Living Amidst Chaos

I was waiting for my husband for an hour. This man promised me today that we would be going out for some household shopping. And the big red digit on the clock was screaming “08:30 PM” already, and all the shops at Newmarket would be closed by then. Excellent! I hate shopping alone. I did shop maybe twice or thrice alone and found shopkeepers to be extra sweet or flirty which gave me creeps. I was always at the loser end of the bargaining which I hated more. Suddenly the doorbell rang and I knew it was him. As I was approaching the door, I kept reminding myself that I would have to stay mad at him. This guy is always good at escaping my anger, and I so dislike myself for that sometimes! He just knows I love him too much.

I opened the door to find my husband in a rather pensive mood. He must be doing this so that I pity him. Sahera, you must remain mad! STAY MAD! And then it happened. Out of nowhere he hugged me. That is when I realized something is wrong. ‘Samir, are you okay? Is everything okay at work?’ It has to be work, because just yesterday we visited his parents in Moghbazar and they were just doing fine. Samir chose to drown himself in the world of silence, which annoyed me more rather than getting worried. ‘Could you get me a glass of water and something to eat? I haven’t had the chance to eat or drink for six hours’. I am not worried anymore. He is just messing with me so that I don’t fight with him about missing our “shopping date” thrice in a row. ‘You must have forgotten but we were supposed to go out shopping and have dinner outside. I didn’t cook and I am not even sorry.’ My husband gave me a weak smile. Aaagghh! I am confused. ‘Let me order food then. Do you want something heavy or snacks? Any preference?’ ‘Whatever is convenient for you Sahera.’ So something is wrong, a picky eater like him would never ever tell me that. How do I know that? Because he never did, duh! I gotta stop talking to myself.

‘Food will be here by twenty minutes, here is your glass of water and some biscuits to suppress your hunger for the time being. Now tell me what happened.’ My husband, still not making eye contact, in a very low voice started talking. And I wished he didn’t. You will know why. ‘It was around eleven in the morning, we just finished talking over the phone and I assured you tonight we will be going out. Everything was going as per routine, and then suddenly one of the constables came to me and told me that a middle aged lady was here, asking for an inspector and reporting a crime. You know Abdus Salam right? The constable who just got his daughter married? He came to me. He was shaky. Probably that should have been my first warning. I asked Salam to bring in the lady; she immediately came in with an antique and heavy sewing machine in her left hand. It was covered in rust and there were pieces of dried grasses sticking to it. And what surprised me most was she was carrying it with one hand. It was extremely heavy.’

The doorbell rang and I went to unlatch the lock, pay the delivery man and wondering where this story was heading to, I didn’t bother to serve the food in plates and sat beside him with the takeaway boxes. The restaurant was generous with their portions of food today. I must order from them again. Samir was looking at the food with sad eyes. ‘So then what happened?’ It seemed I just pulled him out of a trance. ‘Umm, where was I? ( five or six seconds later), the sewing machine. Right. So this lady then dropped the machine on the table with a thud. That is when I got the chance to take a closer look, only to see traces of dried blood on it. It was rusted too. The rust made it hard to distinguish the blood from it. I looked at the woman and she gave me a smile. She didn’t wait for me to ask her to sit. She made herself comfortable.’

I interrupted him with an embarrassing smile, ‘Samir, I need to pee. This pregnancy is making it hard for me to control my bladder. Sorry! Why don’t you finish your food meanwhile? I will be quick, I swear!’ Samir smiled. I love this smile of his. It is so genuine. While peeing I was trying to come up with a billion theories. As to what would my husband tell me next? He is undoubtedly very upset. I sat on the commode for a while. This third trimester is so difficult. My baby better be very cute. I hate being so lethargic and always on the edge. In the meantime, Samir, the gentleman he is, threw the takeaway boxes and cleaned the coffee table. As I said, I can’t stay mad at him for long.

‘She murdered her son with that sewing machine.’ I was baffled. I was just about to sit next to him when he blurted that out. I am sure he noticed the weird look on my face. ‘I know the minions in your brain were at work while you were in the restroom. I am just saving you from all the suspense.’ So why did the woman do that?’ I asked. Samir looked at me for a second and continued. ‘The woman is an atheist and does not believe in any afterlife. She was married for twenty seven years and is very happy with her husband and two children, one of whom is dead now. Nope, no sexual assault stuff involved, if that’s what you are thinking. Her son tried to kill her daughter under the influence of drugs, so the woman had no choice. She had her old, out of order sewing machine within her reach. So that became her murder weapon.’

I wasn’t sure what to say or think, so I asked if that woman murdered and then came to the station. ‘No. She murdered him three years ago.’ I was dumbfounded. My husband continued, ‘As I told you she is an atheist and she was not here today for fear of hell or God’s punishment. She was here because she felt she should do it. Her son was involved in all bad things we could possibly make a list of. And being a mother she felt she had the right to give birth and death to her son. She had no remorse, no guilt, and no anguish. She was so serene and glad her daughter is safe and happy.’

I was quiet, so was Samir. Then I asked my questions, ‘So anything about the husband? Is he dead? And she didn’t get suspected for three years, then why confess now? Everything was going well I guess…….’ ‘The husband is alive and good. He didn’t know about all these, in fact he heard about it two weeks ago. He and the rest of the world know the boy was killed by some local gang leader.’ ‘So how did the husband know?’ ‘The daughter told him. Apparently, she was having a hard time. She is a devoted Muslim and living with this secret was hard on her. According to her mother, the lady with the discarded sewing machine, her daughter wanted her to repent for her sins, go for Hajj. But she never did, and so the daughter took upon her the responsibility to pray and save her soul.’ ‘And the husband?’

‘He was horrified and he couldn’t imagine living with the murderer of his son, so he filed for divorce. The woman was laughing when she told me that. It was quite unnerving-the way she was telling it. Since she was all alone, she thought it was better to lead a life in prison, rather than being with the people where no love was left. She also added, it was high time to let the law do their work and then asked me to arrest her.’ ‘Did you do it then?’ ’Do what?’ ‘Arrest her?’ Samir paused and got up, all he said was ‘No’. He really needs to freshen up, the smell of his dried sweaty shirt was overwhelming, or maybe it is one of those pregnancy perks where my sense of smell is unbelievably heightened. I just sat there holding my belly. In two months I will be giving birth to my son. It’s not necessary that our relationship would turn to something like this. But what if it does?

I am lying beside Samir now, and I have to ask this question to stop giving in to the indulgences of overthinking. ‘Samir, why didn’t you arrest her?’ Samir thought for a while, ‘Is this going to be your last question? Okay good. I don’t think I can punish a mother for killing her son. Maybe I could have done that if you weren’t pregnant with our son. She was hell bound about getting arrested; I would have obliged-but only if she was guilty, not because she was lonely. Let loneliness be her punishment.’