Short Story
Reptile*
art work by ariyana
It is midnight when he goes to sleep thinking of the morning's events. Today he has attentively read Sigmund Freud's Outline of Psychoanalysis but unable to diagnose his problem has fallen asleep in an irritated state. Now, at two in the morning, he is making groaning noises in his sleep. His knees are folded against his body. He feels suffocated. Beside him, Runa is fast asleep. He feels he should get out of the room, go out into the open where he can draw in a lungful of air. When covered with sweat he manages to sit up in his bed, it seems as if he's going to die of thirst. He drinks water from the glass, recalling at the same time what Shivshankar had said to him, "Mamun Shaheb, have you noticed one thing? You run whenever there is a live overhead electric wire over you, as if someone is chasing you with a whip." He, the up-and-coming writer Mamun Maruf, had felt irritated at the remark, but instead had answered softly, "I don't know what happens to me but it feels as if the wire will fall on my head." "You should see a doctor. I mean a psychiatrist." Mamun had been infuriated by the remark, and had thought to himself 'What nonsense.' Mamun doesn't know if anyone in his family had insanity. Had somebody been a writer? An artist? But the ones he knows about have never bothered about these things. His father, though, had been involved in politics, but just as a lowly party member in a rural town. So how had these traits shown up in him? Mamun has been told artistic ability was in one's genes, that it ran in the blood. But nowadays he has become aware that something odd is going on in him. Otherwise why is he becoming so distrustful and suspicious, amounting to almost a phobia? He doesn't trust anyone, not even his wife Runa. These days he locks the door from outside when he leaves for his office. Though nobody can tell from looking at him, inside the outwardly liberal, progressive man lurks a small-town conservative. The next week Shivshankar approaches Mamun. "I think you are not well. You need medical help. Will you come with me?" "Where?""To a doctor."
"No." "Anybody can fall ill. You see a doctor, you get well." "But I don't think I'm sick." "What did you say to Maulana Ashikullah that day?" "What did I say?" "'Yesterday at the mosque when I went to say my prayers I was overwhelmed by Maulana Imamuddin's talk. It touched the heart. We run after illusions in this world, it's merely greed. The end is just death. All this hue and cry for nothing. So why bother? The main thing is to control desire.' Didn't you say that?" "So what if I said it?" "Nothing much, except you often claim to be an atheist." "But that doesn't prove that I am unwell." "The next day you told Comrade Sofdar Ali a different story." "What did I say?" Mamun's tone is defensive. "'That fool mullah says Man was born of Adam and Eve. Who will explain it to them that these are all old stories? Do they understand science? Have they even heard of Darwin? I say, try to understand the theory of evolution theory. I asked if he had heard the name of Hegel, Karl Marx and Lenin. He was speechless. What is the point of talking to them?' I must say Mr. Sofdor was pleased by your remarks." "So, you have been spying on me?" "I don't have to spy on you. These things get known, it's a small world." "Look here, you are interfering..." "This is an illness. I respect you as a friend, and which is why I am telling you these things, otherwise…" "All right, what other unusual things have you noticed in me?" "You told Ram Kinkor Maitra 'I hadn't read the Gita before. Then when I did I found the hymns extraordinary. Gita has brought the message for the betterment of mankind. Oh, what heart-rending hymns! Take Ramayana and the Mahabharata, for example. Where else can you find such wonderful myths?'" "What does that prove?" "Nothing in particular, but you're doing this deliberately, and therein lies the problem." "And that makes you think I am sick?" "If that isn't so, then it is hypocrisy." "Today, a fraud is the healthiest person." "I'm correct. There's something wrong with you." "You have no way of knowing it, but ever since I was a boy I have known that I was born a problem child." "What do you mean?" "When I was young, my father burned my book of poems. My mother tore my poetry booksshe called them 'out' booksand threw them into the pond." "Is that right?" "I remember later I'd recover the pages and dry them in the sun. Mother used to say, reading these books were ruining me, that I'd do badly at school. But I used to be first in my class." "Yet …" "Yet my parents were the first to kill what I enjoyed the most. I saw a member of my father's party get killed because of a woman. Rumor had it that he was involved. Both my father and the murdered Aziz Khan had a soft spot for Juthi, the party's beautiful woman member. My mother always suspected my father of the killing. And even though she was clean in that regard, my father was always suspicious about her." "We now have found a root cause to your problem." "You can say that. I was brought up in mistrust and self-centeredness. Growing up normally was impossible for me." "But knowing all that, how can you walk down the same path?" "That is a matter of perspective. What is abnormal to you is normal to me. Normal and abnormality are totally relative." Saying this Mamun gets up from the chair. Shivashankar is left sitting on his chair feeling uneasy. The father involved in an adulterous affair, perhaps had even been a murderer. The mother paranoid. It was unnatural to think that a child of such parents would grow up to be normal. But the strangest part was burning poems and tearing up poetry books. It had left a permanent scar on the young boy's mind. Mamun goes into the inner room and gulps down a glass of water. He sees Tushi's face in the glass. She is smiling with her eyes closed. He feels as if he is still running with Tushi through the vast mustard field towards the river. The sun is setting in its waters, with an enormous rainbow in the sky above. Delighted, Tushi spreads herself on the ground. His body shivers at the touch of her adolescent body. Holding her in his two hands looking at her eyes, lips, the setting sun and the rainbow fills him with intense pleasure. "Do you remember me, Mamun? My lips red, my eyes shut?" "No, no, I don't want to remember anyone," Mamun screams. Just then Runa rushes into the room to find him with his face in his hands. "What is the matter?" "I don't know anyone. I don't wish to remember anyone." "Who are you remembering?" "Tushi." "Tushi? Who is Tushi?" "The mustard flowers, the field, the riverbank, the sunset." "What are you talking about?" "I was sitting by the river, close to the sunset. Tushi was splashing water on my face, and those water drops made a rainbow on the river. A flock of birds flew away lazily. And on such a beautiful evening like that, what they did to Tushi…" "Calm down," and saying that Runa holds his head against her bosom. Teardrops fall on his forehead. "Tushi was lying in front of me. She was gangraped, but that was not enough for them. They strangled her. They warned me if I said something, they would frame me for it. I fled. Tushi's dead body was left lying in the mud." "Let me take you to a doctor." "You are also talking about a doctor?" "Me too? Who else said it?" "Shivashankar Babu." "He's right. You need to see a doctor." "This is the result of my various anxieties. They are not going to go away that easily. I can give you a long list of my fears, insecurities and uncertainties that have brought me to this state, but it's of no use. Fear is my main problem. Those who raped and killed Tushi, they were the ones who made the biggest fuss in front of the police. I lived in fear, terrified of being involved in the matter, though I was the one who loved her." "But why would you bring this up after such a long time? If you want to live you have to get rid of this fear." "I feel that I'm a selfish man, an escapist." "If you know what your problem is, then why can't you rectify yourself?" "That is the problem. A smoker knows that smoking is harmful, yet he cannot quit easily. Neither can the drug addict." "That is why you need medical help." "There is no point in that. It can be referred to as chromosomal aberration. It can be termed as mutation if there is a change in the nucleotide of the gene. The less talked about these things the better. Just bear in mind that there is a problem in my gene and that cannot be cured." Mamun stopped. His eyes began to roll again. He saw pieces of human body in a ditchblood flowing from a slit throatthe naked body of a girl in the muddy riverbank. Rows and rows of yellow flowers, a mustard field, flock of birds, a rainbow. Sounds of the river tide, the wind's madness, loud wailing of mankind. A father's brutality, a mother's paranoia, Tushi's joy, all began to float past him. The next morning he began to see the sky falling towards a barren earth devoid of rivers, without mustard fields, birds or insects. His screams reverberated in all directions. 2.
When Shivashankar climbs up the stairs through a fearful, deep silence, two locks were hanging on the other side of the collapsible gate. Though he has visited the government hospital several times, he has never come to the mental ward before. A man from the other side asks, "Who are you looking for?" "Is there a patient Mamun Maruf by name?" "A writer?" "Yes." "Come with me," the man says, and unlocks the gate. Entering through the collapsible gate, Shibshankar abruptly stops and stands still. Where has he come? Patients loiter everywhere. Gathering himself, he moves forward. The guard comes to the door of a cabin and points a finger at the only bed there. Shivshankar does not see anybody there. He looks behind to see that the man has vanished. He again looks around the room and suddenly spots Mamun lying on the floor under the bed clad in only a lungi. He kneels down beside Mamun and finds him in deep slumber. He realizes that a potent tranquilizer has been injected. With great effort he hauls Mamun onto the bed, only to see that the moment Mamun's body touches the bed, it rolls down on the floor again. Shivshankar stares at Mamun with empathy. At that moment, Mamun is flying towards the planet Mars. The moon has come out from behind the clouds. The whole stratosphere is lit up with its soothing soft light. Suddenly like a white crane, Tushi comes to his side and starts flying with him. Only the river, the mustard field, the sunset and the rainbow remain with the mortal earth below. Even the carnage and the massacres are also left behind. * The story has been edited for length.
Tamizuddin Lodi is a Bengali writer. This particular story appeared first in Prothom Alo's literature page in May 2004. Saushan Rahman works at The Daily Star.
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