: There is fish today, won't you come and eat?
I was falling asleep with my head on the table at an untimely hour. I checked the message and saw that it was Alamgir Bhai's message.
Alamgir Bhai works as a mess waiter in the doctors' canteen of our hospital, he is Bangladeshi. But the strangest thing is that Alamgir Bhai does not have any of the ethnic problems that we Bangladeshis have.
For example, ethnically we are very lazy. We don't want to do our own work, we don't want to know. Whoever does his own work knows everything about Allah's world except that work, he knows nothing about himself. But Alamgir Bhai is not like that. He knows his work, he knows it very well.
Another problem of our ethnicity is that we are very jealous. We can't see that someone else is getting a little better, a little better.
If that special person is another Bangladeshi, then it's not a problem. How can we ruin that facility? The rest of the Bangladeshis will get together and go after it. But surprisingly, Alamgir Bhai doesn't have that problem either.
The food, chess, and things of the doctor's canteen are all in his custody. We don't eat as we please in front of him. We also give various paras for tea cups, coffee, honey, etc. He doesn't say anything.
After a certain time, the canteen closes, then these are not available. But even at that time, if we need anything, our only hope is Alamgir Bhai. He manages everything with just a call.
But for some time now, I haven't liked any of the food in the canteen, except for khichuri and fish. What kind of fish is Rui fish, cooked like Bangladeshi cuisine with cauliflower and brinjal, and khichuri, these two are the only ones that can be eaten in small amounts. But I don't know exactly which day fish or khichuri will be served. That's why he is fulfilling the great responsibility of informing me.
He would occasionally send messages when he was on duty.
- Today, it was khichuri, come here.
- Today, they gave me fish, it was delicious, come quickly.
I understood when I got the message, they give me fish on Wednesdays and khichuri on Mondays. But today, it was Tuesday, why did Alamgir Bhai still send me a message saying he gave me fish!
I went to the canteen with a little hesitation. As soon as I sat down at the table, Alamgir Bhai brought two small white plastic bowls in front of me, his face full of smiles.
: Here is rui fish and in this one, hilsa fish, for you.
Now it was my turn to be surprised.
: Where did you get hilsa fish!
: I had brought it from the country with someone, my mother was cooking it, try it, it tastes very good.
I was happy and embarrassed at the same time. I was happy that the man gave me some of the little food he brought. If he didn't love me as a person, he certainly wouldn't have done this!
And because of this embarrassment, out of all the food he brought, he gave me two or four pieces of fish, would it be right to eat this! Although eating four pieces of fish is not a problem for me.
Seeing me hesitant, Alamgir brother insisted.
: Madam, eat. My mother's cooking.
He did not listen to my repeated requests. But after hearing one thing from him, I could not stop eating. He was saying,
: Are you complaining that my mother did not clean properly? My mother is very clean.
After saying this, I could not stay without eating. However, the food was really very delicious. I ate it and thanked her with a shy face and left.
But I was surprised to think of one thing.
For the past few days, I had been wanting to eat Bangladeshi hilsa fish. But for some reason, I could not bring it in any way. It was not available because of the bat.
Suddenly, Alamgir brother made me eat that fish. One can imagine how difficult and unusual ways God can arrange everything if he wants!
And seeing that there are people like Alamgir Bhai, it is not so common in this foreign land. It is so common. Many prayers for people like him.The transition from the innocent joy of stealing plums to the harsh reality of household politics is captured beautifully in your writing. Here is the English translation of your story, maintaining the emotional weight and the rural atmosphere:
The Plum Tree and the Bitter Parting
"What are you doing, Bithi?"
"Nothing."
"What's that bamboo pole for?"
"I told you, nothing! And stop following me."
Despite my protest, Alam kept trailing behind. I didn't push it further—if he wanted to come, let him.
Our house was right next to Nazrul Mama's. In the narrow gap between the two buildings stood a lush plum tree, its fruit incredibly sweet. But Nazrul Mama never let anyone touch them. His wife and children were the same—they wouldn't even let you pick them up from the ground; they'd come charging at you if you tried. Today was a rare opportunity, though. Mami's family had a wedding at her father's house, and the whole lot of them were gone.
Even with the bamboo pole, I couldn't reach the plums.
"You want the plums, don't you?" Alam asked.
"Yes."
"Let me try."
"Go ahead."
Alam tried, but the height was too much. In a desperate move, he threw the pole like a spear into the branches. A few plums fell, but the pole got stuck deep in the foliage.
"Happy now?" I snapped. "I told you not to come."
Embarrassed, Alam scratched his head for a moment. "Should I climb the tree?"
"The tree is inside their boundary. How will you get in?"
"What if I get onto their roof?"
"The roof? Can you do it?"
"Let's see."
It was a single-story house, so it wasn't too difficult. On one side, some bricks were jutting out from an unfinished wall, making a perfect ladder. Within moments, he was up there.
"Should I shake the branches, Bithi?"
"No, no! That'll make too much noise and people will notice. Just pick them by hand and pass them to me."
Alam gathered a good amount. I filled the tuck of my dress with the plums, and we headed home.
"Where'd you get these? Nazrul's tree? Oh, Moyna... if Nazrul saw this, he'd skin you alive!"
It was Modina's mother, our domestic help.
"Keep quiet, Buya," I whispered. "I've picked them, and that's that. If you want, take some for yourself."
"Fine, I won't say a word. But who climbed the tree? This boy?"
She gestured toward Alam. I didn't answer. I just handed her a handful of plums and went inside.
Modina's mother had been working for us for a long time; her mother used to work here before her. We had even helped arrange her marriage. But her husband turned out to be a worthless man—a parasite who lived off her earnings and, given the chance, would beat her senseless.
The tension started when Modina's mother crossed paths with Rabeya Fupu (my paternal aunt).
Modina's mother had just finished mopping the whole house and went into the kitchen. When she stepped out, she saw puddles of water on the floor.
"I just mopped this! Where did this water come from? Bithi, who walked through here?"
"I don't know... maybe Rabeya Fupu."
"Did she dive into the pond and walk straight back in?"
"Probably."
Grumbling with rage, Modina's mother mopped it up again. But before she could finish, Alam appeared, dripping wet from the pond.
"Bithi, give me a towel."
"Why did you go to the pond without a towel?"
"I just did. Now go get one."
"I won't."
Alam was soaked. Water was dripping from his clothes, forming puddles. He started heading inside to get the towel himself.
"You big oaf! Can't you see the water dripping off you? Why are you going inside like this?"
Modina's mother might have said more, but she stopped when she saw Rabeya Fupu at the top of the stairs.
"A grown boy like this... seems like he hasn't been taught any manners," Modina's mother muttered.
"You don't need to worry about that, Modina's mother. Just do your work," Rabeya Fupu retorted.
"Oh, I don't need to worry? How long will you stay in your brother's house? Your husband kicked you out... if this boy doesn't grow up right, whose neck are you going to hang onto?"
The mention of her husband made Rabeya Fupu explode. A fierce argument broke out. In the heat of their shouting match, my mother appeared.
"What is going on, Rabeya? Go to your room. And Modina's mother, why are you screaming? You haven't finished the kitchen work. What will your Master eat when he returns?"
"Listen, Bhabi," Modina's mother snapped, "don't glare at me. It won't work. Look at who you've brought into this house. Just watch what happens to your household."
Rabeya Fupu, still standing by the stairs, yelled back, "Why do you care so much about someone else's home, you wretched woman? You get beaten twenty-four hours a day, and yet you act so proud!"
"I get beaten, so what? It takes luck to even be beaten by a husband. At least he didn't throw me out like you. He hasn't divorced me to bring in a new wife!"
Despite Rabeya Fupu's fiery spirit, she was no match for the venom in Modina's mother's tongue. Fupu couldn't stoop as low as she did. She went pale. For a moment, I wanted to remind Fupu that Modina's mother didn't even live with her husband for him to kick her out, but what was the point? Modina's mother would just find another logic to win.
Red-faced with humiliation, Rabeya Fupu retreated to her attic room. Modina's mother went back to the kitchen, still muttering under her breath.
Alam, who had been watching the whole scene silently, quietly slipped away.
In the afternoon, my father returned from the local market and sat down for lunch.
"Bithi, come eat."
"Coming, Abba."
"Go call Alam and Rabeya too."
I went to call them, but Rabeya Fupu refused. She said she had a headache and wouldn't eat. Hearing this, Father walked up to the attic himself. Mother began serving rice to Alam and me as if nothing had happened.
"Alam, don't you like Shing fish?"
"Yes, Mami."
"Then help yourself. Bithi, you take some too."
Mother pushed the bowls toward us and disappeared. She probably wouldn't eat today either.
The menu was delicious: dried fish mash, Shing fish curry with tomatoes, rui fish with cauliflower and potatoes, fried eggplant, and moong dal. Everything tasted wonderful with the steaming hot rice.
A little later, Father came downstairs. His face was grim.
"Did something happen at home, Bithi?"
"No..."
"Did your mother say something to Rabeya?"
"I don't know. Not in front of me."
Father was about to leave his meal and get up. I stopped him.
"Abba, Modina's mother and Rabeya Fupu had a big fight."
"Over what?"
"Just some water on the floor... nonsense like that."
Without another word, Father left the table, leaving his food untouched. In the evening, Modina's mother arrived, crying. Father had ordered her to leave the area. He didn't want to see their faces by tomorrow morning.
She fell at my mother's feet, sobbing. "Tell the Master... it won't happen again. He'll listen to you!"
She cried until her eyes were swollen. But Mother sat there like a statue, silent. Finding no help from her, Modina's mother left, shouting curses as she went.
"Just you wait! One day you'll face misery because of this woman! Mark my words. See if I'm right!"
The very next day, Modina's mother and her husband left Shimultoli forever. They never returned.
That was a powerful ending. The contrast between the simple meal and the heavy atmosphere is very evocative.
Would you like me to analyze certain themes of the story or help you write a follow-up scene?