Unwanted Child (3)

Quite some time had passed. Lost in the maze of mechanical living, I had forgotten about that girl from that day, the incident itself, and the vow I had made to myself in jest.
In trying to prove my merit and demonstrate acceptable competence, I became a casualty of the so-called regulated battle of intellect! Here there is only competition, the frantic rush to achieve letter grades, nibbling on penny-saved peanuts while drinking three glasses of water and memorizing theory after theory, preparing for future high-paying jobs, letting the air of public universities touch our skin while distributing oral leaflets of our own brilliance and swaggering about, and finally, with certificates bought with our own merit tucked under our arms, becoming subordinate to others, strangling our intelligence, merit, labor, and creativity to death by paying the full price of our freedom! This is our education system, the pitiful portrait of our social and environmental conditions!
We middle-class students are merely pawns on a chessboard!
Free thought, the development or practice of free intellect—none of it is in our nature.
You must study with double GPA fives in the most sought-after subjects, only then will you be endowed with all the qualities of an obedient child; otherwise, you'll simply be counted as an object to be constantly measured on the scales of comparison with others.
What goes against your stomach, that's exactly what you must swallow. Will you vomit? Then, brother, you're unfit for civilized society!
You prefer writing poetry to memorizing physics formulas? Then you're a dung beetle!
You love drawing more than calculating economics? Then you'll have to beg for your meals in the future, because there's no rice for artists in this country!
You have good acting skills? Then you're a "shong." You know what shong means? Face and eyes painted with colors, an unpaid object of people's laughter! No, you're not an actor!
There's no value for artists, literature, or talent in this age.
I used to enjoy reading literature, but the times were also contrary—busyness wouldn't allow time. My voice was good; when I sat down to solve math problems, I'd often start humming songs! Ma and my sisters liked listening to my singing. Big apa gave me a harmonium for my birthday, Ma and little apa gave me tabla! Borrowing some time from time itself, I learned to play the harmonium and tabla. Every Friday evening we'd have our family gathering—I would sing; big apa could recite poetry quite well, and little apa would make everyone laugh by mimicking almost everyone in the house through her impressions.
My mother could also sing well, but she didn't want to perform for us much—she felt shy. She would sing for baba almost every day; we three siblings would hide and listen. After moving to the Gazipur house, gradually the relationships with everyone became easier! Nanu would also come and stay sometimes; when she couldn't come, I would go to Mymensingh, to my roots!
Meanwhile, another brother of mine was waiting to arrive in this world—I won't go into that story today!
Nanu's age was also advancing; her body didn't have the strength it once had! Her voice was gradually becoming faint, and my heart too seemed to lose its vitality! Begum Nahar Chaudhuri's touch flows through every vein and artery of mine; my oxygen is my nanu; in my breath, in my strength, in my every step, Nahar Chaudhuri is my eternal companion! I may be unwanted by the whole world, but to Nahar Chaudhuri, I am the most cherished treasure of supreme care! If something happens to her, I will become homeless for life—doesn't the Creator understand this?
Nanu's illness kept worsening, so I brought nanu with me to the Gazipur house. Though physically ill, mentally she was still a spirited young woman! The room on our south side was prepared for nanu; behind this too was one of nanu's philosophies. Nanu used to say, the south direction is the direction of love! In spring breezes or winter's icy winds, love comes through the southern window; with the songs of bumblebees, love's melody floats from some southern flame tree forest! Gazing through the southern window into the distance, nanu would spend eight hours waiting for something. She didn't much like going outside the room; after fajr prayers, very early in the morning, she would walk along the southern path for some time. She never took anyone with her; I often wanted to go because I loved all her activities, felt depth in everything; I just felt that all her actions had some underlying meaning hidden within them. I was enchanted by her personality as always. Begum Nahar Chaudhuri, radiant with her distinct personality!
Whenever I said, take me today, I want to walk with you along the southern path, she would say, the southern path is entirely mine, this time is entirely mine. You know, nanubhai, the things we love in solitude shouldn't have partners, otherwise you'll see, those things will lose their own color, form, and fragrance. Why do you think the things you find in solitude will be intimate for everyone else! I would devour each of her words like a hungry person. After that, I never again entered her privately-created garden. I would leave nanu alone to be herself!
She seemed very joyful then. She would walk slowly; I never saw her hurry, whether in storm and rain or lightning! Her attention wouldn't waver in the slightest. According to her, in love, in affection, one should never hurry! One must peacefully enjoy every second, breathe in the fragrance of love with every breath! Perhaps this is what she did. As long as she could be seen, I would watch her white sari's edge; she would walk in the same rhythm. Of course, she would return before people started moving about. She wouldn't stay among people, remaining in solitude most of the time. Besides, she observed purdah anyway.
From a very young age, she preferred staying behind the veil, always absorbed in prayers, fasting, reciting the Quran, always satisfied in the presence of the Creator. She is the most pious woman I've ever seen! I never heard her lie, yet I saw her weep profusely on her prayer mat; I never saw her pretend, but saw her speak harsh truths with a firm jaw; I never heard her speak unnecessarily! I never saw her quarrel, never saw her flee from responsibility! A philosopher, a poet, a messenger of love, possessor of a peaceful life, a reliable shelter, a guardian, a guide, a Nahar Chaudhuri! However much I say, metaphors will fall short; one lifetime isn't enough time to fully discover her—she is above all a pure soul, a complete chapter, an epic!
I am fortunate to have grown up in her shadow. Now I think I wasn't wrong to be unwanted! Behind every creation of the Creator, behind every action, there is a specific reason—I believe this.
One evening while having tea and chatting with nanu, suddenly in conversation, I remembered that girl from that day. It felt like nanu was that person to whom I could blurt out all my illogical ramblings without any reason. Without any preamble, I breathlessly told nanu about that day's events. Hearing everything, seeing the trace of a gentle smile on her face, I felt reassured. That day nanu said something that I still remember... Wrong, I said! Why would I remember it? When did I forget it, that I would remember!
Nanu used to say, don't trample underfoot the jewel that comes on its own!
During HSC exams, I had become very busy. Rather than studying, I was more worried about ranking. Whatever I'd done for two years, I'd done; now I couldn't give any leeway. Before I knew it, it was time for test exams! I became restless thinking about how to do what! The pressure had become too much; for a little refreshment, I had gone out walking along the hill path in Gazipur one afternoon. Three or four girls were coming from the opposite direction! As I was passing by, one girl called out!
- Hey, it's Razi saheb! Where are you headed?
I was startled—how did they know this name of mine?! Looking carefully, I saw that girl from that day was among them! Hesitating, I answered.
- Going that way for a bit.
- So you're going alone?
Seeing that I was going alone, what reason could there be for asking this question—I spent a minute thinking about this. Later I thought they might want to come with me, and they'd make the proposal through me, so they asked this roundabout way. Whatever the case, opportunities that come voluntarily shouldn't be kicked away... I said, if anyone wants to come along, they can.
At the expected response, the girl became very happy.
- You guys go ahead, I'll join in a bit.
- Alright.
Saying this, the others moved ahead, though I was a bit surprised. I had thought all four wanted to come! But there wasn't much reason to think that either; only she had asked the question! I kept thinking all this nonsense while looking at the girl!
- Hey, when you're done thinking, can we go now?
- Oh, yes, yes, certainly. Let's go.
- Well, why haven't you asked my name yet? I've never seen such an incurious person before!
- Actually, it won't be of any use to me, it seemed unnecessary. And besides, I don't remember that I need to know the name!
- You seem to be a person of a very different nature than I had thought.
- Really? What reason is there to think more or less differently?
- Most of the boys from Notre Dame have friendships with girls from Motijheel Ideal; and those who don't also come to chat with us together. But I've never seen you even come close, that's why.
Hearing the reason, I felt a bit pompous, and was secretly quite pleased too. A girl had noticed so much about me—just thinking about it felt good. Clearing my throat lightly and taking on the demeanor of an elder, I prepared to give a suitable answer.
- Does everyone have to do the same thing? Is there much need for that?
- Good heavens, you're talking exactly like my elder brother!
Saying this, the girl burst into laughter.
Hearing this, I felt very hurt; I had spoken with a bit of pompousness like a wise person, and the girl made me a laughingstock! Becoming a bit serious, I asked, which class are you in?
- Finally, the gentleman's attention has fallen on me. I'm in class ten, in science; and I'm also the first girl in class. The teachers are very fond of me. And my handwriting is also supposedly very beautiful—everyone says so! You know, once something happened?
- No, I don't know. No, I was saying... should I know?
Suddenly the girl fell silent; she realized she'd been talking alone all this while! I hadn't even wanted to know all that! A bit embarrassed, she said, nothing. Well, I was saying, you still haven't asked for my name!
I couldn't help but be amazed—such eagerness to tell me her name! Such hurry to tell me everything about herself! As if the girl could only breathe freely once she'd told me everything! My common sense tells me I've been quite rude to the girl—that day too, and today as well. Even so, why does the girl keep talking to me normally! It seems as if nothing happened!
She didn't take my indifference as indifference at all, but rather accepted it as simply my nature! Anyway, before she could start talking again, I opened my mouth first.
- Tell me, let me hear your name.
- My name is Komalika. Everyone calls me Kumu affectionately. Because I'm as beautiful as a kusum, they say. You know what kusum is, don't you?
- Yes, I understand—egg yolk!
The girl was completely flummoxed by this display of my brilliance! She stared at me with wide eyes, utterly bewildered, not a single word escaping her lips!
She looked so foolish! A few crows overhead began circling and flying about, making hideous sounds. At the far end of the path stood a lone girl, struck speechless! With the joy of leaving several footsteps behind me, I rushed forward along the path, abandoning silence with each step!
It kept occurring to me, again and again, that either I was terribly fond of this girl, or I couldn't stand her one bit!