One afternoon he told his mother that he was going to bike over to Selim's house in Azimpur. She flatly said no. He could only ride in the compound.

He said, "Fine then. I won't ride this bike anymore."
"Then we can sell it off."
"Go ahead. See if I care."

Of course his mother didn't sell the bike and Moni continued to ride in the compound. Then he brought a new plan to his mother. He agreed not to ride on the main road just outside. But what if he walked over to the side road across the way and then rode up and down that little road? She conceded, but Belal would have to walk over with him.

His brother soon got tired of this new chore. Within a week, Moni was walking his bike over by himself. One day at the end of that side road where it intersected with another major thoroughfare, he asked himself, what would happen if he took off from there? Without hesitating, he sped off and wound his way along three major roads, passing through at least five congested intersections, and arrived in triumph at Selim's flat.

His mother never found out. He continued to make a big show of walking the bike in and out of the compound. Over the next year, Moni explored many neighborhoods of the city, including the entire university area.

By the time he was sixteen and enrolled in intermediate college, Moni had a full life away from home. His mother only worried if he stayed out so late that he missed dinner or got drenched in the rain. One stormy day in the monsoon season, he passed by the offices of the local Red Cross. A group of boys were loading a truck with boxes of supplies. He stopped to inquire and they told him they were headed out to Sirajganj in the north. The Jamuna had flooded and people stranded. Moni entered the office, spoke to the man in charge, and offered to join a relief team. When he returned home and told his parents, his father readily agreed but his mother was hesitant. She asked him to be careful. He was surprised that she let him go so easily.

Perhaps it was because he wasn't following in his brother's footsteps. Around this time revolution was in the air. Belal had chosen a full involvement in militant politics. Moni chose to be with a small group that organized relief expeditions and weekend work camps, efforts his brother sometimes derided as 'social work.'

But after March 25, it was no longer a matter of what choice any single person made with their individual lives. Belal became a marked man. Their father paid a harsh price for his son's choice. Though his mother hoped to see him alive again, Moni was convinced he was dead. The Pakistanis were not reported to be keeping prisoners. Even those who had not chosen rebellion were targeted. People who happened to be in the streets when the military convoys came rolling down. The entire Hindu community. Bengali soldiers like Moni's uncle Zia had never sympathized with Bengali nationalism, but it no longer mattered what their opinions were.

The choice Moni had made, however, would yield an unforeseen opportunity: the refuge he found with his mother on Naodubi.

More than a month into their island stay, Moni asked the men who had gathered in the afternoon if they could tell when the rains would come. Very soon, they said. One old man stroked his beard and said he could tell from the texture of the air that the monsoons would break exactly seven days hence. The others said he was right sometimes. The old man reminded Moni that the days of the daily launch run from Golachipa were nearly over. Once the rains arrived, the service would become irregular. There had even been years when the boat had not returned for the entire monsoon season. The men warned Moni that if he needed anything from the town, he should take the trip the very next day.

Moni nodded but his mind was not on supplies. He could not stomach the thought of being cut off for months.

After they had eaten dinner, Moni joined his mother on the verandah on the ground floor.

"Ma, I... we can't keep staying here. I... we should go."
"Where?" She looked at him, her face calm in the fading light.
"India. Back to Dhaka. Anywhere but here. I feel utterly useless."
"But we are safe here. There are no soldiers. And you know how much the villagers appreciate what we are doing."
"Yes, they do. And as you suggested, someday we should come back and do what we are doing, but properly. Now it feels like we are just passing the time while the country is burning."
"So what is your plan then?" She raised her voice. "To leave me here all by myself and run off?" With the back of her hand she dabbed at the edges of her eyes. "Go, then. All the others have abandoned me. Why not you as well?"
"Ma, don't talk like that. It was not Baba's fault that they took him away. It wasn't Belal's fault either."

"Don't talk to me about Belal. He didn't care about the danger he put us in. He only thought of himself. Just like you are doing today."
"How can you say Belal was selfish? Whatever he did, he did for the nation."
"The nation!" She spat out the word. "Aren't we part of the nation? If I don't blame Belal, then I have to hold your father responsible. The boy would have listened to him, but would Mr. Aziz ever control him? No, he left all that to me. He even encouraged the boy to get interested in politics."
"Belal didn't need Baba's help to get into politics. Ma, this is what most students were doing. He couldn't help but get involved."
"So why didn't you?"
"You know why. I found other things to do." Moni was stunned. He had never heard his mother speak like this. Until now, he had assumed that she, like him, understood that all the blame lay squarely on the Pakistanis. The Bengalis had won the election, and who had known that the aftermath would be massacres, disappearances, the onrush of war? Belal certainly hadn't.

The daylight had all but disappeared. Moni lit the hurricane lantern and asked, "How can you talk like this?"
"Why not? I'm just speaking the truth. The truth you can't bear." She looked back at him defiantly. "They're both dead, you know. They're never coming back to us. You're all I have left." She started to weep.

Moni realized that this was the first real conversation they had ever had on Baba being taken away and Belal's disappearance. Was she right? Could both his father and Belal be dead? After a long, awkward silence, he said, "We can talk more about it later, but tomorrow I must take the launch to Golachipa. Tell me what we need. We need food and batteries. Anything else?"
"You're not going to sneak away, are you?"
"Why would I...?" Moni felt the blood rush into his face.
"Promise me you won't take the boat and run off from Golachipa."
"How can..."
"Like you used to do on your bicycle."
"You knew?"
"Silly boy, of course I knew. Mothers know these things." She smiled at him. "Promise me."
He did not return her smile. "I used to make promises back then. I didn't keep them, so why should you believe me now?"
"Just promise me."
"No. You're going to have to just trust me to do the right thing."

"Brother, where are you going? You're going to the wrong boat. This way, quick, quick!" Ahsan comes to get him.

Moni shudders at what he's been considering. He's ashamed that he even allowed such a terrible thought to form in his mind. There is no way he could leave her on the island. He had never intended to do that. No, his plan was to convince her to return to Dhaka. By now, things must have eased up. She could stay with one of her relatives. The military isn't looking for her. But could she handle the daily reminder of the losses in her life? Maybe he can finally convince her that the better choice would be to go with him to India. Surely her brother Zia would find a place for her. Yes, yes, that is what he needs to do. Once she is safe somewhere, he could join the struggle.

He allows Ahsan to lead him back toward the launch.

"It was the heat, got you all confused, right?" Ahsan says as Moni boards. "Brother, if you had taken the other launch, you might never have made it back to Naodubi." He looks skyward.

As the boat leaves Golachipa behind, Moni looks out over the water. The breeze over the river cools him down, drying his sweat. Within minutes, he can no longer see land on either side. Not far is the ocean. The man sitting next to him lights up a cigarette.

"So what did you buy on your shopping trip?" the man asks, pointing to the two jute bags next to Moni's feet. Moni lists off a few items. Indeed, he did not buy all the supplies his mother asked him to get. He only bought just enough food to last a couple of more days, as well as some biscuits to distribute to the children. He wants to host a little going-away party for them. She will be furious with him, but she will have no choice but to leave. She will not accept being stuck on the island without the essentials they need to last out the rains. It bothers him that he had to do something underhanded. Those days between us should be over, he thinks.

The launch slows down for its first stop. Moni's seatmate gets off, along with two other passengers. A small country boat pulls up alongside and a fisherman says he has some ilish fish for sale, quite cheap. Moni buys one. So do some of the other men. They comment on the size and freshness of the fish. He smiles back at them and tells them that his mother will be happy.

She will swallow her anger and take the time to cook the fish in the way she knows he likes. He can almost taste it now. As he savors the fish in his mouth, he knows why she didn't want to flee the country, why she insisted he bring her to this remote place. It wasn't simply to get away from the clutches of the soldiers. No, it was because she has no intention of ever letting him go. She might be able to endure life without his father or Belal, but she would fight to the death to keep him close to her. Even if he convinces her to leave Naodubi, he knows their fates are bound together. He could not walk away. He still dreams of making it across the border, but each new occasion he considers that scenario, he fails to imagine what it is he would do once he gets there. At his mother's side, though, his role is clear.

Mahmud Rahman is at work on his first novel.