Stories and Prose (Translated)

# They Should Be Well <p>মানুষ যখন অনেক বড় বড় কথা বলে, তখন আমরা চুপ করে থাকি। কারণ, আমরা জানি যে বড় কথা বলাটা একটা রোগ। আর রোগীদের সাথে তর্ক করা মানে নিজেকে আরও বড় রোগী প্রমাণ করা।</p> When people speak of grand things, we remain silent. Because we know that speaking grandly is a disease. And to argue with the afflicted is only to prove yourself more afflicted still. <p>তবে আজ আমরা বলব। একটা ছোট কথা। যা অনেক দিন থেকে আমাদের মনের মধ্যে জমে আছে। মনের কোনো কোণায় বসে আছে, যেখানে স্মৃতির ধুলো জমেছে।</p> But today we will speak. A small thing. Something that has been gathering in our heart for a long time. Sitting in some corner of the mind, where the dust of memory has settled. <p>ত্রয়ীরা আমাদের প্রতিবেশী ছিল। একটা ছোট পরিবার। বাবা, মা, আর তিন সন্তান। ছোট্ট একটা বাড়ি। যেখানে সবসময় কোলাহল থাকত। শব্দের বন্যা থাকত।</p> The Troys were our neighbors. A small family. Father, mother, and three children. A tiny house. Where there was always noise. Always a flood of sound. <p>দরজা খোলা থাকত সবসময়। যেকোনো সময় যে কেউ আসতে পারত। আসত ও। আমরা, প্রতিবেশীরা, বন্ধুরা, এমনকি যারা একদম অপরিচিত, তারাও। সেই বাড়িতে সবার জায়গা ছিল। সবার কাছে স্বাগত ছিল।</p> The door was always open. Anyone could come at any time. And they did. Us, the neighbors, friends, even strangers. Everyone had a place in that house. Everyone was welcomed. <p>বাবা ছিল একজন সাধারণ মানুষ। স্কুলে শিক্ষক। কিন্তু তার হাতে একটা অসাধারণ ক্ষমতা ছিল। মানুষের হৃদয় স্পর্শ করার ক্ষমতা। কথা বলার সময় তার চোখ দুটো জ্বলত অদ্ভুত আলোয়। সেই আলো অনেক দূর পর্যন্ত ছড়িয়ে পড়ত।</p> The father was an ordinary man. A teacher at school. But he possessed an extraordinary gift. The power to touch the human heart. When he spoke, his eyes burned with a strange light. That light spread far and wide. <p>মা ছিল নীরব। তার কোনো দীর্ঘ কথা নেই। কিন্তু তার হাতের ছোঁয়া সবকিছু সুন্দর করে দিত। খাবার, ঘর, সম্পর্ক — সবকিছু। সে ছিল সেই ধরনের নারী যার উপস্থিতি মানেই শান্তি।</p> The mother was quiet. She had no long speeches. But her touch made everything beautiful. Food, home, relationships — everything. She was the kind of woman whose presence meant peace. <p>তিনটি সন্তান। বড়টা মেয়ে, মধ্যটা ছেলে, ছোটটা আবার মেয়ে। তিনজনই ছিল ভিন্ন। একেবারে আলাদা মেজাজের। কিন্তু তাদের একটা গভীর বন্ধন ছিল। যা শব্দ করে না, কিন্তু অনুভব করা যায়।</p> Three children. The eldest a girl, the middle one a boy, the youngest a girl again. All three were different. Completely distinct temperaments. But they shared a deep bond. The kind that makes no sound, but can be felt. <p>বছরের পর বছর কেটে গেছে। আমরা তাদের বেড়ে উঠতে দেখেছি। বড় মেয়েটা হয়ে উঠল একজন ডাক্তার। মধ্যের ছেলেটা পড়াশোনা ছেড়ে দিয়ে শিল্পের পেছনে ছুটল। ছোট মেয়েটা চলে গেল অনেক দূরে, একটা অন্য দেশে।</p> Years passed. We watched them grow. The eldest became a doctor. The middle one abandoned his studies to pursue art. The youngest went far away, to another country. <p>জীবন তাদের টেনে নিয়ে গেল বিভিন্ন পথে। প্রত্যেকেই ব্যস্ত হয়ে উঠল নিজের কাজে। নিজের চিন্তায়। নিজের স্বপ্নে।</p> Life pulled them in different directions. Each became consumed with their own work. Their own thoughts. Their own dreams. <p>তবে প্রতিটি ছুটির দিনে তারা ফিরে আসত। সেই ছোট বাড়িতে। সেখানে আলো ছিল, আওয়াজ ছিল, খাবারের সুগন্ধ ছিল। সবার আগমন উপলক্ষে মা তৈরি করত বিশেষ সব খাবার। বাবা প্রস্তুত করত গল্প আর সংবাদ।</p> But on every holiday, they would return. To that little house. Where there was light, there was noise, there was the smell of food. The mother would prepare special dishes for their arrival. The father would prepare stories and news. <p>কিন্তু একটা দিন সবকিছু বদলে গেল।</p> But one day, everything changed. <p>বাবা অসুস্থ পড়ল। মাঝামাঝি রাত্রিতে। হঠাৎ করে। বড় মেয়েটা ছুটে এসেছিল তৎক্ষণাৎ। সেই রাতে বাবা মারা যায়। হাসপাতালের একটা ঠান্ডা ঘরে। হাত ধরে রাখা মেয়ের সামনে।</p> The father fell ill. In the middle of the night. Suddenly. The eldest daughter rushed over immediately. That night, the father died. In a cold hospital room. While his daughter held his hand. <p>তারপর আর কখনো সেই বাড়িটা সেভাবে ভর্তি হয়নি। মা থেকে গেল একা। সেই খোলা দরজা এখন বেশিরভাগ সময় বন্ধ থাকত।</p> After that, the house was never full in the same way again. The mother remained alone. That open door was now closed most of the time. <p>তিনজন সন্তান তাদের জীবনে ফিরে গেল। ডাক্তার ছেলে আরও ব্যস্ত হয়ে উঠল। শিল্পী ছেলে তার খ্যাতি নিয়ে ব্যস্ত হল। আর দূরের মেয়েটা এখন আসে শুধু বছরে একবার, কয়েক সপ্তাহের জন্য।</p> The three children returned to their lives. The doctor became even busier. The artist preoccupied with his fame. And the distant daughter now comes only once a year, for a few weeks. <p>আমরা দেখেছি মা ধীরে ধীরে কুঁচকে যেতে। তার চোখে সবসময় একটা খালি দৃষ্টি থাকত। যেন কোথাও তাকিয়ে আছে, কিন্তু সেখানে কিছু নেই।</p> We watched the mother slowly wither. Her eyes always held an empty gaze. As if looking at something, but finding nothing there. <p>এই সপ্তাহে আমরা শুনেছি যে সন্তানরা একটা ভালো নার্সিং হোম খুঁজে বের করেছে। যেখানে মা থাকবে। যেখানে তাকে সেবা পরিচর্যা পাবে।</p> This week we heard that the children had found a good nursing home. A place for the mother. Where she would receive proper care. <p>এটা একটা ভালো সিদ্ধান্ত। আমরা জানি। লজিক্যালি, প্র্যাকটিক্যালি, এটাই সঠিক পথ। মা সেখানে ভালো থাকবে। ভালো খাবার পাবে। ডাক্তারি সেবা পাবে।</p> It's a good decision. We know it. Logically, practically, it's the right choice. The mother will be well cared for there. She'll have good food. She'll receive medical attention. <p>শুধু একটা ছোট বিষয়। সেই বাড়িটা এখন সত্যিই খালি হয়ে যাবে। দরজাটা থাকবে সবসময় বন্ধ। এবং কোনো একদিন যখন সেই বাড়িটা বিক্রি হবে, যখন নতুন পরিবার আসবে, তখন কেউ জানবে না যে এখানে একবার ভালোবাসা বসবাস করত।</p> Just one small thing. That house will now truly be empty. The door will remain always closed. And someday, when that house is sold, when a new family moves in, no one will know that once, love lived there. <p>ত্রয়ীরা ভালো থাকুক। আমাদের প্রার্থনা এটাই। তাদের সাফল্য থাকুক। তাদের খ্যাতি থাকুক। তাদের ব্যস্ততা থাকুক।</p> May the Troys be well. That is our prayer. May they have success. May they have fame. May they have their busyness. <p>কিন্তু যদি একদিন, নীরবে, কোনো নিরিবিলি মুহূর্তে, তারা ভাবত সেই ছোট বাড়ির খোলা দরজার কথা — যেখানে সবার জায়গা ছিল, সবার স্বাগত ছিল — তাহলে হতো অন্য কিছু।</p> But if one day, quietly, in some silent moment, they were to think of that little house with the open door — where there was room for everyone, welcome for all — then perhaps it would be something else. <p>তাহলে হতো সম্পূর্ণ।</p> Then it would be whole.

Muna is Troyi’s closest friend. Muna got married in their honours first year itself. They’re in their master’s now. Troyi still hasn’t married. In that sense, Muna has gotten ahead. Her son is four, studying in nursery. Muna’s husband is Opu. Opu works as a senior officer at a bank. Very smart, handsome—a proper gentleman. Troyi came to know Opu through Muna.

Muna trusts her husband blindly. She believes there are few men like him in the world. Muna lives in the university hostel, her son stays with his grandmother, and Opu, because of his job, lives in another city. Troyi and Muna live on the second and third floors of the same hostel. Muna gives Opu Troyi’s number and tells him that if her mobile is ever switched off, he should call Troyi and ask her to hand the phone over. Opu calls Troyi. When Troyi tries to take the phone down to Muna, he says, “I had something to tell you actually. Will you talk for a bit?”

At first, Troyi would exchange a few formal words and be done with it. But gradually this became routine. Even when Troyi didn’t feel like talking, Opu would keep going on and on. Through these calls, Opu wanted to tell Troyi things he couldn’t say to his wife’s friend. Once Troyi understood what was happening, she stopped taking his calls. She couldn’t tell Muna about this—Muna would never believe her anyway. Worse, Opu would twist things around to Muna, make Troyi out to be a bad woman in her eyes. Women love with a blindness that encompasses the wrongs of the beloved too. They have an infinite capacity to find light even in the darkest corners of the person they love. To that person, every woman becomes a fool. Troyi thought: if I say anything about this, I’ll lose an extraordinary friend like Muna in the bargain. So Troyi said nothing.

For Muna, Opu was the entire world. She talked about him constantly to her other friends. Meanwhile, Opu kept calling Troyi from unknown numbers. Most of the calls came after midnight. The moment Troyi realized who it was, she’d hang up. One day Muna and Troyi were standing on the campus road eating pani puri. Opu was calling Troyi’s phone over and over. Troyi wouldn’t pick up. Opu knew they were together now. He also knew that Troyi couldn’t tell Muna anything about this. He seemed to enjoy Troyi’s discomfort, her helplessness.

When he couldn’t reach Troyi, Opu called Muna. After chatting for a bit, he said, “Why doesn’t your friend pick up my calls? Is she with you? Get her on the line.” Muna told Troyi, “Hey, why aren’t you picking up your brother-in-law’s calls? Here, take it, talk to him.” She thrust the phone into Troyi’s hand without giving her a chance to respond, and turned away to chat with another friend. The moment Troyi said her greeting and “hello,” Opu burst into a crude, leering laugh. Then he started making suggestive remarks. Troyi said, “Please talk to Muna, brother,” and handed the phone back to her.

The moment Muna picked up the phone, Apu said, “What’s wrong with your friend? Why is she treating me this way?” Muna told Trayi, “Why don’t you talk to Apu properly? She thinks very highly of you.” Trayi said nothing. She went back to her room, buried her face in the pillow, and wept without restraint. Soon enough, Apu’s phone rang again. Trayi didn’t answer. She’d been forced to save eight of Apu’s numbers just so she could reject the calls the moment they came. Apu keeps calling from new numbers, sending texts, writing obscenities. She even writes crude verses and sends them. On Facebook alone, from at least six different accounts, she sends objectionable pictures and messages. The moment Trayi blocks one account, Apu opens another and sends the same filth.

Trayi can’t tell anyone. Apu is used to doing these things. She does it to many other girls too. Trayi is a quiet, timid sort of person. Meanwhile, Muna just keeps falling deeper in love with her husband. She sews him sweaters and sends them, embroiders handkerchiefs for him. When he comes to her town, she rushes out like a madwoman to spend time with him. Apu is like an addiction to her. No matter what anyone says about Apu, she won’t believe a word. Apu has her under a spell.

Trayi, sister, listen to me. Women become simple, foolish, around the men they love. That much is fine. But there are Munas in this world too. They aren’t just foolish—they’re idiots! You have to point things out to them with your finger before they’ll see them, and they never do, not really. (Sometimes even when you show them, they still don’t get it!) Sister, don’t you have all the evidence of Apu’s wrongdoing? Show it to Muna. Sit her down and tell her everything calmly, plainly. Get the law involved if you need to. You’re not so weak that you have to let some rotten person do whatever she wants, day after day, while you sit silent and take it. Do this for Muna—she’s your closest friend, isn’t she? People like Apu are cowards inside, sister. Just stand up to her once! That bastard won’t even know which way to run!

May things get better for Trayi.

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