My father died at the age of 46 when I was 16. Mokbul Hossain was his name. He was employed as a clerk in a private company. I remember vividly the days of his death. He became ill quite suddenly and passed away on 6th November 1996. It was a shock to us all. We were left penniless and hopeless with an uncertain future. My mother, her name is Nafiza Momotaz Jharna, was just a housewife. She knew little of the ways of the world. I was old enough to understand what was happening but yet too young to do anything about it. I was studying at that time. These were dark days for me. Even my father had found it difficult to maintain our family, I remember it had been a hand-to-mouth existence. So how could I is what I tell myself now to console myself.
Then, there is my brother Shajib. He suffers from Congenital Cyanotic Heart Disease. Medicines and blood transfusions sustain his life. If we are unable to give him blood when required he grows very blue and becomes very ill. He writhes in pain. It is something I just cannot bear to see. He is now the center of my life. I have to make him well. I know if he dies a part of the rest of us will die with him. I do not want to even think of the effect it will have on my mother and her sanity. Shajib knew nothing of our father. He was just nine months old when my father passed away.
My mother suffers. She has suffered the worst. She suffers for Shajib. I know she can bear the physical pain for when there is love there is no pain to suffer. But I know the mental pain is hard to bear. My mother speaks little but her sad deep eyes and gaunt face shows the anguish she suffers within. I feel sorry for her. She also suffered a lot with my sisters, in trying to give them away in marriage. Our social custom requires the woman’s family to give some money or land to the man’s, a dowry it is called. When my father was alive he was not able to give my sisters away in marriage with his meager income. She tries her best all the time to make things easy for us. She is 55 now. She suffers from high blood pressure for which she takes medicine.
My elder sister Moni has one son. She, with her husband, maintains her family by cultivating her husband’s land. Reshma, my second sister also has a son. She like Moni also lives off her husband’s land. Her son also suffers from a debilitating disease. He has impaired growth and development both physical and mental. The two families have a hard time, the land is small and most of the time it is not possible to grow anything because the lands are inundated with water.
I got married in August 2010. My wife is pregnant. We live in Dhaka in a small room on which I spend about two-thirds of what I earn. This leaves me with very little to do anything else. I still manage to send money to my mother for food for her, my brother Shajib and younger sister and medicines for Shajib. I am mentally quite distressed now, after my wife became pregnant due to her having to get medical check ups. I cannot afford to take her to the doctor when she complains sometimes of pains. She understands. She only tells me or calls me at work when the pain is unbearable. She would usually call back to tell me that the pain has subsided and she can bear it. I feel quite guilty about this and sad.
As the eldest son I feel I have been a failure. I have not been able to get treatment for my brother to cure him of his illness. I have not been able to provide a better life for my mother and younger sister, her education. She is of marriageable age now. They live in Khulna City, very far from Dhaka, in what is no more than a small hut.
I work in a foreign company, Hong Kong owned. My boss who is the company’s head in Bangladesh has been good to me. He is a Sri Lankan. It is with his help that I am now trying to save Shajib. I know of no words that are good enough with which to thank him and his family. Shajib’s treatment has to be done either in Singapore or in India. It is very costly. I know he cannot do it by himself. We will need a lot of money. But at least I now have something to hope for. I hope I can save my younger brother.
(Written by Khijir in Bengali and translated in to English)
