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A POET

Humayun Ahmed (Translated by Mohammad Shafiqul Islam)
Sirajul Islam, owner of the Town Press, is waiting in an annoyed mood. There are many reasons for his annoyance. Proofreader Jubed Ali hasn't arrived yet, and the machine man is idling without any work. Moreover, the sky is overcast; it looks gloomy all around. The weather isn't favorable at all. If the weather turns worse, Sirajul Islam will
"I'm a bit late Islam sahib. My daughter has fever."
Sirajul Islam doesn't reply; he's absorbed in other thoughts by now.
"The doctor has prescribed a lot of medicines."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"What's the ailment?"
Jubed Ali begins to describe
have to go back home. He had rather wished to spend the night with Binti. He spends time with Binti at least once a month. This girl is very good; and she never causes any trouble. He can't stand any more trouble at this stage of life.
It begins to rain at eight p.m. After some time, Jubed Ali arrives.
the ailment in detail. Sirajul Islam isn't interested to listen. Still, he puts on a look of attentiveness.
Jubed Ali says, "Sir, I'll have to return home a bit early today."
"My goodness! What are you saying? We have to deliver the books tomorrow morning; the customer has given me reminders
twice. Have your tea and then start working."
Jubed Ali begins to work; he's an accomplished proofreader. He finishes proofreading one forma before nine p.m.
"Jubed Ali."
"Yessir."
"Do you think we will have heavy showers?"
"It's difficult to say, sir."
"Why is it difficult? Rain dominates your thoughts and activities, right? After all, you're a poet."
A faint smile appears on Jubed Ali's face.
"You live in a kingdom of happiness; you can even write an epic on the sloppy trouble of rain."
The smile on Jubed Ali's face now becomes painfully distinct. He dislikes Sirajul Islam intensely - for always mocking him as a poet.
"Sir, I need to leave a bit early today - sir, my daughter... ”
"You'll certainly go; it won't take much time. Complete the work, and then go. Proofread the spellings too."
Jubed Ali carefully checks the spellings; and Sirajul Islam observes the rain. He can't unearth the clue to the mystery: why does it rain on his special days of gratification of the month?
The number of unresolved mysteries of the world has been gradually increasing for Sirajul Islam.
Binti's skin is dark; such dark girls usually seem charming. He has an insatiable desire for a dark, charming, young girl. His wife is fair, noticeably fair, in fact. Their marriage was approved because of her fair skin. He hadn't noticed her crooked teeth at that time, or maybe her teeth weren't crooked then. Her teeth are getting more warped with age and her skin is getting paler. Now she looks like a white leprosy patient.
“Sir, I want to check the remaining part tomorrow morning.”
"Have you gone mad? The customer will come in the morning - finish it as soon as possible. It won't take much time. Doyouwanttea?”
"No."
"Take. Take tea. Hey, give him tea!" Sirajul Islam instructs. Then he asks, "So, Poet sahib, what new poem have you written?"
"Last night, I wrote a kind of short lyric."
“Oh my goodness!"
"Will you listen to the poem, sir?"
“No, it's okay, you keep working. It's not good to practice poetry during work."
Keeping his eyes on the proof copy, Jubed Ali says with a faint voice, "It'll be published in Desher Mati."
“Really?”
"Yes, the Editor sahib has appreciated my poem very much."
"Good, good, then publish a book this time."
While talking to Jubed Ali, Sirajul Islam feels agitated. Binti talks in long sentences; she must be from Jessore or somewhere nearby - he has never asked her. It's not good to build intimacy with such girls. It's actually a better decision to stay far away from them.
Jubed Ali rises after finishing his work and begins to scratch his head. He has a fretful expression on his face. Sirajul Islam is familiar with this and so he says in a solemn voice, "The customer hasn't paid me yet; we have to run a business, do you understand?"
"Can you give me just ten takas? My daughter asked me to buy some bananas for her."
Clearly showing his discontent, Sirajul Islam takes out a ten-taka note and gives it to him. He doesn't feel happy to be paying in the middle of the month.
"I'd like to go now, sir."
Sirajul Islam doesn't reply. His face has turned dark as the rain has started falling heavily.
Returning home, Jubed Ali notices that his daughter's fever has gone down. She has been waiting for her father so she can have her rice with milk and banana. But Jubed Ali left office too late and couldn't find bananas anywhere in the market. He feels very sad.
"I'll definitely bring bananas for you tomorrow morning."
"Okay Baba."
"Which kind of bananas do you like, Ma - Sabri or Sagor?
"I don't have any preference -any kind will do, Baba."
"Okay."
Finishing dinner, Jubed Ali takes out his pen and paper. After his wife's death, there is nobody to prevent him from sitting with his books, pens and paper late at night. It's raining cats and dogs outside, and it'd be sheer stupidity to waste such a stormy night sleeping.
Jubed Ali's daughter doesn’t sleep either; her fever is rising again. Wrapping herself up with a quilt, she watches her father. Once she murmurs, "Baba," but Jubed Ali can't hear her.
A beautiful line arises in his mind - "How splendidly the rain falls tonight!" But he can't compose any other lines of the poem. Only this line flashes in his mind repeatedly. His eyes tear up in deep emotion.
The girl's fever peaks. She calls again, "Baba," but he still can’t hear because of the storm outside. The girl notices that tears are rolling down her poet father's eyes. She doesn't understand. Children can understand many things, but some things they simply don't.
Mohammad Shafiqul Islam teaches English at Shahjalal University of Science and Technology, Sylhet.