Mrs. Anwara Begum kept staring at the girl for a long time. Such a beautiful girl!
The girl was wearing a light cream-colored three-piece outfit. She wasn’t short either—probably around five feet five inches tall. Her complexion was stunning, like the delicate yellow of raw turmeric.
Anwara Begum had already made up her mind. Her son wasn’t bad. He had just finished his master’s degree.
He didn’t have a job yet, but so what? Didn’t they have enough wealth? They owned four houses in Dhaka city—all of them belonged to her son.
Was the girl married? Who knew? It didn’t seem like she was. If she were, she would surely be living with her husband instead of her parents.
Today, new tenants were moving into the house. Anwara Begum had been standing on the balcony to take a look at them. She hadn’t expected them to have such a beautiful daughter.
Anwara Begum made up her mind—she would invite the new tenants over for lunch. Since they were busy with the hassle of shifting, they probably wouldn’t be able to cook.
What was the man’s name again? Oh yes, Aslam. That sounded like a Muslim name. But then again, these days, you couldn’t always determine someone’s religion just by their name.
A few days ago, one of Raihan’s father’s colleagues had visited. His name was Shantanu Dhar. The surname “Dhar” was commonly associated with Hindus, so she had assumed he was Hindu and prepared vegetarian dishes accordingly. Later, she found out he was actually Muslim!
It was important to know a person’s religion. After all, food choices depended on it. If they were Muslim, she could serve beef. If they were Hindu, that would be a big problem.
Anwara Begum decided to prepare chicken instead—it was safe since both Hindus and Muslims could eat it.
What else should she cook? Polao or plain rice? When guests came over, polao was usually served. A good solution would be to make both polao and plain rice. Some people didn’t like polao, after all.
She stepped inside and called out to Rahima. Rahima worked in the house, though she didn’t seem like a servant. She had grown up in this house since childhood and called Anwara Begum “Mother.” She was more like a daughter.
Anwara Begum had no daughters of her own, so she treated Rahima like one. Not only that, but she also nurtured and educated her like her own child. Rahima had recently taken her HSC exams. She was a bright student—she had scored a GPA of 5 in her SSC exams. She would probably do well this time too.
Hearing the call, Rahima came running. “What is it, Ma?”
“Take out the chicken from the fridge, dear. And check if we have polao rice at home. If not, ask Abbas to bring some.”
“What are you making polao for?”
“We have guests coming over.”
“At this time? Who’s coming?”
“The new tenants. They just moved in, so they won’t be able to cook right away. Let them have lunch here. They can arrange for their dinner later.”
Rahima wasn’t surprised at all by Anwara Begum’s words. She knew her mother had a kind heart.
Anwara Begum stepped onto the balcony again. A large truck was unloading furniture and belongings. But the girl was nowhere to be seen.
Her father, Aslam, was standing and giving instructions. Anwara felt eager to see the girl again. What was she doing? Helping her mother arrange things? Or had she gone to lie down?
Some girls became exhausted after just a little travel. Such girls were lazy. What kind of girl was this one?
If she were lazy, that would be a problem. Raihan didn’t like lazy people.
Maybe she should go down and check. As the landlord, she had the right to inquire about the tenants. And while she was at it, she could extend the lunch invitation as well.
