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| The Safe |
From Misir Ali’s Diary of Unsolved Cases
-----Humayun Ahmed
(Translated by Md. Atique Rahman)
This is an unresolved mystery from the childhood days of Misir Ali, the most interesting character ever been enliven by the popular most novelist in Bengali literature Humayun Ahmed.
The Safe
Part 1
The room is dark. Misir Ali is sitting cross-legged on a chair. However, it’s my assumption on how he is sitting actually, as I can’t see anything in the looming darkness. But he is in the habit of sitting in that position, with both his legs under the knees; as if he tries to protect himself from the shivering cold.
“Isn’t there any candle in the room?” I asked.
“Yes, there was one on the table. It was burning a moment ago; but got blown out by the wind just before you entered the room,” Misir Ali replied.
Will I light it up, or you will prefer the darkness?
It’s alright. Let’s enjoy the beauty of the darkness for a while.
Were you brooding over anything special?
Do you think I always keep pondering on this or that all the time? Have I opened a shop to sell my thoughts? If you happen to have any matchstick, light up the candle. It’s okay to sit idle in darkness when you are all alone; but not, if there is anyone else around.'
Why?
When there are two, one wants to look at the face of the other.
I lit up the candle. My assumption proved wrong. He is actually sitting on the chair with both his legs on the floor in the normal position. He is looking happy: the kind of happy feeling that plays around your face while tasting a betel leaf after enjoying a great feast at a wedding reception.
Are you here for some special reason or just to have a chat with me?
Just for gossiping.
Have you ever noticed that when we talk about having a chat, we usually use the word, ‘gossip’? We never talk about facts alone; we inadvertently tend to add rumor with it. But you see in English language, they never say ‘story- rumor’, as rumors are not of that importance to them.'
Well then, please share with me just the stories. Let the rumor thing push aside.
What story would you like to listen to?
I will love to listen to anything you tell. You can tell me about the stories of your childhood days; your teenage memories. Was your father like your type?
What do you mean by ‘like me’?
Well, I just wanted to know if he too loved to ponder over complex ideas.
My father was a very simple man; easy-going in nature and apathetic to the worldly things. His most favorite word is ‘strange’. He had the strangest ability to be bewildered at anything almost without any reason. Can I give you an example?
Yes, please.
One day he started chasing a butterfly while screaming in utter astonishment, “what a strange thing! What a strange thing!” Not only did he chase it alone, he had forced me to join him too. One of the wings of the butterfly was severed and it was flying away using its only remaining wing.
Well, I think, these are things you can easily get amazed by.
You can say that. But do you think it’s alright to spend days after days on it? It became his main business of interest: to catch a butterfly, tear through one of its wings and check if it can still fly using its remaining wing. Not only butterflies, he didn’t spare even the grasshoppers. He did the same experiments with them too. I never liked him doing these sorts of experiments. There is no sense in inflicting pains to those little poor insects just to meet your curiosity.
What did your father do by profession?
He was a madrasa teacher; an Ula certified teacher. However, he never sent me to any madrasa for my education. He used to wear long jubbahs. Those long dresses were green, because he believed that the prophet (pubh) used to wear green jubbahs. He had developed an infatuation for telling the truth. He used to give only one advice: ‘always speak the truth’. Once, at a very young age, I got him trapped in a dumbstruck situation about telling the truth. Will you listen to that story?
Yes, with pleasure.
I was in grade seven. My father was sitting on the prayer mat after performing the Maghrib prayer. He would get up after finishing the Isha prayer. He used to do jikir in the gap between the two prayers. However, he used to talk about the familial household things too. In that day, he asked me to sit beside him on the mat. I did so. He recited some Quranic verses and prayed for me, putting his right hand upon my head. And then gave me the advice as usual, “listen son, you will always have to speak the truth. Always the truth, no matter what comes.” I told him,” father, let’s say, you are sitting on a boat which is anchored on the bank of a river. A girl, apparently in danger, came running towards the boat and hid herself under the deck of the boat. Some mischievous goons were chasing the girl. A few moments after the girl hid herself, a gang of dacoits reached the spot and told you that they were searching for a girl and asked you if you had seen any girl around moving towards any direction. Will you speak the truth in reply?”
My father looked at me in the blank eyes of disappointment for a while and told me, “Argument over stupid things is not good, son.”
The candle was blown out by the winds again. Misir Ali lit the candle.
I asked him if it was the beginning of his studies of logic.
Yes, my father had made the inception. But not logic; his interest was in critical reasoning. Hypothesis based on logical analysis, you can say.
Please tell me more about it.
Father had a special weakness for me. My mother died when I was two. I brought up without the affection of my mother. It was painful for him. So, he played various types of games with me to amuse me. The main sport was shaking a tin-can after putting some marbles inside it. After shaking for a while he used to ask me how many marbles were there. If you can, I will give you lozenge as the prize.
I would tell any number without giving it a thought. But after opening the can it would be found that my answer was wrong. Father used to tell me,” Don’t go for any blind intuition, son. Think and analyze and then make a hypothesis. If there is only one marble, it will create a sound against the tin. If there are two, there will be two different types of sounds; one against the tin and the other being created by the marbles crashing into each other. And the sound will vary likewise, if there are three marbles. You have to focus on the sounds created. There is only one difference between an animal and a human being. Man can think, while the other one can’t.”
I told,” Father, even the animals may have the ability to think, but they just can’t share it.”
My father let out a long sigh. He had to do so a lot many times because of me. Kind of disappointment regarding the future of his son was embedded in those long sighs of despair. Okay, forget about my father. You have come to listen to the story of any of my unsolved cases. I will tell you one.
But, the stories of your father sound more interesting to me. Tell me more about him. His game with the sounds of the marble balls was really amazing. I don’t think, any other father plays such games with his sons.
The unsolved case is about the safe of my father. In this sense this will be the story of my father too. Can I start?
Yes, please.
My father had a safe. It was a really big one. It was made of ironed wood. I didn’t know what the ironed wood means. My father used to tell that the ironed woods were so hard that even the iron nails wouldn’t be driven into it. However, it is my assumption that the safe was made of seasoned Burmese teak. Brass made floral designs were curved on the upper surface of the safe. There were two keys for the safe; one was about six inches long. Both the keys were made of silver. The keys were always tied to the thread-made belt in his waist. He always kept those keys along him; even during the time of taking showers.
In my childhood days, I used to think that there were gold-made kitchen crockeries in the safe. In those days I used to listen to the stories of such things being floated up the surface of rivers. According to the law of Archimedes, they are not supposed to float above the water surface. But, you see, the childhood is free from all those laws of the nature.
Let’s go back to the story of the safe. There was a shital pati (a mat made from murta plants) laid over the safe and my father used to sleep on it. He never used any pillow; he just kept his head over the palm of his right hand. When I was a little kid, I used to sleep beside my father.
As I grew older, I had to move into a bed, as it no longer provided enough room for two of us. It’s not that my father slept long. He usually spent most of the night, worshiping the Almighty. A kerosene lamp kept lit on all through the night. My father was scared of the darkness. You will understand it well, if I tell you a story of a night. I abruptly woke up at the middle of the night. The room was dark. A glimpse of moon light was seen through the window. He was clasping me around tight and was shivering a bit in fear. I asked, “what had happened, father.” He replied, “Alas! Son, a great mishap has happened. The kerosene lamp has been put out. There is no more kerosene left in stock at home. I forgot to check it earlier.”
I told him that there was a candle.
My father seemed to have got back his life from being snatched away. He somehow managed to quaver, “Is there a candle really? Where?”
I brought him the candle from the earthen pot kept inside a hanging carrier. And my father kept murmuring repeatedly, “All the praises be to Allah, the most Kind, the most Merciful.”
The candle was lit. I saw that the face of my father got pale and blanched in extreme fear. There were sweats all over his forehead. I asked him why he was so afraid of the darkness.
My father muttered out, “Yes, there is a fact indeed. But, I can’t tell you that. You are too young and you will get scared.”
All on a sudden heavy sound of hopping up and down shattered the silence outside the home. I asked, “What happened, father?”
Father replied that wicked creatures were strolling outside the home. He was repeatedly murmuring Ayat-al-kursi (a Quranic verse) in an attempt to exorcise the evil spirits.
How old were you then?
I was in grade five, aged about nine to ten years. Listen to the story carefully. Father was trembling in fear while clasping me tight in his both arms. The sounds of heavy footsteps continued; not incessantly and with little pauses. I said that someone might be doing the rice-husking in a dheki (a manual rice-husking tool). It must be the sound of dheki.
Don’t talk like a stupid. Is there any dheki room behind my house?
The sound is coming from far actually. As it is night, it seems to be coming from a closer distance.
Who would use dheki at this hour of deep night?
In Hindu households they begin rice-husking before the dawn. And it will be morning soon.
As soon as I stopped, the sound of Adhan for the Fajr prayer came in. Putting his hand over my head, father prayed for me and expressed his gratitude to the Almighty Allah for blessing me with such intelligence.
Was it the first case you solved as Misir Ali?
You can say that. But along with solving the mystery of the sound of dheki in that night, I figured out one more thing for the first time. My father was a sick man. I didn’t know anything about the nature of his illness, but got realized that he was a very sick person. Now I know the name of the illness he had been suffering from is ‘paranoia’ in the context of psychology. He remained always tensed in afraid of something. He behaved somehow paranoiac and believed that there was a conspiracy to kill him.
Father quit his job as the madrasa teacher, as the Shen Bari residence was on the way to the madrasa. That part of the road pierced through a deep jungle. He believed that there were some evil things that used to wait out there to capture him. One day he was nearly captured by them, but somehow he managed to escape in great efforts.
Let me tell one more example of my father’s abnormal mental state. Once he brought home a senior madrasa student. He whispered into my ears, “This man is not a human being; he is a gene. He studies in the madrasa in the guise of a man.”
I asked him, “How do you know that?”
Everybody knows that. One day he was lying on his bed in the madrasa hostel. He needed a book which was on a table, a few meters away from his bed. Without getting up from his bed, he just stretched his hand up to that table and fetched that book.
Who have seen that?
His roommate has seen the incident himself. He told everyone about it.
So, what’s the name of this creature?
Kalam. He is very genius student.
The gene named Kalam was having lunch with us with koi fish curry. At one point he got a fishbone stuck inside his throat and became very impatient in pain.
I asked my father, “How a fishbone could get stuck in his throat? He is a gene after all.”
You see, he is in the guise of a human being. That’s why it could be happened.
But he can easily get rid of it by transforming himself back to a gene for a few moments.
Father got confused on the idea and said, “Hum, it’s a good point to consider too.”
After quitting the teaching job, father kept staying at home all through the day. Keeping the safe clean with rags became his main concern. He kept mopping up the dust out of it. He also used to apply castor oil to clean it. In earlier he used the oil it once a month, but now, he started doing it every week. However, he never opened the lid of the safe. One day I asked, “What’s in the safe, father?”
Father replied, “You don’t need to bother about what is inside the safe. Don’t ever come close to this safe. Concentrate on your studies. You have to take the scholarship exam in grade five. Try hard to obtain the scholarship. You will have to study on your own. I can’t afford the expense.”
To Be Finished in Part 2....
