Dhaka 2011

Our short story contest/revels are now ended, but not our readers' curiosities about those writers who have vanished into air, into thin air. What about all those other submissions, they ask. Feelers have been put out, queries posed, missives written, couple of emails wired, regarding those entries. Reproduced below is one such handwritten request representative of the whole:

Dear Editor

It's good to go through your note on the recently held short story contest. 'New Year's Celebration' deserves the merit of winning the contest. My sincere congratulations to the writer, Ms. Munjulika Rahman.

Meanwhile, I would like to propose to publish, if not all but some selected entry-stories (you feel suitable) in the literature page. This will be a great entertainment for the readers.
Thanking you

Yours sincerely
Zahidul Haque
Associate Professor
Sher-e-Bangla Agricultural University
Dhaka

It would be only the most hard-hearted of editors who could refuse such a plaintive request for some literary 'entertainment.' So here it is, another submission by Aramis*. Though this story does not work at the level of characterization, though its first paragraph arouses expectations that it robustly fails to fulfill later, though its parodic effects are nil, yet it is interesting at the level of words, in that the language used--its odd adjectival and adverbial hoists--seems at times a scaffolding supportive, almost, of the theme. And it does provoke a question: what will Dhaka be like in 2011?

As for Mr. Haque, I fully expect an entry from him in the next contest.

---Editor, Literature Page

RAFIQ leaned back in his blue velvet seat with the hard round back and looked randomly out at Gulshan Avenue down below, the late evening rain brightly splashing amid the raucous traffic and the brushing, shopping crowds. The Bones Café seemed quite upturned tonight, lots of heated blades flashing, the music softly lashing. Rafiq always felt it was the girls who brought the welcome bundles in public places. Like the one standing at that booth with her friends, wet slick look all the way up to her eyes but, despite appearances, endearingly innocent in that Bengali way. He sipped his coffee and looked out some more.

It wasn't long before Anis came twisting his way through the press of tables and bodies and thrust out his hand.

"Hey, old man. Great to see you."

"Sure."

Anis took the empty seat at an obtuse angle from him. He was dressed in the upper class style of the moment, collarless jacket and grey soft T-shirt. His long, lemony face was, as always, lit up sardonically. Rafiq often wondered how Anis got away with such a high profile in his work, seeing as how he was supposed to be a secret agent.

"Thought I'd find you here," said Anis.

"Not surprising since we arranged it ourselves."

"Yes but it might easily have been happening anyway. I always like to stay within the percentages."

Rafiq began to see that he wasn't as light as he seemed. Is that how he managed to remain invisible? He ordered coffee for them both.

"How's business?" Anis said, picking up the standard refrain of the Dhaka-ite.

"Not that interesting"

"How come? There doesn't seem to be any shortage of wives on the lam."

"Yeah but they always turn out to be somebody's kissing cousin, so it's alright."

"Didn't you trace that kidnapped boy for the Biswas family?"

"Yeah. I got lucky I guess."

"You don't believe much in success anyway do you?"

Rafiq was getting irritated, not for the first time with Anis.

"So what's up? What can I do for you? "

Anis moved into his wave of vision decisively.

"You've heard about the Anjali case? "

Rafiq was now crashingly alert. She'd recently been arrested, a woman of wealth and position, but too barbed to hold for long. Rumours had been swirling in the city. She'd got into trouble over a man, over a business deal, over crime, over political intrigue. No one knew for sure. And here was Anis, in on it, as one should have probably expected; it was right up his street, the cat whose eyes sat up in the dark.

Rafiq felt sure Anis knew. For the first time he felt the advantage slipping away from him. The pregnancy, the miscarriage, and they had given each other a wide berth ever since, so many years ago that it didn't seem real and what different people they had been, young clowns, before she shot away into the firmament. And now here was this pressing open of the flesh without preparation. Rafiq's face became hardened with hurt. He seemed to see, on either side of Anis' reedy grin, little fangs emerging. They hadn't picked on him for the meeting by accident.

"So what about it? "

"Well. Nothing much except that she's asking for you. Any idea why that might be?"

Perhaps they didn't know after all. Bless her tinny heart.

"We do know each other."

"Haven't seen you around ever. And we've been keeping tabs on her for over 20 years."

"Maybe it was earlier than that."

"Don't tell me you went to school with her."

"Yeah. Scholastica in the 80's"

"What was she like then?"

"Ahead of her time."

"Anyway, we want you to go see her."

"And?"

"Give her a message. This time she's mixed up in something way beyond her. And we're not playing games. She's holding back something that she shouldn't be. I'm not sure why. But we're damn well not going to let her get away with this kind of bitch defiance."

Rafiq had never seen Anis so openly angry before.

"Why do you think she'll listen to me?"

"You better make sure she does if you care for her."

"So now I'm in the dock too?"

"OK, OK I'm sorry. Just let her know it's serious. And we don't have too much time."

"Am I supposed to know anything about what it's all about?"

"Better not. Except that it involves Brigadier Arif. You've heard of him?"

Brigadier Arif, the psychopath who ran DGFI.*

"Where I do I go to see her? Is she behind bars?"

"No, we're releasing her tomorrow. You can go to her house. You know where that is?"

Who didn't know her mansion, a legacy from the third marriage?

"And of course, the usual terms for you." Anis went on.

"Make it 100,000 Takas this time." Rafiq wasn't above cashing in, seeing how anxious they seemed to be.

"Done. And listen, it's a matter of state security."

Wasn't it always thought Rafiq? But this time there did seem to be an extra edge of suppressed anxiety in Anis's manner which was unusual. He drove home in a heady mood. The rain was getting lighter, the night fresher. The Uttara Highway was clogged as usual. The very fact that they were calling on him, a two-bit operator at best, meant that nothing else had worked on Anjali. The thought of seeing her again both excited and repelled him. She had always had a sizzling line in words and he feared the whiplash when she saw what he had become. Heavy set, morose, with the glazed eyes of a fish. Well she needn't be so superior. She was in a right mess too. But he wondered why she was being so difficult. In her years at the top she had never shown much inclination towards principle. She had slid her way from bed to bed if the gossip columns could be believed. And picked up a lot of survival instincts along the way. No but the main thing in his view which dwarfed all others was: She had asked for him!

The door was opened by a manservant dressed in a white coat, black tie and black trousers, set off by a shining head of black hair. The chandelier blazed light on the foyer and the mirrors burned. Rafiq's feet slipped easily on the marble floor. Her living room was vast and he settled his rumpled press on the soft welcoming sofa which stretched out at both ends. There was even an alcove with a Greek bust. When she came tripping in she was wearing a red and black patterned brocade long dress with high collar, sleeveless. Her dark skin radiated, her wavy brown hair was in a short shapely coif, a merry grin on her crooked lip.

"Rafiq, what fun to see you."

They came near and clasped hands, facing each other.

"You're looking great Anjali," he let his gaze flow over her.

They sat comfortably, his right knee in hull proximity to her left. They didn't waste time reviewing the past but talked of cushioned nothings. Finally Rafiq broached the matter that hung between them.

"Did you know they would send me to you?"

"Well it just came to me on a whim. And when they asked me if I wanted to inform someone about my arrest, the usual formula, I couldn't think of anyone but you, you're the closest I have to family it seems."

"Yes it's strange but I can understand that too."

"Besides I wanted to talk it over, my problem, with someone. And you're somewhat in this kind of business."

"So you knew I had become a private eye?"

"News about you did make its way to me from time to time."

"Yet you never got in touch?"

"What would have been the use?"

Rafiq realized with a shock that he had not been expecting her to talk to him as an equal.

"Anyway how are we going to get you out of this jam? Care to tell me about it?"

She twisted long bare arms in front of her, the gesture of a cat crossing over into the 10th Dimension of waking sleep.

"How do I know it's safe?"

"You don't."

"Well there's this man, you see. He's from…"

"No. Stop. Don't say anything which can identify him."

"OK. Let's say Mr. X. He's a foreigner. He's found out about some really hush hush work that Bangladesh is doing which his Government, if it found out, would really blow it's top about. And I mean go totally insane."

"So how come his Government doesn't know about it?"

"Because X hasn't told them. Instead he's blackmailing Bangladesh for money to keep his mouth shut. One payment. One million Dollars. In untraceable ways that he knows" "

"Wow, that's pretty," Rafiq was aghast at the scale of the undertaking. "And you, I see, you're the go-between."

"Obviously. It would be too risky for him to be known to them."

"And do you know the secret too?”

"No, not the actual secret. That would be too risky for me."

Rafiq worked out the perfect symmetry of the scheme. As long as she knew something they needed, but not too much, she was protected. If anything happened to her, there was the possibility that X would blow them out of the water by revealing the secret. And as long as they didn't know X's identity they couldn't do anything about it. Even after they had paid out they didn't know if X wouldn't betray them anyway; but that was something she had promised on his behalf and it was part of the game that such low acts were excluded.

"I think they were thinking of torturing me, when they had me. But they didn't dare", she said stoically.

"Anjali, I'm amazed you're involved in something like this! You didn't even need the money. Do you know what you're up against?"

She looked at him absolutely and he saw it all. X had reached a part of her, the frenzied silk, made up of regrets, and dangers which raze to the hard stubble, legs and swords crossing, blown enveloping. There was nothing she could do but follow. He must be a man of cool daring and skill, a songbird who could clear the webs. One of the hard elect.

She let Rafiq out herself. In the half open door he saw her silhouetted against the light as he turned to leave. He felt uncontrollably plucked that it had fallen to him to serve her.

"There,there," he patted her hands.

From then on everything moved swiftly. Rafiq went through all the surveillance reports and the character analyses, and the photos. It wasn't difficult to spot X. By then he stood out for Rafiq like a beacon and he wondered why nobody had been able to see it before.

One day there was a report about a junior diplomat of an unnamed Very Powerful Country who was badly hurt in a mugging incident and had to be airlifted out for medical treatment, never to return. Anjali, it was learned, had something of a breakdown. But she recovered, even though it took six months, or more. As for Rafiq, his padding registered only that she was not of his burdens.

Brigadier Arif congratulated Anis on his expert touch.

.......................................................

Aramis* is the pseudonym the writer wished to adopt if his short story was published. His name, address and mobile number were all duly given.