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

Lottery

Published : Saturday, 23 October, 2021 at 12:00 AM  Count : 2956
Sadat Sayem
“Give me four tickets, one from each bundle starting from your left-hand side."

"Sir, you should buy five, I suggest, one each from all five bundles on the table as the five bundles represent the five number series of this year's lottery. If you take one each from all the series, it would be a splendid idea," the ticket seller said.

Ali took a few seconds to ponder whether the ticket seller was trying to avoid any change-related trouble. He had already brought out a 100 taka note from his pocket and the ticket seller noticed the note. And if Ali bought four, the ticket seller had to give him back 20 taka in change.

"It's up to you, sir, to make the decision. There's no change-related issue," the ticket seller said casting a glance to the note in Ali's right hand.

"Okay then, give me five tickets," he said, wondering how the ticket seller could comprehend his change-related conjecture.

While the ticket seller was busy taking out tickets from the bundles, Ali turned his eyes to a little boy who was standing beside the table.

"You are buying five! You will surly win a prize! One of your numbers must be chosen!" the boy said smiling as if he were waiting for Ali's attention to announce the result of his endeavour.

"May Allah bless you!" He told the boy humorously.

"He's my son," the ticket seller said while handing over the tickets to Ali. "Like his mother, he talks a lot. Please, don't take offence, sir."

"It's okay," Ali said and gave the ticket seller the 100 taka note for the tickets and patted the boy on his left shoulder. He put the tickets in his trousers' left pocket.

The man was selling tickets near the Mouchak market under the Moghbazar-Mouchak Flyover in the capital, Dhaka. Ali hurried to reach his office. It was the 31st of December. The next day would be New Year's Day.

When he reached his office, a support staff informed Ali that 'Sir' was looking for him.

Ali was a lower mid-level official of a real estate company. The 'Sir' was the chief executive of that real estate firm.

He entered the Sir's room. How spacious was the room! Ali had to come to the room many times for different purposes, but it always remained remote and distant to him all the same.

"Mr Ali, please be seated," the Sir said in his usual gentle tone.

He never dared to sit on the revolving chairs set before the table of their chief executive. As always, Ali sat on a sofa kept in the corner of the room.

The chief executive dropped his head and started reading a file placed on his table. After a short while he lifted his eyes from the papers but didn't look at Ali; rather he looked at the giant LED television screen hung on the wall of the room. A TV reporter was detailing the DMP directions to be followed on the 31st December night.

Then the Sir looked at Ali and said in a very soft tone:
"I'm sorry to say we're not satisfied with your performance. You're not getting a promotion this year. Mr Ali, I advise you should work hard."

The news upset Ali to the core but he stood up, gave the CEO salaam and left the room.

Ali returned to his desk. His colleagues were waiting for him.

"Mr Ali, performance is not the sole criterion for promotion. Brother, do remember, there are other ways which are more effective and attractive," one of his colleagues quipped.

"If only performance is considered in promoting one, the world would have been straightforward long before," another colleague said.

Ali looked at his colleagues helplessly. Five officials, including he, were on the list for promotion that year. Three of them showed Ali the promotion letter. He looked at Swapna. She lowered her eyes. One of the fortunate three signalled to him that she couldn't make it.

Ali put his left hand into his trousers' pocket and felt the lottery tickets.

"Mr Ali, quit the job. No promotion in four years is unjust," another colleague said. "You can find such jobs anywhere anytime."

But Ali was not then thinking about the job market, he was thinking about his stubborn wife. How could he manage her? At the end of the day, he had to return to her, to be precise, to their house where Ali had twin daughters who had just learnt how to babble and a library where he could find peace plunging into the world of fictions and poetry.

"What's about your promotion?" Ali's wife asked him while he was gliding through the door his wife half-opened for him.

"O, aye, fine," Ali said.

"What fine! I asked you whether you got a promotion or not!"

"Sir said no one was considered for promotion this year," he lied.

"But, you earlier had said five persons, including you and your Swapna, were recommended for promotion. All offices are promoting their staff. Only your office decided against it. What's the matter!"

Ali again put his left hand into his trousers' pocket and felt the tickets.

"Please, don't worry. I would win a lottery - 65 lakh taka is the first prize."

His wife was dumbfounded by his announcement. She became so surprised that she struggled to maintain her angry mood.

"Are you insane? You are banking on lottery to plan for the future of our daughters!"

"Why are you so disappointed? This time we may get the first prize - think about it! - 65 lakh taka. If we could purchase a flat, we would do a superb job. What I earn would be enough for us. It is very difficult to pay the house rent with the salary I get."

"Damn your lottery! Your luck is not that favourable!" his wife said.

Their life could have gone on as usual despite Ali's unfavourable luck in winning a lottery. But before two months of the New Year elapsed, Ali lost his job.

The company was constructing buildings flouting housing rules. Ali had talked about the malpractice during a luncheon at the office canteen. The conversation had reached the ears of the chief executive.

That morning, the Sir looked at Ali directly and knitted his brows. Without asking him to sit, the chief executive said in a grave tone:

"I'm sorry; we can't keep you anymore."

"But, sir…"

"Go your way," he said curtly, without allowing Ali to finish.

He left the chief executive's room and entered the room where he had worked with his colleagues for the last six years. Ali saw the room swimming before his eyes. He came out of the room before his colleagues could utter a single word of sympathy and left the office.

Standing on the footpath, Ali saw the city life rushing about as usual. It displayed no sign that one of its inhabitants had just lost his job. Ali brought out a newspaper from his bag and opened it. He found the news on the lottery on the third page of the daily. His heart almost jumped out of his rib cage. He collapsed on the pavement.

"What's the matter with you?"

In a flicker of light in his eyes Ali saw the very little boy he had met during his purchase of the lottery tickets standing on the footpath and enquiring after him.

'How did he come here without his father, or at least without his talkative mother?' That was Ali's last thought before complete darkness engulfed him.

In the afternoon, his wife lowered her face on his in a city hospital. Ali noticed tears in her eyes.

"I'd told you last night not to stay in front of the computer so long," his wife rebuked.

"I was watching a movie - Scent of a Woman," Ali said, gulping back the information that Swapna suggested the movie.

"Where are our pulpies?" Ali asked his wife. She looked beautiful with tearful eyes.

"I haven't brought the kids to the hospital. Amma is with them. Luckily, my mother has come to visit us today," his wife said.

"I've lost the job."

"I've heard. But you shouldn't think about it now."

"Who brought me here, to the hospital?"

"Who else! Your Swapna," replied his wife, this time trying to hide her jealousy about his colleague. "She called me."

"You know what?"

"You fainted. I've talked to the doctor. I'll take you home now."

"But I've won that."

"What?"

"The lottery. The first prize!"

His wife stared open-mouthed at Ali's announcement.

Ali put his left hand into his trousers' pocket to bring out the lottery tickets and to show his wife the winning one. But he found the pocket was empty.

The lottery tickets were floating abandoned on the scummy water of a pond in the vicinity of the hospital. A street child had found the tickets lying on the footpath and later discovered that those were useless for purchasing even low-priced ice creams.

Sadat Sayem writes short stories in Bengali and English







LATEST NEWS
MOST READ
Also read
The car I’d like to own
Five poems on Christmas
Tourists
Sweet dream
Note of the desert
Human car
The Battle of Kushtia premiered at Muktijuddho Jadughor
As the forest breathe
Editor : Iqbal Sobhan Chowdhury
Published by the Editor on behalf of the Observer Ltd. from Globe Printers, 24/A, New Eskaton Road, Ramna, Dhaka.
Editorial, News and Commercial Offices : Aziz Bhaban (2nd floor), 93, Motijheel C/A, Dhaka-1000.
Phone: PABX- 41053001-06; Online: 41053014; Advertisement: 41053012.
E-mail: district@dailyobserverbd.com, news©dailyobserverbd.com, advertisement©dailyobserverbd.com, For Online Edition: mailobserverbd©gmail.com
🔝
close