Dr. Rashid Askari: Fiction writer, critic, columnist, teacher, and social analyst.

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Dr. Rashid Askari is one of the handful of writers in Bangladesh who write both Bengali and English with equal ease and efficiency. Born on 1st June, 1965 in a sleepy little town of Rangpur in Bangladesh, he took an Honours and a Master's in English from Dhaka University with distinction, and a PhD in Indian English literature from the University of Poona. He is now a professor of English at Kushtia Islamic University.


Rashid Askari has emerged as a writer in the mid-nineties of the last century, and has, by now, written half a dozen books, and quite a large number of research articles, essays, and newspaper columns in Bengali and English published at home and abroad. His two Bengali books: Indo-English Literature and Others (Dhaka-1996) and Postmodern Literary and Critical Theory (Dhaka-2002) and one English book : The Wounded Land deserve special mention. He also writes short fictions in Bengali and English. His first short-story book in Bengali Today's Folktale was published in 1997. Another short-story book in English is awaiting publication. Currently, he is working on an English fiction.


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Tuesday, November 15, 2011

The Human Cow

 Short Story by Dr. Rashid Askari
Ambia could never think of it. Never ever. This is absurd. Simply weird! How can things come to such a strange pass? How can a woman be yoked to a plough together with a cow? It's quite unthinkable!
Unimaginable! But facts prove stranger than fiction in Ambia's life. She herself is doing what was even beyond her wildest dream. She is pulling one end of the yoke with the cow on the other. She is trying to keep pace with the front feet of the cow. The yoke on the rugged neck of the cow and in the crook of her arms is failing to maintain enough equilibrium to pull the plough causing inconvenience to both the woman and the cow. The cow turns her head and looks at her strange counterpart with large moist eyes.  Ambia tries to ease the cow. She is big with young. Ambia's husband Kasem is guiding the plough from behind. The curved blade of the plough is digging and turning over the soil. Long furrows are being left behind.
Kasem heaves a sigh of relief. It's really a big relief. He couldn't have saved his neck if he hadn't made this unique plough team by today. Things seem to have taken care of themselves. Kasem does not know what it is called. Is it fortune? If so, fortune has smiled upon him. He has been able to play safe. Now he can be done with Keramot's job before long. Maybe, at the initial stage, this grotesque agro venture is not working smoothly, but soon, Kasem believes, it will do. It will get used to dissolving all disequilibrium and Ambia and the cow will nicely team up with each other. So, Kasem may need at best twenty days to finish off Keramot's task. Then he will be free from all bounden duties. It is expected to happen to him. Otherwise he must have to face the music.  Keramot Bepari is a tough nut to crack. Had Kasem failed to keep his word today, he would have come to do what he threatened him with yesterday. He is the last man to consider Kasem's plea. Thank God Ambia has narrowly saved him at this go. Kasem wonders how she has realized the crux of the problem and solved it as if by magic. When his future looks completely black after the sudden seizure of his plough-cow by the Grameen Bank credit officers for breach of loan repayment contract, she appears before him like a living goddess. She is willingly doing what is totally unbecoming of a woman. Kasem however is not without any sense of guilt. It is sure beneath the dignity of his manhood that he has used his wife as an animal to serve his purpose. He too could have done the same. But he didn't. Has he then escaped it on pretext of chest pain? He is doing other work with his pain. Then why has he avoided it and tactfully passed onto his wife? Is it not a howling shame on the part of a husband?  But what can he do? Can he really help it? Kasem cannot think any more. He seems to have no obvious choice of his own. He is being dogged by the specter of harsh reality of everyday existence.
 Kasem and Ambia are married twenty years. Ambia is his second wife and fifteen years his younger. His first wife died in childbirth. Three months after he married Ambia, a full figure in a red-bordered sari and red blouse. She had long black hair hanging down to her hips. When she wore it in plaits tying at the end  with a brilliant red ribbon, had kohl in her eyes and a small roundish black mark on her forehead  with a slight touch of  Kohinoor's Tibbet talc , she looked like a fairy descending  to Kasem's thatched house. Kasem would stare at her face and call her a wings-clipped fairy. Ambia would lower her eyes.
Kasem was always scared of losing his wife like a burnt child treading the fire. He still recalls that dreadful night when his first wife died. The unskilled village nurses made the delivery difficult. He heard his wife screaming out terribly in pain. Maybe they were trying to pull the baby out with all their might. At long last, the baby came out but not alive. The mother bled to death. Kasem did not any longer want his second wife to suffer the same fate. He promised to take her to the Thana hospital during delivery. She would give birth to a live baby. A baby boy. He needed a son to stand by him in weal and woe. Kasem counted his chicks. But they didn't hatch. He could never put his wife in the family way. She was taken to the fakirs, dervishes, and saints and wore amulets, drank charm-water, but all attempts came badly unstuck. Now villagers call her a sterile woman. Nosey neighbors don't want to see her ominous face getting out of bed early in the morning. Some even laugh in their face. But Ambia keeps her lips sealed. She has to grin and bear it.
 The day when the loan officers took away Kasem's cow at broad daylight, the sky over his head fell apart. They did not give him enough chance before the last straw. They even did not take into consideration the monga crisis.   Now Kasem realizes that the champions of this micro credit are all wind. They are virtually crueler than the Borgi (the Mahratha cavalry in the 18th century Bengal) His cows were the real bread winner of his family. As a small contract ploughman, he barely earns his living. He himself cannot work hard for his chronic pain in the chest. During the last monga  he borrowed money from Keramot Bepari conditional upon ploughing five bighas of his land. Failing that will amount from closure of further loan to lock-up. So Kasem went to inform Keramot of everything that happened. Keramot was catching fish in his pond with a line and a hook. When Kasem appeared, he droped him a hint to sit by waving his hand and concentrated on the float in full water. Kasem broke the silence by giving a gentle cough.
"How are you Kasem Miah? How are things going along?" Keramot's eyes were fixed intently on the float.
"I'm not fine, Keramot Bhai, I've got into big trouble." Kasem replied diffidently.
"Your cow has been taken by the field officer." Kasem gave him a knowing look.
"Yes, Keramot Bhai, I'm finished.I'm a goner." cried Kasem in an injured voice.
 "You asked for it. I forbade you to take loan from them. You turned a deaf ear.
Anyway, don't worry. After all you're my neighbor. I bear some responsibility for you." Keramot sympathized with Kasem.
"How can I ask your favor again?
"Don't be bothered. Take as much as you need. Buy another cow." Keramot baited a trap.
"No, no, I won't sink into the sea of debt. How can I pay it back? Kasem smelt a rat.
"Don't bother your pretty little head about that. Leave it all to me. You'll just give your thumb mark on a piece of paper. It's a mere formality. After you pay back, I'll tear the paper. You now think.  A lot of money.  A new cow. Treatment of your wife's sterility. A new baby." Keramot shot his last bolt.
Kasem felt giddy. Everything seemed to be spinning around him. Keramot must have an eye to his small homestead. His home. Sweet darling home. He can sleep tight in the gentle breeze under his bamboo grove even on an empty stomach. He cannot lose it like his cow. It is his last resort. He is sticking to it in memory of his forefathers. He would prefer dying to disowning it. 
"Keramot Bhai, I don't need your money anymore. You please allow me some time more and I'll finish doing your task anyhow." Kasem grew desperate.
"You ungrateful dog! I now get why people say two-footed animals shouldn't be helped anyway. You do whatever you like. I want my job done in no time. By any manner of means."  Keramot flared up when he saw the opportunity was going out of his hand.
Keramot felt gutted but did not give up. He knelt in supplication.
"Please don't be so unkind to me. I beseech you. How can I plough your land so shortly with one cow?
"I'm not supposed to know the way. I only know you've to do it most urgently. If you have no second cow, do it yourself." Keramot no longer considerd him as foolish as he was painted.  
"I'm an ailing man. How can I pull the plough myself?" Kasem tried to argue.
Keramot reached the last syllable of patience.
"You have another cow at your home. You can jolly well yoke her to the plough."
"What do you mean?" Kasem caught his breath in an unknown fear.
"It's as clear as day. Ambia can draw your plough. She is a husky woman and can do it much better than your old scraggy cows." Keramot explained as if it is a normal course of events. 
Keramot's words appeared as a thunderbolt to Kasem. His face wore a doleful expression. But he replied in a rather firm tone of voice.
  "It's impossible."
  Kasem's reply worked like a red rag to a bull.
 "Then pay back my money to the last farthing."
Keramot demanded his pound of flesh. He did not like to waste his sympathy on scum like that. Kasem could not reply. He had no reply to such a thing. He came back home with a sore heart. He realized he had so far knocked his head against a brick wall.
Kasem cannot forget about Keramot;s words. They are still ringing in his ears. There is no option but to accept his proposal. However indecent it is. He is an unfeeling brute. He can go to any lengths to achieve his ends. Kasem has already finished spending the borrowed money .To pay him back now is out of the question and to plough his land with one cow is next to impossible. He is between the devil and the deep blue sea. He can neither defeat the devil nor can he swim the sea.
He is taking his night meal sitting on a small wooden seat near to the earthen stove at one corner of the courtyard. But the food is not going down his throat. Ambia is serving food as usual. After Kasem finishes she will take her meal. These days she is not eating with her husband lest his food be short. They are not having a square meal for months. Kasem has developed hollow cheeks. But Ambia remains the same. Monga does not leave any mark on her body. She has got only a slight tan in her skin. Apart from her household chores she nowadays has to help her husband in the field. Kasem's unease cannot escape Ambia's notice. She asks him in a low and caring voice:
"Is there anything wrong with you?"  
"No." Kasem gives a very curt reply. 
"You can't escape my eyes. Tell me what ails you.
"Keramot is forcing to pay his money back."
"How's that! Ambia's voice rises in tension.
"If I fail to plough his land in the nick of time, he'll force my hand to do that."
Kasem heaves a sigh of exasperation.
"If you don't pay…" Ambia is in a real sweat about the consequence. She tries to envisage the worst case scenario.
"He'll commit me to jail or oust me from my home. He is worse than the loan officers. The least he'll do is to refuse further loan." That's even the worst for us in monga time." Kasem is overcome with a terrible fear called hunger.
In the last monga, he was about to die of that. Hardly a day passed when he could eat the stuff called rice. A plateful of steaming rice with a pinch of salt and a green chilli was the most coveted thing on earth. The strange dish which Ambia cooked him everyday was scarcely edible. It was basically for animals not for humans. The banana plant cut into smaller pieces and boiled with salt and turmeric would turn into such an unpalatable dish which could only fill the hungry stomach. That was, however, sometimes replaced by bamboo shoots. The repeated intake of that herbivorous dish was not borne with by his stomach much longer. It got upset and led to severe cholera. He survived the plight but as walking skeleton. 
"Is there way out?" Ambia can well read her husband's thoughts.
"Yes, there is."
"What's that?  Tell me what that is." Ambia feels seriously concerned about their crisis. 
"I have to pull the yoke myself with the cow on the other side." Kasem finishes the words at a single breath.
"How can you do that? You've a bad pain in the chest." Ambia is solicitous for her husband's comfort. 
"Suffering pains of chest is far better than suffering pangs of hunger." Kasem is once bitten and twice shy.
"Both are bad. But don't worry. We'll rid us of both." Ambis keeps a stiff upper lip.  Her last words sound resolute.
"But how?" There are shades of disbelief in Kasem's eyes. But he tries to catch at a straw. 
It is midday. The sun is blazing hot. Kasem and Ambia are still in the field. It has to be ploughed and harrowed by today. It is the turn to harrow. Ambia and   
the cow  are dragging the harrow over the ploughed soil to break up lumps of earth. Ambia is breathing in short pants with a sway of her breasts. The bottom of her sari is lifted to her knees to allow longer footsteps. Its loose end is tightly wrapped around her waist. Her legs are covered in a thick layer of dust. Sweat is running off her body and soaking into the blouse. But she is taking no heed of this. She is pulling the yoke along with her animal pair. She is no longer feeling small. She accepts her place.
This is female province. She is full of pity for the cow. Strings of saliva are issuing from her mouth. She is with calf but not exempt from work. Ambia feels closer to the cow.

Co-wife
It was an early summer stormy night. The rain was pouring down. A peal of thunder was rumbling with frequent lightening. The brilliant flashes were making an interplay of light and shade. The constant chirp of crickets rhythmically blending with the croaks of frogs broke the still of the night. It was sort of creepy down Nuruzzaman's home in the village of Kanchanpur. A human shadow was cast on the bamboo wall of his room. It seemed of a woman. The woman walked on tiptoe, and stood by the window bolted on the inside. She tried to eavesdrop on something inside the dark room. A light jingle accompanied by soft giggles was heard within it. The woman pricked up her ears. The heavy rain pattering on the tin-roof could not resist her hearing the broken whispers and hushed conversations between the sexes. Again jingle, giggles, groans, moans. The wooden bedstead started creaking at the highest pitch. The woman's heart went pit-a-pat. She could not bear it any longer, and vanished in the dark.
Nuruzzaman sighs ecstatically. After a long time he is on a real high. Enfolded in his new wife's arms, he is feeling very warm and secure. He presses her to his chest. A professional potter kneading the dough of clay. He tries to pierce more and more to hurl at the deepest end. This time he is sure of success. His new wife must be very fertile, and sure will bear him a child in next ten months and ten days. Nuruzzaman is a lucky chap indeed! At his mid-forties he has got a budding woman as his wife. It was totally to the credit of his first wife—Bilqis. Bilqis is also a fine woman. But she is sterile. Nuruzzaman, however, was happy with her. As a matter of fact, he did not want to remarry. Although he had a passion for fatherhood, that was not at the cost of his wife's happiness. It was Bilqis herself who paved the way. She kept egging him on to go for a second marriage. She is really great! Nuruzzaman admits his defeat to her.  She has sacrificed everything for him. She has shared even her man with a co-wife. Nuruzzaman feels a bit guilty.
When Bilqis came into his life, Nuruzzaman was virtually on the breadline. She brings in good fortune for him. The family thrives on the quality of the bride. Everything turns full to the brim. Fields full of crops, pond of fish, cattle-shed of cattle. Still a nagging discontent lies dormant at the bottom of his heart. It is the hunger for which he is eating his heart out. Nuruzzaman feels completely destitute. Bilqis has given him everything except for one. She could not bear him a child. What would become of his properties, if he dies without issue? He has tried for last ten years, but to no avail. Bilqis must be a barren woman. But Nuruzzaman's love for her did not fade. It was good that she understood his real state of mind. She herself arranged everything for his remarriage. Even she prepared the wedding bed with her own hands.
Bilqis rushes to her room like one possessed and slams the door shut. She buries her face in the pillow, and sobs her heart out. But it dissolves in torrents of rain. She does not know why she is feeling so uneasy, so turbulent. Isn't she really being able to stomach the share of her husband? Then why has she invited a co-wife, and allowed her share and share alike? Bilqis is suicidally shocked. The slinky whispers, flirty giggles, gratifying groans, pleasing moans, and suggestive bed-squeak –everything –everything she has heard with her own ears. It is impossible to grin and bear it. It has added fire to the flames smouldering under ashes. She feels in the bones that she is not sterile. She is capable enough to bring forth. Her fecund field was never properly seeded. But she did not mind it. She chose to forgo her motherhood for the sake of conjugal harmony. She could not believe that Nuruzzaman would grab at the remarriage offer. This is what the male are like! They are really nor worthy of love. They always have a roving eye, and know only the opposite body, not their mind. All they want is a screw! Bilqis wonders how her long-married husband was sleeping in the arms of a new woman! There was not a scintilla of compunction in the man about it. He could not feel that the wistful eyes of his old wife glided silently past. Bilqis is left with a feeling of deep hurt.
The pond comes into view through the back window of Bilqis' room. It is a sunken pond known as  padma pukur (pond of lily) .Diverse water-lilies have beautiful bloom in monsoon in this pond. In the shimmering light of the moon, the milky-white lilies floating scattered on the placid waters of the pond look like the stars glimmering in the sky at night. In the midst of the white flowers has blown a large scarlet lily. It seems to have impudently lifted its head above the waters like an uncurled cobra raising its hood. In the gentle breeze the floral cobra sways its hood so spectacularly that Bilqis takes a fancy to it. She wants to touch it, smell it. She can do it right now. Bablu is bathing in the pond. She can ask him for it.

It is a real scorcher! Bablu has just come back from the fields and tied the bullocks to the betel-nut trees by the manger. The sweat is running off his unclad body. A tall, dark, and athletic figure. He tucks up his lungi and wades waste-deep in the pond. The powerful muscular thighs do not fail to catch Bilqis' eye. She stares at his half-sunk body—fine wavy hair, broad shoulders, and chest like mahishashur, trampled down by the goddess Durga. Bilqis does not understand why she now feels roused by Bablu's bodily attraction. She has known him since she came into this house as a new bride. He was then a half-pant wearing boy. A distant cousin of Nuruzzaman, he was brought to the fieldwork. But he is not a servant. He is one of the household mixing freely with everybody. Bilqis can still recall the day when she was given a bumpy ride to her father in law's house in a bullock cart driven by Bablu. Straddling the narrow neck of the cart when Bablu twisted the bullocks' tails and poked them in the bellies with his toes in order to urge them forward, the cart gained kinetic speed and bumped along the earthen streets like a racing chariot. Sitting under the cart-awning, the new bride jerked back and forth. "Slow, slow. Please drive slow. I'm afraid, I may fall off."  Bilqis gave an imploring look as Bablu turned to look at her. "What's this humbled servant here for, if his mistress falls off the cart before his very eyes?" Bablu tried to reassure her in a jokey tone of voice. "Actually they're my pankhiraj " ( mythical flying horses). Puffed up with pride, he pointed to the bullocks and made a sign by clicking his tongue several times. The elephantine animals slowed down like a pair of tame sheep. The bride feels a warm blush rise to her cheeks.
The relation between Bilqis and Bablu grows thick over the years. But it never trespasses on the boundaries of decencies and social codes. Bablu buys her jarda (scented tobacco preparation taken with betel-leaves) on every market day. This is an unwritten pact made solely between these two people. Bilqis prepares the betel-leaf with other accessories, rolls it into a small conical cup, and puts into her mouth so gracefully that the whole course of action gives her a matronly air. After a few minutes of chewing, her lips turn reddened, and mouth gives off a sweet aroma of Shahajadi jarda. Bablu, however, does not like the betel-leaf himself, but is hugely entertained by her chewing it with obvious relish, and speaking with a slight lisp.  Once he felt prompted and took the betel-leaf with jarda. That was a terrible experience! His whole body heated up, ears and forehead sweated profusely, and the room kept swimming before his eyes.
"How do you take these rubbish bhabi ?"  Bablu gave Bilqis a mock scolding.
"Oh, my golden moon! Where are you from? London? Bilqis made a strange sound with a smack of her lips in order to pull his leg. But she did not forget giving him a glass of cold water.
These days Bilqis develops a different feeling for Bablu, which she had never before. Bablu seems to be the lone man whom, she thinks, she can bare her heart to.
"Are you bathing Bablu?" Bilqis asks from the bank of the pond.
Submerged from the waist down, Bablu is rubbing his body thoroughly with his hands to clean himself up. He raises his head and sees Bilqis.
"Sure, as I'm standing here." Bablu responds with a rare flash of smile.
"Could you fetch me the red lily?" asks Bilkis a bit childishly.
"A hundred times, madam." I can fetch you anything from any place in the world, for the asking, let alone the merest flower." Bablu replies promptly like a romantic chivalrous lover. And before he completes uttering the last words, he starts swimming towards the lily with long mighty strokes. He plucks the lily along with its tubular trunk, and swims back by one hand holding the flower high with the other. Soaked to the skin, he climbs up the pond bank and stands by Bilqis. The scarlet lily is in his hand stretched out towards her. Bilqis furtively runs her eyes over his naked body .The soaking wet lungi  stuck to the thighs by the side pressure of the air betrays the existence of his virility. Bilqis snatches the lily from his hand and moves towards her room with short quick steps. She utters something in low undertones, which Bablu listens but cannot hear very well. Bablu is surprised. He cannot take in what she really means. As a matter of fact, he notices some changes in her behaviour after the second marriage of her husband. He still cannot make out why Bilqis has invited the crocodile up by digging the canal herself. Now, she is always in the fidgets like an arrow-hit doe. Bablu cannot take it easy. Why should a good woman like Bilqis suffer a co-wife?
There is, however, no apparent change in Nuruzzaman's behaviour towards Bilqis.  He always tries to exhibit his gratefulness to her. He seldom misses the chance to remind her that he would have been the last man to remarry if she had not hustled him into it. He then seeks to justify the decision followed by immediate action. He does not forget to reiterate that this remarriage is just nothing but a means of giving Bilqis herself an issue via her co-wife. Bilqis keeps mum. She can catch on to everything.  All what the man called husband is giving is cold comfort.  In reality, he is far away from her both physically and mentally. He does not have enough time to spend the night with her. At times he, however, dutifully sleeps with her and plays the hubby quite mechanically. Bilqis had a very bitter recollection the other day while they were having intercourse. Nuruzzaman quite suddenly withdrew himself with a sharp pull and brought about a dry end. Bilqis understood everything. Nuruzzaman did not want to sow the seed in the barren soil. He did not want to waste it. He reserved it for a piece of fertile land. Bilqis never felt so small before in her life. Her eyes were flashing angrily. She remained speechless with fury.
A dirty night of Shravana. It has been pouring since evening. The sky darkens as the storm approaches. It is blowing gale outside. Storm clouds are gathering on the horizon. The rain shows no sign of stopping. Bilqis is waiting for Bablu in her room in the dim glow of the oil-lamp. She knows Bablu must come to give her the jarda  pack , no matter what the weather is like. A real thrill is stirring the blood. Bilqis takes the little mirror in her hand and glances at her face in it. She applies khol to the eyes and lightly rubs some face powder in the face, on the neck. A sweet smell is emitted out of it. Suddenly the door bursts open and Bablu rushes in with an unfurled umbrella held over his head. Water is dripping down from the edges of the metal spits of the umbrella.
"What a cloudburst! It's sure going to be a deluge." Bablu keeps standing at the door and extends his hand with the bazaar bag to Bilqis.
"Here you're madam. Your betel-leaves and jarda   packet."
Bilqis does not hold the bag. She takes the umbrella from his hand, rolls it, and keeps at a corner of the room. All of a sudden, the thunder crashes overhead. Bilqis jumps up, hugs Bablu to her bosom and gives a shiver of fear. Bablu feels very awkward. He slowly slackens her grip, and attempts to leave the room. Bilqis hysterically rushes to the door and slams it shut. She drags Bablu headlong to the bed.
"How dare you ignore me?" She hisses. "You'll be here tonight. I'm in great peril. It's you, and only you, who can save me. Tell me. Won't you protect me from this danger? Bilqis buries her face in  Bablu's chest, and starts sobbing into it. Bablu gets flabbergasted. He keeps his hand on her head, and asks softly, "How? How can I help you? Tell me how's it possible? "Bablu is filled with great compassion for Bilqis.
Bilqis drops on the bed along with Bablu. A gust of wind blows up the tiny flame of the paraffin lamp. The room is plunged into complete darkness. Two blind bodies frantically start groping around each other. In less than no time, they find what they look for. Had there been light you could have seen a queer creature with two backs, four legs, and four arms. Nobody knows how long the quadruped lives, but everybody knows it rains the whole night.
Bilqis has been sick for a few days. She develops a distaste for food and vomits up all she eats. There are tell-tale signs which the village physician can read. After a plain check-up, the fusty old quack reclines on the chair with a broad smile on his face and proclaims:" Nuruzzaman sahib, God has smiled upon you."
Nuruzzaman's first wife is big with child contrary to all expectations. The news spreads like wildfire. The home is in floods of joy. A new guest is joining the family to preserve the lineage. Nuruzzaman is going to rid himself of the long-borne social stigma of being issueless. Now, he is very happy. A great sense of relief floods over him. After a long time he enters Bilqis' room with a surge of excitement.
" Bou". Shame-faced Nuruzzaman calls her fondly.
Bilqis is staring vacantly into space.
"I know I've done you a great wrong. I'm dreadfully sorry about that. Please forgive me. Let me feel peace of mind." Nuruzzaman looks suitably repentant.
Bilqis speaks no words. A tear rolls down her cheek.
At dead of night, Bablu wakes to a harsh sound. The door creaks open. He jumps up, and sits down on his bed. He sees a dim figure approaching through the gloom. He rubs his eyes and tries to see clearly. The figure speaks up in a hushed tone of voice.
"Bablu, it's me. Your bhabi. Please light the lamp."
Bablu follows the command as if under hypnosis. He takes the match-box from under his pillow, and strikes a match with trembling hands. The box is so damp that the matches do not light even after several tries. A torch is flashed and it shines its light on a small packet wrapped in the loose end of Bilqis' sari.  She undoes the packet, and puts some gold ornaments on the bed. They are rings, bangles, necklaces, ear-rings, nose-rings etc. 
"Keep them into your bag." Bilqis' voice is unusually cold. She continues: "By tomorrow you'll leave this home for good. Marry a beautiful girl, and give her these ornaments. I want you to live a happy life with your new wife. But out of my sight. You'll eat my head if you don't obey my word." Bilqis flashes the torch at the door, and rushes out of the room. Bablu is dumbfounded. But he knows her wish is his command.

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