Love

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Her younger brother worked as a clerk in an office. One day she instructed him to buy her a yellow Tangail sari, to wear to a friend's wedding day festivities. She had taken the money from her father and given it to her brother. But after his office hours ended, the brother forgot his assigned task. When he returned home, all hell broke loose. Shayma screamed at him without let-up. Flung plates at the wall, smashed teacups, tore at her brother's hair. Her family stared at her in amazement.

After her marriage she doted on her husband. In order to save on costs she refused to keep domestic help, not even a part-time one. She took care of the whole household all by herself. Took care of her husband like he was baby: tracking what foods he liked, when he liked to have it, saving for him the biggest portions of the fish, chicken legs. The two daughters, too, she loved to pieces. Her two princesses. Fed them at scheduled times, lullabied them to sleep, bathed them. The girls too were absolute darlings. They never disobeyed their mother. Even tended to fear her slightly.

But lately Shayma had begun to have to have fights with her husband. Sometimes she would make taunting remarks about her mother-in-law. Her husband too would jeer at her about her father's household. Would make comments on her lack of education. Would frequently remark: 'Nearly all the wives of my friends passed their school matriculation exam. Only you failed to pass.' Shayma would yell and scream, throw crockeries. The girls would tremble in fear. Whenever things would get too hot her husband would leave the house. He would come back to the house after a couple of days without telling her where he had been. As the fights got frequent, and so did the absences of her businessman-husband, who now would disappear for a few days at a time. Lately he seemed to have gotten very friendly with the couplethe daughter-in-law and her husband--next door. Whenever a fight erupted he would go over to their house for a visit. This only succeeded in further angering Shayma, which led to more fights, and to longer, more prolonged absences by her husband. Her mother, brother and sister-in-law came to inform her that her husband would be divorcing her. They begged with her to be more gentle and reasonable with him. because if he if he went through with the divorce, who would take care of her and the children?

Shayma listened to them calmly. She thought hard about the matter for two whole days. On the third day, while the girls were asleep, she carefully undid out the drawstring of her petticoat. She bent over her eldest daughter's mouth. Kissed the lips tenderly. She couldn't even imagine their lives after she was dead, growing up uncared for like street cats and dogs. With the drawstring she formed a noose around her daughter's neck and drew it tight. In the same way the younger daughter too became lifeless in her mother's lap. Then Shayma hanged herself from the ceiling fan.

Rashida Sultana is one of Bangladesh's younger woman writers. Khademul Islam is literary editor, The Daily Star.