I've known the girl not from today; ever since my schooldays when I used to go for private tutoring to her father.
Later, during our matriculation exams, our acquaintance transformed into what my friends called 'intimacy' through the exchange of notes. I'd noticed that many of my classmates harbored a soft spot for this girl. But I knew that unless driven by sheer whim, I would never consciously fall in love with her. Our relationship remained purely in the realm of friendship. Though this could be questioned, so let's leave it at that.
I knew Taleb's situation. He loved the girl. From childhood, he had painted many colorful pictures of her in his dreams and imagination. As he grew older, he wrote poetry in secret. I was a patient listener to his verses. That's why we got along so well.
I also knew that Dipti loved him too. The girl truly lived up to her radiant name, striking at first glance. Large almond eyes, a sharp nose, elongated eyebrows—taken together, calling her exquisite might not be an exaggeration.
That same Taleb, who had never dropped from first to second place in class, suddenly transformed completely. He stopped attending classes properly. Lost in thought all the time. He would sit by the Brahmaputra's banks with vacant eyes all day long. Darkness would spread across everything. Eventually it consumed Taleb too. He proved the teachers' fears right. Taleb passed matriculation in third division. I never imagined I could defeat my lifelong academic rival so badly.
He used to tell me about Dipti openly. I learned that Dipti had betrayed him. She loved Rashed. She had rejected Taleb's love. After the matter came to light, I saw Taleb. I consoled him greatly. But Taleb was lost. Many days passed after that. We left the provincial town and came to Dhaka for higher education. Dipti came to Dhaka too. I knew about Dipti's current relationship with Rashed. Rashed's family was wealthy. I had heard all this from Dipti herself.
Even after all this time, one habit of mine still hadn't changed. Whenever I went home from Dhaka, I would visit Dipti's house at least once. Sir's and Aunty's profound affection drew me to their home.
I noticed that whenever I went there, Aunty would lovingly feed me this and that with such care. After earning the garland of academic success, her affection had escalated a notch. So I had to go. And that time, visiting Sir's house, I got caught up in the matter.
After tea and snacks, Aunty asked, "When are you going to Dhaka, son?"
I said, "Tomorrow, Aunty. I should have come to visit a few days ago. Got held up with my cousin's wedding, couldn't make it. Thought since I'm leaving tomorrow anyway, let me pay my respects to Aunty." "Good that you came, son. But I'm in quite a predicament." "Predicament?" I asked eagerly.
"Yes, son, Dipti's university opened today. But her father can't get leave for the exams. And Shafiq is also taking exams. I don't know who to send her with!"
I understood Aunty's unspoken intention quite well. To tell the truth, I felt a kind of eagerness stirring in my chest. Trying to suppress the feeling as much as possible, I picked up the newspaper lying in front of me and said, "I'm going tomorrow, Aunty, but..." "But what again? Please take her along, son. She has an exam in a few days too. She doesn't study at all at home."
She called Dipti and informed her of the decision. I realized I was trapped. I sank into a kind of pleasant feeling.
I've come to the station with Dipti. The train hasn't arrived yet. Sitting in the easy chair in the waiting room, I was thinking about Rita. I don't know what Rita is doing now. She's still within just half a mile. Yet in just a few hours, I'll be one hundred and fifty miles away, leaving her behind. Yesterday I had met Rita at the college pond ghat. I had called her. In the fading evening, we sat side by side on the deserted stone-built ghat. For a long time.
A flock of ducks played in the dark waters of the vast pond, along with a pair of pristine white swans. The ducks were calling to each other affectionately with their quacking. The pleasure boat in the pond had sunk near the shore with a hole in its bottom. Only a kingfisher sat silently on the half-submerged prow, staring at the water with single-minded attention, just like us. The autumn evening here was so peaceful, still, serene.
Rita was gazing at the ducks, absorbed. I wanted to say something to her. But I couldn't find the words. I kept meaning to speak but nothing came out. The suppressed emotion in my chest, struggling to be expressed, only increased my discomfort.
Finally, in desperation, I said: "Rita! Why are you so quiet? Say something!"
Rita was lost in thought. Suddenly she trembled slightly. She said, "What should I say? You're the one who called me here to say something." True enough. What should I say to her? I fell silent. I just took her hand in mine and looked at her face. I gazed at her deeply.
The twilight's glow fell on her face through gaps in the coconut fronds. A cascade of black hair, braided, flowed down both sides of her chest. An inexplicable weariness clung to her eyes. In her tender banana-leaf green sari, Rita looked radiantly beautiful. I was slowly losing myself. The ducks had risen from the pond in flocks. Shaking their feathers dry, they were heading home. In the blue sky, cranes were returning to their nests in formation. Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, I said, "Rita, do you truly love me?"
She smiled once—like full moonlight flashing on a newly bloomed white rose.
Then she collapsed into my chest. She only said, "I love you, I'll love you forever."
I've heard these words from her lips so many times. I've read them in letters. Still, I love hearing them.
But shaking off the trance of the moment, I realized Rita was crying. I was surprised.
"Rita, you're crying?"
In response, she only held me tighter. I understood something had happened. I gave her time to cry. Eventually Rita calmed down. She wiped her face with her sari's edge and composed herself. She said, "I need to tell you something today, Jahid. You might misunderstand me someday, that's why I want to say this now."
I said, "I'll never misunderstand you, Rita. But if you want to say something, go ahead."
"You might not know, Jahid, how desperately Father is trying to get me married. I've already refused two proposals. But seeing Father's manner, I'm afraid I might not be able to keep the promise I made to you. If only Mother were alive today!"
A few tears rolled down her cheeks. I wiped them with my handkerchief, lifted her face and said, "Rita, you know I'm the only son of a widowed mother. The entire family has placed their hopes on me. In such circumstances..."
"I know, Jahid. I won't let you do anything that would hurt Aunty. But if I'm ever lost... please forgive me."
Rita suddenly stood up. I hadn't noticed when the sun had gradually disappeared into the evening.
In the eastern sky, the red glow was slowly fading from the clouds that looked like flocks of cotton sheep.
She said, "I don't know, Jahid, if this is our last meeting!"
"Hey! Are you listening? Tell me what you're thinking!"
I jolted awake from my trance. I looked at Dipti's face in amazement. Not with questioning eyes, but searching ones. No, I found no resemblance. She bore no likeness to Rita. Rita was gone. The train's bell had rung. Perhaps because the engine had arrived. "What are you staring at like that?" "Nothing, nothing. Come, let's get up."
The mail train roared like a mad tiger. Racing toward Dhaka at full gallop like a spirited horse, breathless with speed. Mango groves, betel nut and banana trees, thickets and bushes, small stations streaked past the window. It thundered across bridges with deep, rumbling sounds.
"Look, look, how beautifully those two boys are fishing! You know, Zahid, I feel like reciting Rabindranath's poetry." Dipti chattered on in excited rambling, paying no heed to the compartment full of people. I thought I should say something. The beggar was shouting harshly for alms. I pressed five taka into his hand and said, "Please, be quiet for a moment."
Inside my mind, turmoil still raged. I was thinking of Rita. That Rita, this Dipti, that pond, this train, this falling evening, Rita's silence, Dipti's exuberance. I called out hesitantly, "Dipti!" "Yes? Oh, what a beautiful evening this is, don't you think? The train seems so strange...if only it could keep going forever..." I called again. "Dipti...!"
But my call was drowned out by a sharp whistle. A station had arrived. Passengers were eager to get on and off. Bundles of firewood tumbled past the window, rolling along the tracks. Someone yelped as they got poked by a stick.
"Brothers, make some room," said the beggar as he too stepped off. Somehow the compartment seemed empty. How strange! So many people getting off here! Dipti stretched her legs happily and settled in more comfortably. I decided I would finally say something.
"Dipti, there was something I wanted to say!" I spoke up, shaking off all hesitation. "Oh yes, what was it you wanted to say earlier?" I said, "Yes, but I'm afraid it might not sound very nice." "Just say it! What could be so bad?" "I mean, I was thinking about how everyone seems to look at our relationship a bit strangely—I'm talking about our friends. You see, even if nothing happens, such thoughts might creep into our own minds. Weak moments don't announce themselves, after all!" "I don't understand what you're trying to say. Please, just be direct!"
I noticed out of the corner of my eye that most of the other passengers in the compartment were watching us. I lowered my voice and said, "For instance, we could have an unwritten agreement between us! At least we ourselves would never give such thoughts a place in our hearts. You don't mind me saying this, do you?" "No, no! What's there to mind? To tell you the truth, I once thought of saying something similar to you." Suddenly turning a bit serious, she said, "But it was never said."
"You know, Taleb also fell victim to just such a weak moment and was lost." "Please, be quiet now. Our relationship will remain at the level of friendship—you can have a guarantee from my side, at least."
We talked about many more things. The train was moving forward, leaving the sun behind the bushes. When we passed the thicket, I could no longer find the sun. It had vanished like Taleb. Lost, with a promise to return another day. But Taleb?
In Dhaka, the two of us continued to go out together often. To the park, to the zoo. We watched movies. She would occasionally raid my hostel room. She'd say, "I won't let you study today. Come on." "Where?" "Oh come on, surely not somewhere improper!"
I had to go. I had to listen to many things. She would pull out letters from her vanity bag to show me. Rashid's letters. She would talk constantly, all by herself. Rashid was in England. He would study medicine there. He would return home after graduation. So many things!
One day, in a weak moment, I too had to tell her many things. About Rita. Rita's recent letters were full of despair. I told her everything. After that, we were able to be a little more comfortable with each other.
I hadn't seen Dipti for quite some time. The pressure of exams meant I couldn't check on her. Though I never had to seek her out myself before. She used to come to my place regularly.
That day I suddenly received a letter from Dipti.
Zahid,
Come to 'Ananda' cinema at three o'clock this afternoon. I'll be waiting. I've bought the tickets. I hope to see you on time. To put it briefly, Rashid has married. He's coming to Dhaka tomorrow. There's much more to tell. Come.
Dipti
I was surprised to receive the letter. Never before had she written to invite me. Their household servant boy had delivered the letter to my hands.
I was thinking about Dipti. She had rejected Taleb. But for her to receive such a blow from Rashid—perhaps even Taleb wouldn't have wanted this. But would Dipti also disappear like Taleb? I had lost Taleb, would I ultimately lose Dipti too?
I started at the soft rustling sound. A large envelope slid under the door and came to rest on the floor. I jumped up abruptly.
Rita's letter. No, not just a letter, but a wedding invitation. Along with it, in a handwritten note, she had written:
Zahid,
Forgive me. Don't come to the wedding. I'm just letting you know. I waited. We'll meet in another world. Goodbye.
Rita
I saw that it had been posted five days after the date given inside. The wedding had taken place six days ago. Something twisted inside my chest. For a moment I felt I was falling...down, far down, falling through emptiness. At great speed. I reached out. There was nothing to grasp. My empty hand returned.
But no. Gradually I came to my senses. I tried to convince my mind with logic that this was for the best. How long would Rita keep waiting for me? Let her be happy.
I pulled Dipti's letter from beside me and read it again. My watch showed half past two. Dipti was waiting. If I didn't start going immediately, I'd be late. I put the letter and card in my pocket and stood up.
Dipti was waiting eagerly. She hurried toward me. After dismissing the servant boy, she said, "So you've come? The show has started. Come!"
I had been looking at Dipti's face. No, I wasn't looking for resemblances to Rita. I was seeing how Dipti had withered away. Dark circles under her eyes. Who knows how many sleepless nights? A weight of exhaustion wrapped around her entire body.
"What? What is it? What are you looking at? I've gotten thin, haven't I? Never mind that now. Come." Looking carefully at my face, she suddenly stopped. She looked for another moment and said, "Why do you look like that, Zahid? Nothing's wrong, is it?"
I didn't prolong the conversation. By then, several ticketless viewers were already enjoying our dual cinema without tickets. Real-life film. I said Rita had gotten married. "What, what did you say? Rita's married?"
I saw a clear expression of surprise bloom in her eyes. As if she hadn't expected this at all. I took out the card and placed it in her hand. I was watching her keenly. Dipti was trembling slightly with excitement. She read quickly. An expression of self-satisfaction seemed to flicker across her face for an instant before immediately vanishing again. She looked up at me. Her face was without expression. Still. Calm. I nudged her gently and said, "Well, what do you think those people are thinking?"
I took hold of her right wrist that held the card and gave it a gentle shake, saying, "Come, Dipti, I think the movie started long ago."