After Rama sped away in his car, Arya could only sit frozen in silence behind the wheel of his old blue public minibus. His thoughts drifted, focused entirely on the large wooden crate now sitting on the passenger seat beside him. It felt as though his world was spinning far faster than usual, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing in the middle of the night’s silence.
At least Arya now understood the fundamental reason behind Rama’s decision to choose such an unusual hour for their meeting. The quiet location, far from any residential area, along with the dense darkness before dawn, was the perfect combination for concealing a great secret. But the deed was done, and he had no choice but to see it through.
With fingers trembling violently, Arya placed the precious crate down with extreme care so he would not disturb the little creature’s peaceful sleep inside. Again and again, he drew deep breaths and slowly exhaled, struggling to control the surge of fear crushing his chest. He could not keep sitting on this deserted roadside. Time continued to pass without mercy, and his common sense had to take control of his body and emotions, which had momentarily stopped at the edge of despair.
Once he felt a little calmer, Arya turned the ignition key. The engine of the old public minibus he had inherited from his late father let out a brief roar before settling into a gentle rumble. He began driving through the night air, no longer feeling its chill.
The shivering that had tormented his body several hours earlier evaporated just like that, replaced by the torment and turmoil raging inside him every time he glanced at the tiny baby still sleeping soundly in the crate. Arya wanted nothing more than to turn back time, refuse this job, or even scream at the top of his lungs to vent the protest swelling in his chest.
But then the sweet image of Rania’s face and warm smile, his wife, suddenly danced before his eyes. On top of that, Rama’s implicit threat—from the man he had always known as a polite and kindhearted loyal customer—was enough to drain all the courage from him. If the threat had placed only him at risk, Arya might have chosen to act recklessly.
But when Rania’s safety and the first child she was carrying were involved, the situation became critical. Arya was fully aware of his position; a small public-minibus driver could never fight someone like Rama, who turned out to be far more dangerous and mysterious than he had initially suspected.
Either Rama was exceptionally skilled and manipulative at playing the part of a calm, charismatic man, or Arya was simply too naive, making it so easy for others to deceive him and earn his trust. Whatever the reason, what was done was done. The fear radiating from Rama’s sharp gaze earlier slowly stripped away every last bit of courage Arya possessed.
Arya let out a harsh sigh and rubbed his weary face. The choice spread out before him was unbearably difficult—or rather, he had not been given any room to choose at all. Whether he wanted to or not, whether he liked it or not, he had to follow this suddenly and wildly diverted line of fate. The old public minibus continued on, cutting through the remnants of night’s darkness as they were slowly worn away by the dim light of dawn.
“What am I supposed to do? Is this the right decision? Oh Allah, please help Your servant, so weak and powerless,” he cried out miserably in his heart.
Amid the despair swelling and tightening around his chest, Arya finally remembered the presence of the Creator. His inner cry broke free as warm tears spilled from the corners of his eyes and ran down his rough cheeks. He was furious with himself—furious because he felt so weak and cowardly, unable to resist the will of someone else who had forced him into this whirlpool of trouble.
All along the empty, straight road, Arya continued to lament his fate and blame himself for being so quickly tempted by Rama’s offer of a large payment. Yet whenever he looked back at the reality of his everyday life, the steadily growing household expenses ahead of the baby’s birth continued to haunt him every day. That was what had forced Arya to swallow this bitter reality whole. Even so, thoughts of the future only made his head throb more violently.
What would Rania say when he arrived home carrying a strange baby? Would his gentle wife accept the presence of a child whose origins were unknown? Arya knew he could never tell Rania what had really happened. Rama’s threat was too dangerous, and Arya would never be able to let Rania get dragged into the threat hanging over their lives.
Then an alternative thought suddenly crossed his mind: what if he quietly left the baby at an orphanage in the neighboring city? Hadn’t Rama previously joked that he did not care what Arya did with the baby, as long as Arya took it as far away as possible and did not raise it in their hometown? If he handed the baby over to an orphanage, Rania would not need to know anything, and their little life could return to normal, just as it had been before. Didn’t that sound like the safest and most sensible solution to his complicated situation?
However, the more he tried to consider the idea, the more a new sense of guilt gnawed at his soul. Arya gripped the public minibus’s steering wheel tightly, frustrated by the countless crazy ideas and moral considerations colliding inside his chest.