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

Cul-de-sac

Published : Saturday, 12 February, 2022 at 12:00 AM  Count : 2012
Moinul Abedin
Abul Baset was having a lengthy dream of reaching the coast of Italy to turn the wheel of his destiny. In the dream while he was jumping on the shore from a cramped boat, a seagull was seamlessly gliding and hovering over his head as if he was a guide in a foreign land.

But his dream aborted halfway. The landlord was at the top of his voice, "Baset, how long will you sleep? Who will unlock the garage? I am to start for court now."
He was appointed as a caretaker of this high- rise apartment after plunging into a terrible situation in his village. He had been a cohort of a local extortionist and drug dealer after being dropped out without finishing his high school even. His psychotic father remained chained since when that never occurred in his memory. His mother worked as a maid in his landlord's village home just to eke out the family of six.
On a fatal Saturday night, a biker was stabbed to death on the spot by his gang though he was really away during the mishap. Nevertheless, he was also implicated along with seven others for murder, extortion and drug peddling. Consequently, he went into hiding. At his mother's sincere behest, his landlord, being an influential neighbour, offered help and he was given shelter as a caretaker of this apartment concealing his real identity.
In fact, Baset had never been content here and he was in a sobering dilemma.  He wanted to accumulate more money and more wealth as he realised money is the centre of all power and pleasure. Is it possible for him to follow the perfect course of making money? He perceived if he had to own huge money or wealth that would never be possible through any fair means. He didn't have any formal education. On top of that he observed people around him and he learnt from them that extortion and drug peddling would be the most suitable way to become rich overnight.  Now he was entrapped here by his landlord.  He had only one way to get rid of this whole scenario and that is running away from this country and going abroad. But that is never possible also through any fair means. He needs to proceed illegally; he needs to take the unconventional route, sea route.

While Baset was aimlessly roaming on the roof he heard the fluttering of the same seagull of his last night's dream. Tried to locate it to his best overhead, his eyes got dazzled by the mighty afternoon sun, and a pigeon from the nearby building pooped on his face.

Baset did not mind. He knows yet he possessed a tremendous dream. His dream became a lighthouse for him to ignore any temporary humiliation. Today or tomorrow, he is going to land on the soil of Europe to realise his full potential.
 In another evening, after returning from the court the landlord whispered in his ears, 'I saved you from the cross fire, Baset.  You must be grateful towards me.'
Baset nodded his head in the affirmative.

He, dead tired of delivering the longest speech ever in the court today, carried on, "Listen up, you have to serve as an eyewitness for one of my clients."
Baset stared blankly.
"The actual one has vanished, you have to take his role and say what I will ask you to say in the court." The landlord delivered under his breath.
Baset shrieked unintentionally, "What?"
"I must win the case this time, my client is a tycoon." The landlord sighed. "But remember to follow my instructions word by word, you know I am giving you food and shelter, otherwise……." he hissed.
Abul Baset was wise enough to fathom the rest of the words. He felt a flicker of disgrace.

He needs at least a good amount of money to initiate his first step. As he witnessed in his village, the overseas job aspirants deposited a handsome amount of token money to the broker. Now prior to doing anything else, he desperately needs the money. He is now mulling over the possibilities to procure it round the clock.
Baset resides in a closet downstairs, which remains dark at daytime as well. His solitary soul mate is Simba whom he rescued from a roadside ditch. They shared their views with each other:

Baset: How about if I honestly divulge my plan to my landlord? Won't he empathise with me?
Simba seems unsatisfied. He growls.
Baset: What if I seek help from his son Zarif? He regularly splurges on his dashing English medium buddies.
Simba howls as if he wants to opine, 'Not a very good idea indeed!'
Baset: I was a smart extortionist in my village. Will I try it here?
Simba whines, probably he is appalled by the ominous consequence.
Baset suddenly came across the headline of the newspaper lying on his bed:

'Another Drug Peddler Killed in Crossfire.'

His heart missed a beat.

Next night again while dreaming the same, Baset woke up panting and stealthily went to the roof to inhale some fresh air. The solitary and silent full moon was pouring down milk in torrents.  Baset bathed in and drank it and all of a sudden the flapping wings of a seagull from his dream disturbed and distracted him. He descended the stairs with utmost precaution and pace towards his closet.

A dim bulb glinted inside the window. Baset peered around and took out two bundles of five-hundred-taka notes which he pilfered this morning from the landlady's drawer when she was away and stashed under his bed. He kept the cash and some of his clothes in a tiny leather bag and zipped in hurriedly. When he was about to scurry outside, a big siren of a police vehicle startled him. Simba already woke up and began to bark incessantly. As if he wanted to plead, 'Don't go, please don't go, danger is lurking ahead'.

Baset felt restless and edgy. Did anybody in the house realise his intent and inform the police?  Afterwards he heard two distant and consecutive gun shots.

Another case of crossfire!

Baset retreated to his closet. Shaking in a dull, subdued light he flumped back into bed and clamped the bag to his lap. A strange sense of ennui gripped him. Simba kept on yapping at his feet and he sighed with a profound resignation.


The writer is English teacher, DPS STS School, Dhaka






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