Saying this makes her break into laughter all over again.

It was during such a spell of laughter that Rafiq has told Keya of his plans about a bicycle. Keya replied with widened eyes, "Well, if nothing else, the people in the locality will have something to look at."

"Not only that, gossip will spread like wildfire all through the town about Master Shaheb's daughter Keya flitting about on Rafiq's bicycle. People will disapprove, and you won't get any more marriage proposals. Then as a last resort your parents will marry you off to an unworthy young man like myself."

"Oh, so that is your master plan?"

"Are you calling my idea to make our wedding possible a bad idea? Fine, there's no need for a bicycle, nor any need to ride on it." Rafiq started to walk away.

"Hey, you're walking off all angry…can't you see I was only joking?" Keya ran up to tug at Rafiq's shirt, then added, tenderly, "Please do buy a bicycle. I would love to go riding with you."

This has been going on for months, but a bicycle never materialized. However, Rafiq always makes it a point to hover around in front of the best bicycle store in town. The woman who ran the store was teacher in a local high school. Every day after school she came to sit in the store. Rain or shine, she was always there. There is no end to Rafiq's curiosity about this woman. He has heard that once Rebecca Apa was the most beautiful woman in town. there are still traces of that beauty left in her. she was also a brilliant student: she had gotten a chance to go to medical school, but instead had stayed back to complete her BA in the local college before taking up a job in the school and settling here permanently.

Did selling bicycles and teaching in a school go hand in hand? Not at all. Even then she was the owner of the bicycle store. Only she knew what joy she got from the rims, bells and spokes of cycles. Or, did she like looking at bicycles because she liked motion and speed? Who knew?

Rafiq is walking past the store with such random thoughts, a packet of peanuts in hand. He hasn't eaten anything all day; he had to go very far in search of news today. Despite a long trip - on foot and on an ox cart -- it has been in vain. The news he had chased wasn't of any value. Rafiq is upset, hunger churning in his stomach. Perhaps the peanuts will temporarily curb his hunger pangs. Who knows if there is any food left at home now? It is past evening. There will be no rice left over from lunchtime. Preparation for dinner is possibly underway. Besides, Rafiq can only go home once he has submitted his report at the newspaper's local office.

Standing in front of the shop inevitably leads to gazing at the bicycles inside, along with the woman on the chair. So many new bikes have been brought in! Rally, Runner, Humber, Prince, Ranger, Rider, Philips... Eeesh! If only he could buy one! Rafiq stops, a bitter taste fast spreading in his mouth. So far he has saved up only half of the amount needed. Rafiq begins to walk away. Just then a voice calls from behind him.

"Hey there, can you hear me?"

Rebbeca apa is calling him.

"Are you calling me?"

"Yes, please come in."

Rafiq turns around and enters the shop.

"I have noticed that you take time to stare at the bikes every day while passing by. Can you tell me why?"

Rafiq is surprised. Rebecca apa had actually seen him all this time!

"Actually, apa, I really need to buy a bicycle. So I look in to see what bikes you have in here."

"Well, why don't you buy a bike? Which kind would you like?"

"No, apa, not now. I can't afford one right now. When I can, I'll come back."

Rafiq gets up and starts to walk. Talking on this subject makes him miserable. Just as he is about to go out, he's called again.

"Tell me. These days everyone is after motorbikes, so why do you want to buy a bicycle?"

"I'm the local correspondent of the daily Jagoron. I need to go to remote areas in search of news, but I can't afford a motorbike. So a bicycle is my only option. And besides..."

Rafiq blushes noticeably.

Noting it Rebecca apa enquires, "Well, what is it?"

"No, that's another issue."

"Tell me about it."

"It's just that...I have this fantasy of cycling all through town with Keya."

Rebecca apa breaks into a peal of laughter, and then at one point her laughter turns into tears. Her tears are not of joy. She is crying out of anguish.

Rafiq is taken aback. "Apa, why are you crying?"

"I'm crying because it's the same longing! The same expression on your face, the same way of blushing...only the times have changed, the couple has changed."

"Apa, I don't understand."

"Aren't you a journalist? You should know all the heart-wrenching stories of this town. You should know who I am, and why I've become this way today."

"I'm sorry, I guess I should have known. Tell me, why did you cry when I told you about my plan with Keya?"

"Now that's quizzing like a journalist! Well, here goes then. Rakib also wanted a bicycle. He wanted to speed through town on his bike with me. Just like you, he couldn't afford one, so he had to wait a long time to buy one...I would joke and say 'You're not going to get a bicycle in this lifetime!'"

'You just wait and see. I am going to take you out on my bicycle on our wedding day while people stare with open mouths.'

Our wedding had also been fixed, just held back since Rakib didn't have a job. He was applying for jobs; he even had a few tuitions. He was saving money from these tuitions to buy himself a bicycle.

At one point Rakib had saved enough money to buy the bike, and he had even received a few job interview invitations. I would laugh and say, 'What's the use of taking so much trouble for a bike when you can simply accept one as a dowry? My parents won't object.'

'What, to ask for a bicycle after they part with their daughter! Sorry, I'm not that much of a cheapskate.'

That was when war broke out in the country. Sheikh Mujibur Rahman called for independence, masses of people flocked to fight in the Liberation War. People from Dhaka came to our town in droves -- from here they would flee to the villages. Those who have never seen a village before were forced to see them for the first time. This situation made both our families anxious. It was decided that the marriage must not be delayed. My father said, "I'll only feel better once we join the two pairs of hands in marriage. Who knows what may happen, the country is in such a distressing state."

From April onwards the situation became worse. Army packs began to scour the countryside. We had taken refuge in a village by the time the army set up camp in our town. It was decided that we would be wed in a day or two.

That night, moonlight shone through the night clouds. Rakib stood holding my hand on the edge of a pond near a relative's house as the fragrance of hasnahena blew in from afar...they hadn't forgotten to emit their sweet smell in the midst of the turmoil of war. The wind knew no bounds, and the guava leaves danced to their own tune. Moonlight, the defiant wind, the shivering leaves -- they all seemed to oppose the wrong, so very wrong war. Rakib said, 'I'm going to town tomorrow to buy a bicycle...a Hercules cycle. When we get married the day after tomorrow, I'll take you out on it to tour the whole village.'

'Are you crazy? There is no need to go to town now. The place is infested with the army.'

'I must go. I have been dreaming about this for a long time. A wedding only comes along once in a lifetime.'

Rakib paid no attention to my warnings and went to town. He bought his bicycle. The next day we were married, sans the henna, sans the jewelry. My parents joined our hands after draping me in a red karolini sari. The moment the wedding was over Rakib began to pull me towards his bicycle. I was a blushing new bride, how on earth would I get up on that? The more I refused, the more adamant he became. Finally I got up on the bike with me. Off we went, a song on his lips...

I love you I love you

The tune, near and far

On water on land play the flute...

I was forced to join in.

We had lost track of how far we had gone. Suddenly there was the deafening sound of bullets flying in the air. We could see an armoured truck approaching in the distance, raising clouds of dust. People began to panic and run. By the time Rakib had turned his bike around to go in the opposite direction the armoured truck was on us. From behind came the order, 'Halt!'

Rakib did not stop. He lowered the bicycle into a nearby paddy field and began to pedal hard. Just then a shower of bullets came flying towards us. Rakib fell off the bicycle with me. I lay trapped underneath his body.

Two soldiers came towards us and kicked us with their boots. I held my breath with all my might.

One of them said, in Urdu, 'Too bad, a beautiful woman has died.'

The country became independent. My parents wanted to get me re-married, my in-laws didn't have any objections. I refused. I took up teaching, then opened this store and named it 'Freedom Cycle House.'

Tears flood Rebecca apa's eyes. Rafiq says, "I'm truly sorry, apa, I didn't want to hurt you. I've clearly dug up painful memories for you. Please forgive me." He begins to walk away.

Rebecca wants to call him back and say, "Listen, choose a bicycle you like. It'll be my wedding gift to you. Bring Keya upon it to see me some day."

Rafiq would say, "I certainly will, apa. Why would we not be able to do what you did 32 years ago?"

Rebecca walks to the door, and steps down onto the road. But by then Rafiq has gone too far, well out of the range of her voice.

Afroza Parveen is a young Bangladeshi writer. Alipa Khan is a student of law at the London College of Legal Studies, Dhaka.

*The above story has been somewhat abridged for publication in The Daily Star.