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Day’s Destination!

by Md Atiquzzaman
XT Trapping the shawl 1/1/ properly, I placed . V V myself on the seat. It would become more cold with the night growing deeper. In spite of an almost empty pocket. I intend to stay out till morning breaks.
My rickshaw is proceeding through barren highways. Still a long way to go. We ve Just passed Shonkor bus stand when I traced a shop open I requested the rick-snawpuller to halt for a while. Flowers?’ the mid-aged rickshawpuller inquired wearily. The question was surprising to me. They’ve "Started selling flowers? In these tiny shops?'
Tonight people are selling flowers everywhere"
After I've lit a cigarette, the Journey resumed once again. My lone company is using a southern dialect, one very familiar to me.
’where's your hometown, chachamlah?"'
Shatkhiray my rickshaw-puller answered.
How long have you been in Dhaka?'
'Five.. six years nearly.
Your family ... too?’
Yes ... at the Kamalapur slum.’ t
Why come to Dhaka?'
"Well ... cousins conspired... became penniless. Thought I would be looked to my inherited soil. Then they started threatening. So ... we left. "
A horde of people, clad in fine pyjamas ana punjabts are apparently very busy In front of Ibn Sina Hospital. They are sweating to manage an extra-large floral wreath. A tokai is standing along. He holds a few polythene bags filled with shoes, brand new shoes. He is giggling, perhaps he finds the sequence very funny.
Where do you study my son?' my rickshawpuller asked lovingly.
At the Dhaka University'. He appeared pleased with my academic position, and he does not bother to conceal it. People of this sort, as I've found, come closer to men. the way they come closer to soil. Then, nature plays cruel games, river flows lanfi decays. so do relations. Flood comes with renewed hopes, new love, new life.
'Well son.' he continued. 'Would you please explain it to me ... you see, we people
are illiterate haggards. we possess absolute, shallow views... regarding these occasions: how do these commemorations like Shaheed Dtbosh. Shwadhtnota Dibosh come to help us common people? You know, my dtbosh are all tied up with these three wheels. A day is rainy, then the next day my family members starve, my wife would voluntarily fast: a day I'm sick, then my mother would go begging. ... Those people at my hometown, they are in no better condition. And then ... so little of you can actually afford to live under a solid roof. Most of the city people are on the streets. Still people commemorate. people are so festive. so cheerful ...So many Jamdanl sarees and suits safaris ... what's the main idea, my son?
The rickshaw is now crossing the bridge at Dhan-mondl Rd. 8. It proceeds toward Mlrpur Road. Numerous hurricane lanterns are shining by the lakeside. Processions of varied sizes are marching on, while I struggle for an appropriate answer.
"Chacnamiah. you seem sincerely worried for us countrymen. You see. there were few others like you. Those were the great people who spoke for the lands and 16 men. They contributed to
the country selflessly and some of them, sacrificed even their lives. Shouldn't we remember them? O0oles. how can we learn?
Son... you see my. rickshaw? It absorbs a lot of my strength. But then. Its Interesting tpo. I come across different types of people. The rich people from posh areas .. they rarely speak in Bangla. Very often, a head would pop out from a car window and it would abuse vehemently. That's a lucky time for Bangladesh. That's the time when he or she speaks in Bangla ... This time of the year. Boi Mela is the most crowded place. I get a lot of trips from there. But you know very well, a woman can rarely come out of It. with her body untouched. They ride my rickshaw, and they weep. Then, those bastards ride my rickshaw ... they rejoice. And then I, hear like, people go to those expensive hotels on Pahela Baishakh. Why? ... To have panta with onion and dry peppers. Now son, how long would you be remembering in this manner, how long would it take ... to learn?
The rickshaw ransed at the signal near Science Lab. Few vehicles are plying. Barefooted people are all marching unidirectionally. My company seems a bit tired.
There’s no hurry for either me or him. I began to speak.
"Chachamlah. the people you are angry with are very lew in numbers. People from all walksxif life, from all over the country, are commemo rating This sort of people are cornered only in this city
But son, ... they are the ones, who are destroying the future of this damned country They are neither English, nor Pakistani, nor would they like to recall their origin. These — are ruling everywhere'
My rickshaw suddenly gained speed. while the rick-shawpufler has begun to speak with an extreme stoicism. I listened silently.
He was only eleven years old, when 1 first brought my eon. Rostom. to Dhaka. He'd been here with me since then ... used to go to school, used to play in the field at nearby staff quarters. One day ... I caught him bringing home a lot of cans. His mother said, our son wants to earn.
I beat him hard that day. but to no use. Roetom continued hie ... business. My eon died two days before Shaheed Dtbosh. He ueed to make bombs ... cocktails. An illiterate haggard I am. ... couldn't quite understand. I realized, but too late it was .. . he used to sell those things... to University students. ... That year, Shaheed Dibosh was exceptionally eventful.
A long silence was followed by my company's unnatural laughter. Tia! Hal ... Rostom must have been worried for his countrymen too !'
Greyish hair is all wet now. Sweat is running down his back bone. Legs are reciprocating tirelessly. He rubs his forehead with one hand, coldness of the night is failing to comfort him.
My rickshaw is nearing Nilkhet. I might have to walk from there on. Utter confusion is surging my mind. Do I know my destination? Do I know what is my mother tongue? Am I aware of my background? Do I know myself?
Should I go to see the humiliation of a few sacred souls?
(Earlier printed in Bangla a few years before. Things have changed little since then.)