Lockdown Part 4

Mahmud swallows another mouthful. The egg tastes better than yesterday. Probably they fried it long enough today.

“Looks like we’re lucky, folks,” Mannan, the oldest of the House Peons, says stridently. “The egg’s good.”

Mahmud says, “I was just thinking the same,”

“You dumb bastards have some serious problems. This tastes good to you?” Hakim glares at his peers. He’s the youngest in the group, and so the most irritable.

“It’s better than yesterday at least,” Yamin, the man with a white long beard, argues calmly.

“Oh, come on! We’ve been having eggs for weeks! Even Biryani will taste like shit if you keep eating it for weeks.”

“Correction, Hakim,” says Mahmud. “We’re not getting eggs every day. Two days ago we had chicken curry, and some Pangas too.” Pangas is the local name of Basa fish.

“Whatever.” Hakim waves his hand as if he is trying to slap the air. “Oh, that reminds me. Pangas? That’s the worst fish in the whole goddamn world.” He’s being too harsh, but Pangas definitely has something lacking. That special taste that lingers in your mouth.

“But it’s cheap, eh? That’s why they’re having us eat it,” says Nazrul. He’s middle-aged, slim, short, and has a funny way of keeping his oily hair swept to the side.

“Exactly.” Hakim slaps his thighs.

Mannan says, “Plus, they’re cutting 3000 takas from our salaries every month for the meals.” A taka is equivalent to approximately 84 USD.

The usual monthly expenditure for the nourishment of these House Peons’ families is around 6000 takas. Since they’ll have to pay 3000 takas for the meals that they are having every day—supplied from the Cadets’ mess—at the end of the month, they won’t be able to provide their families as much as they could before.

“Listen, folks,” Mahmud says. “We people are poor. We have limitations. But we’re responsible. Go ask someone rich, who do you spend all your money for? Your mother? No. Your father? No. Your brothers and sisters? No! So where does all the money go? Then the rich man will say, ‘I spend it for my wife and kids’.”

He shakes his head and spits. The spit falls on the floor of the rooftop of the Blue House, which is for now the makeshift residence of the House Peons.

“And we? Whatever the hell we earn, we don’t just use up all the money for our wife and kids. We take care of our father and mother. They have nobody to look after them except us. We’re their only hope.”

Five heads nodded their agreement.

“And they’re taking 3000 takas from us. We could’ve spent all that for our parents. Even for our wife and kids too. If that dickhead Principal cares so much about us, why doesn’t let us have the foods in half the price? It’s a crisis situation. Taking that step makes total sense, doesn’t it?”

“Forget about that,” says Nazrul. “He told us not to sneak out of the campus. Well, we could’ve easily fled if we wanted to. We could’ve fled every fucking day. Who knows the campus better than us?”

The House Peons truly know the campus well, especially the loopholes. For instance, the brick wall that surrounds the entire campus is slightly cracked behind the Administrative Office and the Games Store. If you look closely enough at those walls, you’ll see the mortar in between the bricks is hardly there, making it terribly easy to remove the bricks. These two places are quite far away from the main gate of the campus, and therefore, far away from the watchful eyes of the guards as well. Even the Cadets are known to climb over these walls and roam around outside the campus late at night.

As for the House Peons, who have had a job in this campus for years, it’s easier than a walk in the park.

“He was telling about some fourth-class employee who already fled from the campus,” says Nazrul. “Any ideas who could that be?”

Mahmud says, “God knows. But whoever it was, it doesn’t matter. We’re never gonna do that, are we?”

“Exactly,” Yamin says. “We could, but we won’t. Because we have a liability for the Cadets. We feel for them. That’s why we don’t go even though we have all the chance.”

Everyone nods.

“These are difficult times, gentlemen.” Hakim is an expert mimicker. “Fuck him. Why did he bring his own kids to his bungalow then? Isn’t he supposed to care about the Cadets more than his family?”

The Principal has two sons, Mahir and Habib. Both of them are students of a University in another district and residents of two different hostels. The Principal had them travel back home the day before the lockdown. They had arrived in the campus just two hours before all the gates were sealed.

“We told him about the abandoned buildings, didn’t we? Our wife and kids could’ve stayed there,” Hakim says.

Yes, there are two abandoned buildings on the Eastern side of the campus just beyond the Officers’ Quarters. But there’s only one problem with those buildings: they are abandoned. They were on the way of demolishment as a part of the Mega Project, which aimed to expand the area of the campus from the current 95 acres to 120 acres by the following year. The demolishment was postponed because of the lockdown. Therefore, the House Peons thought it wise to request the Principal to keep their families in the abandoned buildings while they stayed in the rooftop of the Blue House.

Their request had been rejected.

“Yeah, he didn’t let us,” Mahmud says. “I could’ve at least seen Jorina and Hasan every day if he did.”

Mahmud recalls last night’s phone call. His skin starts to tingle.

“You know, Jorina called me last night. She said Hasan couldn’t sleep without me. When she gave the phone to Hasan, he kept saying one thing. Baba, tumi asho. Baba, tumi asho. It was the night. Fucking late night. And my son was saying tumi asho.”

Everyone looks at Mahmud. They can feel it, they can see it. The desperation and anguish are written all over his face.

“Yesterday, when I was coming back from the Admin Office with some files, I saw Fahmida outside the Campus Bank,” Shujon says. He has the quietest mouth in the group. He hardly speaks when his peers are chatting. But when he does, there’s always a shift in the air.

“You know, they’re allowing people to come to the bank through that pocket gate. I saw her right there. Meters away. She had little Mariam with her. The moment Mariam saw me, she started crying like hell. She even jerked free from Fahmida’s hand and…. and… she fell. To the ground. She was rolling and rolling. Screaming my name. The guards were there. They were just looking at me, watching if I went to them. They would’ve surely reported to the Principal if I went. Because we’re not allowed to come in contact with outsiders.So I just stood there. I stood and watched my daughter roll in the ground.”

Guilt surges up within Mahmud. Until now he had envied his peers, thinking he was the only sufferer in the group. But now he sees what a ridiculously self-absorbed he was.

“What was wrong if they sent the Cadets home? What worse could happen?”

Shujon’s eyeballs fill with dark red lines. Warm tears trickle down his cheeks.

His peers look away now. It’s never easy to look a grieving man in the eye.