CricBD » Prelude to Bangladesh

The Merry Widow

These widows, Sir, are the most perverse creatures in the world.
The Spectator
Addison

    LEILA BANU had reached the age of discretion - or so she thought. She was a widow of thirty-five summers, and her late husband, a fat contractor, had left her a house (built mostly with materials filched from his clients) together with a tidy sum in the bank. She had put in commendable efforts, and large chunks from the hand account, to add allurment to an otherwise plain building, and displayed surprisingly good taste in the selection of furniture and fittings. But then Leila was, for a countrywoman, unusually sophisticated. A college education, and flashy magazines, had left their mark. The house was situated in a lane, not too far from the heart of the town, and seemed ideally suitable for a quiet life of retirement without remorse.
    Just before the political storm broke over East Pakistan, a group of foreign engineers had arrived in the town, to begin survey work on a telecommunications project, and, in their search for houses in which to accommodate some of their officers, had been led by a local broker, galvanised into feverish activity by the prospect of a neat commission from gullible foreigners, to the abode of Leila, who lived in languid expectancy of such an event. She was ready to move at a moment's notice to her mother's village home. Her husband, snatching desperate moments of lucidity from his last diabetic coma, had given her a few invaluable business precepts, from which it was hoped she would benefit.
    The foreigners looked over the house, and at once approved. This was just what they were looking for, said the Project Manager, without adding that he had selected it for himself - for who could resist such a charming landlady? Another house would have to be found for the others.
    A cup of tea sealed the bargain, and all that remained was to sign a lease for three years, which Mr Grigson promised to do as soon as he returned from Dacca, having obtained governmental approval of the arrangement.
    And then the storm broke, East Pakistan erupted into civil war, the Pakistan Army eventually took over the town, and the foreigners never returned.

* * * * *

    Leila was looking bewitching in a dark green saree. She bad covered both wrists with green glass bangles, and her face was aglow with makeup. She cast a practised eye to see that the bottle of whisky was in its right place, together with soda-water bottles and an ash-tray, on a table next to Major Sadiq's favourite armchair. Abdul, her boy-cook, was busy frying potato chips, and roasting almonds. The evening, as usual, was carefully arranged. Even a mosquito-coil sent grey pungent wisps across the floor of the room, to ensure naked comfort, free from importuning insects. Presently she heard a jeep draw up, and opening the front door herself welcomed her visitor.
    "Good evening Sadiq. On time as usual. Come in!"
    Major Sadiq returned her greeting and frowned. She always remarked on the timing of his arrival. Was it because of an earlier departure? Had he one or more rivals? He would have her watched!
    "You're looking very charming tonight," he said, guiding her by a bangled wrist towards a sofa. Deftly she turned him back towards his favourite chair.
    "Let me pour you a drink first," she gaily said, "I have important matters to discuss."
    As he sipped his drink, Leila came to the point:
    "That young Captain in charge of allotting telephones has again made excuses about my one. He says I cannot be given priority, and that in any case the Brigadier has to approve. You promised..."
    "What a small thing to worry about. I'll ask Mumtaz to fix it tomorrow morning. He's a nice chap."
    "Then there's the question of my kerosine ration. The Captain in charge says that military requirements have to be met first, and that supplies are at present limited. What about my cooking...?"
    "I'll speak to him in the morning. Afzal is a nice chap."
    "And we must have a guard around here soon. The Mukhti Bahini* have made raids nearby. That awful explosion last night after you left..."
    Really, the Major thought, she's as dreadful as a wife! here I come, after a hard day's work, in need of love and relaxation, and she spoils everything by grumbling. If she were my wife I'd beat her. But she isn't, and instead I'm going to...
    Suddenly there was a loud explosion-probably a grenade.
    Quickly Major Sadiq jumped up and switched off the lights. Leila emitted a well-bred scream. "Shhhhh" the Major hissed, dragging her towards the sofa in this darkness. "Be quiet, they may be near!" Swiftly he began to disrobe her.
    After quite a while, just as she was struggling to regain her breath, there was another explosion. The Major was promptly stirred to action again.
    When, Leila wondered, will this bloody war be over?

* * * * *

    Captain Mumtaz had many things on his mind. He was in Signals, and his CO was far from satisfied with communications in his sector. The General himself had made caustic comments. His desk was stacked with files, and Captain Mumtaz fancied himself a man of action, not an office-room cissy! With a war raging-however juvenile and irregular the civil war in East Pakistan may on the surface have seemed - he had spent the best part of the morning ordering the Telephone Department chaps about to get one installed in the house of a certain Leila Banu, whose claim to a connection was based on the amorous interest of Major Sadiq. Really, the QMG had little else to do, outside ordering rations for the men, and whisky for himself!
    Who was this Leila Banu anyway? Now that the telephone was installed, and he had the number, he would ring and find out if it was working properly. With a firm finger he dialed:
    "Is that Leila Banu speaking? This is Captain Mumtaz. How do you like your new telephone? You wanted a black one? But surely a white one is better? Black cushions? Oh, I see. Well, I should like to come and check the instrument myself. And I'm very curious about the black cushions. No, I'm not at all busy. I shall come along at once."
    Thus captain Mumtaz found a pleasant respite for himself, at certain carefully stipulated times, Checking the widow's telephone, and sporting around generally against the black cushions.

* * * * *

    There was commotion at headquarters. The General had arrived on a surprise visit, and all officers were stiff with apprehension. The reports on this particular sector had failed to impress the General, especially with regard to the capture or destruction of rebels, and the Brigadier was in for a rocket.
    Major Sadiq held his glass in a tight grip and regaled Leila Banu with the iniquities of service life, and nostalgic stories about his farm, tucked away in the Panjab, where the harvest was now due. Then he changed the subject.
    "By the way, have you been seeing Mumtaz - you know, the Captain who fixed you telephone?"
    Leila opened wide eyes in astonishment, and said:
    "He came once to check, and once again to change it to a black one. Apart from that I have not seen him. Why?"
    "Oh, I just wondered. He keeps disappearing from his office in the afternoon, and can't be traced. I'm just warning you not to fool around with the junior officers - they might get you into trouble."
    "Is he such a junior officer? You're only a Major after all! And a bit old too, if I may say so. You must have a lot of children running about on that farm of yours."
    Major Sadiq put down his glass, and walked towards her with a hard glint in his eye. "I shall now demonstrate what an old man, such as you think I am, can do..."

* * * * *

    Captain Mumtaz jerked his head up from a black cushion. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. He had been away from his office for almost two hours. Major Sadiq had wanted to see him about an order for the Signals mess. A jeep outside backfired. There was a loud knock on the from door. Abdul, the stupid boy-cook, opened it, and Major Sadiq barged into the room.
    Leila Banu arranged her hair with a defiant gesture. Captain Mumtaz stood up stiffly. He had always imagined such a situation, but was totally unprepared to face it.
    "You are wanted back at your office Mumtaz, so you had better hurry along."
    "Let me explain," Mumtaz began, but was cut short.
    "Explanations," Major Sadiq said, with evident enjoyment, glancing at Leila, "will follow later. Now just get back to your office."
    And Captain Mumtaz, with a bitter look at Leila, strode from the room. Before he shut the front door, he gave Abdul the boy-cook a quick smart kick on his round bottom.
    That night, Leila wept.
    The next morning her telephone was disconnected and taken away.
    Captain Mumtaz was transferred to another sector.
    Major Sadiq continued to visit the remote house, but his manner became more and more sadistic. His nerves were in a bad state. He drank a lot and took it out on Leila.
    The civil war entered its last grotesque phase as the Indian army, poised for attack on the borders of East Pakistan, waited for the signal to invade. The signal at last came, and the farce was over.

* * * * *

Leila Banu opened the front door herself. Outside stood a young man in a green uniform. His hair was long and shaggy, and his beard was matted, like a thick piece of black jute. He had been a straggler with the Freedom Fighters, yet had seen no action. But he was important. He knew how to throw his weight around. He was the New Bengalee Youth - representing the total failure of a generation.
"Joy Bangla!" Leila said. "You are on time as usual. Come in!"

* Freedom Fighters.

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