Sometimes I see a bird flying by. Once in a while, in the dead of night, it sings in a deeply melancholy tune. From far to farther, it flies over the vast ocean, its slender wings beating through the mist. A face seems so familiar. It whispers or laughs like a sudden gust of wind and falls against my body. I wrap my arms around it. I lift that face, and it says... Brute! I say, Swapna, don't be angry. Don't go away. But still it leaves. Vanishes like a will-o'-the-wisp. I wake with a start. I see the busy city, the clamor of traffic; and I hear the harsh cry of crows.
Yet whenever I dust off that old mirror of memory and look into it, the first thing that surfaces is a river—the Ichhamati. A village by the river. Small and large houses scattered among mango, jackfruit, blackberry trees and bamboo groves. An old schoolhouse by the river. My ten sweet years of school life were spent there. Boys and girls studied together at school. And because of this, there was always a hidden competition between the boys and girls, each trying to outdo the other in various ways.
Swapna was the girls' leader. Her dusky, beautiful face held a slight smile and a bit more pride, which made her quite attractive. I was the boys' leader—weak, tall, lanky, and generally known to be rather timid. The classroom was a battlefield for me, and winning those battles again and again, I thought of myself as quite a confident hero.
In math class, as soon as Bhupen Sir would say, "In a fort there are one hundred men..." I would quickly solve the problem and rush to Sir's desk. My friends would grin and snicker. The girls would poke Swapna's back with their pencils. I would glance sideways with complete composure and watch Swapna filling her notebook with scribbles and scratches, yet unable to solve the problem. But when history day came, my situation would turn dire. Paresh Babu, the most senior teacher, might come to class and immediately ask me, "In which year did Tughlaq Khan ascend the throne?" Most days I had no choice but to stand there with my head hung low. The boys would become silent as stones, but the girls would burst into laughter.
Sir would smile broadly and say in his rich voice, "Swapna... the history of the Mughal Empire?" Swapna would fight the Battle of Panipat, marry off Akbar eight or ten times, build the Taj Mahal, and expand the Mughal Empire. Leaning right or left, casting her eyes at my face or closing them, waving her hands like politicians, she would become Nur Jahan and rule the Mughal Empire. Sir would then smile his victor's smile and say, "Nur Jahan, you may stop!"... Ehh! Nur Jahan! My whole body would burn with shame.
When class ended, Swapna would bring her face close to mine and say, "How badly you lost! You don't know history, yet you come to fight with me!" I would say, "I don't need history. You study so much you'll become history yourself!" Swapna would interrupt and say, "Of course, when you solve math and rush to Sir's desk, you look just like Alexander. As if you've conquered your way from Macedonia to reach King Porus's realm!" I would say to her dismissively, "Alexander and you must have been in the same class—he became a hero by doing math, after all." Swapna would say angrily, "So what if you come first? You have nothing in your head! Alexander is right there in our house, on the topmost shelf of Father's bookcase."
At school, Swapna and I would often quarrel, but once I got home, I would forget everything. Every day I would go to their pond to fish with a rod. Swapna would come every day to our tree to eat sour plums or guavas.
One day, after picking a pointless fight, I didn't speak to Swapna for two days. On a holiday morning, I was home. Mother was serving me food. Swapna came bouncing in and said, "Aunt, Luku is angry with me." Then she sat on the mat and said to me, "Are you angry? Even your anger is so strange! I don't like it. If you're angry, you should shout and scream, glare with your eyes, and if possible, give me a good smack!" Hearing this, I burst into loud laughter.
Then suddenly, something happened! In March of seventy-one, school closed. Groups of people started leaving the city for villages. Everyone's eyes and faces showed a kind of terror. Swapna's elder sister Shefali Apa walked eighty miles from Rajshahi University to come home. Many village boys suddenly sprouted stubby beards and long, unkempt hair that made them unrecognizable. One day Swapna whispered to me, "Apa has a bomb in her bag." I shuddered with fear.
On the night of April eleventh, I woke to the tremendous sound of gunfire. Machine gun bullets were flying in swarms over our heads. Mother held me close and whispered something I couldn't understand. Father pulled me from Mother's arms and said, "You run away quickly. Run through the jungle, lie down flat when you hear gunshots. Behind Swapna's house, the river is shallow—swim across. There probably aren't any soldiers on the other side. Your mother and I are coming; you go!"
Dry bamboo leaves crunched and broke under my feet. Everywhere was impenetrable darkness. Bullets flew like flames of fire this way and that. I stumbled and fell several times. Running and running, I reached Swapna's house and saw in their courtyard that Shefali Apa and several boys were quickly leaving. The boys had rifles on their shoulders and Shefali Apa had that bag. Swapna's father put out the hurricane lamp and said, "You two run west through this jungle as far as you can. If you can cross the Ichhamati, there's no more danger. I'm an old man, can barely see anything. Don't think I can go very far. You go!"
In moments we reached the bamboo grove, passed under the tamarind tree, near the banyan tree where the jungle grew deep. While running, Swapna slipped from my hand and fell several times. My right big toe was twisted and hurt terribly. Some unknown animal rustled through the vines and leaves. Swapna said, "A jackal?" Without answering, I took her right hand and began to tremble violently.
Last year I had seen a huge python coiled around the banyan roots. It felt as if that yellow-striped snake was raising its hood and advancing to devour us both. Swapna couldn't run anymore. I forced her up and said, "Once we cross the jungle there's the river, and once we cross the river we'll be safe."
The entire village was engulfed in leaping flames. The bamboos made terrible sounds as they exploded in the fire. The southern wind carried the smell of burning and flying ash. Anguished screams floated from the northern quarter. Swapna said, "Where's Father?" Thorns from the wild plants tore our clothes to shreds. "Take off all your clothes before jumping in the river, or you won't be able to float," I said. The machine gun fire seemed to be coming from quite close. Suddenly Swapna slipped from my hand, fell, and said, "Oh Father...!" I tried to lift her but couldn't. Putting my hand to her chest, I felt blood spurting out. I raised her neck and shoulders, but in the thick darkness I couldn't see her face.
Swapna's voice was gradually growing faint. In a choking voice she said pitifully, "She-fa-li A-pa, Fa-ther..." She was in terrible pain. She said, "Lu-ku, wa-ter, wa-ter..." The babbling sound of the Ichhamati could be heard. Looking up, I saw Swapna's house blazing fiercely. I pressed Swapna to my chest with both arms. Swapna said, "Am I dying?" I said nothing.
Night was coming to an end. In the first light of dawn in the eastern sky, I saw Swapna's deep, dark, beautiful eyes close forever.