Dr. Abu Zafor

r  It was a mid-Baishakhi noon and the sun was burning overhead. Rahmat was waiting at the Malibag bus stand for catching a Motijheel-bound bus. Buses were not scarce, but all were awfully crowded. Rahmat had made several attempts to push through but failed to get into any one. In the last attempt he gave space to two girls who were behind him. The girls seemed to be students. He felt the pressure of their body on his back and sideways and made them space to go ahead. Rahmat was enamoured having a glance at the face of one of them, and perhaps that was the reason that he was distracted for some moments. He thought, why should the girls struggle to get into this crowded public transport? They must be poor like him. Scarcely had this thought crossed his mind when the bus moved fast away, and Rahmat was thrown off the gate. His knee was badly hurt. He had a narrow escape from a fatal accident. His legs might have gone under the wheels, he thought. Rahmat took a deep breath. With th

As the sun was setting down Monira retrieved her father’s lungi and panjabi from the rope hung across two poles in the yard. She folded the clothes with much affection and kept neatly on the wooden alna . Azan for Magrib prayer resounded the atmosphere. A soothing spring air can be felt earlier in that late winter evening. Monira’s mother Kulsum Ara was performing ablution to say her prayer. For some days she was angry with herself, angry with her husband Rustum Ali, angry with Monira and angry with everyone else. Perhaps it was due to Rustum’s sitting idle for more than a week. In her prayer she seeks some consolation. She nurses the belief that sufferings in this worldly life is temporary, and that real happiness is decided by Allah in the life hereafter. No sooner had Kulsum Ara finished her prayer than she heard the cry of her little son Musa whom she had sent to a shop. Sobbing and angry, Musa complained, “Why have you sent me to Montu Mia’s shop again? Yesterday he hesit