Ramlah.

‘Ramlah.’ She was told it meant ‘Sand’, some kind of valuable sand. Why would her parents name her dirt? Well, it did explain why they treated her the way they did. Her father had died in a drunken brawl and her mother decided to run away with the first man who came knocking on her door. Leaving her, like dirt washed ashore, with her grand mother.

Beyya , she was the only one who truly cared for Ramlah. The two years spent with her grandmother were the happiest ones in her life. She still remembers how she would rush back to their small, tin-roofed hut and into the arms of her warm beyya. Beyya would feed her with her own hands. Rice and meen molagu. Fish Curry. Every single day. But it didn’t matter, because when beyya fed her, while telling her stories of their long gone ancestors, it was the most delicious meal on earth. Oh beyya would scold her too, and sometimes a spanking with a thin stick plucked off the gooseberry tree on their courtyard. But the moment the tears started, beyya would place the stick down and gently wipe away the tears. Then together they would walk to Khader icha’s shop and beyya would give her a rupee to buy anything she liked. And she would always buy orange soda and panji muttayi. The sickly sweet sweet which she convinced was what old witches’ hair looked like. They would come back hand in hand, over the creaking wooden bridge, past Adlancha’s mansion, through Kareem’s banana plantation farm (where one of the workers would always pluck off a ripe yellow banana and hand it to her) and back to the tin roofed hut.

Just when she thought nothing could possibly go wrong now, Beyya also decided to abandon this dirt.

At beyya’s funeral everyone was there. The village had lost an elder, and even a poor elder deserved some respect. Their hut was full and people were sitting on straw mats out in the courtyard too. Khader icha and his wife were serving black tea to everyone who came. Safiya ammayi, her uncle’s wife, came and collected some of the good vessels lying around, handed her a rupee and left in the same rickshaw she came in. As midday approached the men there decided it was time for the funeral. They lifted her beyya, wrapped in white cloth, and carried her away. Through tears she watched people tae away the only person who had every cared for her.

Her tears eventually lulled her into a troubled sleep and when she finally woke up only a few people remained, cleaning up the mess that the mourners had left behind. Empty glasses, some toppled over leaving a trail of black tea which was now drying into sticky splotches. She was watching the flies buzz around the splotches when the cook from Adlancha’s house approached her. She was an old friend of Beyya. She told her that she could come and stay at Adlancha’s place. She would ask Jameela mua , Adlancha’s wife, to give her some work there. Of course, she could no longer attend school. She understood that much, right? Right.

What about the hut, she asked. Oh don’t you worry about it. It’s taken care of.

Ramlah’s job at the mansion was to take care of Adlancha’s children. Three of them, just a few years younger than her. Asiya, Jaffer and Ahmed. They became great friends within the first few days. Itha, big sister, they would call her. She would wake them up in the morning and push the older two towards the bathroom. She had to bathe the youngest one herself. Once all of them were ready she would serve them their breakfast. Everyday something different. Idli, Dosha, iddiyappam. if they were served the same thing two days in a row, they would refuse to eat. And the youngest one, Ahmed, would kick up a storm. After the breakfast and a glass of milk off they would go to the school. Madonna’s Primary School. It was nothing like Ramlah’s school. This one had real walls, not dried palm stalks, to separate different classes. And they had a park, with shiny swing sets and a big slide. After dropping them she would return and then go back a few hours later with triple layered steel lunch boxes filled to the limit with hot rice, curry and pickle. In a separate packet she would carry the crispy pappadoms. She had to be careful not to crush them or Asiya, the eldest, would refuse to touch them. She would sit outside the big black gates of the school and wait for the lunch bell to ring. As she waited with a dozen other girls, waiting for their respective little masters and mistresses, she would strain her ears to catch maybe a snippet of a rhyme and sometimes a slice of the alphabet. Whatever she heard she would repeat to herself till she knew it by heart. Once the lunch bell rang they all would rush inside and wait at the edge of the playground, under the canopy of the huge banyan trees, for the children to come out. Asiya, Jaffer and Ahmed would come running towards her and sit on the mat that she would spread out for them. If they were in a good mood they would tell her, in between the rolling of rice into balls and the cracking of pappadoms, about what they’d done in class. Half the time Ramla couldn’t follow what they said, but when Asiya would talk about her history class she would sit there quietly, taking in each word, as she was told about kings and queens living in huge palaces (bigger than Adlancha’s mansion!), warriors who saved their land from the white Sahipmaar, about men and women who died trying to do so. Every night as rolled her straw mat out in the kitchen she would pray that these kings and warriors find their way to her dreams that night as well.

Years went like this and before she knew it, her Asiya was getting married. The same Asiya who couldn’t tie her own braids was now going to be the mistress of another house! The wedding was beyond anything the entire village had seen. Jameela mua had some people from the city come and decorate the house. Everything was repainted, the old sofas were taken out, the teak wood beds were stuffed into the attic. Everything was new. And everything was cold.

But would Asiya care about these changes when she was busy talking to her fianc’ on the new phone that he had gifted her? A few times she caught her looking at a photo of him and when Asiya saw her looking she would turn red like the fresh henna patterns on her hand.

The day of the wedding Asiya looked like a princess, dressed in a red sari, with gold necklaces and bangles covering every bit of her. Some of her friends from college had come to help her with the make up too. When she sat on the stage with her now husband Iqbal, Ramla couldn’t help saying a prayer to protect both of them from the evil eye.

Once everything had quieted down, all the flowers and lights taken down and the gifts unpacked, Jameela mua called Ramlah to her room. She told her that the wedding couldn’t have gone this smoothly without her help. She thanked her for taking care of Asiya all these years. Then she told her that they thought it was time she got married too. Jameela mua beamed as she told her about the man that was going to share her life from now. He was a driver and worked for Iqbal’s brother who was a wealthy businessman in Dubai. He was coming back home for two months and the wedding would take place as soon as he came.

Not everyone can get a husband who works in the gulf, Ramlah, so thank Allah for your luck!” said mua while Ramla rolled the betel leaves for her.

She met her husband, Rafeek, after the nikkah. He was a kind looking man in his thirties. As her wedding gift Adlancha and Jameela mua gave her a small house with a backyard facing the river ( You can grow your own vegetables, Ramlah!). She moved into this house with Rafeek. Within the first week Rafeek found out all her fears of men she had amassed over a childhood spent near strange men with roving eyes and groping hands. With his kindness and patience, he easer Ramla’s heart and put her fears to rest. She thanked Allah for giving her this ease at last.

Before she knew it two months had passed and it was time for Rafeek to leave. She cried and held on to him as he made his way out, but he had to go. He told her he’ll be back soon. “Just a year or two, Rammu, and then it’ll be time for my next leave! You can wait that long, no, Rammu?”

At the beginning of every month she would go to Jameela mua’s house and wait for Rafeek’s call. On his third call she told him that he was going to be a father. He was ecstatic. She didn’t know what to feel. Jameela mua told her not to worry, she’ll take care of all the expenses. They’ll find her a good midwife. But that was the least of Ramla’s worries.

She gave birth to a baby boy. With ten little fingers and perfect toes. He was the most beautiful thing she had set eyes on. In an instant Akbar became the centre of his mother’s small world. Ramlah didn’t know that she was capable of loving anyone so deeply. After her forty days of rest, she dressed him up and herself wore her wedding sari, followed by a burkha on top, and took the bus to the city. There she went to a studio and took pictures of Akbar and one picture of him with her in her sari. This, she would send to Rafeek.

Her heart swelled with love when her Akbar took his first steps. And when he said his first word- umma- she took out some money from under the mattress and bought sweets from Khader icha’s store and gave it to everyone she saw that day.

Soon it was nearing the time of Rafeek’s leave and she was eagerly waiting with Akbar for his Uppa’s arrival. Rafeek came with bag loads of Pampers and Johnson’s baby powder and Lux soaps for her. As soon as he saw Akbar he dropped his bags and scooped him out of her hands. His uppa couldn’t stop kissing Akbar! For two months Akbar never touched the floor. His uppa was always carrying him around. Wherever he went he would take Akbar with him. The little chap was also growing fonder of this stranger who was suddenly living in their house.

Again, two months flew by and it was time for Rafeek to leave. She accompanied him to the bus stop and waited till his bus to Kozhikode came. He held Akbar close to him throughout and she saw tears rolling down his cheeks as she took Akbar out of his arms. She tried to stifle her own tears so that Akbar wouldn’t be alarmed. But the poor kid was already heartbroken as he saw his uppa getting into the bus and going away. Leaving him and his umma at the dusty bus stop.

This was the pattern even with Ayesha and Mariyam. They both saw their father when they were two and then it was a hide and seek game where they saw him every two years. Akbar was growing up faster than she wanted him too. She could see glimpses of a young man on his face now. Much to her dismay he dropped out of school when he was 13 and joined Kareem’s plantation as a helper. As the days went by, she began to see lesser and lesser of him.

When her neighbour, Razia, told her that she had spotted him smoking bidi by Raghav Cinema, she was furious. That night she waited for him at her gate with a cane in her hand.

When he came she saw that his eyes were bloodshot. Then she lost it. She hit him till she hurt. Ayesha and Mariyam tried to pull her away with their little hands but right then she couldn’t think. And Akbar, he just stood there as the cane left cut after cut on his skin. And when all her frustration had left its mark on her son’s skin, she threw away the cane and took him inside. No one spoke about it again, especially Ramlah and Akbar.

When Akbar turned 18 his father asked him to learn driving. Ramlah knew what was coming but she bit back her cries. Adlancha’s driver taught Akbar driving in exchange for a cup of tea every evening. The old man would do anything for Ramlah’s children. After all he’d seen her grow up with his master’s children.

During Rafeek’s next visit much of the time was spent getting Akbar a passport and visa. new clothes were bought, pickles packed and among all this hustle no one spotted Ramlah’s heart breaking. Rafeek consoled her as she held on to Akbar at the bus stop. And when they finally left she took Ayesha and Mariyam back, served them dinner and put them to bed. Then she cried herself to sleep holding onto to a yellowed picture of her Akbar as a baby and her in her wedding sari.

Her daughters grew up to be beautiful women. They were as efficient as their mother and were eyed by quite a few young men. Soon there were marriage proposals flooding in and more than once she spotted her girls giggling over pictures of potential suitors. After countless cups of tea and plates of laddoo, they finally did find two young men worthy of her daughters. The wedding dates were finalised, two weeks apart, during Rafeek and Akbar’s next visit.

Father and son came back laden with perfumes and cosmetics for the brides to be. Two weeks before the wedding Rafeek decided to take the whole family to Kozhikode for the wedding shopping. That was their first trip as a family. Three days they spent entering every single wedding shop they saw. Rafeek didn’t seem to be bothered about the expenses and made sure that his daughters got what they wanted. Silk Sarees, Some jewellery, shoes…Ramlah was worried about the money, but Rafeek calmed her. ‘What use of me staying in Dubai if I cannot spend for my daughters’ weddings? The whole village should remember this wedding!’

The wedding was more than both their daughters had dreamt of. After they left for their husbands’ houses, it took some time to sink in that they were now somebody else’s. When Rafeek and Akbar went back after their leave, leaving her alone in a house that suddenly seemed too big.

This was how it was going to be now. She filled her time doing every possible chore. She cleaned her house every single day. She made sure that every corner was dust free. Then, if she still had time, she would take her clothes down to the river and wash it there. Her vegetable garden was also flourishing. She had tomatoes, pumpkins and green chillies growing there. She wanted to fill every waking moment with some activity. She wanted to tire herself out so that she didn’t have the energy to think about the empty house. Everyday she would look at the calendar( Which Akbar had gifted her) and it would look the same each time. The time refusing to budge.

She wanted an end to this but she existed for the moments when her daughters came to visit her with their children. She doted over her grandchildren and would often get scolded by her daughters for spoiling them. As the children grew their visits also became fewer and fewer until they visited only when Rafeek and Akbar came back.

It wasn’t like the others didn’t sense her loneliness. Her neighbours would try and spend time with her, but how much of their time could they really give her? And how much of their time could she really take?

A woman living alone also meant that some of the menfolk thought they had a free pass to behave as they want with her, drop in unannounced with vague excuses. It made her so paranoid that at night she couldn’t sleep. She would keep checking if the doors and windows were locked. Again and again till she could see the crack of dawn and then it was time for prayer. Lack of sleep and all this stress ensured that high blood pressure caught up with her. Soon visits to the hospital became one of the things that filled her time. But she didn’t mind. Atleast there were people at the hospital.

A few months after her forty-seventh birthday, during a call with Rafeek, he told her that he was coming back For good. She asked him again and again to make sure she had heard the right thing. She couldn’t believe it. Her husband was coming back! She rushed back home, there was so much to do! She didn’t remember feeling this giddy with happiness. She wasn’t going to be lonely any more!

The day before Rafeek’s arrival she couldn’t sit still. Even for a moment. Every few minutes she would go into the kitchen to check on the chicken curry, then she would come back to her verandah where she was rolling dough for Pathiri. Rice bread and spicy chicken curry, that was his favourite dish. She cleaned the house and cleaned it again. And when everything was done she lay down to sleep barely able to contain herself. How could she sleep knowing that the following day will bring her husband with it? And this time he wasn’t going to leave her.

Some how her eyelids did get heavy. She drifted into a dreamland and saw her Rafeek’s face followed by Akbar, Ayesha and Mariam. Oh, her grandchildren were there too! This was nice, this dream. She didn’t want to wake up now. And she didn’t. Even after the dream ended and Rafeek had come home she didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t.