one night

One Night

 

I went to school together with Surbala and played husband and wife. When I went to their house, Surbala's mother used to take great care of me and would bring us both together and say to ourselves, 'Oh, we both look good.'

I was young but somehow understood the meaning of the words. The idea that I had some special claim to Surbala from the general public had become ingrained in my mind. It is not that I did not discipline and harass him when I was drunk with that right. He also patiently obeyed all my orders and bore punishments. Her form was praised in the neighborhood, but in the eyes of the barbarian boy her beauty had no glory--I only knew that Surbala was born in my father's house to acknowledge my lordship, and therefore she was the object of my special neglect.

My father was Naib of Chowdhury-Zamidar. He wanted to teach me the work of a zamindari-siesta and get me started somewhere in Gomstagiri once I got my hands full. But I was against it in my heart. Just as Neelratan of our neighborhood fled to Calcutta and became a Najir of the Collector, my aim in life was the same - if I could not become a Najir of the Collector, then I would become the Head Clerk of the Judge-Court.

I always saw that my father respected the said courtiers very much--I knew from my childhood that they had to be worshiped by taking fish, curry, money, and coins on various occasions, that's why I gave a place of honor in my heart even to the petty servants of the court, even the pawns. They are the worshiped gods of Bangladesh. A small new version of thirty-three crores. People have more sincere trust in them than in Ganesha, the giver of material achievements, so whatever was due to Ganesha in the past, nowadays they get it all.

I was also encouraged by the example of Neelratan who once escaped to Calcutta with special privileges. At first, I stayed in the house of an Alapi man in the village, after that, I started getting some study help from my father. Education went on as usual.

On top of that, I used to join the meeting committee. I had no doubts about the urgent necessity of sacrificing one's life for the country. However I did not know how the difficult task could be done, and no example was shown.

But that said, there was no error in enthusiasm. We didn't learn to scoff at everything like the suburban boys, the rough-and-tumble boys of Calcutta, so our devotion was very strong. The authorities of our meeting used to give speeches, and we used to go around begging from house to house in the afternoon sun without taking the subscription book, we would stand on the roadside and distribute advertisements, we would go to the meeting place and set up benches, and if someone said something in the name of the leader, we would tie our belts and get ready to fight. The boys of the city saw these signs and called us Bengalis.

I had come from Nazir Serestadar, but Matsini began to organize Garibaldi.

At that time my father and Surbala's father agreed and took the initiative for my marriage with Surbala.

I ran away to Calcutta when I was fifteen, Surbala was eight; Now I am eighteen. According to my father, my marriageable age is gradually passing. But at the same time, I have vowed in my heart that I will die for my country without marrying for the rest of my life.

Within two to four months, I got the news that Surbala was married to lawyer Ramlochanbabu. I was busy collecting the subscriptions of the fallen India, and this news felt very insignificant.

I passed the entrance, I gave first arts, then my father died. I am not alone in the family, there is a mother and two sisters. So I had to leave college and go back to look for work. After many attempts, I got the post of second master in the entrance school in a small town of Nawakhali division.

I thought I got the right job. With advice and encouragement, we will make each student a general of future India.

I started work. I saw that the rush of the upcoming exam is more than the future of India. The headmaster gets angry if the students talk about anything other than grammar and algebra. Within a couple of months, my enthusiasm also became dull.

A talentless person like us sits at home and imagines various things, finally goes down to the work field with a plow on his neck eats lamella from the back, and patiently does the daily work of breaking the soil in Natshir and is satisfied only if he gets a meal of jabna in the evening; There is no more enthusiasm for leaping and jumping.

One master lived in the schoolhouse for fear of fire. I was the only person, the burden fell on me. I lived in a shed adjacent to the school's large courtyard.

The schoolhouse is some distance from the locality. By a big pond. All around are betel nut and madder trees, and almost all around the schoolhouse are two huge old neem trees, side by side, providing shade.

One thing I haven't mentioned in a while and it didn't seem important until now. The house of the government lawyer Ramlochan Roy is not far from our school. And with him was his wife--my childhood sweetheart Surbala--I knew that.

I had a conversation with Ramlochanbabu. I had an acquaintance with Surbala during my childhood, I don't know whether Ramlochanbabu knew it or not, and I also did not feel comfortable talking about him in my new acquaintance. And it never occurred to me that Surbala was ever involved in my life in any way.

One day I went to Ramlochanbabu's house on a holiday to meet him. I don't remember what was being discussed, I think it was about the current plight of India. It was not that he was particularly anxious and vexatious about it, but that the matter was such that one could spend an hour and a half indulging in a restless hobby about it.

At that time, in the next room, I could hear a very soft thong of a bangle, a little rustling of clothes, and a little sound of feet; I could understand that some curious eyes were monitoring me through the gap of the window.

Immediately I remembered those two eyes--the two big eyes brimming with faith, simplicity, and childish love, the dark black stars, the deep blackness, the steady gaze. Suddenly the heart was pressed by a hard fist and the inside throbbed with pain.

I came back home but the pain continued. No matter what I write or read, the burden of the mind does not go away; The mind suddenly became like a big burden and began to shake the veins of the chest.

In the evening, I settled down a little and started thinking, why did this happen? The answer came from the mind, where did that Surbala of yours go?

I replied I left him on purpose. Will he sit for me forever?

Who said in the heart, then you can get whoever you want, even if you dig your head and die, you will not even get the right to see him once. No matter how close you are to that childhood sweetheart, hear the sound of her bangles, feel the smell of her head rubbing, there will always be a wall in between.

I said, don't stay, Surbala is mine.

I heard the answer, Surbala is none of yours today, but Surbala could not be yours.

That is true. Surbala could not be mine. My most intimate, my dearest, all the joys and sorrows of my life could have been my girlfriend--she is so far away today, so far away, it is forbidden to see her today, it is a sin to talk to her, it is a sin to think about her. And, a Ramlochan suddenly appeared out of nowhere; Just by reciting a couple of memorized mantras, Surabala was instantly taken away from the world and everyone else.

I did not sit down to propagate new principles in human society, I did not come to break society; I did not want to break the bond. I am just expressing my true feelings. All the thoughts that arise in your mind are reasonable. I couldn't get rid of the fact that Surbala, who existed behind the foundation of Ramlochan's house, was more mine than Ramlochan. Such thinking is grossly inconsistent and unjust, I admit, but not unusual.

I can't concentrate on any work from now on. In the afternoon, when the students were humming in the classroom, all the jeans outside, carrying the fragrance of neem tree blossoms in the hot air, I wanted--I don't know what I wanted--so far as I can tell, correcting the grammar illusions of all these future hopefuls of India. I didn't want to live my life.

When the school holidays were over, I didn't mind being alone in the big room, but even if a gentleman came to visit, I felt unbearable. In the evening, I used to think that human society is a web of complex illusions while listening to the meaningless rustle of betel-coconuts by Pushkarini. No one remembers to do the right thing at the right time, after that he gets restless and dies by taking the wrong desire at the wrong time.

A man like you could be Surbala's husband and live happily ever after, or you could be Garibaldi and eventually the second master of a village school. Ramlochan Roy was a lawyer, so there was no urgent need for him to be Surabala's husband in particular; Until the moment of marriage, Surbala was like Bhavshankari for him, without thinking about anything, he married as a government lawyer and earned five rupees - scolds Surbala on the day when the milk smells of smoke, on the day when his heart is happy, he allows Surbala to make jewelry. He is quite fat, well-dressed, has no dissatisfaction, sits by the pond and looks at the stars in the sky, and never spends the evening laughing.

Ramlochan has been away for a while due to a major lawsuit. Just as I was alone in my school house that day, I felt lonely in Surbala's house as well.

I remember it was Monday. The sky has been cloudy since morning. It started raining at ten o'clock. Seeing the forecast of the sky, the headmaster gave the school leave in the morning. Bit by bit black clouds began to move around the sky all day as if in a grand arrangement. The next day in the afternoon, torrential rains and storms started. As the night progressed, rain and storms continued to the house. At first, the wind blew from the east, but gradually it blew from the north and north-east.

Trying to sleep this night is futile. I remembered that Surbala was alone at home in this disaster. Our school house is much stronger than their house. How many times I thought, I would call him to the schoolhouse and spend the night on the bank of Pushkarini. But I could not fix my mind on anything.

When it was half past one in the night, suddenly the call of the bun was heard - the sea was coming. I left the house and went out. I walked towards Surbala's house. On the way, to the banks of our Pushkarini--I got wet on my knees. As I stood up on the bank, a second wave came. A part of the bank of our pond will be about ten to eleven cubits high.

When I got up on the bank, another person also got up from the opposite side. My whole soul, from head to toe, knew who the man was. And I have no doubt that he knew me.

And-all is submerged only-hands-on the five-island we two creatures came and stood.

It was the time of the Deluge when there was no starlight in the sky and all the lamps of the earth were extinguished--there was no harm in saying a word--but not a word could be said. Nobody asked anyone a single question.

Only the two of us kept staring at the darkness. Underfoot, the dark black frenzied stream of death roared and flowed.

Surbala came to me today leaving all the world. Today Surbala has no one but me. When, in that childhood, Surbala, transmigration, floating from some old mysterious darkness, came to my side on this sunlit world full of people and joined me; And, today, after a long time, Surbala Alakini has come to my side in this terrible desolate darkness after leaving that luminous world. The stream of birth brought that bud to me, the stream of death brought that blossoming flower to me-- now only one more wave comes from this end of the world from this stalk of separation, and we both become one.

Don't let that wave come. May Surbala live happily ever after with Swamiputragrihadhanajan. On this one night, I stood on the banks of the Great Deluge and tasted eternal joy.

The night was almost over--the storm stopped, the water receded--Surbala went home without a word, I also went to my room without a word.

I thought, I was neither a Nazir, nor a good statesman, nor a Garibaldi, I was the second master of a broken school, that in all my life there had been but an eternal night for a moment-- that one night among all the days and nights of my love, that one night was the only extreme worth of my trivial life.