No
training of the traffic police
But
more expert in disciplining the traffic
All
over Bangladesh.
No
training in politics
But
more expert in disciplining politics
All
over Bangladesh.
Never
did the job of cleaning
But
shows the public how to clean
All
over Bangladesh.
Who
are those little heroes, bold and bright?
Who
face the bullets, stand for what's right
To
prick the conscience of our elders' insight.
Who Are They?
No
training of the traffic police
But
more expert in disciplining the traffic
All
over Bangladesh.
No
training in politics
But
more expert in disciplining politics
All
over Bangladesh.
Never
did the job of cleaning
But
shows the public how to clean
All
over Bangladesh.
Who
are those little heroes, bold and bright?
Who
face the bullets, stand for what's right
To
prick the conscience of our elders' insight.
Humanity!!
Humanity! You are so much injured!
So much battered!
Your shattered body is crawling
At places in Palestine and Israel
I can see your injured chest
carrying an arrow
outflowing red red blood
submerging the Gaza Valley.
I can hear your death-groan
In the cry of shell-hit babies
In the cry of men and women
under the missile rubbles!
I can read your angry look
Your silent curse is towards Hamas
Towards Israel
And towards the USA– the so
called
conscience of the world.
Petals of a Bud
Still a bud, yet to bloom, covering its red red petals
You pluck it off and took it to your chamber
You began to molest it, tore off the tissues
With a lot of sadistic pleasure.
Ah! the unbloomed petals
Smeared with blood!
The petals are carried away
I can see the images of a mortuary.
A Photograph
(“Ekti Photograph” from the poetical work Ek Phota Kemon Anal, 1986 by Shamsur Rahman. Translated by Md. Abu Zafor)
Do
come in, please! Come in!
And
what’s up?
You’re
fine, sure! How about the kids?
After
a small talk–
Pointing
at the still photograph on the white wall
I
said to my questioning guest,
“This
is my youngest son who is no more,
Like
a piece of stone
He
was drowned in our village pond.
About
three years from now, at a crow-cawing grisma[1]
noon.”
How
easily had I narrated this!
My
throat did not tremble a bit
No
sigh heaved up ripping my heart
Eyes
did not moisten with tears.
I
am startled to hear my own voice.
What
indifference! how cold!
Three
years from now– only three years–
Once
how I weaved a deep sorrow!
Meanwhile,
which malevolence has turned
My
mourning-river into a dreary char[2]
so fast?
As
the guest has left, I stood again
Before
the photograph’s curious eyes
With
a waning grief
From
inside the frame, my son keeps gazing without a wink
His
gaze, devoid of any anger or abhiman[3].
[1]
Grisma is the hottest season in Bangladesh.
[2] char in Bangladesh is the landmasses formed through
the sedimentation of huge amount of sand, silt and clay over time carried by
big rivers.
[3] This Bangla
word has hardly any equivalence in English. It is sort of feeling like ‘a
silent protest of anger’.
Great is that Man
(Dhanya Sei Purush” from Shamsur Rahman’s work Abiram Jalbhrami, 1986. The Bengali poem is written about the man who contextually refers to Sheikh Mujubur Rahman, Father of our Nation)
Great is that man – who emerges from the deep water
of a river –
At the moment the sun is rising.
Walks down the green carpet of the dale–
Teeming with butterflies.
Great is that man– who emerges
from an autumnal beel
Flying myriad-coloured birds.
Great is that man–who, after a famine, rushes out
from a harrowed land
Dreaming of crops.
Blessed are we, sure!
We see that you still come from a distant horizon
And we anxiously wait for you
Like the thirsty deer in hot summer noon
Looking for water.
Piercing your bosom blood-red jaba has bloomed like Pride
And we stare at those flowers.
Our eyes want not to wink
Our traumatic guilt-ridden heads droop down.
Look, one by one, all are treading the wrong path–
A sheer downfall!
Like disco dancers they have stated dancing at
Manisha’s Minar
Keeping their conscience into oblivion.
Trustworthiness is now making hidden-holes
For the good and well-wishers.
Facts are falling apart like potters’ broken earthen
pots.
The flatterers’ lips are so fluent,
Profusely producing words, days and nights.
Look, some fruit tree is loaded with makal fruits.
Love and affection are drying up
Like sun-burnt grasses
Look, today, there is no difference between crows
and cuckoos.
Under countless tricks and excuses
The tricksters are embellishing the autocrat’s head
with crown.
Look, none of the head is able to rise
Even a little higher than your knee
By no means none could exceed that height.
Losing you we were like evening shadows–
Slowly melting into darkness.
Our days got shrouded with grief.
Losing you, in days of crisis,
We were mourning sitting in our dunghills.
Our tears made the sky grief-stricken
But you have transformed that grief into life’s hymn
Because we know that you are more living than the
living.
Great is that man, on whose name shimmers the sun
For ever, Sraban’s rain, like music, pours down on
this name
Winds never allow dusts gather on this name.
Great is that man on whose name the
moonbeam-cranes
Spread their wings.
Great is that man on whose name flutters our Freedom
– like the flag.
Great is that man on whose name
Echoes ecstasy of our Freedom Fighters.
That is not impossible, when
Our life is cheaper than a rat, or a cat
When killings become a culture.
Yet some deaths haunt our conscience
Cost a great deal from us
As the Death of our Father did.
The beauty of a drop of dew on a grass leaf
The smiles of a shapla on a lake water
The whistles of a doel sitting on a wall
Were all more charming to you than
The charms of a General’s badge.
You wanted to find a meaning of your life
In a madly pursuit, few could understood.
The dream to showcase your motherland beyond
Remained beyond, unfulfilled forever.
Come down on wings of angels
Pass some time with seagulls at Teknaf
Become a scholar gypsy, avoiding us enough.
I am Khuki
What are you doing professor?
Why are you gazing at me this way?
Why are you calling my hair, golden fibre?
It is no more golden– simply call jute fibre!
What are you searching into my eyes?
It is no lustrous with a woman of sixty.
But I know you are sad, tired of
Looking at vultures tearing off heads
Decomposed flesh out of the grave
Disfigured, grim bloated after postmortem.
Professor, do not grieve, this soil is holy
Look at the trees, at the blue sky
I am khukhi, my name rhymes with pakhi.
Juggernaut
Something dearest was in my heart
I left it somewhere.
A desperate attempt was to return to it.
But I got lost, I didn’t know how.
No mobile phone, no address could I remember
Modern ICT baffled me.
A juggernaut in disguise on my way.
A graveyard I have crossed
Met some dead people
Some known some unknown
A little solace have I got
When my dearest friend with awe,
Peeped from grave’s foot, and saw.
A rarest heart was he
God’s favourite die young!
A line of worry in his face
Thinking of human race.
‘Haven’t you read Waiting for Godot’ said he,
‘All absurdities you must ponder normal
But my friend fight against juggernaut
The evil must be defeated at last.’
Fruitless Love
I
have given you much
You
gave me little
But
I was in need of that little
Corporate
interest of give-and-take!
Once
I risked my life for you
Taking
you on my back I flew up
Like
a spider man.
My
flight was the peak of Everest.
You
didn’t like that flight
That
spell of an Iblis possessed you
Jealous
of my strength!
–And
then came the advantage of coronavirus.
Their
wish was fulfilled
Separating
me from you
The
death of a relationship!
Day
in day out
You
will continue disturbing
Blaze
my heart with love and hatred
But
I am not revengeful
Will
not throw acid on your face
In
solitude, like Sisyphus
I
will roll the stone up
Only
to fall down and try again
Days,
months, Years, centuries and millennia.
Sobbed with
grief and humiliation she ran out of her school-gate and walked fast towards
the Ramna Park which is a short distance from her school. She was so
emotionally agitated that she damned care the traffic signal. If a microbus had
not braked so hard and stopped instantly it might have run over her. She did
not bother the driver’s grimy remarks, and stalked off.
‘Something awful
might have occurred if the driver had not braked so hard, but it was better to
have been run over by that microbus than my present situation, ’ she thought,
and began to walk angrily along the shady pavement. The Ministers’ lodges are
on both sides of the road. These posh areas of Dhaka city are well-known to
her. She looked at her watch. It was 11-30 am. One hour and a half has passed
since her exam started. It was her Class Nine final examination. Now she is out
of the exam! Not only that, she was threatened to be out of the school with a transfer
certificate. She is a plucked bud, a half-slaughtered chicken tossed about on
the floor.
It was Early
November 2018. The year-final examinations in schools have started a few days
earlier than usual due to the national election to be held in December. It was
she, only she, who was out of the exam hall, she thought. Her heart throbbed
with flapping sounds of birds on the trees above, the sound of car, the whistle
of traffic police. She was walking towards the park, her eyes fixed at her feet
so as to avoid the sights of passers-by; but all on a sudden she was startled. “Hey
girl, Rosy! Where are you going alone this time, haven’t you any exam today?” “Over
there, Aunty,” Rosy replied glancing at the woman’s face. Avoiding further
query Rosy stepped ahead.
To have come across
Sharifa Aunty was another mishap for her, Rosy thought. She noticed an ominous
look at that woman’s face. She is an aggressive woman like Rosy’s mother and
lives in the same multi-storied building at Shantinagar, where Rosy’s parents moved
two years ago. She is well-connected with the Ministers, and possibly was
returning from her visit to some Minister’s lodge, Rosy guessed. While walking,
Rosy contemplates the story about that woman. Mrs Sharifa demanded that her
daughter Rebeka always stand first in the class. Hunting the best notes and taking
her to class-teachers’ private tables were her obsession. Last year when Rebeka
failed to keep up her first position in the class, she flew into a rage. Losing
control, she flung a kitchen tool at Rebeka, which accidentally hit her left
eye. The injury led to the partial damage of her eyesight. Even in that state Rebeka
was pressurized to recover her first position in class seven. The impact was
miserable. Rebeka lost her sanity. A cute girl Rebeka now howls crazily. When she
sees any girl in school dress, she shudders and wants to hide somewhere. She
flings things at random when she is angry. Now the whole household was at
danger. All these thoughts made Rosy more nervous because she also experienced similar
rule of her mother.
The Ramna Park
came to Rosy’s view. Now she would have to cross the Hare Road. Buses, motor
cycles, cars were all running so speedily. At some hours of the day they are
jam-packed. But now the road is free. Rosy loves this place. Clouds of dust,
vehicle exhausts and smokes are less visible here because these are all
absorbed by the shady groves all around. This shady space is as if an oasis in
a desert. From other side of the road the tree tops were swaying gently to hail
Rosy as an old friend of theirs. But she feels unresponsive.
On entering the park-gate
Rosy looked around. At this particular hour of the day in the month of Agrahyan the park seemed bleak and solitary. Rosy looked at the
narrow metalled road shaded by rows of Bakul trees on one side walling the Hare
Road. She used to visit this place with her father. She also picked up the
creamy white Bakul flowers under the trees. It was not the season of Bakul, but
the sweet fragrance of Bakul, as if, had tickled her nostrils. She had not walked
these paths for many years. During the last Eid vacation her father suggested a
visit to the park. But Rosy’s mother flared up and vehemently rejected it.
The worries of
her heart were becoming heavier. She was walking aimlessly. The sights of colourful
flowers – clusters of flaming Rangan, red and yellow marigold, the green and
tiny bhimraj, the nageswar and her favourite red and pink roses could not unload
her worries. Some birds were lazily making sounds telling her something. It may
be that a teen-aged girl in school uniform alone in the park at that solitary
hour of the day was not safe. Her fear was not from any bears or tigers but from
man-shaped bears and tigers who are more ferocious than them. She remembered
the autopsy report of Sohagi Jahan Tonu who was raped
and murdered in a protected area like the Mainamati Cantonment, Comilla. But no
investigation could trace that humanoid ferocity. Now a days her mother also
does not allow her to come to this park for another reason that the shameless
lovers visit this park and they are glued here and there quite openly. The
nicest spot of the park, Rosy felt, was beside the lake. She quickly moved there.
The concrete benches were all empty. She looked around and saw a woman bathing
in the dirty water at a distance. She sat in the middle of a bench spreading
her legs. While her eyes were fixed on the lake water her mind was still roaming
about her past present and even future. Suddenly she was startled with a very familiar
voice. It was the voice of her father.
Her lips
quivered, her heart began to beat faster. With perched throat she said, “How do
you know I am here?” “Rosy, I know what had happened. Your Ashrafi Aunti tells
me that she had seen you moving towards the park gate. And from the office of
your school I got the phone that you were caught for copying in the examination
with mobile phone. They have already issued a T.C and told me to pick it up.”
Rosy burst into tears and her words lost into mumbling. Her head bowed down and
Rosy’s father supported it on his arms. Her father Forkan Ahmed is a very
kind-hearted man. But he is not a successful man due to his restless nature. He
joined a government primary school. He left the job, sold some of his property
inherited from his father and started a housing business in small scale. But
within five years he had lost most of his capital. Trusting people too much and
kindness to all made him quite incompetent in business. Yet, he is now running
a small book shop. Although Rosy’s situation is like a bolt from blue in the
family, he suppressed all his emotion to take care of his daughter. He said,
“Rosy I am responsible for this mishap. If that mobile phone of mine did not get
damaged with a fall, I had not have purchased a new one, and that phone had not
gone under your possession.”
“No Abbu, never
say that. I am fully responsible for this nuisance. I had snaps of two of my
pages. You know that the screen is damaged. I was not able to read clearly and
moved uneasily. It was so hazy.”
“The screen is
badly damaged, I know.”
“But Abbu, tell
me, once you were also a teacher. Isn’t expulsion from the school too much for
this fault? They can cancel my exam script at best.”
“Hmm, best
school has best rule!”
“Abbu, what will
happen to Ammu? Has she already known this?”
“May be, she has
not known this, and I have not informed her yet. I could sense the danger. I fear
she will faint hearing this news.” Rosy remained silent and her father
continued,
“Anyway, Rosy,
don’t be upset. No much worry, dear. I’ll manage everything. I’ll request your
Principal withdrawing your TC as she has called me to meet her. Now let’s have
a good time. When you were small I used to take you here, you remember? In
here, and over there, you ran a lot, played a lot, picked leaves and small white
flowers.”
“Yes, Abbu, last
year I wrote these childhood memories of mine in my exam paper. You made my
childhood so enjoyable.”
Mr Forkan
suppressed his own worries and tried to make his daughter normal. All one a
sudden the father and daughter were full of life. They were enjoying the
beautiful sights and sounds of the park. They moved a little, under a canopy,
and looked up. Rosy showed, “Abbu, look there are nests of Shalik birds. Some birdlings are struggling to move and their
mother has brought some food for them.” Both father and daughter enjoyed the
sight for some time. Mr Forkan said, “Let’s have a round of this park. Most trees are now
without flowers. It looks so beautiful when all these rows of Krishnachura
trees are in bloom.”
Although Mr.
Forkan was trying his best to support his daughter but Rosy could notice signs
of worries in the face of her father. Sweats glistened his dark forehead and his
grey and black beard. Rosy said, “We should stop walking. You are sweating a
lot, Abbu.” They sat on a park bench from where the sky was visible through
thin branches of a tree. Rosy was always fond of looking at the blue sky. She
saw a huge number of birds flying high above the sky. They were having some small talk about the lives
of those birds, when suddenly they saw a white-complexioned couple nearby. They
appeared before them. They had a questioning attitude but seemed to hesitate to
start a talk. Rosy said, “Excuse me, would you need to have any query? Are you from
England?” The white lady answered, “Oh, no, we’re American. I have a lot of
curiosity about this park, the trees and plants.”
Rosy replied, “O
fine, people of Bangladesh enjoy the beauties of these trees and plants but
they do not feel interested to know all their names. However, I can help you as
far as possible to know the names.” Rosy tells many names and they noted down in
their note books. They took the photos of all these specific plants. The lady
and her companion was surprised with Rosy’s English accent. The gentleman said,
“I have never heard any Bangladeshi speaking English with perfect American
accent.” Rosy surprised them more by speaking the Australian accent, Indian
accent and a little bit of Scottish accent. Last of all, the American couple
expressed their desire to keep Rosy in their memory taking some photos
together. So they had a group photo with selfie mode.
After their
departure Rosy’s father said, “Rosy, I am really proud of you. How could you master
those accents of English? You are really a talent.”
Rosy said,
“Abbu, you don’t praise me this way. I’m worthless. How foolish were I to
commit this blunder.”
But Mr Forkan
assured, “Remember that man is not angel. To err is human. That you are repentant of your faults is all the more important. Repentance for a sin purifies
man’s heart. Just take a lesson from your mistakes and never repeat it.”
“But Abbu, I
don’t know why teachers have become so tough suddenly. Really I have lost some
interest of my academic reading after my JSC exam. You know I read a lot in PCE,
I mean Primary Completion Exam. But questions were found in the facebook before each exam. Teachers were solving the problems in the examination hall. I
was frustrated seeing all these things. Now I was thinking the same will happen
in SSC exam. So I gave my attention to complete my French learning course with
assistance of my computer software.”
“Don’t say that
Rosy. Will you be bad if people around you are bad? There are many good people
who help other people even by sacrificing their lives. You know the glorious
past of our Language Movement of 1952 and our great liberation war of 1971. Try
to keep fair. That you had studied well and had got GPA 5 in both PCE and JSC,
that’s all. Don’t bother whether or not other students adopted unfair means or
they were assisted by teachers in the examination hall.”
Thus Mr Forkan was philosophical even when talking to other people. He valued honesty above any other thing. But he was also very much conscious about the evil that lurks all around in our society. When he had a great loss in business, he turned to stoicism to practise self-control and overcome his restless nature. This philosophy helped him to keep silent against his wife’s word-missiles. At the moment Mr Forkan was thinking of his wife, he received her call: “Where are you? You know your daughter has been expelled from the exam hall and will be kicked out from school. It is you who are responsible for all these. Go to school and face the hell. I will not show my face to anyone for such an act of disgrace.”
Mr Forkan felt
happier at least with such thinking that she had not queried where he was at
the moment. He replied, “Okay, I am going to the school. I’ll manage
everything.”
Rosy could guess
her mother’s reaction over phone and said, “Abbu, I know that Sharifa Auntie
has made a mess about my case. She has already informed many people by now and
she is probably influencing Nipa Ms to give me a severe my punishment. It is
Nipa Ms who caught me. You know mother sent me to her house for private
coaching, but I left. I went to Marzia Miss and this infuriated her. She was
trying to take revenge. You know her husband is a Secretary. Tell me Abbu,
where did you see Sharifa Aunty and what was she doing?”
“At the
schoo-gate and she was talking to some other women.”
Nervously Rosy
said, “Let’s move and it is already 3pm.”
Mr Forkan
held her hand and said, “Let’s have some refreshment from the park-gate.
There, I saw many green coconuts. We will have a coconut drink there.”
Very soon they
came out of the park gate. Rosy did not want to have any food or drink. Mr
Forkan insisted but she was unwilling. Father and daughter took a rickshaw for
the school.
The Principal of
Rosy’s school was a middle-aged woman, famous for her ill manners dealing with
the teachers and students. But she had three or four influential teachers who
were directly involved in politics. Despite many allegations against her she had
been in her position for more than a decade because she knew how to keep
connected with all the influential people to stay safe in her position.
The rickshaw
reached the school gate soon. Rosy soon took her father to the Principal’s
room. They saw Mrs Sharifa coming out of the Principal’s room. Mr Forkan did
not believe Rosy’s suspicion but he now smelt some sort of evil design. The
Principal was sitting on her chair, and four people were seated in front of her.
“Slamalaikum, Slamalaikum, Apa, I’m
Rosy’s father. Could I come, please?”
“Stop. Rosy is
your daughter?” She gave a very taunting look at him and said, “Pick up your
daughter’s TC.”’
“Apa, please,
please I’m begging your pardon, forgive my daughter this time, and I am taking
all responsibility upon myself.”
“Why will you
not take responsibility? You have given a smartphone to your daughter? And you
have taught her its use in the examination hall. Like father like daughter. I
am ashamed that once you were a teacher in a school!”
“Apa, apa please,
my daughter’s result is good and she…. ”
“Stop, who is your apa? You have not learnt
manners how to address Principal of an institution like this,” said another man
sitting there.
Mr Forkan was
surprised how they have known all about him. His suspicion augmented about Mrs
Ashrafi’s influence.
Yet he folded
her hand-palms to show more humility and beg mercy for his daughter. “Madam/Sir,
give whatever punishment you like, kindly withdraw the T.C, please,? ”
“ Shut up! What
a nonsense! Too much irritating! I’m too much busy with my work, go to office
and pick up your daughter’s T.C., ” flared up the she with a more taunting
tone and ordered the MLSS to push him away to the office at once.
Rosy overheard
all these standing beside the door.
Soon the TC was
handed to Rosy’s father and he along with his daughter was pushed back to the
gate. Rosy said, “Abbu, you go, I’ll not. I’ll have another deal
with my case. Please go. I’m coming some time later. Trust me.”
“What will you
do? When the hell comes, one should keep
going,” said Mr Forkan still with a calm voice, and to face another hell that was
her wife.
It was already about 4 pm. Not a drop of water fell into her stomach let alone any food. But the pangs of her heart was more terrible than her belly's. She wanted to recover her father’s honour whatever might happen to her lot.
“No, no, no, a trivial
fault like that could never be paid with a severe punishment like T.C. And what
a humiliation my father suffered for me! No begging mercy, no forgiveness, now
I have nothing to lose.”, a rebellious thought raced in her mind. Like a mad dog Rosy rushed to the
Principal’s room. Seeing her fiery eyes and mad rush the door keeper moved aside.
In came Rosy without permission and hurled her boiling words in a thundered
voice: “ You are Principal! Principal of this best school in the world. You
have all the right to insult me, beat me, give me TC, whatever, but you have no
right to summon my father and thus insult her. How can you utter such foul
words, call him ‘nonsense’, not allowing him to enter the room, call ‘shut up’
and drive him away What was the need to call him to your school? Rosy said all these in one single
breath.
The Principal
and the teachers sitting there stood up from their seats and for a moment they couldn’t
understand what to do or what to say at such a daring act of a school girl,
never happened ever during their service life.
A group of
teachers, the doorkeeper and office staff hurried inside hearing Rosy’s shouts, all said, “How dare! How dare!”.
Three female
teachers and one male MLSS caught hold of Rosy- Rosy struggling and still
shouting, “Teachers like you have to learn manners, then teach students. You
have stained the teaching profession.
A sparrow
chirped piteously outside the room. Rosy burst into tears. A helpless little
thing she is now! Some parts of her school uniform were torn off giving view of
her petal-like skin around the waist.’
Like a hungry
lioness, the hunt at her disposal, the Principal roared: ‘Peon! fetch the double
cane-stick from the office room. And you people go out.’
By the time Rosy
was pushed to sit on a tool. The peon gave the cane and went out of the room. Burning with fury
the Principal ordered the peon to shut the door. Then she shouted at Rosy, “Tell
me bitch, who gave you this audacity! Ill-bred!
Rogue! you want to teach us manners. Now enjoy the taste of your misconduct". No sooner had the words finished, the double canes began to fall
upon Rosy’s back –thrash-trash-whack-whack. Rosy groaned and grumbled, ‘Miserable
is she now, uttered piteously Abbu they are killing me!’ The Principal was more
infuriated. Yet she stopped, and gave the canes to her teacher Nipa who caught
Nipa in the exam hall and who influenced the principal to take all this
decision. Like a cat playing with a rat, she caught
Rosy by her hair and shouted, “ haramjadi, you don’t know me, stop howling.”
She thudded to
the ground and saw, at a corner, an old leather belt with a metal end. So she
wanted to play her sport with the belt. But she wanted to hurl it at the right
place targeting Rosy’s hip. She positioned her and started hitting with all the wild
might she had. Suddenly Rosy gave a piercing
scream and collapsed, the belt missed the target and hit her head. The
Principal who was enjoying the sight now came up. “Pretension, pretension
nothing has happened to the bitch like her.” The two teachers who were also
sitting there came up and said, “No more beating, no more please.”
A veil of
worries enveloped the Principal’s face when one teacher said, “Madam,
no stirring, no response, she lost her sense. It is necessary to call our
doctor. Quick! ”
“Don’t be
restless. Try healing her. Call the peons,” said the Principal, still adamantly.
Soon the doctor
came in. The Principal said, “Doctor, something wrong has happened. From now we
have become very tough about exams. In the newspaper you have seen that the RAB
chief has declared that anyone involved in unfair means in the exam will be
shot down. They will be given in cross fire. From now there will be no question
leakage, no help in exam hall. This rascal was copying with a smart phone in
the exam hall. She is caught red handed by our teacher Nipa, and how dare the girl insulting our teachers justifying her act. And so a little beating. May be
pretension. Please do the checking.”
While the
Principal was uttering these words the doctor had already started examining the
patient and with a sign of worry she said,
“May be she was hit at some sensitive place. I fear she needs some
intensive checking, and it is better to send her to a hospital”
Rosy’s father
completely forgot Rosy because he had to be busy with his wife Urmila Khatun. Many a man in the world suffer like him
without any fault. As she had seen the transfer certificate at her husband’s hand
she rushed to the room and took a good number of sleeping pills to end her life. Now she was taken to the same
clinic where Rosy was taken. How suddenly misfortune descends upon the lives of
humans as one of Shakespeare’s character says, Gods play with humans as the
wanton boys play with flies and the sand-built houses.
The incident that
happened to Rosy spread from one ear to another. Rosy’s classmates got
aggrieved. The students of other classes also assembled. Next day instead of
sitting for the exam the students brought out a procession. They wrote on
placards “We want justice”. They chanted the slogan “Rosy apur kichu hale jalbe agun ei skule. Principaler kalo hat bhenge
dao, gurhiye dao.” A group of journalists with TV cameras came to the
school campus to capture the news. The Principal slipped away to avoid journalists
and the TV cameras.
While Rosy and
her mother were out of danger, a high powered investigating committee was
formed in the school. The news even reached the Prime Minister’s ear. She gave
a warning for an impartial investigation of the matter. The students for the
first time found an outlet to express their grievances fearlessly. The complaint
boxes were filled up with complaints. In the clinic Rosy’s mother recuperated after
her stomach wash-up but Rosy had to be transferred to Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujib
University for complications in the brain.
Within two weeks
the Principal and the three teachers directly involved in torturing Rosy, were
dismissed from the school. The students of the school were excited with the
news. They felt that a favourable wind would blow now over their school. They
were waiting to hail their hero Rosy in the campus. But Rosy’s health
deteriorated. She was unable to talk and think. She could not recognize any
one, not even her father and mother. She had a cerebral and traumatic attack. A
psychiatrist was engaged for her treatment. One day the psychiatrist came to
Rosy’s school. He held a meeting with the inquiry team and got all that had happened
with Rosy. He got important clues. He called Rosy’s father and heard from him
all about the Ramna Park incidence. The psychiatrist advised him to help him in
the process of treatment.
Next morning the
psychiatrist took Rosy out with him. He first took her to Ramna park. After
that he took a rickshaw and reached the school. They entered the gate. Rosy was
still speechless and was looking agape. The doctor called Rosy’s father who,
according to advice, came with an yellow envelop in his hand and embraced Rosy excitedly
calling “Rosy, you are back in your school” No sooner had his
words were out Rosy gave a loud cry calling “Abbu, Abbu”. The psychiatrist held
a newspaper before Rosy’s eyes and asked her to read out some lines and Rosy
perfectly did that. The psychiatrist excitedly addressed the students and said,
“Now your Rosy Apu is quite okay.” The students began to dance while the doctor
left giving some instruction to Rosy’s father and the students.
[Note: The names
used in the story are fictitious.]
