as though she had given the matter some thought, ‘I don’t think so. The children would never hear of it.’
‘I tell you, we should all stay here and take a stand.’ ‘What sort of a stand, exactly?’ Mrs Akram asked. ‘We should do something. I’m not giving up so easily.’
‘Don’t be foolish. You’re just a housewife. What on earth could you possibly do?’
‘You wait and see. I’m not just good for gin-rummy, I’ll have you know.’
A few days later Rehana decided she’d had enough of Maya’s secrecy, so she decided to confront her. She wanted to know what the girl was doing all day at the university. Rehana borrowed Mrs Chowdhury’s car and ordered the driver to take her to the uni- versity campus. She didn’t know where to look – in the bombed- out hostels, or the canteen, or the Teacher–Student Centre – but she was sure she would find her, and she couldn’t stop thinking Maya must be doing something wrong. She was upset. She could be in trouble. Rehana would find out and put an end to it, what- ever it was. Yes, she was worrying. Maybe for no reason. But better to make sure.
Rehana had only really been inside the university once, when Sohail had invited her to try the famous phuchkas at the canteen. He had bet her the university phuchkas were better than the ones
86
at Horolika Snacks in Dhanmondi. Rehana said that wasn’t pos- sible. She and Iqbal had tried all the phuchkas in Dhaka and no one could beat Horolika Snacks. Sohail said that was over a decade ago and things had changed. Rehana didn’t like to be reminded that things had changed and her husband was dead, but she was carried along by her son’s enthusiasm and agreed to see for herself. They bought a dozen phuchkas at Horolika Snacks and balanced the boxes on their knees as they took a rick- shaw to the university campus.
At the canteen Sohail ordered a dozen more. He put the tiny cups of fried dough in a row in front of Rehana. Then he poured a little tamarind water into each one, licking his lips and clap- ping his hands together and saying, ‘Horolika versus Dhaka University! Which will it be?’ Some of the students stopped talking and looked over. The owner of the canteen stood up over his counter and cheered for himself. Then Sohail told Rehana that, in the interest of fairness, she should close her eyes and taste first one, then the other.
In the end she chose the canteen phuchkas. Things really had changed. And now the canteen, along with most of the other low buildings on the university campus, had been burned down on the night of the massacre.
Rehana didn’t have to search for her daughter. She saw her as soon as the car entered the university gates. There was a line of girls, and Maya was in the front row, raising her knees higher than all the others and shouting louder than all the others. So this was what she’d been doing. She didn’t look timid, or embar- rassed that the gun she was holding was just a wooden stick. ‘Hut-two-three-four! Hut! Hut! Hut!’ she shouted.
Rehana told the driver to stop the car. She watched as the girls marched past. Some of them paused and peered through the window at Rehana. One smiled shyly; another waved. Maya, who kept her eyes straight ahead, didn’t notice her mother. The girls stopped a few feet away from the car and moved their hands over the wooden sticks, pretending to load, aim, fire, reload. They wore starched white saris with thin blue borders. They
87
looked like washerwomen. They looked serious. None was as serious as Maya.
Rehana sat in the car and watched her daughter, waiting for the training, or whatever it was, to end. Once it was over she opened the car door and waved in Maya’s direction. Maya was talking to a boy and didn’t notice, but the boy, who was blowing smoke rings into the air, saw Rehana wave and whispered something to Maya. He pointed. Maya stalked over, her face coming together in a frown. ‘Are you spying on me?’ she said. The
‘I tell you, we should all stay here and take a stand.’ ‘What sort of a stand, exactly?’ Mrs Akram asked. ‘We should do something. I’m not giving up so easily.’
‘Don’t be foolish. You’re just a housewife. What on earth could you possibly do?’
‘You wait and see. I’m not just good for gin-rummy, I’ll have you know.’
A few days later Rehana decided she’d had enough of Maya’s secrecy, so she decided to confront her. She wanted to know what the girl was doing all day at the university. Rehana borrowed Mrs Chowdhury’s car and ordered the driver to take her to the uni- versity campus. She didn’t know where to look – in the bombed- out hostels, or the canteen, or the Teacher–Student Centre – but she was sure she would find her, and she couldn’t stop thinking Maya must be doing something wrong. She was upset. She could be in trouble. Rehana would find out and put an end to it, what- ever it was. Yes, she was worrying. Maybe for no reason. But better to make sure.
Rehana had only really been inside the university once, when Sohail had invited her to try the famous phuchkas at the canteen. He had bet her the university phuchkas were better than the ones
86
at Horolika Snacks in Dhanmondi. Rehana said that wasn’t pos- sible. She and Iqbal had tried all the phuchkas in Dhaka and no one could beat Horolika Snacks. Sohail said that was over a decade ago and things had changed. Rehana didn’t like to be reminded that things had changed and her husband was dead, but she was carried along by her son’s enthusiasm and agreed to see for herself. They bought a dozen phuchkas at Horolika Snacks and balanced the boxes on their knees as they took a rick- shaw to the university campus.
At the canteen Sohail ordered a dozen more. He put the tiny cups of fried dough in a row in front of Rehana. Then he poured a little tamarind water into each one, licking his lips and clap- ping his hands together and saying, ‘Horolika versus Dhaka University! Which will it be?’ Some of the students stopped talking and looked over. The owner of the canteen stood up over his counter and cheered for himself. Then Sohail told Rehana that, in the interest of fairness, she should close her eyes and taste first one, then the other.
In the end she chose the canteen phuchkas. Things really had changed. And now the canteen, along with most of the other low buildings on the university campus, had been burned down on the night of the massacre.
Rehana didn’t have to search for her daughter. She saw her as soon as the car entered the university gates. There was a line of girls, and Maya was in the front row, raising her knees higher than all the others and shouting louder than all the others. So this was what she’d been doing. She didn’t look timid, or embar- rassed that the gun she was holding was just a wooden stick. ‘Hut-two-three-four! Hut! Hut! Hut!’ she shouted.
Rehana told the driver to stop the car. She watched as the girls marched past. Some of them paused and peered through the window at Rehana. One smiled shyly; another waved. Maya, who kept her eyes straight ahead, didn’t notice her mother. The girls stopped a few feet away from the car and moved their hands over the wooden sticks, pretending to load, aim, fire, reload. They wore starched white saris with thin blue borders. They
87
looked like washerwomen. They looked serious. None was as serious as Maya.
Rehana sat in the car and watched her daughter, waiting for the training, or whatever it was, to end. Once it was over she opened the car door and waved in Maya’s direction. Maya was talking to a boy and didn’t notice, but the boy, who was blowing smoke rings into the air, saw Rehana wave and whispered something to Maya. He pointed. Maya stalked over, her face coming together in a frown. ‘Are you spying on me?’ she said. The
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