Then like homeless moonlight, my bodily return to your door... once more! Can you hear the gentle murmur of earthly meeting? If you say you heard no deception in that mountain evening, then my heart will refuse to accept the ledger of my varied joys and sorrows.
I was telling the story of going to the moon's house. I sat through nights with my feet dipped in moonwater, saw the aquatic madness of stars; they say the river's touch has kissed the stone! And I gathered the days without you; I didn't string them into garlands, fearing they would wither!
Nearby a flowering tree and a cactus are wrapped in classical forbidden embrace! Simple, beautiful, standing at some distance yet so close, they make moonlight revelry! Eloquent, I swallow essence and fall mute, watching the forbidden bridal chamber set up there, the intoxicating scent of mahua floating in the air; while here I am, discarded for years! Still I wanted her to know how long I've been sleepless; let her see how I burned in prehistoric darkness like a drooping wick!
Meanwhile, in middle-class ledgers, at the price of one peg of happiness, Ramesh Shil went to buy rice and lentils; today is the girl's funeral! On Kusum's naked lips, joy has gathered; uncontrolled man! What am I but ash, accumulated soot, as if untouchable... an unknown soul from time immemorial!
Someone thundered: Be a gentleman; foreign warmth is not for the middle class, Don't you know, in middle-class accounts life cannot be bargained for! The copper-skinned farmer will grow tobacco on silted fallow land, that's civilized policy; so why, brother, do you set your heart on growing roses!
I look and see gross vultures perched on the collapsed existence of a desperate lover; The mahua woman had said, we'll meet at the moonlight market, we two will be absorbed, sitting close we'll talk forehead touching forehead; all the festivals of joyous spring that were saved up will find fulfillment, one by one!
The woman didn't keep her word; I'm uncontrolled; Ramesh, leave a bottle of liquor before you go! While staying well, today my soul has rotted, how much longer shall I stay well! The weariness of staying well just won't end! I had some herbal dreams deposited with the Bhairavi Baul, I've brought them back; let there be a final reckoning with poison and nectar!
When did these vultures learn to recognize the bride's full moon, yes! How was it, Ramesh? These yellow afternoons now burn in funeral pyres; smoky processions become exiles! You needn't remember all oaths, you forget them; I say, forget me too! Remember, no one else will give you even a morsel of happiness on credit, no one gives it! Listen Ramesh, in the grove Hema and Manu sit daily on broken cart steps and talk; no one crosses bodily boundaries, yet love races through bloodstreams at a mad horse's pace; hear, this is called the pure weaving of forbidden love. So much joy in longing... so much joy, I've given longing as another name for love, what do you say!
The Shitalakshya daughter was saying she wants to merge with me like water, this is her demand; only water merges with water... where do humans merge! Bodies just float! Another demand? The mahua woman doesn't know trees have only life-giving power, no demands! Well, did I speak contradictory words? Actually the pretext for demands is lived life like humans have; what happens to domestic people, you understand! Pure relationships are essentially built in their own covering, there's only abstract responsibility there, no demands should exist in that.
How long has it been since the Shitalakshya woman bolted the door at the threshold, Let cloud-dark happiness remain for you then! Let me rather open the warehouse of dead spring and see how many new moons have accumulated! I wasn't called to tell you about all this melancholy... yet I hear tales of blue Phagun; You could burn it all if you wish, I'll return then to the rain-winged kite in the rainy day! By making you mine, did I become yours, woman? Or do you want to leave me in childhood's marble and neon light!!
Let that not happen, girl! Let our story be a classical tale of forbidden beauty in shades of green! Perhaps we'll never face each other as humans, perhaps we might; Let there be nothing conventional in our arrangement, I want to stand on an isolated island with handfuls in your grasp and fingers touching fingers! At least let blue love not be a migratory bird!
O my cinnamon island-daughter, I've left first woman and adolescence for you! Come to my home, I've kept earthly moonlight at the door... cross the threshold and come.
দাদা নমস্কার। জীবনের গল্প আর আপনার লেখা গল্পের মাঝে অনেকটা নিজেকে খোজে পাওয়া যায়