Saturday | 11 January 2025 | Reg No- 06
বাংলা
   
Saturday | 11 January 2025 | Epaper

The Pink Umbrella

Short story

Published : Saturday, 4 September, 2021 at 12:00 AM  Count : 2113
Moinul Abedin
Raisuddin keeps his fingers crossed; the guy might come today with the money he promised the other day.
It was a scorching hot afternoon; the ruthless sun was scowling and peeping at all over the tattered canopy of his umbrella. While repairing others' he did never eke out time to mend his own. From the corner of the pavement where he sits every day with his toolbox, he could watch in awe the serpentine road, now almost desolate and deserted, devoid of the incessant honking of running vehicles and the usual chaos of the crowd except for few private cars and rickshaws.
He heard they call it lockdown by name. He sensed the people got cooped up in their houses in fear of a wicked demon that floats in the air invisibly. He was caught off guard and rebuked twice by the police men for not covering his face with mask, which he found quite amusing for him. He heard stories from his grandmother in childhood days and had nightmares about the masked dacoits and goons, though at present to his astonishment, he found the gentle ladies and men are round the clock wearing masks and roaming around the city.
Such a masked gentleman braved the lockdown and parked his vermillion car in front of him while he was waiting idly for any prospective customers. The man got off the car holding a pink umbrella, sauntered towards him and asked if he could fix its broken hinges.  
Raisuddin from his long experience of repairing umbrellas realized its expensive and unique kind as well as the exceptionality of its owner. When he opened it one of the arms that attached the rib to the shaft came out and the hinge that held them was found twisted. The masked man from safe distance murmured, "My toddler spoiled it while playing."
Raisuddin studied the broken hinge and from his toolbox took out one after another to replace it, but to no avail after even a good couple of minutes. The man got impatient standing for long under the burning sun, began to cough nonstop and gasped, "I bought it from Singapore for my wife as a token of my love."
Raisuddin was anxiously busy with the umbrella along with the toolbox pondering he must please this customer whom he met after a long time; he might be the lucky beginner for him.
The gentle man after a brief respite from the sporadic coughing sneaked out a thousand taka note from his wallet and tantalized over his face, "For sure I will give this whole note if you can really make it for me."
Raisuddin's eyes glittered in greed. Sweating profusely, he pleaded, "Grant me a bit more time Sir, I am working on it."
But the man was on the verge of his persistence. Wiping his forehead and glasses he stooped towards him, "I am feeling feverish today, you may take your time, I must get back to you tomorrow."
Raisuddin nodded his head in approval. The man uttered under his breath from behind the mask, "Mind it, this is the token of my love for my wife, take good care of it, I will pay you just one thousand."
His car raced through the forlorn street.
Raisuddin was duly inspired and before an hour managed to replace the snapped hinge with the right one. He tidied it up and wrapped it by polythene in case his nefarious children made the best use of it. Since they did not have to go to school and literally nothing to do at home, they became more diabolic nowadays. His wife lost the job of the assistant cook of a nearby restaurant and was passing indolent time in the house too. So, she could not be trusted either.
Raisuddin is now counting his days. He is going to leave this city tomorrow for his village as he could not pay off last two months' rent. He did not meet a single client after that supposed lucky gentle man had left weeks ago. The locked days are yet to be unlocked by dint of a magic key. How long he is to hide this pink paraphernalia from the rest of the world which is a symbol of love for someone's wife?
He can afford to wait only on this last day. The relief his family received ran out recently. He could not eat anything on the last two days. He is not aware of his wife and children as they are trying to pacify their stomachs on their own ways. He is dearly in need of the one thousand taka note.
The day is more humid and sultrier. Large patches of clouds open up from nowhere and are wandering freely across the sky. Raisuddin dozes off being confined under his ragged umbrella, consequently hallucinates people are queuing up in front of him to repair their umbrellas ahead of the rainy season.
He locates that gentleman in the queue, a thousand taka note gets flashed before his eyes, and suddenly the screeching wail of an ambulance shatters the overwhelming silence and his delusions.
Raisuddin feels extremely dizzy and smothered; he tries to wipe his salty lips with his dried tongue, tears off the mask in terrible anguish and throws it to the nearby drain. If it had been a piece of bread, he could have at least nibbled at it.

The writer is English teacher, DPS STS Dhaka






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