14.1 Bedrock

On a television interview, presenter asked Farida Ikhtak, “What really happened to the dancers that day on the ship? Eyewitnesses tell me that they reappeared out of the blue.”

“It is like that,” she admitted, “They reappeared. All the dancers are under the influence and protected by fanditha. Months before this, Thora Mantha performed a ritual of Grand Devil’s Claws on the girls to cast a spell that will protect them from bale. It was done at my place. I am under the influence too.”

“How does she do it?”

“Well, the girls were bathed, holy script written on the body and lashed in nude with ahi faí under the moon eclipse in effect. Afterwards, bathed and worn holy water perfume as a manthiri.”

“Was the moon in eclipse?”

“Yes, a total lunar eclipse occurred on the 24^th of March this year.”

“How do you manage to keep such a large group of dancers?”

“There are always issues,” she said, “I believe it’s the freedom I give them. Some left to find better life and some left not to dance. Sometimes they have quarrels and sometimes they take holidays. I can alter the rows.

“But I am grateful for the national guards who came to rescue the dancers. They carried the naked girls on their shoulders down a ladder that dropped to the sea. It is scary. All unconscious girls. They did a professional job. They always do and protect us day and night when we come home from the resorts, sometimes in appalling shape. Some girls would vomit, some girls would piss and some without a proper dress. They always help.”

“Why do they call you Badi?”

She chuckled, “In my career of dancing, my folks call me Badi referring to the house I live. Now I am going to build that house for my bappa. It is a silly name. They still call me Badi. We always use nicknames.”

In the late afternoon of a quiet day, the overcast of clouds turned red or rather pink in the sky, grey tones of rain in dark spots. No sunlight penetrated through and an awe-inspiring gloom filled the air. Pink in the sky fell on the tiny spots of thin layers of water puddles on the sandy roads.

Lady Zebrin wearing a beige colour sari stood in the lawn talking to a tall British officer in a khaki uniform of the type designed for warm climate areas or perhaps a missionary. He was there at Mesquite to place an order for some specialities of Maldivian cuisine particularly the spicy fish cake and the sweet tropical almond cake. Lady Zebrin’s mother was one of the best in the local culinary. He wanted a large quantity for a very special banquet to be arranged at Blue Heaven.

Muaz came home, parked his motorbike outside the gate on Black Coral Road and noticed Firasha in her usual slip top and straight-cut leggings with her musola come home from prayer in the mosque. It was Friday and not a schooling day.

He loitered to the gate hoping to see the girl and glanced at his mother and the visitor standing by the tall bougainvillea plant in the front garden carpeted of white sand.

This was a single-storey stone house plastered and whitewashed in lime chalk that stood by the corner of Black Coral Road and Hadeeja Kamana Magu. The ridge of the roof stood eighteen feet high and few single-storey houses stood that high. He could see a fair amount of sea around the island to the rooftop.

The building in his front and by the corner was Welcome Café. A recently completed six-storey building painted with pink walls and columns in dark grey. Those pillars decorated with marble tiles. Only a very rich guy could own a house like that.

In the eerie silence he could hear a pin drop. And he heard a faint sound of a ‘crack’ like breaking a rotten stick followed by a mute rumble in the air. Only a person with very sharp ears could hear it or feel it. He saw tiny cracks branching on the walls of the concrete structure in his focal view. Clearly visible of black lines in the pink finish and scores of minute cracks invisible to the naked eye.

He turned to look at his house with whitewashed walls that stood intact. He entered the house to find his half-brother who was an architect. He was wearing a grey tie, white shirt in long sleeve and grey pants. He just got home from work.

“Did you hear that, bro?” he asked.

His half-brother replied, “Someone just blasted the bedrock.”

“The bedrock!”

It was the most implausible explanation he ever heard but no point to argue because his half-brother was a UK graduate. He meant an implosion – somebody did deliberately blow up the bedrock, ruling out any natural cause of an earthquake or a landslide that rarely occurred in this part of the world. That sudden jerk and thud he felt so very faintly in a singular circuit caused that much damage to the concrete structure by the corner.

Who would think of to blast the bedrock and for what purpose?

Muaz ran down the alley to the backyard where indigent families and residing islanders dwelt in thatched huts and jute sheds. Because of his sudden appearance, Firasha could not immediately get into the house. She sat on a swing and meekly dropped her gaze. Her mother sat squat, rolling a roller on mortar to grind spices for food preparation, in her little frock flashing two knees popped between the shoulders.

“Did you hear that?” he asked them.

Firasha remained hushed.

Her mother looked at both and paused to listen, “I do not hear anything. Did you hear, Fira?”

A faint smile touched on her face in a manner of sarcasm as she thought he wanted to grab attention and making clueless excuses.

Nothing stirred in the backyard, not even a leaf. A little kid pooped on the soil and flies buzzed. The huts remained unshattered. The silence was broken when her mother began to roll the roller even faster in a gesture of ignoring the interloper.

Muaz returned to the gate. As he stepped on the road, he saw someone on a bicycle whizz pass him. It was Multi-Ibre though he did not notice Muaz. He cycled east on Black Coral Road.

A minute after that, three other guys turned the corner from Hadeeja Kamana Magu to Black Coral Road and continued to walk briskly towards east. They were Adam, Ashwar and Muhsin. Adam the fisherman who was one time Farida’s boyfriend and Muhsin the albino white brother of Huda. Heading east, in other words, heading towards Henvèru and most probably going to Bova Café. Muaz stood stunned in half shock because those three wore hooded overalls like burglars you see in the movies. They were carrying spades and digging tools in sacks on their shoulders.

Quite normal appearance to anyone else but for him it grew into a curiosity. Why were they in a rush? Why were they wearing those overalls? Why were they united? Muaz understood that Muhsin and Adam could not be in a force together with Ashwar or Multi-Ibre. That was odd. That slight surprise might be the reason he hesitated to call these guys or perhaps the shock itself halted him. And most likely they did not see him.