Eiliyah Read online

  Umme Pritam

  EILIYAH

  First published by Umme Pritam 2022

  Copyright © 2022 by Umme Pritam

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Umme Pritam asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  First edition

  Cover art by Sabby Zaman

  Advisor: Amitabh Dewry

  Advisor: Muzdalif Ahmed Razon

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  Maa, this one’s for you

  Acknowledgement

  When I was writing this story, I had no plan to publish it. The biggest thanks go to my husband, Razon who inspired me to let this story out. Thanks for keeping me motivated and walking with me on this journey. From brainstorming to the final book- thanks for being present and being my biggest cheerleader.

  Thank you Abbu for buying me my first book when I was a child. I certainly got the reading habit from you.

  Thank you Taposhi apu for eagerly waiting for the next chapter when the novel was a work in process. Your interest in reading the story sparked hope inside me.

  A big shout out to Bappy bhaia who was equally excited in my writing journey as I was. You once told me- no matter what, never stop writing. Thank you bhaia.

  Thank you Ammu for being so proud of me. People say- mothers-in-law don’t always support their daughters-in-law. You proved them wrong.

  The tightest hug to my brother Porosh, who read a crappy version of a fantasy novel I wrote when I was 15. You were my first-ever reader champ!

  A big thanks go to Amitabh Dada for guiding me as his own little sister. I would be clueless without you Dada! You saved me big time!

  I want to thank two of my colleagues Popy apu and Sanjida apu for cheering me in every step. Thanks a lot for keeping me motivated.

  Thank you Sabby Bhaia for your generous help. Thanks for making Eiliyah shine.

  A heartfelt thanks to Liberty Brassbridge for helping me out to make the story shine even more. You are so kind. I owe you a big time.

  Last but not least, I want to thank all of my beta readers who helped me by bringing out the best in me.

  1

  Home

  “Ellie! Dinner is ready. Come down now,” my mom called from downstairs while I was busy stargazing, laying on the hard concrete rooftop with my hand tucked under my head. The electricity was out. It was back in 2004, when load shedding was quite common in Dhaka city. Every day, electricity would go out at the same hour of night.

  “Dhaka City has become a shithole,” my father had said the other day. “All those people at the electric plant… who are they to decide when to cut the power?”

  It struck nine in the clock when all the lights in the neighborhood had been shut off. The children from all around used to cheer, since it meant no studying for the time being. Some came out on the street, some went over the rooftop and played games, or simply watched the night sky as I used to do. It was my favorite pastime as an eight-year-old.

  “But now it doesn’t happen–The load shedding,” Sarah interrupts.

  “No, it doesn’t. It’s the year 2039. Bangladesh has come a long way since then,” I reply.

  “Yeah, we play video games now in our free time.”

  “We also had video games back then, but not in our house.”

  “Did you want to play it?” She asks.

  I shrug. “No. Nothing like that. I loved watching cartoons and taking photos.”

  She nods. “Okay Maa, go on.”

  I smile at her. “Sure.”

  As I got up to head down to dinner, Doggo rushed to me, wagging his tail. I had found him four months ago in an alley in our neighbourhood, his right leg was seriously injured. Some children from the street were kicking him in the back. I rushed to him, driving the children away, and knelt before him, placing his soft little head on my lap. But at the sight of his pleading black eyes, I knew what I had to do with him. I refused to move from his side, so my mother allowed me to take him home on one condition—I had to feed him, bathe him, potty train him, the entire work. I agreed without thinking twice, though I was only eight and did not know how to raise a dog.

  Ever since then, he’d been living with us, though it irked my father a lot. Baba even had threatened several times that he would put him in a sack and take him far away from here. He hated dogs. He hated everything with a heartbeat. And I topped the list.

  “I’m so sorry Maa. But my father loves me a lot!” Sarah says.

  I smile. “Yes, he does. More than anything in the world.”

  Suddenly, a squeal from the orphanage building next door caught my attention. Some boys were playing on its rooftop. I knew a few of them—Farhan, Russel, and Arif. But my eyes were fixed on a new boy who was standing aside, far from the others, leaning against a pillar. He’s the only one not playing, rather just watching them. I had never seen him before. That was his first day here. And I immediately felt bad for him. My mom told me that children who don’t have parents come to the orphanage. I didn’t know how those children live without their parents—I couldn’t imagine a day without my mom.

  Jolted from my thoughts, I noticed him staring back at me. God, had I ever seen a more devastating pair of eyes than his? The sadness there was so harrowing it could drown all the people in the neighbourhood. I felt the overwhelming desire to walk up to him and say, “Hey, whatever it is that’s breaking you, it will go away. Because my mom said, God can see everything, and he loves his creations more than even the mother; thus he eases the pain.” As we held our gazes, my feet subconsciously drifted to the edge of the rooftop. Doggo followed closely behind. I stopped as soon as I got close. The boy, too, moved from where he was standing and halted at the railing.

  We said nothing immediately. I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. From there, I could see his eyes clearly: deep and brown. Dried tear streaks trailed down his cheeks to his chin. He probably cried a lot that day.

  “What’s your name?” I asked him. Doggo looked at him and gave a friendly yip.

  His gaze dropped to Doggo, then he looked back up at me again. “Hussain.”

  Mom called me again. I couldn’t talk to him further. “Talk to you later,” saying that I rushed downstairs.

  That night, Mom made my favourite dish—spaghetti. The entire house was heavy with the pleasant aroma of tomato sauce and cheese.

  After dinner, I brushed my teeth, changed into my pajamas, and combed my hair.

  Stepping out of the washroom, I saw Mom had already spread my quilt across my bed, Mr. Dino lying atop it. Mr. Dino was my green woolen with the red tongue dinosaur: my other best friend.

  As I slipped under the quilt and squeezed Mr. Dino to my chest, my mom came inside. She wiggled under the quilt with me.

  “Whoa! My Ellie’s tummy is fluffy today? Maybe because Mommy made her favorite dish.” She rubbed her hand over my tummy, tickling me. I giggled.

  She pulled me toward her and brushed her fingers through my hair.

  “Mom?” I pressed my face against her chest.

  “Yes, my princess?”

  “You love me a lot?” I asked her because I couldn’t erase that boy’s sad eyes from my mind—Hussain.


  Pulling me closer, Mom placed a kiss on my forehead. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

  “All moms love their children more than anything in the world?”

  “Yes.” She said.

  “Then why do they hurt their children by dying, Mom?” Suddenly I felt mad at all the mothers who had died, leaving their children alone in the world.

  Stroking a strand of my hair, Mom said, “You know what mothers want?”

  “What?”

  She looked deep into my eyes. “They fear the day they have to leave their children behind. They are most scared of death because they know no one will love their babies as much as they do.”

  “Then why?”

  “Because we all have to die one day, Ellie, even if we don’t want to. You can’t hide from it. This is God’s will, which we cannot break.”

  I was then mad at God. But as I couldn’t really see him, I couldn’t really ask him directly why he needed to do it. Taking moms away from their babies? I sighed and grabbed my mom tight.

  Mom laughed. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “I saw a new boy at the orphanage today. His name is Hussain. He was so sad.”

  Her face turned sad. “May God make it easier for Hussain.”

  Holding my mom tight, I kept thinking, that nothing could ever be more painful than not having your mother around.

  October 2018:

  I’m leaving for my father’s house. Call me after work. I hesitate a little before pressing the send button. It itches my mind a lot, shooting Aryan texts nowadays, as he almost never replies back.

  Slipping the phone inside my pocket, I look around my bedroom one last time, saying goodbye to my cozy place.

  I clutch the small photo frame of my mother and me in my palms. My eight-year-old self is looking at my mother in absolute awe. She was so beautiful.

  How do people cope with this hollowness? It’s been eight weeks since I last saw her, and it dawns on me that I never will again. She is not around and she is never going to be. But she had me, and I had her. Now I’m here, standing alone, desperately needing to snatch her away from somewhere. But I can’t, can I? Death is the only inevitable thing out there.

  “Ellie!” Aunt Trisha steps inside the room and hugs me tight.

  “You know, you don’t have to stay with your dad. You can live with us.” She cups my cheeks in her palms.

  I smile. “You have done more than enough for us already, and he is my father. I should stay with him.”

  After the divorce from my father, my mom rented the flat next to my aunt’s.

  When my mother fell sick two years ago, Aunt Trisha and Areeba, my cousin, did so much to help with household chores and care for Mom. They did more for us than we could ever repay, and I don’t want to burden them anymore. Although, after all these years, it’ll feel strange to live with my father.

  “But we are always there for you. Remember that,” says Aunt Trisha.

  “Of course.”

  I take my purse and head to the front door.

  My father’s car is parked outside the apartment building.

  “Shall we?” Baba asks as soon as I climb inside. I look at the buildings and streets I once lived and played in one last time.

  “Let’s go.” I wave at my aunt and Areeba who see me off from the gate.

  Are you sure you’ll be alright? A text message from Areeba pops up on my phone screen as soon as I lose sight of them. I can picture her worried face in my head. Though she’s only a year older than me, Areeba practically plays the role of a big sister.

  I miss you guys already. I’ll call you as soon as I get there, I type back.

  This is life, isn’t it? We cope with a terrifying situation by replacing it with something even more terrifying.

  I’ve lost my mother, and nothing more hurtful can outrun it. So yes, I’m going to cope.

  ***

  This is my first time at my father’s new house. He bought this house in Dhanmondi less than two weeks ago. I used to come and meet my father in his old apartment before my mother was diagnosed with cancer. Later, I became too busy between caring for her, my university classes, and running errands.

  We wait in the car in front of the old-fashioned, two-story house. A tall black iron gate separates the red brick house and the expansive lawn from the street. I heard it cost him a fortune buying this house in this neighbourhood, but as a lawyer, Baba afforded it easily.

  As I’m busy checking the new street I’m going to live in, I catch someone staring at me from the house next to my father’s house. It’s a guy, folding his arms across his chest, standing on his balcony–watching us intently.

  I throw him a nervous smile. He doesn’t smile back, rather he frowns?

  Okay, whatever. He might be as well in a bad mood as I am now. I move my eyes back to the gate.

  Baba waves at a middle-aged man who exits the gatehouse. He starts sliding back the gate, allowing us in. On the right-hand side, there is a garage fit for two cars, which my father aims for. The man rushes to my side of the car and opens it once Baba turns off the engine. I step out of the car and smile at him.

  He then walks around the car and starts unloading my belongings from the trunk. As I reach for one of my suitcases, Baba steps out and says, “Ellie, leave it here. Bokul will take these things inside the house and put them in your room.”

  I nod at him. We head down a stone walkway that weaves through the lawn to the front of the house. Aunt Rubina, my father’s elder sister, stands by the front door. She moved into this new house with my father. Aunt Rubina looks just like him: tall, slender, with sharp features. I haven’t seen her in the last nine years. She used to resent my mother and lumped me in with that hatred, so I never got a call or visit from her. But she hugs me as soon as I reach her. “Come here, Ellie!”

  My body stiffens as I hug her back with a smile plastered on my face. I can pretend well, too; it runs in the family.

  She places her hand around my arm, and together, we walk through the entryway into the living room. “Come inside, you need to eat. You’ve gotten thinner since the last time I saw you,” she says.

  I chuckle. I’m twenty-one now and the last time she saw me I was eleven, pretty much a child.

  The house is quite dark. No lights are turned on, except the one glowing from the other side of the house.

  We pass through a corridor that leads us to the dining hall, the source of the light. A huge eight-chair table sits in the centre, and a wall cabinet containing ceramic dishes hugs the wall. A gaudy crystal chandelier hangs above me.

  I wrinkle my nose. As far as my eyes go, I only see excessive grandeur— a huge staircase that I can’t see the top of from here, a heavily equipped kitchen with two dishwashers, gold, and black flower embossed wallpaper. Everything is in this house, exactly the opposite of my mother’s flat. My mom used to hate flashy things. I inherited that from her.

  “Do you want to freshen up first, then have dinner?” Baba asks me.

  “Yes, that’d be better.”

  “Apa!” He turns to Aunt Rubina. “Show Ellie her bedroom.”

  I follow Aunt Rubina up the staircase.

  “Your bedroom is the last one here,” Aunt Rubina explains as we arrive at a door at the end of the hallway. We stop in front of the door as she unlocks it and swings it open for me.

  My mouth drops open at the sheer size of it. Lilac floral wallpaper covers every wall. Everything in this room is lilac—the bedsheet, the curtain, the rug. How does my father still remember that lilac is my favourite colour? He showed minimal interest in my life. Whatever. At least it looks comfy.

  “You like the room?” Aunt Rubina asks me.

  “Yeah, it’s all right,” I tell her, maintaining a straight face. I do that a lot, keeping a straight face. It confuses people, but their puzzled looks amuse me.

  “Your suitcases are beside the closet. Freshen up and then I’ll set the table.” She leaves the room, closing the
door behind her.

  As soon as she leaves, I head out onto the terrace. Two patio chairs have been set around a small tea table. It’s immediately my favorite place in this huge house. The lawn, the main gate, the street, and everything beyond can be seen from here like trees and tiny lights twinkling on the edge of the buildings. The vast sky stretches above. I stand there and try to take it all in. I put my elbow on the railing and lean forward to look over the street. It’s empty. No cars or pedestrians. Good for me. I like silence more than crowds.

  Here, I start a completely different life. With this new house, with a new room, with my father and his sister. My chest aches thinking about the life I had like I have severed a tie with someone I loved with all my heart.

  Is it called desolation? Thinking about the word reminds me of my boyfriend, Aryan. I unlock my phone, and there are only two unread text messages from Areeba. Earlier, it used to irritate me, his lack of communication sometimes, but now I’m immune to it. He must be busy. I’ll just text him goodnight and sleep over it.

  As I open the bathroom door, I feel like I’m inside someone else’s bathroom and sneaking around.

  My phone chimes in my hand. Areeba’s text flashes on the screen. Did you make it? How’s it going?

  I type back, I’m a rich girl now who has a bathtub in her bathroom.

  Whoa! Happy bathing.

  Deciding to take a shower instead, I take out some clothes from my suitcase and hang them on the clothing rack.

  As soon as I’m out of the shower, I cover my head with a big scarf, ready to start my nightly prayer. I pull aside all of the curtains from the windows to welcome in the fresh air. The room is too stuffy otherwise. Even though the room comes equipped with an air conditioner, I’m not ready to indulge myself in that luxury yet.