Roger wanted to come and meet Pari's family, primarily because his business partner in Bangladesh informed him that it was the norm. "You cannot land up at their house, with Pari, few days before the marriage," Mr. Momen said. "You need to formally ask their daughter's hand for marriage," he elaborated.
Roger, who had known Abdul Momen for the last 10 years, realised it was timely advice. He had been eager to meet the family, particularly Kajol and Shona. He had spoken to them a few times, when Pari called home. However, he had always thought that Pari would be with him. The day he left for Ardapunia, he had spoken to Pari. She had not been feeling too well after coming back from their Bournemouth trip.
"Go to the clinic Pari; you will be travelling in two weeks," he had urged. "Pari, I am nervous," confessed Roger, "do I need to carry sandesh? Is there any particular custom to follow, when I meet them?" he had asked, missing her.
Allaying his apprehensions, Abdul had bought various kinds of desserts (sweets are traditionally carried, when one goes visiting for the first time), and packed it for Roger.
Abdul had been excited when Roger informed him that he and Pari were getting married. He decided he belonged to both the groom's side, Roger being a friend, and the bride's side, as Pari was the daughter of the land. Abdul had never thought that Roger was serious about the relation. In fact, one day, at Roger's home in Newfoundland, where he had been spending few days, he had broached the subject. "I will be proposing to her on her birthday," Roger had said. "Don't know if she will accept." Abdul had gone on to Montreal to visit relatives. They had not spoken about this again, till Roger told him a few days back, once he reached Bangladesh.
Abdul had wanted to come to Ardapunia with Roger, but was kept back due to some urgent work; Roger, sitting in the bus, watching the rolling green plains pass by, imagined how it will all go.
Abbu and Kajol were at the bus stop, as Roger embarked with a small case and a large packet. Pari had been getting herself admitted at the hospital, and had told him that she would call, once done.
She called in the evening, waking up from a much needed nap. She had been frightened handling the hospital admission. She had missed him. Roger said, "Pari I am coming back. You don't sound good."
"Yes, I was bad, but I had a nap and I am already feeling better," she said. "How are you doing?"
For Roger the whole experience of jamai ador was enjoyable at the beginning. But after a breakfast of porota, cholar dal and dudh sewaian and a lunch of two types of fish and a hoard of other things, which he had lost count of, he was looking at dinner with terror, he told Pari in mock anxiety.
"I spoke to mom today and she said that the church has been booked," he updated her. They would be having a church wedding in Newfoundland, where Roger's family were settled.
Roger called the next day, after he had gone around their small town with Kajol, riding at the back of his cycle. Pari was feeling very listless, when Roger called. She had finished a bit of food, forcing herself to eat, and taken the medicines that had been kept at her bedside table.
"Hey beautiful," Roger said excitedly. Kajol had taken him to visit Pari's school, Ratan's house. They had masal chai, which was scalding hot. Roger went on for a while, before he realised that Pari was unusually quiet. "Pari, I am coming back," he said, his voice burdened with worry. Pari did not say no.
Next day Roger came back to Dhaka. He had taken an early bus, surprising the family with his sudden departure. Only Kajol knew that Pari was unwell.
Abdul, as requested, had booked Roger on the earliest flight to reach Heathrow. "Don't worry, try to catch some sleep on the flight," Abdul had advised, dropping him off at the airport. Roger had tried Pari's phone, before boarding, and the nurse on shift had sleepily picked it up to inform him that Pari was stable. Roger was sick with worry, bidding the clock to tick faster. 'Stable,' had sounded ominous.
London, February 2020
Roger came out of the airport bracing himself for the sharp drizzle. Hailing a taxi, he gave the hospital address and tried to call Pari. The phone went on ringing and got disconnected. He got through on the fourth try. A wakeful and pleasant voice answered it. "Yes, Ms. Haque, is stable. She is still with the oxygen mask, but breathing better," the voice was almost smiling. Roger thought of asking why Pari was on oxygen but left it at that. He would be at the hospital in some time.
He looked at her through the small window, on the door of the emergency unit. She was sleeping. He could not see her face properly, with the mask dwarfing it. There were tubes attached to her and whole thing looked unreal. He had just left her 10 days back, buzzing around, and now she was all strapped up, pinned down. The doctor was already on his round, the male nurse informed him.
Roger sat down in the small waiting area, of the emergency room, putting down his travel bag. Rubbing a hand over his day-old stubble, he leaned back and closed his eyes. The hospital sounds lulled his sleep-deprived brain into a superficial slumber. "Mr. Cuthbert?" a hesitant voice broke the slumber and his head jerked straight, to find a diminutive lady, in a white coat. "I am Dr. Chan. Can you please come with me?" Roger picked up his bag and followed her to her office.
"Would you like some tea?" she asked. "I was just going to pour myself some."
Thanking her and declining the offer, he asked, "What has happened to Pari..err Parveen? She was just fine two weeks back," his voice was hoarse.
"Well she has some kind of viral fever. The reason we have kept her in an isolated ward, is because we have reasons to believe that the disease may be highly contagious," replied Dr. Chan, taking a thankful sip of the warm liquid. "The virus affects the lungs and hence the mask to aid her to breathe," she explained, pre-empting his next question. "Did Parveen travel out of London, in the days before you last saw her?" she asked, opening what was presumably Pari's medical file.
Roger took a cab to Pari's flat. It seemed logical to stay there, instead of at the hotel. It was late and since he had eaten on the flight, Roger changed, and went to bed. Seeing Pari and speaking to the doctor had somewhat abated his fear and before he knew, he had fallen asleep.
He woke up late and made some green tea. He hated it, but that was the only thing he could find. Drawing the curtains aside, he looked out at the dark and thunderous sky. After the tropical heat, this was a welcome change. He called Kajol, after calling up the hospital. Pari was still on oxygen support but comfortable. He was not allowed to visit, due to the nature of the disease, the nurse station had informed him apologetically. His unscheduled return left him with no work, so he went to the library to while away some time.
On the fifth day, Pari's oxygen mask was removed, and a now familiar voice told Roger that they would give Pari her phone, "maybe tomorrow? And then you can talk."
When his phone rang, later on, Roger was still sleeping. He woke, feeling confused and by the time he could pick it up, it got disconnected. He sank back into the bed, feeling tired. His body was aching and he seemed to be running a light fever. The phone rang again, and this time Roger picked up before the line got cut. "Roger?" Pari's voice seemed to be coming from miles away. Roger forced himself to sound cheerful. Feeling a constant irritation in his throat, he said he would call back.
She was getting better but would have to stay on to regain her strength, Dr. Chan informed Roger, when he called. He had tried Pari's mobile but found that it was switched off. "Are you not well," she asked, when she heard Roger coughing over the line. "Just a small fever and sore throat," Roger replied. "I have taken some Paramol."
Dr. Chan advised him to come to the hospital, if the fever did not subside.