THE INFIDEL

It was October - the weather in Kandy was cool. It was the best time of the year in the University; the creepers that had twined themselves round the majestic Mara trees surrounding the Arts faculty were in full bloom, their multitudinous yellow flowers forming gold carpets on the grass around the trees. Students with files held to their chests strolled along, giggling and chatting. It was the beginning of the new term. The freshers had just come in and the Arts faculty was all ago with the excitement of having the newcomers.

The "Gom part," the so called mild part of the ragging, was taking place in and around the "Gemba" canteen and wherever seniors confronted the new entrants.

The "Gom part" was supposed to be a mild part of the rag and "lucky" were those freshers who get away with that alone. Timid girls clutching their files and purses, trembled and squirmed on hearing the free flow of abusive language. Some cried their hearts out throughout the whole procedure, while some, hardening their hearts, endured this violation, managing to smile whenever ordered to do so. Little did they know of the horror that awaited them in the halls of residence.

To the right of the "Gemba" was a paved path that led to a flight of steps which took one to the main road. A short parapet wall joined the flight of steps to the Arts Theatre, which was the pride of the Arts Faculty.

Groups of boys and girls had gathered near the Arts Theatre. Some of them were waiting for the bus to Kandy. A group of girls and boys was in earnest discussion. They were obviously in high spirits; a couple of them were humming the tune of a popular song from the latest Hindi movie. They were not totally involved in the argument that was taking place, nor were they interested in the different points of views expressed. ;; They would rag the freshers, anyway. Life in campus was ever so boring. They were not going to miss out on the fun to satisfy anybody's point of view.

Suddenly they heard the loud toot of a horn and their attention was drawn to a flashy lemon green car that came to a stop near the post box that stood close to the edge of the wall.

A fashionably dressed girl stepped out of it smartly. The discussion halted and all eyes turned in that direction.

Samira, getting out of the car, gave instructions to the driver to come back in an hour's time to the same place. As she walked past the groups of boys and girls she didn't notice that she was being critically observed. Nor did she see some of the boys going up to her car. She was intent on getting to meet her father's friend Dr. Ramanayake to find out if she'd be able to find a place at this University with the results she had obtained at the college in California. She had refused to continue her studies there. She had always wanted to come back to Sri Lanka.

Her father's work with the UN had taken them to many a country but each time she came to Sri Lanka she hadn't wanted to leave and when she did, it was always with a broken heart. It was not that she hadn't been able to make friends with the girls in those schools abroad. But by the time she had settled in one school and started forming bonds of friendship, she had had to pack her bags to go to another country, another school, other friends. She had never belonged. Now she hoped and prayed that the University would comply with the letter of approval, that the UGC had sent her. Did the University have the authority to reject her or send her to another one? She didn't know, but she would soon, when she met her father's friend Dr. Ramanayake. She wanted so much to stay in Kandy where her cousins were. She hoped she would not have to stay in a strange boarding place in Colombo.

Remembering her father's instructions, she went down the steps, taking them two at a time. When she went pass the "Gemba" she could see students in knots of twos and threes. Then she saw the lions and knew that she had come to the entrance of the Arts Faculty. The campus was lovely. Her father had been correct. The buildings were beautiful, too, she thought as she walked along the corridor.

Samira stopped in front of a large office. Ladies with piles of papers were rushing in and out. She suddenly found herself in the midst of a large group of students. She tried to step out of the confusion but soon it had passed, leaving her a little breathless. Turning around she saw a smaller room. A bald, pot-bellied gentleman attired in full white stepped out. He stood at the door looking to his left and then to his right. Samira looked at him hopefully, but ignoring her totally he went about his task. Then nodding at Samira who was staring at him from the opposite side, he turned towards the stairway. She tried to draw his attention but he was already going up the stairs. Should she go up the steps after him? He might be able to direct her to her father's friend but he was already out of sight, so she decided against running after him. No, it would not do at all to be dashing up stairways on her first day in campus. Then she caught sight of a short elderly gent with a book under his arm coming down the steps. The thick glasses perched on his nose gave him a birdlike appearance. This time she had the presence of mind to call out.

"Sir," she said, but she hadn't been quick enough for he had already hurried past. There was quite a lot of noise in the corridor so most probably he hadn't heard; he had looked right through her and, as he had hurried past her, she heard him muttering to himself.

"He must be a professor too," she thought. She next thought of stepping into the larger room to make inquiries but it looked formidable; there was a lot of noise and a flurry of activity so she felt she ought not to barge in with her little problem. She then decided to try the next room. Luck seemed to be on her side. It was all quiet there. At one end of the room was a tiny bespectacled lady bent over a book.

"Good morning;" started Samira walking up to her desk.

The lady looked up smiling pleasantly and after replying appropriately asked: "What can I do for you?"

Samira let out a sigh in relief. "I just want to know where I can find Mrs. Ramanayake."

"Whom?" came the terse question. This time the smile was tight and the forehead was all screwed up.

"I mean Dr. Mrs. Ramanayake." Good God! I should have used the title, thought Samira anxiously.

"Well," paused the lady, directing her glance at another table beside hers. Then shrugging her shoulders and pursing her lips theatrically she said, "Her bag is here but I have no idea where she may have got to."

Just then Samira heard the sound of footsteps behind her. She quickly turned to see if it could be Dr. Mrs. Ramanayake.

"You know Mano, just because I'm singularly unfortunate in having to sit here all by myself, people seem to come to the highly absurd and unreasonable conclusion that my sole function is to provide information about bodies who are hardly here. I can hardly get any work done."

All this was followed by a nervous high pitched laugh. Samira bit her lip and backed out of the room. She heard the man mumble something in reply. The tiny lady had hardly noticed her slipping out, as she was intent on expressing her views.

"Ph, that was a mouthful," thought the girl. She was out on the corridor again.

Standing here on the corridor is not getting me anywhere. It's only making me unduly nervous, thought Samira.

She started walking toward the entrance and it was then that she saw them, a group of sullen looking girls, files pressed against their bosoms coming towards the lecture rooms.

They looked odd, thought Samira. Most of the girls in the group had a black head-covering with a frill adorning their foreheads. The hijab had looked quite different on her Egyptian friends in the States. It had actually enhanced their beauty! For a moment, she remembered her friend Marwa. She was reminded of Marwa's black scarves with the multi coloured beads and the golden tassels, eyes that twinkled with merriment that no hijab could hide.

One of the girls approached Samira, "Eei, why are you standing here alone?" The crudity of her tone and the familiar use of "you," in Tamil, startled Samira.

"She is probably waiting for a Romeo to come by," said another. There was laughter all round.

This, Samira realized was the beginning of the rag and she might as well brace herself. Part of her rebelled at this intrusion and as they surrounded her, she knew they weren't going to let her off easily. Samira didn't answer the girl's question but gave a half crooked smile that showed some discomfort and tried to edge away from the group but they had formed a tight circle around her. The circle moved and she felt herself being pushed along.

"What's your name?" another girl asked sharply.

"Samira," she heard herself saying.

She saw some boys joining the group. They were moving slowly and Samira thought that they were taking her somewhere way out of the faculty but they soon stopped under a large bridge.

"Whose trousers have you borrowed?" a male voice inquired. Samira didn't reply but merely looked ahead.

"Eei, donkey, are you short of hearing?" The boy who had asked this question moved close to her, very close, too close for her liking. Now she could even feel his breath upon her face.

"We are members of the Muslim Majlis," he declared. Then pointing to a thin tall boy he said "He's the secretary."

"The Majlis doesn't allow Muslim women to go about in trousers. Don't you know that it is taboo for women to wear men's clothing. Don't you?" he shouted.

His bad breath nauseated her and it was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if the Majlis had also placed a taboo on toothpaste. Hadn't the Prophet placed much emphasis on cleanliness in his teachings? But she didn't dare say anything. Her tongue had turned dry and the inability to talk back made her throat ache. The boy's body was so close to her that she wanted to just push him away. Her hands trembled. She wished he would at least move a step away from her.

"Don't you go around in campus in those tight trousers."

"Shaking her back in the manner of a prostitute," piped another.

"Eei donkey, where is your shawl?" a fat girl asked, grabbing a part of her shirt.

The motion thrust Samira forward and she almost lost her balance. Pushing the girl's hand away she clenched her teeth and looked hard at her. The fat girl's plump face puffed up with anger at such high-handed behaviour. She seemed incensed by the new girl's rebellious nature.

"How dare you touch a senior? Tomorrow you come decently dressed. You are a disgrace to Islam. Here we conduct ourselves with dignity."

This time the fat girl pushed Samira by her shoulder. "And if you want to live with us in peace, you've got to cover your head."

"Well if she doesn't we can teach her in good time, she looks a dumb donkey. Wonder where she's from;; Eei, where are you from?"
"Colombo." She was getting tired of standing erect. She was also feeling a little dizzy with so many of them standing around her. She prayed that they would soon tire of questioning her. "Colombo," mimicked the boy who had been standing close to her. "A ah; so that is why you're dressed like a kaffir. Ask this funny animal to tell us the name of her school." He nudged a thin, tall boy in dark yellow shirt. Taking the boy's cue the other jumped forward. "Didn't you hear that, you buffalo?" 'But why are they so aggressive,' thought Samira. 'Why did they have to nudge me and push me and use uncouth language.' She tried to think of a Sri Lankan school. Should she give them the name of the school where she had had her primary education. "Hmm, you dumb ass, answer that question soon, won't you?" "Studied in America," she blurted out. There was silence. Someone from the crowd burst out laughing. The laughter caught on but the boy with the bad breath raised his hand and cut it short. "America? pshah! And how did this thing end up here?" he looked around and asked, addressing no one in particular. Now he was walking all round her. "This creature from America." He stopped dramatically in his tracks, turned and looked at the crowd. Then changing his tone, he shook her roughly. "Consorting with enemies of Islam. You study with kaffirs, dress like one and are you also thinking of conducting yourself like one." Samira noticed that the boy's tone had changed from mockery to sarcasm. The audience was enjoying his act, for that was what it was turning out to be. She was forced to look at him because the moment she looked down or looked over his head someone would roughly turn her head. "You'd better look out," he continued. "Nobody here is going to be impressed," he gestured. "Your American education and clothes and your father's car." The boy's breath was on her again. He was breathing faster and seemed to be working himself into a frenzy. More than his tirade, she minded the little specks of sputum that struck her face. Surreptiously she took out her handkerchief and wiped her face wishing that she hadn't used so much perfume. She saw him stiffening. A look of mock astonishment crossed his face. "Folks, whats that smell?" The boy nudged the one next to him. He held his nose with his fingers "Agh!" he said. The girls followed suit, and so did the rest making all kinds of noises showing their disgust. "It must be something carried all the way from the West," a girl from the crowd volunteered. "Don't you know that it is "haram" for Islamic women to wear perfume in public places? Rahi, we'll have to educate her on the basics." Then turning to her he asked, "Are you thinking of attracting a man with that perfume of yours? Is that why you came to campus? To catch a man?" Samira feared that the boy would work himself into a frenzy again. O God, she thought don't let him start again. "Say it now," he commanded, "Say that you came to campus to get yourself a husband you want the works...... don't you?... you go about in this attire you're bound to get it soon." "Adei, Rimsi", the slim tall boy butted in. "You should have seen this thing sliding out of that Corolla." He twisted his body sensuously, lifted his hand delicately to adjust his hair, gave a slight tilt to his head and stepped out briskly from an invisible vehicle. Seeing her own mannerisms aptly reflected in his movements, she almost smiled but she suppressed it immediately for it would have only encouraged him to taunt her a little more. Some of the girls held their sides and laughed. As the laughter grew he seemed to enjoy his act further. They were obviously having high fun. Desperately she tried to think of a way of escape. Should she make a run for it? But it was hopeless, she knew that they wouldn't let her take two steps away from where she was standing. I should try switching my mind off. "Answer his question, you bitch," he screamed. Samira raised her head sharply. Her hands were trembling. The word 'bitch' shocked her and hot tears stung her eyes threatening to come down. But she was determined not to break down in their presence, and she began to feel a kind of twitch at one corner of her mouth. Now it was there, now it was gone and then it started again. She pressed her trembling fingers to that corner of her mouth but she seemed to have no control over the twitch which was beginning to irritate her. She wanted to push him away roughly. She had never been so reticent, why was she listening to all this. Why she was passively giving in to them, she couldn't understand. "Answer his question you God forsaken filth." He shook her so roughly that some papers fell out of her file. When she bent to pick up her certificates, he too bent down. For a moment she thought he was going to help her but bringing his face closer to her ear he began to abuse her. A stream of filth poured forth. Her face reddened and now the tears gushed forth. She had never heard such rotten language before. She sobbed. She hated him, she hated them, all of them for looking on and enjoying her predicament. "Repeat this after me, you scented slut." Samira stared into the open space defiantly, tilting her chin. "Now you...... repeat this after me. I wear tight trousers..... hm go on..... to show off the curves of my body;" the tall boy lifted his right hand elegantly and brought it down from his shoulder to his hip in an effeminate manner. "Repeat that," shouted another. Samira didn't move. As a gesture of defiance, she tossed her head. "You arrogant ass...... say it or I'll...... "She looked hard at him defying him to complete his statement. She knew her rights. They had no right to do this to her. She stared at him and he stared back. "Repeat it, I said, to show off the curves of my sinful body," he almost screamed this time. She saw that some spittle had collected at the corner of his mouth. 'I will not give in,' she said to herself. She felt someone softly touch her shoulder. "Repeat it," whispered a boy." Don't let this go too far. They are not going to harm you. They just want to have a bit of fun." "Fun?" Samira tightened her lips. "They mean no harm," he continued. "They'll all be good friends of yours after this is over. Just don't try to fight them." Before she could even look at him, the tall boy had pushed him aside. "Get away, you milk sop. Leave this to me. I'll handle this nasty smell from Colombo." Then looking at Samira he pointed a finger and said, "You're trying to fight us ah? We have broken better china than you, you'll be begging for it before I finish with you, you..... "Samira started the counting game that her father had taught her. "Whenever you feel you're about to loose your cool, start counting backward......," he had advised her. "This will help you stop yourself from saying or doing things you might regret later." "I wear trousers to show off my curves." The tall boy started twisting and turning his body, slow, sinuous movements, almost snake-like. She noticed that he had a sinewy body. He had opened the top buttons of his shirt and she had a glimpse of his hairy chest. "My trousers also make it easy for me to carry out the act," he made gyrating movements with one hand. Samira watched his body move too and fro rhythmically. She stood still gritting her teeth 90, 89, 88....., she started counting backwards from hundred. From the corner of her eyes, she saw one or two in the crowd moving away quietly. The boy who had spoken to her softly was also going away. She had lost track of her counting and she had to start allover again, ninety nine, ninety eight...... ninety seven..... The tall boy's body moved faster and Samira now realized that his gesticulations carried an element of sexuality. "Repeat that now, you dumb bitch," he screamed again. The crowd had definitely thinned out. He made as if to open the zip of his trousers. "Stop it machchan, now thats quite enough" she heard a voice say "There should be a limit to everything You wouldn't want this happening to your sister Would you?" Samira hoped that this voice of reason would be able to stop the madness She looked at the boy who had spoken He was a fair guy of medium heigh. He sported a beard. "Get out of the way you lunatic Yes, I have a sister at home and that's where she'll stay. Don't you dare talk of my sister. Don't you compare my sister with this piece of rot. Get out of my way" He pushed the fair boy who had stepped between him and his victim. "It's not right at all.... you know this is not the way..... his type of thing goes against everything 1 know" the boy tried to argue. "You know nothing," he pushed him roughly again. I'll teach this bitch a lesson. I'll "" he laughed. Again he made as if to open the zip of his trousers. He jerked his body towards Samira held her wrist with one hand and pulled her towards him. Samira felt a sensation she had never tell before. It was as it a current had struck her body but it was not harsh, it was pleasant. The sensation ran through all pans of her body. It was in fact very pleasant and she found herself liking the touch and returning it. She had clasped the palm of his hand and hadn't let it go. She tell the tingling sensation flow from her body to his through her wrist. All this had taken an hour, a minute or a second she didn't know but she had liked it and she was so ashamed of it that she was openly crying when she stepped back and raised her other hand to slap him..... but before her hand could find its desired contact she fell a hand roughly jerk her own, pulling it back with force. She fell a searing pain run through her body. A pain that stunned. She fell a darkness that was not there before, as if someone had switched off a light in her head As she felt herself falling, she heard the sound of running feel. N. Careema Jayaweera
