn't want his life to meet a similar end. He had no choice, though – there hadn't been food at home for the last three days. They went by with a few scrapes of water spinach and mustard leaves down by the pond nearby that his wife collected. With the storm, however, these sources were no longer feasible for the next few days. “Ah well, even if I die, my son will come here and arrange my funeral,” he thought with hope.

It was difficult to reach his son though, the old man remembered with concern. He had been missing for almost a year now. A year ago, when the old man and his wife used to live with his son’s family, his son had his third daughter. The place was already quite crowded – it was a four bedroom apartment in the city, but his son told him that with his third child, the apartment was running out of space. His son proposed that the old man and his wife move to their old home in the village – and the old man was happy that his son offered to accompany them throughout the journey. He had to cancel at the last moment due to a work engagement, but he promised that he would be sending money regularly and would come visit them every couple of months to make sure they were okay.

His son used to call the first couple of months, and the money regularly arrived as well, although not a lot in amount. The old man and his wife understood – it was so costly to raise a child in Dhaka. However, from the third month, the money stopped arriving . His son wrote him a letter with the second month's money that he was facing a serious issue at work and the financial situation was quite dire. As the money stopped coming, the old man feared the worst – something terrible must have happened at work and maybe his son got fired. He ran to the local religious leaders to beg for his son's luck – it would be great if they knew some prayers that might help them. The leaders asked for a sacrifice that would appease the jinn who would help bring luck back for his son. They asked for a sacrifice of goat initially, which the old man didn't have enough money to afford. They ended up sacrificing a couple of roosters, although the old man and his wife got none of the meat – the meat was left for the jinn to come in and devour. And sure enough, the meat was gone the next day, and the old man let out a huge sigh of relief.

But there was no letter, no phone call, no money. No contact from his son anymore. The old man and his wife were scared for his son's life – and the lives of his struggling family. They called his number numerous times, but the phone was switched off. Still, they managed a couple more sacrifices by scraping together some money from here and there – the old man worked at the field for some land owners, while his wife carried out some daily chores for a couple of families. Still, there was no news, apart from some rumor that a few young ones brought back from Dhaka that his son had left the country with his family. Some said they left for Spain, some said Italy, some said Australia. The old man would believe none of it – he knew how costly it was to leave the country, and there was no way his son could have that amount of money but not afford him and his wife in his home. Besides, if he really left, then why would people name so many different countries? Surely they would've all mentioned one?

The old man made it to the end of the road, where the chairman's right hand man lived with his family. Zitu, husband of two, had a beautiful two-story house. He attempted to pass the house quickly – he didn't want to get caught for a chore there. The chairman was a fair man, but Zitu was nefarious – he would commit every single crime there was to commit. His first wife died following a haemorrhage from a fall, although many believed that she was murdered by Zitu because she didn't agree to Zitu’s wishes of marrying a fifteen year old. The old man knew Zitu’s first wife made a mistake by disagreeing with her husband's wish – but still, it surely didn't warrant a murder.

He almost left the front gate of Zitu’s building when he heard a female voice call out, “Uncle!”

He froze. For a moment, he wondered if he should feign deafness and move on. But then he remembered that Zitu's wife’s death might have been up for debate, but that he had killed at least three different individuals in broad daylight was as true as the sun that was clearly setting right then.

He turned towards the gate, and noticed that Zitu's third wife was calling him. What was her name? Maria? Or was Maria the second one? He couldn't remember.

“Yes?” He answered loudly.

“Can you please bring the cow in? It's stuck.”

The old man looked at the direction she pointed her finger towards, and found the cow being stuck at the fence of the property. Its ropes somehow got tangled, and it was a bit far away from the cowshed where Zitu's wife wanted it taken.

It wasn't a difficult task, but the old man’s heart kept pounding at the possibility of Zitu being present in the house. He was already tired from having to walk through knee-deep water for such a long time, and he knew that he didn't have it in him to go to other houses to do anything after he was done here. However, if Zitu was in the house, the old man wouldn't dare ask for any food in exchange for his help.

He untangled the cow’s rope and pulled it towards the cowshed. Once he took it to the barn, the ox beside attempted to jump on the cow to fulfill its carnal desires. He had to fight the ox off so that he could tie the rope of the frightened cow safely. As he fought on, he heard the shriek of a young girl, the steady creak of a bed, and what sounded an awful lot like Zitu's curses.

“Keep quiet, slut…and do as I say!”

He looked inside, curious, although careful so that his face wasn't visible to the wife who had asked for his help. From behind the ox, he had an opening – through which he saw a man sitting on the sofa, looking down at his feet. He recognized the man – he was the local shopkeeper Liton. And he was also able to make the connection that the shrieking girl inside was his only child, twelve year old Juthi.

Tying the cow fast, he wanted to get away from the house as soon as possible. However, he recognized his opportunity – if Zitu was busy ravaging his customary weekly girl from the village, then he could take a chance in asking the wife for some food.

The old man thanked his lucky heavens for the opportunity and said to the woman who requested his help, “All done. Sister, could you please give me some food? We don't have anything at home.”

He could see the annoyance on her face. “What do you want?”

“Anything you can spare.”

She went inside. The old man was terrified at the idea that she was about to tell Zitu, although he hoped that she wouldn't dare interrupt him while he was busy with the girl. And his suspicions were correct, as she brought back a packet of biscuits with her. She threw it at him, and he caught it just in time.

“May the Lord bless you!” He uttered, and left towards his home.

It was completely dark outside when the old man reached his home. He was glad to see from afar while he struggled across the water that his wife had the presence of mind to light a candle. He followed it all the way in the dark, and as he stood at the door with a packet of biscuits in his hand, he felt proud of himself for getting out of his house in time. He also thanked God that Zitu was busy with Liton’s girl at that moment – the old man did not want to go the night without food.

“Who gave it to you?” His wife asked.

“Zitu's wife.”

“Which one?”

“Maybe the second. Or the third.”

“He only has two.”

“I couldn't tell.”

“It's okay.”

“Where did you find a candle?”

“I found one under the bed.”

“How did it get there?”

“I don't know.”

“Do we have more?”

“No.”

“We'll need to buy some once the water goes down. It won't be the last storm this season.”

“We don't have anything left.”

The old man was annoyed, and barked, “Our son will send some.”

“When?”

“He will, soon.”

“Will he be able to? We haven't been able to sacrifice a goat.”

“We sacrificed four roosters.”

“Four roosters are nothing compared to a goat.”

“God will understand. We did the best we could.”

The candle was nearing its end. The old man’s wife sighed. She seemed tired. He couldn't blame her; they hadn't had anything to eat since morning.

“We need to gather everything we’ll need tonight here right now. The candle will die soon,” said the old man.

“I'll do it. In a minute,” she replied. She opened the packet of biscuits and started gobbling one up. The old man took one from her too. It tasted heavenly.

“The next time my son comes here, we'll have to get a packet of these biscuits ready. He will love this!” The old man said.