Defying her mother’s pleas, Sulekha stepped out of the house today, driven by sheer stubbornness. Her mother had wanted to keep the little girl with her, but Sulekha didn’t listen. A fierce, uncontrollable rage had clouded her judgment. Once she reached the station and her anger began to settle, she considered going back and leaving her daughter with her mother. But by then, the train had already arrived at the platform. There was no time to reconsider. In the rush of passengers, she climbed aboard, clutching her three-year-old daughter Afsana tightly under her arm. No matter what, she was going to Dhaka today.
Her mother had pleaded countless times with her younger son Julhas to go and check on his brother-in-law. Sulekha had wanted the same. But her drug-addicted brother had no regard for their concerns. He was lost in his own schemes. Eleven months had passed with his empty promises of “I’ll go soon,” but how many more! Sulekha decided to go herself. She made the decision just last evening.
By chance, Sulekha found a seat on the train. The man beside her, with a stern face, glanced at them once and then turned toward the window. Even after all this time, Sulekha hadn’t seen him look around much. He had spoken on the phone a few times, always facing away. He sat stiffly, careful not to touch them. At first, sitting next to such a stern-looking man made Sulekha uneasy. What if he tried to brush against her or find an excuse to touch her? But his detached demeanor and rigid posture eventually eased her discomfort.
Her daughter slept soundly in her lap, face buried in her mother’s chest. Once she woke up, she’d be hungry and start crying. Sulekha hadn’t brought any food for her. She regretted her impulsiveness. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn, she could’ve left in a more organized way. If Pinu aunty hadn’t come over last evening with that disturbing news and a flood of harsh words, and if her mother hadn’t shown such interest in it; perhaps Sulekha wouldn’t have left like this. Eleven months had already passed; what harm would a few more days have done?
The man’s phone rang again. Though he spoke in a low voice, Sulekha strained to listen. It sounded like he was reassuring someone. His tone carried a kind of tenderness. Afsana’s father used to speak like that too. Ah, how long it’s been since she heard his voice! There’s been no news of him. Tears welled up in Sulekha’s eyes, threatening to spill. A young woman crying on a crowded train with a child in her arms might be a curious sight for the passengers, but for her, it was deeply embarrassing. She fought hard to hold back her tears.
Sulekha was still stunned by how cruel Pinu aunty’s words had been. Her husband might be sick, anything could’ve happened. In their four and a half years of marriage, he had never behaved like this. Gafur uncle claimed to have seen her husband, Rahmat Ali, near Mirpur in Dhaka, riding a rickshaw with an unfamiliar woman. Pinu aunty had come over last evening, brimming with excitement, and said all sorts of things. She had no filter. She told Sulekha to her face that her husband had grown bored of her and was now interested in someone else. Just because he hadn’t contacted her didn’t mean he had remarried! Besides, people often mistake one person for another. Who knows whom Gafur uncle actually saw?
Maybe there was a problem at his workplace. Anything could be the reason.
“When husbands live far away, women have to hear all kinds of things. And trusting men? Their nature is like flies drawn to open food,” her mother had muttered as she walked into the kitchen. That was when Sulekha made up her mind. No matter what, she was going to Dhaka in the morning. She would see with her own eyes what her husband, Rahmat Ali, Assistant Supervisor at Johnny Garments, was really up to.
Sulekha shifted uneasily. In her anger, she had left without relieving herself, and now the pressure was mounting. It was always her habit to use the toilet before stepping out of the house. But this morning, when her mother erupted at the news of her sudden plan to go to Dhaka, Sulekha, stubborn as ever, had declared she would leave immediately, without delay. Absorbed in the heated exchange, she forgot the last-minute necessity of going to the bathroom. Already restless with the thought that her sleepy daughter might wake and start crying at any moment, the added pressure of her bladder made her feel helpless. These local trains, after all, had no bathrooms. Had her husband been with her, she would have had a companion to lean on in such an awkward predicament. She released the long sigh rising from her chest into the stray gust of wind slipping in through the train window. Then sat waiting with the resolve that, once they reached Akhaura Junction, she would find relief and also arrange something to eat for her daughter.
Aminul felt the train was crawling forward, unbearably slow. By now, he could’ve reached the outskirts of Dhaka on foot, or so it seemed. Though he was restless inside, his face remained oddly impassive, an instinctive detachment he’d long mastered. The call had come just last night: his mother had been admitted to the hospital. But there was no way to get to Dhaka overnight. For the past few months, she’d been staying at his sister’s place in the city. She’d seemed fine. What had happened so suddenly? Aminul’s heart was heavy.
When the train stopped at Laksam, a woman boarded with her child, pushing through the crowd to the front. Seeing her, Aminul instinctively sat a little more tightly. The person beside him shifted slightly, making room for the woman to sit with her child in her lap. The child’s innocent, angelic face seemed to clear some of the clouds in Aminul’s heart. There’s something divine about children. Even without looking closely, Aminul could sense the woman was troubled by something. The child soon fell asleep in her arms, and Aminul began to doze off while watching the rice fields pass by outside.
As the train reached Akhaura station, the woman suddenly turned to him and said, “Brother, could you please watch my child for a moment? I’ll go get some bananas and biscuits for her.”
Without waiting for his reply, she hurried off through the crowd. Aminul held the child and watched through the window as the woman disappeared; not toward the shops, but deeper into the platform. What was going on? A few minutes later, the train began to move, but the woman hadn’t returned. Aminul looked out, trying to spot her. Had she abandoned the child? What kind of person does that? How was he supposed to handle this now?
As the train picked up speed and left the station, nearby passengers began to worry too. They tried to reassure him, maybe she got on the wrong carriage and would return at the next stop. But station after station passed, and there was no sign of her. The child remained asleep, and Aminul held her with one arm, his mind now in turmoil. Should he rush to the hospital once in Dhaka, or take care of this child? What if he couldn’t find the woman even after reaching?
By the time the train reached Dhaka, it was 3 PM. The child had woken up and immediately asked for her mother. Aminul told her she was in the next carriage. The child insisted, “I want to go to my mother.” He reassured her gently.
At Kamalapur Station, the crowd was overwhelming. Porters rushed around with loads on their heads, and passengers bustled in every direction. Aminul held the child tightly. She was silent, frightened. She had never seen so many people before. Her mother was nowhere nearby, and a stranger was leading her somewhere she didn’t understand.
Aminul pushed through the crowd, searching for the woman. How could he find her among so many people? As he moved toward the gate, the child suddenly screamed, “Maa! Maa!”
Aminul thought she might have seen her mother. He looked around, no sign of her. The child began to cry, calling out for her mother. Aminul tried to calm her, but nothing worked. A crowd of curious people quickly gathered. They began asking questions, “What happened? Where’s the child’s mother? Who are you?” Aminul struggled to explain.
He tried to tell them he wasn’t related to the child, that the mother had left her with him and disappeared. But the crowd didn’t believe him. Suspicion grew. Someone grabbed his collar. Another punched him from behind, shouting “child abductor!” And so began the mob’s frenzy. The child fell to the ground, and crying. Aminul was beaten and thrown to the platform. No amount of explanation could help now. The crowd had made up its mind.
Someone in the crowd suggested calling the police. But many shouted back, “Police won’t help! They’ll take a bribe and let him go. Let’s teach him a lesson he’ll never forget!” The beating paused briefly, then resumed with full force. Amid the chaos, the child’s cries and the crowd’s uproar, someone rushed toward them, pushing through the crowd. A disheveled woman darted in and scooped up the crying child into her arms. The mother and daughter’s tearful reunion stunned the angry mob.
Two constables arrived, drawn by the commotion. Under police questioning, Sulekha explained everything. Aminul was innocent. She had left the child with him at Akhaura Junction, gone to the public toilet, and bought bananas and biscuits. By the time she returned, the train had left. She had managed to board another carriage, hoping to find her daughter and the kind stranger in Dhaka. Moments ago, the crowd had been bent on beating Aminul to a pulp. Now they sag into silence, like a balloon suddenly deflating.
Aminul’s body ached all over. Blood trickled from a cut near his eye. Sulekha sat beside him, holding her child, unsure what to do. This stranger had protected her daughter. She said softly, “Brother, you suffered so much because of me.” She tried to wipe the blood from his face with the edge of her sari.
Despite the beating, Aminul felt immense relief, the child’s mother had returned. Now he could head to the hospital without worry. As he tried to stand, he staggered. Sulekha quickly caught him. This time, there was no hesitation, it felt like helping her own brother.
The onlookers had already begun crafting their own versions of the story, “She left the child with her uncle, went to the toilet, the train left, she ran… the train sped off…” Hearing this, a faint smile appeared on Aminul’s bruised lips. Sulekha looked at him in awe, was he even human, or an angel? Looks aren’t everything in this world.
Amid all the chaos, Sulekha didn’t notice a newlywed woman in a dazzling sari walking past just a few feet away. Holding her hand, heading toward a northbound train, was none other than Johnny Garments’ Assistant Supervisor, Rahmat Ali.
DoubleSpeak 