Not a Beast

“With regards to the evidence this court has seen, it finds Mr. Kabir guilty of physical abuse towards his wife.”-These golden words suffused me with sheer joy and neutralized the searing words of my Ma(mother) on the day I refer to as purgatory.

He stumbled, customarily, ruining the iota of furniture that was unharmed the previous night. I perceived Ma arrived at the parlor immediately after his shriek. In his presence, her rosy cheeks never retained their original hue. I always failed to understand why she so irrevocably loved that man despite his sadism. Ma used to say that I was a chip off the old block with his hazel eyes, though the very eyes when I caught sight of them, burned a ceaseless fire within me. I could never be like that beast. That night, however, ominous silence crept through the walls. None of the routine yelling. Then, I heard Ma’s voice with a bellow I had never heard in all my born days. Scuttering out of my room to the parlor, I saw her fatally hit in the head by a jagged shard of glass. The beast stood there with inebriated eyes, cold perspiration streaming down his temples.

 He could not be my Baba(father), but alas, it was the scathing truth. Out of my senses, I, in an unadulterated intoxication of outrage, grasped the same shard and stabbed him.

Recuperating myself from scalding fury, I was greeted by absolute devastation. I wailed Ma’s name, and her very last, concussed words to me were, “You abhorred him, but you are him,” which had more disgust than pain in them. The stifling horror of her words seized me. Being regarded so lowly by the one for whom I had crossed all limits of inhumanity was a frozen knife that, each day of my life, penetrated my heart an inch deeper.

The termination of the monotonous whirring of the fans resurrected me back to the courtroom where I was triumphant. My whole life, I had dogmatically stood by the quote- It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be. This was a tenet with which I had indoctrinated myself.

My father’s monstrosities will not define me, ever, and this day holds testimony to it: the day I saved a wronged woman, lawfully, from the same torments as those borne by my Ma. The lady’s evocative rosy cheeks, now no longer pale, painted in my heart a lucid picture of my Ma, and the disquieted boy reminded me of the twelve-year-old who had been doomed with the cursed fate of beholding his mother’s pain-stricken eyes. “Mr. Rahim, you are a liberator of abused women! I can never thank you enough for freeing my son and me. I would be the most fortunate mother alive if my son imbibes even a fraction of your values,” were the lady’s soul-stirring words.

Tears threatened to spill from my eyes, “It matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be. I’m liberated from your words, Ma. I am not that beast, and I’ll never be him,” I gasped, as I fell to my knees.

 Lost in Pursuit

In a desolate expanse, I ran fervently, propelled by an enigmatic desire. Thousands raced alongside, their purpose gleaming in their eyes. Exhaustion tugged at me, but I persisted. Surrounded by such fiery resolve, could I afford to falter? The blinding embrace of sunlight awakened me, pulling me from this recurring nightmare that seemed to vanquish me.

Opening my eyes to the luxurious panorama of New York from my skyscraper residence, a chasm of emptiness overshadowed my perceived success. The aroma of my morning coffee whisked me back to the humble streets of Chittagong, Bangladesh.

 The only son of a low-income hotelier, I was cherished by my parents. They always agreed to every whim of mine and went the extra mile to provide for me the best, to educate me in one of the best schools in town. However, with the opulence and luxury enjoyed by people around me, I could not help but dream of the greener grass on the other side; I could not but wonder what it would be like to buy the latest video games, expensive cars, and sneakers. Day and night, I was lost in thoughts of such luxury, resolved to rise above my modest roots.

 I studied hard each waking hour and burned the candle at both ends to secure my future, to get the best scholarship so that I could, one day, be like Rajan’s father. I vividly recalled the computer that he showed me one day in recess- “It’s the latest model. My father bought it for me. What did your father gift you in the holidays?” That day, I felt highly belittled. Despite working so hard, my wants were never fulfilled. A meager hotelier’s salary was not enough to fulfill my desires.

The day my intermediate exam results arrived, I decided to go abroad. However, to my misfortune, I saw that my scholarship was not enough to cover some of the tuition. This shattered me. When my father came to me that day asking me about my affliction, I snapped at him- “Why do you want to know about my worries? Don’t you know that you are the source of them? Do you understand the pain I feel when, despite my efforts, I am unable to get what I desire? Oh, how I wish that I was not a son to a meager hotel manager?” was my stinging reply. He stood motionless. Something in him was deeply hurt, and he went away.

 The next day, my parents came up to me and handed me a cheque. Opening it, I was astounded. It had enough to cover every iota of my college tuition. “Dear Shakib, you are our only son, and we love you more than anything in this world. We have always tried to give you the best, turning a blind eye to our basic needs, but we are extremely sorry if we were inept. We wish you nothing but extreme success in your future,” were my father’s words. Despite a corner of my heart coaxing me to apologize to them, wanting to embrace them, the joy of going to my dream college was more dominant, and I rushed to my room to make the necessary preparations.

 The click of my toaster jostled me back to the present. Twenty years had passed since that day, and in these years, I had made myself an empire with every drop of blood and sweat. I had forgotten to eat and sleep and just wanted to have everything I once could not have. Today, I had an overflowing bank account, but none of those shoes, cars, or watches that I once so highly fancied held the same value to me anymore.

 Picking up the phone, I thought of calling my parents. As I dialed the numbers, I wondered whether I could ever be forgiven for my insolence. The call was picked up by an elderly man, which I deduced to be my uncle. Asking him about Ma(mother) and Baba(father), he replied- “You are too late, Shakib. They are no more. Your father passed away two years back, and your mother died soon after experiencing his loss. We tried to contact you, but you restricted all means of communication due to your integral business fair that year.”

I dropped the phone. Pain penetrated me like a frozen dagger puncturing every crevice of my body, and remorse crept through my soul. I could not face myself. My selfishness and greed were unforgivable sins that even purgatory could not remove.

 Then I realized something: these recurring nightmares that I kept having were meant to show how futile my entire life had been. Whilst chasing after money and success, I had lost terribly in life. I had been ungrateful towards what I had and rapacious towards what I wanted, and in the process, I had forsaken all means of happiness. Why did I not embrace my parents that day? Why did I not profess my love for them after all they had done for me?

Today, if I could trade all my assets for a mere moment of happiness with them, I would gladly do it at the drop of a hat. The emptiness inside me could never be compensated for by any form of material pleasure, and the thing that I was chasing in that dream was never mine. Achieving the end goal would never bring me the same sense of contentment as it would for those alongside me, due to the great sacrifices I had made along the journey.

This chase, this end goal, was not truly mine. It was simply a mirage of happiness constructed by envy. I had reached my destination, but at what cost? It was time to recalibrate, to seek joy in life's genuine moments, lest I would remain adrift forever.