18.3 Along with the Birds

Habib and Shakir sat on the bank of rising dunes and white sandy beach, literally in hiding, sheltered in the yellow branches and waxy leaves of scaevola taccada, locally known as ‘magoo’, and facing east. A cool breeze blew from the Indian Ocean brushing the ears and a rainbow cast on the eastern sky. Both were fasting. It was a long day to kill. They couldn’t think of anything besides Nurse Deeni to talk about and their emotions wilted to a sombre mood. Shakir lay prone in the sand and Habib sat tearing leaves.

Hulu-Meedu was a big island and often treated as two communities with Huludu in the south and Meedu in the north; a kilometre between the communities of relatively a small population. There were clashes between the two groups all the time and that rather typical of the Divehi Tribe.

Lying on the eastern border of Addu Atoll, this island was secluded from Hittadu Reef and separated by deep sea channels. A kilometre-long mangrove bedded in the island middle covered of watergrass.

The great aqua blue lagoon lying along the west coast was three times the size of the island; crystal-clear water and a terrific view that extends out of eyeshot – a much better Port T than Gan. The British maintained a gun bunker by the northeast tip during the war.

Huludu Village where Habib and Shakir roamed around had low-roofed villas built of coral rocks behind spacious gardens, broad empty roads, lush green vegetation, folks dozing in the hammocks and silent in the hamlet.

A girl arrived at the hut they kept and shouted, “Shakir! Habib! Come out! Come out! Come out of hiding!” At first, they could not hear because of wind clamour. Then she began to ring the bicycle bell. They stretched their legs and stepped out. Mediha said to them, “A boat is leaving tonight at nine. Uncle wants to know if you are going.”

“Where is it going?” asked Habib.

“It is going to Thinadu.”

“What do you think, Shakir? There is a chance and a risk going to Thinadu.”

“I am ready to go,” replied Shakir.

“Let’s go and see if we could stop this boat at Fiori.”

Three biked towards the village up the only path cut through the woods. There was another long path across the island lying in the north sector beyond the wetland of Matti Klee. Habib did not know this island too well and it was Shakir’s first time.

After talking to Ali Takhan, they were able to arrange with the boat captain to stop at Fiori on the way to Thinadu. Takhan wrote a short note to a contact to take care of Shakir and send him to Malé via a different route. He also wrote a letter to Prime Minister Virgo of his concerns over his daughter and handed it to Shakir to deliver.

They broke the fast with Ali Takhan at Silèha and the duo cycled back to the hut. As they turned into the dark narrow path through the woods, the Duck turned into Baha Road. It climbed over south banks shortly after sunset and drove in the island roads. Sgt Henry Moon was very familiar with these islands and he already figured Takhan’s place. The six-wheel rolled slowly down on Baha Road pass Silèha gate.

Habib and Shakir failed to hear a sound of its engine as she crawled at snail’s pace on Baha Road hundred feet behind them. Luckily, the amphibious didn’t turn towards the woods into the lane called Mukri Magu.

An hour later, they picked the bags and climbed their bikes. It was a dark Wednesday night. They cycled a long way and turned into the straight lane of Mukri Magu. It was by luck that Habib saw a blink of a beam ahead. “Halt!” he cried, “They are there!”

“Who?” asked Savari Shakir who almost stumbled with a heavy luggage piece.

“The English,” he hissed, “I saw headlights.”

Aircraftman Mathew at the wheel was attending to a minor fault with a flashlight in his hand. Sergeant Moon lay on a seat smoking a cigarette. There were others in it. This utility vehicle was used in the war in Europe. When he turned the rotary switch, it fired the engine with headlights blinking on. Its factory switch was long discarded and fixed with an electrical supplement hanging from the dashboard. He knocked it accidentally and the headlights blinked – only once.

Habib caught that single blink. Both of them watched carefully, thought they saw a light and a cigarette.

“Are you sure?” asked Shakir.

“Positive. I saw the headlights. It is the Duck. It’s waiting there for us. Let’s turn back! Turn off your dynamo!”

They cycled back into the coastal road and returned to the hut half a mile away.

“I’m coming with you,” Habib changed his mind, “This is the last chance to get out of here. Remove your shoes. We walk through the swamp.”

“Shit! You’re not serious about that!”

“There is no other way,” said Habib. He didn’t know about the other lane beyond Matti Klee in the north Meedu half…though it was a long way.

Shakir quickly changed to a pair of flip-flops. He was feeling scared. He got no idea of the breadth of the wetland. “There is a piece of a door leaf outside. Can I pull it out to carry the bags?”

“Wonderful idea. Can you find it?”

He went out with a flashlight and in a moment brought a piece of wood which was ideal to float the load of baggage though not too heavy, the distance mattered. It was then eight-thirty.

They stepped into the mud. It made a squelchy noise every time they lift a foot and stuck into it knee-deep. It was dark and the sky lit up a million stars. When during the day, Matti Klee looked like a pastureland full of tall grass making waves with the rolling breezes – like an abandoned airfield where a sudden Cessna might come to land.

First few steps were difficult. That door leaf helped to take a load off their shoulders. They entered deeper into the muddy water covered of watergrass. Moving slowly into hip-deep and further on that made slightly better to swim and push the board. Then there was light that made the immediate surround come in view. So quiet they could hear the ripples in water, frogs croaking and their own breathing. Shakir glanced behind to see the moon on the rise. A shining light that made possible to see the field in great vista.

After another hour or so, they reached the other side of the swamp. Climbed up and dragged their luggage to dry land. Habib said, “Stay here with the bags. I go find Shabir. He lives nearby.”

The Duck stopped at the jetty site and Henry Moon climbed down. He walked up to the boat lying along the jetty. He caught up with Ali Takhan and asked, “How do you do?” speaking Divehi in fluent Addu dialect.

Takhan’s brains worked fast. He lied, “I have to go to the Suvadives. An urgent call.”

Henry Moon passed cigarettes from his pack to the boat crew sitting there. “When do you leave?”

“In an hour or two,” replied Takhan.

Sergeant Henry Moon glanced into the 30 feet batteli – a vessel bigger than a fishing doni used to commute goods and passengers within the atolls. Women and children slept under the thatch-castle, little babies too. He certainly did not want to disturb them. Smell was horrible of salt fish and kadi – a palm bark extract used to treat marine timber. Sergeant Moon returned to the Duck to wait for the boat to leave.

Footloose Habib peeped in through a window. Shabir sat on a rocking chair in the light of a kerosene oil lamp, reading a book, a small stool near his feet with a glass jar and a glass of water. He whispered, “Shabir!”

Shabir saw a scary thing looming in the moonlight behind the window. He jumped up from the chair kicking the stool upending on the floor and breaking glass. He ran out of the door.

“Hush!” Habib poked his head, “It’s me! It’s Habib!”

Shabir tapped his feet and threw his arms crying, “Handi! Handi!”

“Calm down! It’s me! Calm down! Calm down!”

“A demon! A demon!” Shabir gathered the house to his door.

“It’s me, it’s Habib. I need your help!”

“What are you wearing on your face?” he finally asked regaining his breath. Habib stood caked in mud. “I saw this big black thing at the window. You scared me to death!”

“You’re no light skin! I need your help!”

Shabir and another bloke climbed the wharf with the luggage and secretly explained the situation to Ali Takhan. They understood another way to do it. They loaded the bags.

In the moonlight, Sergeant Henry Moon observed Ali Takhan shake hands with them and climb the boat. Soon the boat pushed out slowly. In the moonlight it looked like a piece of log floating on shimmering ripples. Crew toiled to raise its sails.

Shabir and Mustaq returned to Habib. They drew bicycles and four of them cycled at fast pace towards the north loop a kilometre away. There lay three islands on the arching great reef near Meedu. A clever captain could steer a boat through this reef. They arrived on the beach and looked for the boat heading towards Hikahéra – a small deserted island lying between the uninhabited island of Ismailahéra and Meedu.

When the boat reached close enough, Habib and Shakir entered the water and began to swim towards the batteli. They climbed the boat. In turn, Ali Takhan bid them farewell and jumped into the sea. He swam back to Meedu. It was past midnight.

Ali Takhan watched the batteli with its creaks and sails slip between the islands into the Equatorial Channel under a waning gibbous moon.