Siam Sarower Jamil
I have got a rickshaw at Daroga Mor, was trying to breathe after wrapping my body with the polythene.
Looking behind rickshaw puller Shafique, uncle says, “Where do you want to go, son?”. I replied, ‘Uncle, go to the bank of the river’.
In this small town, maximum are known faces. I address everyone as “apni” in Bengali with respect and if anyone is middle aged I address them as an uncle. There is no chance of addressing them as “tumi”, this is maybe friendly, as I used to address the rickshaw pullers of Dhaka. If I do so it will be a serious insulting matter.
It has been raining like cats and dogs here for two days. And it’s not stopped for a second. And it’s been the obstacle of all my works. I can’t come out of the home. I have passed a whole day sitting idly because of rain.
Suddenly I noticed a writing–Struggle for a beautiful morning–written on the wall of college. It is Roni Rahman’s writing. It is written in bold Bengali word with tar. Below it two small ‘R’ is also written in English.
Roni and I were good friends. We used to discuss politics, economy, literature, social conditions whole day. Roni’s dream was about to change this city. That’s why he wrote many speeches of dream-scuffle in many walls of this city. I was also a companion of him in this path of struggle and dream.
I am frightened when I hear his voice suddenly.
He is calling me.
Come here.
And the rain has started falling harshly. Roni used to like rain a lot. Whenever he saw raining he started getting drench in rain, somehow he managed another person for accompanying him. He used to use his shoes as football if he couldn’t find any football. His thoughts/ideas were really interesting, his ideas were apprehensive.
I am feeling suffocated. However, I just open the hood and let my face get drenched in rain, I have to calm down.
An incomplete tin shed building at the corner of the road, Bokul’s tea stall, the bank of Mahananda and agile Roni, I am feeling like seeing everything clearly in front of my eyes.
Ya, that was also a rainy day like this, it was raining in a tin shed, in the yard of the house, in the river…
I have never given any gift for anyone’s birthday. But I had given a book on his birthday. The book was written by Sunil. After that, it was a conversation of eleven days about that book. He pointed some mistakes of that book was beyond my imagination, I was amazed to see his sharp analysis. And I was envious about him inside.
Bengali professor of our college said, ‘You do not own any quality like Roni, how will you run your life?’ I didn’t reply. But it burnt me inside.
I can’t be able to breathe properly today. Though it was raining heavily with the highly blowing wind, I am feeling suffocated.
I just have reached near the bank of the river.
I am walking towards the bank of the river. It was empty. There was no boat there.
I stand there by holding a pole. My body is shaking, I am feeling like I will fall down any time.
Roni’s body was also shaking that day. That was also a rainy day like this and I held down Roni’s head into the flooded water of the college field. He was looking at me with astonishment.
He strongly believed that at least he won’t be murdered by me.
Strom is coming. Mahannda’s water is also flowing. My body is shaking repeatedly.
I can’t tolerate anymore. Going towards invoking of water. Water is blowing. He is calling me from that blowing water.
‘Come, come, come’.
Siam Sarower Jamil is a Bangladeshi Poet, short story writer & Dhaka based Journalist.
