A Golden Age by Tahmima Anam Read Free Book Online Page B

and peered inside. ‘What are you doing in the car?’ he shouted.
Sohail opened his window and the boy stuck his fingers through the gap. ‘I’m just taking my mother and my sister home,’ Sohail said. ‘What’s going on?’
‘You haven’t heard? Assembly postponed indefinitely.’ ‘What?’
‘Sala. Bastard Bhutto’s convinced Yahya there can’t be a Bengali running Pakistan.’
‘What?’ Maya said. ‘Election cancelled?’
Joy and Aref started firing questions at Jhinu, asking what he thought Mujib was going to do. They all kept saying we knew, we knew this was going to happen. It was only a few moments, a few sentences, but Rehana had the feeling they were deciding something important. She kept telling herself she was still in charge, that nothing would be done without her consent. She pitched forward on the seat.
‘Sohail, beta, the crowd is thinning, perhaps we should go?’ Sohail was rapping the steering wheel with his fingers, whis-
pering something to Joy. He turned around. ‘OK, Ammoo, let’s go.’
Good. She would find a way to make sure he didn’t go back.
     
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‘We’ll join you,’ he said to the boy in the window; ‘we’re just coming.’
‘Hurry up – we’ll be at the TSC later.’
‘Why don’t you boys go ahead? I’ll drive,’ Mrs Sengupta said. ‘Na, Supriya, let the boys take us home,’ Rehana said. ‘Nonsense,’ Mrs Sengupta insisted. ‘They’ll just have to come
all the way back. Pull over, Sohail.’
Rehana cursed the day Mr Sengupta had taught his wife to drive. She just wanted them all home. ‘Really,’ she said, ‘do you think it’s safe for us to go by ourselves?’
‘Of course it’s safe. We’ll be in the car, what could happen?’ ‘Ammoo,’ Sohail said a little eagerly, ‘you’ll be OK?’
‘Yes,’ Rehana replied. It came out weakly, but he didn’t seem to need much convincing.
They waited until the last of the procession passed. Sohail parked the car in front of Rokeya Hall and left the engine running. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, don’t worry,’ Mrs Sengupta said. ‘I’ll get them home. You join your friends. Jao.’
‘OK. Ammoo – I’ll just find out what’s happening and come straight home.’
Rehana fought off a wave of panic. ‘Be careful, beta.’ ‘Don’t worry. Bye!’
‘Khoda Hafez.’
Mrs Sengupta was already at the front of the car, waiting to take the wheel. She held out the door for Rehana with a flourish. ‘Don’t worry so much!’ she said.
Suddenly a thin, lungi-clad boy bolted past. Mrs Sengupta’s sari slid from her shoulder, exposing her blouse and her bare stomach, and, as she bent to rearrange herself, she slipped and tumbled forward, her head knocking against the wheel before she could stretch out her arms to break the fall.
Rehana rushed to her side and struggled to lift her up. ‘Are you hurt?’ She pulled Mrs Sengupta into the driver’s seat and slammed the doors. ‘Are you hurt?’ she repeated.
‘No, it’s nothing,’ Mrs Sengupta said, ‘just a little dirty.’
     
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‘Here, take my handkerchief.’
‘Just an accident. Nothing to worry.’ She took the handker- chief and began to wipe the mud from her palms.
‘Supriya,’ Rehana said, ‘you’ve lost your teep.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Sengupta touched her forehead and then looked into the folds of her sari. ‘I hadn’t realized.’ She rolled down her window and hurriedly brushed a few stray tears from her eyes. ‘Just a little startled,’ she said, laughing nervously. Then she adjusted her seat, checked her reflection in the mirror and cupped her palm over the gear.
Rehana looked back to check on Maya. Her daughter was watching the retreating procession as it crossed the university intersection and headed towards Nilkhet.
     
Waiting for them in front of the bungalow gate was Sharmeen, a tall young woman with broad shoulders and a tough, ageless face. She was a student at the art college, famous on campus for her political posters, and Maya’s