Ravi the Unknown Prince (13 page)

There was silence as he walked with us on either side of him and then he took us upstairs.

Uncle Ismael was lying on a bed with an oxygen mask over his face his breathing was shallow and distress.

I walked up to his bed and held his hand, when he moved his head he saw me and Harun.

He removed the mask from his face and held my hand and that of Harun and said, “You two must remain close together and look after each other and your mother.”

I could not speak; I was emotionally upset looking at that dying man, so I nodded my head.

I saw him close his eyes and Harun began to cry. I said “Dad read the ‘Shahada,’ [the declaration of faith] and I started reading it and he was repeating it with me, then I let him read it by himself.

He kept his eyes shut with the words on his lips as he passed away quietly; it was the first and last time I called that man dad.

I would never know why I did it, but I had done it at the spur of the moment without a second thought, from the age of eighteen he took care of me like a father.

When I first went to New York I went out a few times with my work mates and he did not liked it and he pulled me in.

He told me that I would be wasting my money and life away if I went down that path.

I should save that same money go on to college and make a career for myself and I took his advice.

He was there when I graduated from Harvard University, he was there when I got married, and he was there with me at the hospital when both my sons were born.

This man had played an important role in my life and never once asked me for anything in return.

I love him like I would have loved my own father now his book was closed and he was about to meet with his Lord.

I can only pray and asked our Lord to grant him Paradise and not just Paradise but the highest place in Paradise [Jannat al Firdose].

He had completed all the pillars of Islam; he and his wife went for their Hajj pilgrimage after he retired.

On their way back they stopped in to see us in Kuwait City, and he told me that when he completed his hajj he told Maymun that he would like to go back home to his country.

It was 11am that day, after our next prayer he would be taken to his final resting place in the cemetery to be buried next to his first son Hasan and his parents.

We were made from earth and to earth we shall return, a reminder to all of us.

The room was full of his immediate family and they were all weeping silently, his wife now a widow was standing by his head drying her tears.

Harun was holding on to his uncle Yunus and Asma was standing with her daughter at the foot of the bed.

My heart was saddened and my eyes were full of tears. I brushed away my tears and looked around at all the sad faces.

No one was saying anything they just continued to shed tears for this wonderful man who was once a husband and a father.

We were all there in that room until the doctor arrived to certify the death and to write out the death certificate.

Then the body would be washed and shrouded ready for its final journey to the mosque for his last prayer and then on to the cemetery.

Only men were allowed at the cemetery when the body was lowered into the grave. Harun fainted, me and Hamza his son had to hold him up until the grave was covered over.

I was feeling weak at the knees and when we were leaving I stumbled a few times.

Two men held on to me until we came outside and then they sat me down inside our transport.

His death had affected me more than my own parents and two siblings. Perhaps I was too young at that time when they passed away and did not fully understood about life and death.

That night they had the wake but there was no party going on, villagers were coming and going and food was being served.

Maymun was sad she came and sat with me and Harun holding our hands, as she said through her tears, “I am glad he was reading the shahada when he passed away.”

There were no words of comfort to say to her. She had just buried her husband and the feeling of loneliness had crept in.

“I know that feeling because I have been there once before,” I said, “Mum we are here for you and it will get easier as time goes by.”

She replied, “You two are good boys, you came on time to hear Ismael’s last words.”

Two days later I telephoned the number that was left with uncle Yunus and spoke to a woman.

She made an appointment for me to see a man by the name of Edwin de Silva the following day at 2pm.

She also told me to bring with me an overnight bag and that I would not be returning the same day because I was going to meet with someone.

I would be staying at the Lotus hotel and was told to check in, if I arrived early. I asked her what this was all about, and she told me that when I saw Mr de Silva he would explain everything to me.

I told all the family what the woman had told me and that my appointment was in the afternoon and I would not be back until the following day.

Uncle Yunus told me not to sign any document to commit myself in case someone was after my property.

“I never thought of that,” I said.

Then I told them that they booked me into an expensive hotel and that when I asked the woman who was paying for all this she told me not to worry.

Muna wanted to come with me but I told her to stay with Maymun and her mother. I would take Husain with me.

The next day we left in Imran’s seven seated cruiser, and along the way he collected more passengers going into Georgetown the capital.

We arrived early in the city and found the hotel, at the reception desk I gave my name and told the East Indian man that I had brought my son with me.

He smiled and said, “No problem, sir,” it was the first time someone had called me sir in my own country.

He told me the suite number and said he would send us up some refreshments.

We could have room service if we wished, we just had to ring the reception and order what-ever we required.

He gave me a menu with the reception number and wrote at the top of the menu lists, ask for Paul.

A porter took our two bags upstairs and opened the door for us, and I gave him a tip.

It was a five star hotel, and it certainly lived up to its star ratings, it was richly decorated and beautifully designed.

There was a king size bed with designer counterpane and the finest tapestry with matching curtains, rugs and sofas.

The three small glass top tables in the room had flowering plants on top of each one of them.

There was expensive mahogany furniture dotted around the room and a dining table with four chairs stood in one corner.

The large room was separated by a glass door which led us into another room with a double bed and fine furnishings. There were two sets of bath rooms with showers, hot and cold running water.

Husain threw himself unto the king size bed and asked, “Who is paying for this entire luxury, dad?”

“Not me, I hope. I can’t afford to spend even a day here, the woman told me it’s all paid for, by who I don’t know.

I was not sure what to expect or I would have brought your mother with us to share in some of this luxurious living.

You know son, your mum would never asked me for anything extra or extravagant. She does what she knows best; being a good mother and a wife.”

“What do you mean by extravagant, dad?” he questioned “Like going on holidays twice every year; like her friends do, or pestering their husbands for the latest high street fashion.

She is not that type of woman even though I gave her money to spend on herself; she would only wear what I bought for her.”

“Perhaps she likes what you buy her, dad, and your taste in clothes, and she sends the money to her mother.

She told me and Nizam once that she was so happy when she heard that you were coming home from America and was hoping that both of you would get married.

She was being forced to get married to a farmer in the Corentyne area she only saw once and did not like him or the family, and that you and her were childhood sweethearts.”

I laughed,” Is that what she told you and Nizam? That is taking it one step too far,” I remarked. “We were innocent children growing up, may-be if she thinks like that then, I did not.

I was a poor orphan trying to survive. I never knew where my next meal was coming from.

I had no time for girls, to be honest son. I lived a sheltered life until I was married and so was your uncle Harun, we talked about girls but never went down that road.”

There was a knock at the door and I went to opened it. The smiling waiter wheeled in a trolley with tropical cold fruit juice in a jug and two empty glasses and some fresh fruits.

The fruits were peeled and halved. There were mangoes, pineapples, apples and bunches of red and white grapes, as well as roasted peanuts.

After the man had left the room, Husain jumped up and went to wash his hands before eating and so did I.

He said, “Dad who is this mysterious person giving you this kind of expensive treats.”

“I wish I knew son, it could be a woman,” I answered but I am going to find out at 2 o’clock.

“Mum would not like if it’s a woman, unless she is from your royal blood line,” he remarked.

I did not hide anything from my sons regarding my royal links from my past; I told them what I knew and found out but that I had no proof to back it up.

Not long after the telephone rang, and Paul the receptionist told me that the guy who brought us in, was asking to see me.

I told him to send him upstairs, and at the same time I ordered some lunch for the three of us.

I thought it was coming up to 12 o’clock and Imran would be hungry if he had not already eaten.

I ordered sweet water fish, which I was longing to eat with rice tropical vegetables, fresh salad and fruits.

Husain opened the door to let Imran in; he looked amazed as he looked around.

He said, “Uncle Hasan, can you afford this?” he asked.

“I am not paying for it, as far as I know,” I answered.

“Wow, this is how the rich live,” he remarked.

He told me he came to check on us before he went home, and I told him I had ordered lunch for him and we would be eating in ten minutes.

When the food arrived it was brought up on a trolley. The waiter dished up and the three of us sat down to eat.

Then he asked if he should wait around in case we needed anything else. I told him we had plenty and thanked him; the food he had brought in was enough to feed a party of six.

Imran was laughing as he ate, “You know uncle, I have never been waited on before, and it is amazing to see how the other half lives.”

I told Imran to tell Muna that we were ok and that I would ring her tonight and he could tell the others or give them a brief description of what he had seen here.

We chatted for some time and at 1.15pm. I went with him downstairs to see him off.

The receptionist told me that at 1.45 a taxi would be waiting outside to take me to Mr de Silva’s office.

I thanked him and went back upstairs and told Husain we had thirty minutes to get ready.

I took a shower and changed my clothes and so did he. We made an effort to look presentable in case we were going to meet with this mystery person.

The taxi from the hotel was outside waiting with the driver at the wheel when he saw us he came out and opened the door for the two of us to get in at the back.

He smiled as I greeted him, when we sat down I told him where to take us, and he said, “I know, Dr Latchman.”

I was beginning to think the staff at the hotel knew who I was. From the time I entered the building they were extremely polite and were happy to serve us.

We arrived at Mr de Silva’s office which was on the second floor of a five storey building.

I knocked on the door and entered. His secretary greeted us and took us into another room.

Mr de Silva was on the telephone and he cut short his conversation and hung up the phone.

He stood up from his seat behind the desk and shook my hand and asked “Who is this young man?”

And then he gestured for the two of us to sit down.

I replied, “He is my son, Husain.”

“I am pleased to meet you at last, Dr Latchman and your son; I am Edwin de Silva; lawyer for Hanif Latchman.”

I was now puzzled as to who this Hanif Latchman was. I did not know any-one by that name.

He picked up a file that was in front of him and pressed a buzzer, the secretary appeared.

He said, “Ruby my love, take this young lad and find some thing for him to do, I must speak with his father in private.”

He looked at me and said, “Ruby is my other half.” She was a brown skinned East Indian woman with lots of make up on.

I was wondering if she ever took off her make up and how long it would take her to put it back on again, it was difficult to tell her age with all that facial covering.

She was smartly dressed in a blue and cream matching two piece out fit, and a pair of matching heel shoes.

Mr de Silva was a mixed race gentleman in his late forties, with a reddish complexion, slim and about six feet tall like me with grey hair and he spoke with the local accent.

The woman took Husain with her and I followed the man into another room which was well ventilated with comfortable sofas and a few small wooden tables.

There were tall potted tropical plants that stood on the floor on both sides of the room.

When we sat down I asked him who was Hanif Latchman and that I did not know any one by that name.

He told me that his name was Rajesh at one time and then he married a Muslim woman and changed his name.

He opened the file he was holding in his hand and said, “You are the sole benefactor to his Estate and fortune.

We have been tracking you for many years. We lost you when you left Egypt.

Then you surfaced again with two young sons, we left you a message but you did not get back to us.

H e was reading from one page to the next, and then we caught up with you again in Kuwait. You had done some travelling; you went to London a few times and to India and South Africa.