Ayub Ali’s Revenge

Ziauddin Choudhury

Ayub Ali came to the US some time in the sixties to cook for a Pakistani diplomat.
Originally from Barisal, Ayub Ali spent some five years in Karachi in his youth learning
to cook under the tutelage of a chef of a rather well renowned restaurant. He caught the
attention of a businessman in Karachi, a frequent client of the restaurant, who
recommended him to the diplomat. In short order, Ayub became a personal cook in the
diplomat’s family, and then came to the US with the diplomat on his next assignment,
more precisely in Washington DC.

I met Ayub Ali first in early eighties in the house of a relative, when I was on a short visit
from my campus in New York. By then Ayub had long left the service of the diplomat,
served in several Indo-Pak restaurants, and had become the owner of an Indian grocery
that also served prepared snacks. The relative had known Ayub for a long time through
his earlier association with the embassy, and apparently had advised him on his transition
as a professional cook, and later grocery business. He was also a patron of Ayub’s store.

Ayub was a small man even by Bengali standards, standing just above five feet. When I
met him he had lost his youth, much of his hair, and his reportedly splendid physique of
young days. He had come to the US in his late twenties, and now he was a middle aged
man, balding in the head and bulging at midriff. He had a smiley face, and a very
courteous nature that endeared him to anyone at first introduction. Soon after our
introduction Ayub Ali asked me how long I was staying in Washington and whether I
would be able to visit his store. My host replied for me saying that he would take me to
his store the next day. Ayub was delighted.

The next day while driving to his grocery store in Alexandria (a suburb of Washington
DC in Northern Virginia), my relative told me the rather sad story of Ayub Ali. After he
got his first store around 1974, Ayub had gone to Barisal and got married to a girl from
his village home. His wife came to the US a year later, and soon gave birth to a son to
Ayub’s utter delight. Unfortunately for Ayub the marital happiness did not last long as
his young wife passed away a year later from an incurable disease that she had nurtured
for long—from her Bangladesh days. Poor Ayub Ali had been raising his son all by
himself since then.

Ayub Ali received us very warmly in his store, which was redolent with the smell of
Indian spices. He introduced me to his five year old son who was sitting quietly in one
corner and playing with a toy. It was a quite a sight, with Ayub Ali managing his son and
the customers at the same time. I plucked a few packets of spices from the shelves for
myself with intent to buy, but Ayub would not accept any payment. I was hugely
embarrassed; I wanted to buy the spice packets out of courtesy to Ayub, instead he
showered on me a greater courtesy by offering the packets as gifts. I thanked Ayub and
promised him that I would visit his store in my next visit.

My next visit to Ayub’s store would not be before another two years had elapsed, and I
had moved to Washington DC with a job. I had kept the address of Ayub’s store, and at
the first opportunity to buy some Indian spices I went there. Surely there was Ayub who
was delighted to see me. He also had two other employees, and the store had seemingly
done well. It was full of customers, but Ayub managed to spend time conversing with
me. I enquired about his son who I did not see there. Ayub replied that his son was
home with his step mom. “A step mom”, I almost cried. “Have you married again?” I
asked. Half blushingly Ayub nodded with the reflection of light on his now completely
bald head. I congratulated him and left with my shopping.

A few days later on a visit to my relative’s house I narrated to him the story of my visit to
Ayub’s store, and my surprise at the news of his second marriage. My relative only
sighed, and said “Ayub has probably made a big mistake with this marriage.” The
remark obviously puzzled me, and when I pressed my relative further to explain this
remark, he gave reasons for his downbeat comment.

It appeared that Ayub was approached by a friend with the proposal for marriage for a
girl in Dhaka—the daughter of a relative of that friend. Ayub had initially rejected the
proposal out of hand for two reasons; the girl was half his age, and she was a girl with
education (she was in College)—something that Ayub never had. The friend was very
persuasive, however, and he was able to change Ayub’s mind with enticing photos of the
girl, and by emphasizing on the single father aspect of Ayub’s life. Finally he succumbed
to his friend’s hard sell, and ended up by marrying the Dhaka girl. This was about a year
and a half ago.

First few months after the second wife’s arrival, Ayub was happy as he had a woman in
the house who could look after his child. He also lavished her with expensive gifts, and
took her around friend’s houses. Ayub also moved to a new home in a middle class
location to impress his new wife, although it meant a considerably higher mortgage
payment. My relative conceded that the girl was rather attractive, but this could end up to
Ayub’s disadvantage, he added. I would discover the depth of this subtle comment only
a few months later.

I became a regular at Ayub’s grocery since my apartment was only a few miles away. I
ended up going to the grocery almost every week-end even though I had nothing to buy.
I would buy some Indian snacks at his store and gossip with him. It is in one of the visits
that I first found Ayub in a rather desolate mood. When I enquired he confided to me for
the first time that he was having trouble at home. Rabeya, his wife, was not only
neglecting his son, but also was frequently not at home.
Ayub had enrolled his young wife at an English conversation class at her request since
she had complained of boredom at home when both he and the son were away—he at
work and the son at school. Ayub had suggested that she work at the store, but Rabeya
balked at the idea saying that working in a grocery did not suit her background! She
would like to work at a department store, and for that she needed to polish her English.
Hence, the English class.

Initially, Rabeya would be away from home for the three hours that the class required.
She was dropped by Ayub at the Community College in the morning where the classes
were held. She would take a bus back to their home in the afternoon, before the son
returned from school. But on several occasions past few months Rabeya did not show up
before the son’s return. Many days the son had gone to the neighbor’s house in stead
who in turn had called Ayub at the store. When Ayub asked his wife the reasons for
delay, she had replied that she had to finish some tasks that the teacher had given her.
However, when Ayub quizzed her the last time she was not home, she became testy and
replied that she had other things in life besides taking care of Ayub’s son. This made
Ayub really upset. I tried to console Ayub saying that Rabeya was young, and that she
would realize her mistakes. Ayub simply nodded his bald head. He looked older than his
years.

I could not visit Ayub’s store for several months after that as business took me away out
of the country. On my return I had gone to see my relative who astounded me with the
news that Ayub’s young wife had left him. She had eloped with a lawyer—a Hispanic
American, who was single and lived several houses away from their’s. “Now, how on
earth could this happen? How did she know this person?” I asked. My relative unfolded
the story for me.

Rabeya came to know this lawyer in the Community College where he part timed as a
teacher on immigration laws. Apparently he had given her rides back home when he
learnt that she was from the same neighborhood. This friendship grew into a love
relationship, probably encouraged by the lady herself, my relative remarked. One
afternoon Ayub had to rush from the store to get his son from the neighbor’s house when
he discovered Rabeya stepping out of the car driven by the lawyer. Rabeya explained
that she got the ride as the bus had left. But this did not satisfy Ayub. He started to
suspect her. However, he could not prevent her from going to the Community College as
Rabeya continued to attend her classes.

Things came to a head a few days later when Rabeya did not return even after Ayub had
come home. Ayub had retrieved his son as usual from the neighbor’s, and waited for
Rabeya till evening when she finally arrived. When confronted by Ayub, Rabeya simply
stated that she had gone to the shopping center with a friend. Obviously, Ayub was
curious to know the friend’s identity, but he would receive only a vague reply from
Rabeya. Ayub smelt something foul, but he could do little about it. A week later Rabeya
left home leaving a note that she could not stay with a suspicious and cruel husband (!).
Ayub was crestfallen.
The first person Ayub called was my relative who advised him to call the lawyer as he
was most likely to know Rabeya’s whereabouts. In stead of calling the lawyer over
phone, Ayub walked to his house in the evening. The lawyer came out with a friendly
smile, and asked Ayub to step inside. Yes he knew where Rabeya was, the lawyer said.
She was in a shelter for “battered women” he said. “Why the shelter?”, Ayub asked
naturally. “Well, she claims she was an abused woman” the lawyer replied slyly. “But
this is not true”, a totally bewildered Ayub exclaimed. “That is for the court to decide”,
the lawyer replied. Ayub knew then that it was all over for him.

It was a downhill drive for Ayub’s marriage then on. I met him several days later in his
store, with his son back in the corner. Gone was the smile from Ayub’s face, and he
looked gaunt from worry. He told me the court hearing was fixed for the next week. He
had decided not to fight the case if Rabeya wanted a divorce. He would not want her to
return in any case. Two weeks later the court granted her divorce since Ayub did not
contest it. One week after that Rabeya got married to her lawyer.

I did not visit Ayub for some weeks after this sequence of sad events on purpose. I
wanted him to heal before my visit. Three weeks later when I went to his store, I found
Ayub still in a depressed state. He resented deeply that he was duped by Rabeya, and that
he was unable to see through her game. He was a pawn for her play to come to the US
and abandon him, he concluded. “I wish Allah would punish her in this life for the
wrongs she had done to him”, he said in anger. I did not have any words to console him.

A month later on return from work I got a call from my relative. “Turn Channel --- TV
on now” he said excitedly, which I did promptly. The TV Channel was just broadcasting
the news of a Fairfax man arrested for the murder of his ex wife, and injuring badly her
new husband. There in full view I could recognize our Ayub Ali being hauled away from
his grocery store by the police. I rushed to my relative’s house.

The relative and I spent the next couple of hours trying to piece together how this
catastrophe could happen. From relatives and friends of Ayub, we gathered that Ayub
Ali had actually broken into the lawyer’s house the previous evening when the couple
was having dinner, with an automatic pistol. He fired three shots aimed at Rabeya and the
lawyer. Rabeya was shot in the head, and died instantly. The lawyer survived with
severe injuries in the chest, and shoulder. Ayub returned home calmly, and went to the
grocery store next morning as usual. It had not taken long for the police to figure it out,
and they apprehended Ayub from his store.

We went to see Ayub Ali in the detention center next day. He was calm and polite. He
only stated that Rabeya and the lawyer got what they had deserved. He said he would
own up everything in the court. My relative and I tried to reason with Ayub saying that it
was necessary to have a defense lawyer, at least to reduce the burden of punishment. He
finally agreed, more for his son’s sake than any other.

The court process was swift, mainly because Ayub had filed a guilty plea. The defense
lawyer that we engaged succeeded in getting a man slaughter conviction in stead of
murder because of the plea. The jury also took a favorable view of the aggravating
circumstances that the defense cited in the case (emotions of a spurned husband,
abandonment of a minor under care, etc.). Ayub was sentenced to fifteen years behind
bar. Ayub’s grocery store remained open, thanks to the loyalty of his employees. The
son was taken care of by a cousin of Ayub. With good behavior Ayub served less than
10 years in prison.