As soon as she saw the girl, Anwara Begum kept staring at her for a long time. Such a beautiful girl!
The girl was wearing a light cream-colored three-piece outfit. She was quite tall too—probably around five feet five inches. Her skin had a lovely raw turmeric-like glow.
Anwara Begum had already made up her mind. Her son wasn’t bad. He had just completed his master’s degree.
He didn’t have a job yet. But so what? They had more than enough. They owned four houses in Dhaka city—all belonged to her son.
Who knows if the girl was married or not? It didn’t seem like she was. If she were married, she would surely be living with her parents.
A new tenant was moving into the house today. Anwara Begum was standing on the balcony to observe them. Who would have thought they had such a beautiful daughter?
She decided that she would invite the new tenants over for lunch. Since they were busy moving, they probably wouldn’t have time to cook.
What was the man’s name again? Oh yes, Aslam. That sounded like a Muslim name. But then again, these days, it was hard to determine someone’s religion just by their name.
Just a few days ago, her husband Raihan’s colleague had come over. His name was Shantanu Dhar. The surname “Dhar” usually belonged to Hindus. Assuming he was Hindu, she had prepared a vegetarian meal. Later, she found out that he was actually Muslim!
It was important to know their religion. After all, religion was linked to food. If they were Muslim, she could serve beef. But if they were Hindu, that would be a big problem.
She thought for a moment and decided to cook chicken instead—both Hindus and Muslims could eat that.
But what else should she make? Polao or plain rice? When guests come over, it’s customary to serve polao. She could make both—polao along with plain rice. Some people don’t like polao.
Anwara Begum went inside and called for Rahima. Rahima worked in the house. But she didn’t seem like a maid because she had been raised in this house since childhood. She even called Anwara Begum “Ma” and was treated like a daughter.
Anwara Begum had no daughters of her own, so she considered Rahima as one. Not only that, but she had raised her like a daughter too. Rahima had recently taken her HSC exams. She was a good student—had secured a GPA of 5 in SSC. She would likely do well this time too.
Hearing the call, Rahima rushed over. “What happened, Ma?”
“Take out some chicken from the fridge, dear. And check if we have polao rice at home. If not, tell Abbas to bring some.”
“Why do you need polao rice?”
“We have guests coming over.”
“Guests at this hour? Who’s coming?”
“We’re inviting the new tenants for lunch. They won’t be able to cook today, so they can eat here. By dinner, they’ll sort out their cooking arrangements.”
Rahima wasn’t surprised at all by Anwara Begum’s words. She knew her Ma was very kind-hearted.
Anwara Begum went back to the balcony. A large truck was unloading furniture and belongings. The girl was nowhere in sight.
Her father, Aslam, was standing nearby, giving instructions. Anwara was eager to see the girl again. What was she doing? Helping her mother unpack? Or had she gone to rest?
Some girls get exhausted just after a little travel. They tend to be lazy. What kind of girl was this one?
A lazy girl would be a problem. Raihan didn’t like lazy people.
Maybe she should go check on them. As the landlord, she had every right to inquire. And she could take the opportunity to invite them for lunch.
