As soon as he woke up in the morning, Kamalesh remembered that it was the fifteenth of August. The morning sun was streaming through the gap in the ventilator and falling on his bed. The sudden glare of too much light is hard on the eyes. This glare of light broke his comfortable morning sleep. He turned over with a lot of annoyance in his head. Tutun is still sleeping. The sun has not fallen on him. It is just touching him. Jaya had left the bed much earlier and was busy with the tea things. The clinking sound of cups and plates is floating in.
Kamalesh gets his body out of bed and pulls Tutun to the right side of the cot. The heat of the sun will not touch him. After moving Tutun, he again lies back on the cot, pressing his head against the pillow. The sleepy feeling lingers in the body until one has tea. Kamalesh calls out loudly to Jaya, “Bring the tea quickly.” Jaya was bringing the tea. She didn’t like Kamalesh’s loud call. Jaya felt that Kamalesh was scolding her unnecessarily. She put the teacup on the tea table and, as she was leaving, said, “See how he has started shouting in the morning? As if I am sitting with my hands and feet tied.”
“Shame, why would you be tied up? You are bringing heaven down.” Kamalesh’s words pulled Jaya back from behind like a magnet. She stood there and wiped her face with the end of her sari. With a good deal of sarcasm, she said, “Who am I to bring heaven down? You are the man who can bring heaven down.” Kamalesh felt that there was a hidden meaning in Jaya’s words. That he is often unable to meet the demands of the family. She is reminding him of that. His expression changes rapidly. A sad look appears on his face. Jaya had thrown the words at Kamalesh and was watching him with a sidelong glance. But she had not thought that he would react in this way. She doesn’t want Kamalesh to be hurt by her words. She repented. To ease the situation, Jaya came forward and took the teacup in her hand. With a suppressed smile on her lips, she said, “Here, it will get cold.”
Kamalesh takes the teacup in his hand and takes a sip. Jaya goes to the kitchen. It is finished in two or three sips. As he was putting the teacup down, his eyes fell on the calendar at the corner of the table. Another day is added to the book of time. Kamalesh pulls the table calendar and sets the date and day correctly. It is the fifteenth of August, nineteen eighty-one. Many years have passed from 1947 to 1981. But in this gap of thirty-four years, Kamalesh cannot immediately remember any normal change in his life. The events of most of the past days seem to have disappeared into a deep darkness in the vast emptiness. Still, there are some special events that, even if you try to suppress them, sometimes come out, suppressing everything else.
Kamalesh sets the table calendar and lies down on the bed again. Some incidents from his childhood still peek out from a corner of his mind from time to time. Kamalesh remembers that the first taste of freedom he got in his childhood was the great joy of riding in a steam engine train. He had walked two miles from his village home with his father, holding his hand, and had boarded the train at the station. His father, Samaresh Chowdhury, was a serious man and did not talk much. Unable to contain his curiosity, Kamalesh had asked, “Father, where are we going?” Looking straight at Kamalesh’s face for a while, his father had said, “We are going to Silchar, to your Sejkaku’s place.” Although he could not contain his joy of riding in a train, a sadness of leaving home was occasionally pricking Kamalesh’s mind. The thought that he would not be able to swing on the branch of the guava tree in the south corner of the courtyard with Manu and Kana in the afternoon made his heart heavy. It was as if an invisible hand was pulling him from behind. Kamalesh slowly asks his father,
“Father, how many days will we stay in Silchar?”
“I don’t know. If arrangements can be made, you will stay there. The country has become independent, we will not stay here anymore.”
Saying these words, Kamalesh’s father had fixed his gaze on the distant sky through the train window and had become even more serious. Kamalesh did not dare to ask anything more. A strange idea that one cannot stay in one’s own country after the country becomes independent took root in his mind at that time. He had no idea what freedom actually was. He sits huddled next to his father in the train. Suddenly, the train gives a slight jolt. Kamalesh almost fell. He holds on to his father’s body and sits up straight again. Then, with a ‘jhik jhik thak thak’ sound, it started moving slowly at first and then fast. Sitting in the moving train, Kamalesh felt as if all the trees, plants, and roads of the world were standing still and the train was running away at a great speed. The vast sky was breaking and rushing in the opposite direction like a stream of water. The boy Kamalesh was watching this changing scene of the rapidly changing world with অবাক বিস্ময়ে through both sides of the window. That afternoon, they reached Silchar.
After getting off the train, they came out of the station and hired a rickshaw. His father lifted him up with both hands and put him in the rickshaw, and he also sat next to him. The rickshaw puller pulled the rickshaw by hand for some distance and then got on the seat. Kamalesh had never seen this thing before. The beautiful, light, three-wheeled vehicle is running on the black, paved road. In a very short time, it passed the India Club building on the left and moved towards Annapurna Ghat. In front of the beautiful, sparkling houses, red flowers like sparks of fire are scattered on the heads of the Gulmohar trees. Kamalesh’s rickshaw leaves them behind and moves forward. Then, after crossing the racecourse, it goes some distance and turns left, and then goes straight to the front of an old, two-story wooden house. After getting off the rickshaw and paying the fare, his father pulls Kamalesh’s hand and walks towards the house. As soon as he knocks on the door, Sejkaku opens the door and comes out.
Seeing his father, Sejkaku stands speechless for some time. Then, without saying anything, he hugs his father and starts crying. Tears are also rolling down his father’s eyes. That day, Kamalesh saw his father cry for the first time. Kamalesh could not understand whether that cry was just an exchange of tears or if there was some other deep sorrow behind it. Later he heard that because Sejkaku was very active first in the Anushilan Samiti and then during the referendum, he had assumed that he would never see his father alive again. The house that Kamalesh had entered holding his father’s hand, his life’s journey began from there. Sejkaku admitted him to the Government High School. Little Kamalesh used to go to school alone, past Sadarghat.
A strange, sky-touching building, not a temple but of a similar design, would catch his eye after walking a few steps from Sadarghat and crossing the Kachari field. At first, Kamalesh was afraid of it. He used to think that the supernatural powers of all the fears of the world were lying in wait in this huge, closed house of the sahibs’ church. They would chase him if they got a chance when he was alone. He would cross the road with a pounding heart. This feeling of fear also gradually disappeared from Kamalesh’s mind like camphor disappearing in the open air. But he did not know that another uncomfortable annoyance was waiting for him in that school. He used to do well in his studies. But when the master left the class at the end of the period, the older students would slap him on the head and say, “Hey, refugee.”
Kamalesh could not find the underlying reason for this gratuitous and inappropriate behavior. It seemed to him that this word carried some obscene hint, mocking some physical weakness of his or the heritage of his parents. So he never said anything about it to his Sejkaku or father at home. Eventually, Kamalesh overcame this as well. Kamalesh has crossed the final boundary of the high school step by step. In the meantime, the old Chhatim trees that had grown up behind the school building, piercing through the stones, have been washed away one by one in the terrible current of the Barak in the full monsoon, out of sight. The vast, stone-paved, magnificent, hard rock formations on both banks of the lean Barak in winter are also no longer visible.
The engine-driven double boats that used to cross the Barak from Sadarghat to Rangpur, tearing through the heart of the river with a roaring sound, are no longer there. The Barak Bridge, in the shape of a crescent moon, has joined the two banks. Many houses have been built next to the sahibs’ church in front of the Hakim’s court. At a glance, it no longer seems to be sky-touching. Many changes have taken place.
Kamalesh has also changed a lot. Kamalesh has been teaching in a college for many years after finishing his college and university studies. The house that he had come to with his father on the first Independence Day, he is now the master of this house. The room where Sejkaku used to live, he has now made it his bedroom. Lying in this room, from the first day of his job, he has woven many colorful webs of imagination of a bright future. As the allotted time of his life gradually decreases, his imagination also fades.
Now Kamalesh is a family man. He is a simple college professor. The mechanical routine of going to college and doing the marketing keeps him engrossed in a normal way. About two years ago, after the revision of Kamalesh’s salary according to the recommendation of the University Grants Commission and after receiving the arrears, there was a slight change in the normality of his work. It brought some freshness to his gait. Kamalesh had thought to himself - “Well, at last, the positive aspect of the honorable position of professors in society has been initiated. The salary of the professors, the backbone of the nation, is higher than that of many doctors, engineers, and bureaucrats.” Kamalesh was happy thinking about this. Not only that, even before he got the money in his hand, he had made many plans in his mind about what to do. This time, he will definitely give Jaya a surprise. Whatever Jaya demands, it will get the first preference. So, when Jaya was talking about buying a fridge, knowing that Kamalesh was getting a lot of money at once, he did not object. Kamalesh had replied with a smile, “Yes, I will buy a fridge as soon as I withdraw the money. It will be very convenient for you.”
Within a few days, Kamalesh had withdrawn the money. He was also carefully looking at the advertisements of fridges made by various companies in the newspapers and magazines. But suddenly, an uncomfortable extra problem raised its head and started to bother him immensely. The service latrine that Sejkaku had built with the house in his early life has reached a dilapidated state. For several days in a row, as the municipality’s sweeper did not perform his duty, the tin for the morning’s daily chores became full and overflowed. The stench emanating from it spread to every nook and corner of the house. It’s not that this nuisance was not there before. After Kamalesh got the money, it seemed to have become even more intense. It was always at the tip of his nose.
To get rid of the nuisance of the service latrine, Kamalesh, without thinking much, planned for a sanitary latrine. This plan pulled him in with an invisible thread. The new discoveries he made while collecting bricks, rods, and cement surprised him. Kamalesh knew many things and he considered himself intelligent. But the way he was harassed while undertaking the first construction work of his life, the sanitary latrine, he says to himself, “I am a first-class idiot.” Although he had to suffer a lot of harassment and humiliation, the amount of money was not small.
As soon as the sanitary latrine was finished, Kamalesh thought that if he finished the work of the bathroom, the trouble would be over completely. After finishing the bathroom, when Kamalesh finished replacing the old pillars of the big room, the three-foot wall at the bottom, the leaky tin of the roof with new tin, and the broken doors and windows, one by one, and saw that the amount of money was rapidly decreasing and had reached the smallest four-digit number, he was truly stupefied. Kamalesh had thought one thing, and it turned out to be another. Nothing happened according to Jaya’s wish. Kamalesh feels sorry for her. He thinks to himself, “Poor Jaya! She had so many dreams. Her retired old father had desperately searched for a groom. He was all set to catch a groom to his liking, and just then, the prospective fathers-in-law with milch cows would suddenly fool him and snatch away the chosen groom. In this way, after being repeatedly disappointed, the old man finally breathed a sigh of relief by placing his beloved daughter Jaya on the shoulders of Professor Sriman Kamalesh Chowdhury, son of Samaresh Chowdhury. Srimati Jayarani’s dream remains a dream. She tries to manage three meals a day with 250 grams of fish curry. She feeds Tutun with care. In fact, if she were to be given a special title now, it would have to be ‘Kitchen Queen’.”
Thinking about Jaya, he comes to his own context. He was quite happy for a few days. Now all the happiness has faded and he is deflated. - Just as a tuberculosis patient is temporarily bloated by giving injections and medicines, the backbone of the nation, suffering from a wasting disease, was temporarily bloated by increasing the salary and giving some arrears. Now that the money is gone, the shrunken feeling is rising again. Kamalesh thinks to himself.
Nowadays, after returning from college, lying alone on his cot, or while returning alone from the market through the deserted road in front of the government university, which is associated with many sweet memories of his childhood, Kamalesh thinks that there will always be a huge gap between what he wants and what he gets. The two will not become one. While trying to find the reason for this, his head often gets into a complicated tangle. He cannot figure out how many people, even with a lower salary than him, can easily buy fish worth thirty to forty rupees per kg from the market every day with their chests puffed out. They roam around in taxis with their wives. They visit Shillong and Darjeeling two or three times a year. And so much more! Everything seems to be in the palm of their hands. Thinking about all this, Kamalesh feels that the government, a thing whose shape or form cannot be identified by hand, but without whose existence the existence of human society in any geographical boundary cannot be imagined, is the root of all evil.
The government, run by the representatives of the people in the public interest, has for a long time created a special unwritten sphere. Today, its scope is expanding even more. It has spread into hundreds and thousands of branches and sub-branches. In every field of it, the extent of this unwritten special sphere is proportionally present. Kamalesh has seen that when he takes his sick son to the medical college for treatment, the government doctors employed there for the public interest pretend to work according to the law. And at the same time, they themselves have created an unwritten sphere. They have become bloated by earning a lot of money. Kamalesh has seen in the supply office that the big babus there have kept everything in order according to the law to issue permits, and at the same time, they have created an unwritten sphere and are feathering their own nests. Kamalesh has seen that the officials employed in the PWD, Irrigation, Public Health, etc. departments are misappropriating the funds allotted for development work in the public interest by keeping the books very clean and creating an unwritten sphere in collusion with the corrupt contractors. In all the departments like Income Tax, Sales Tax, etc., there is a honey-trap of an unwritten special sphere between the officers and the businessmen.
Kamalesh has carefully observed that almost all those who are involved in this honey-trap are people he knows. The big doctor of the medical college is his uncle’s cousin. The inspector of the supply office is the father of Amit, a final year student. The executive engineer of the PWD is his colleague’s brother-in-law. Someone from every department is known to him in some way or another. Kamalesh’s behavior with each of them separately is amiable. In general, they are polite, educated people of the society. The unwritten sphere that they all have created under the guise of public interest by wearing the government tag, and the undercurrent of black money that is flowing in it with unabated speed, Kamalesh’s salary increase will not do anything there. To meet the minimum demands of life, only the amount of money will increase. The difference between what is wanted and what is obtained will increase even more. For quite some time now, he has been feeling as if he is revolving in the same circle. He is repeating the same thing at home and outside with monotonous repetition. On the days when he has more classes in college, his mood sours. He says to himself, “It would be more beneficial for the students if a good actor recorded the subject of the lecture and played it to them. I wouldn’t have to quack in front of them about the same subject again and again.” Thinking about all this, Kamalesh no longer feels good. An invisible ailment of not feeling good is slowly numbing all his good qualities.
Kamalesh slowly gets up from the bed. He washes his hands and face and puts on a shirt and pants. Jaya has left the morning meal. Kamalesh quickly eats the roti and tea. He takes out a book from the cupboard and turns the pages. He takes out the last twenty-rupee note that he had kept aside for market expenses from there and, putting the note in his breast pocket, he goes out with the market bag. Small school children are going in groups on the road. They will go to the parade ground with their teachers in a procession to see the Independence Day parade. The sound of the radio is floating from the neighboring houses. Kamalesh can hear snippets of the speech given in the national language by the leader of the nation from Delhi. Here too, the local leader will give a speech after hoisting the flag.
Thinking about all this, Kamalesh is walking along the road on the bank of the Barak, past the old ship godown. He is startled as he comes under the Barak Bridge after passing the Food Corporation office. Suddenly, a motorcycle is running at a tremendous speed on the bridge with a loud ‘bhat bhat’ sound. In an instant, it goes out of sight. It seemed to him that the leader of the nation, his uncle’s cousin, Amit’s father, his colleague’s brother-in-law, and all the others, bound together in a thousand and one bonds like a giant spider’s web, are maintaining the thing called government in the service of the public interest, and that thing, with the happiness and wealth of the people, is also rushing upwards at a tremendous speed in the name of progress. It is going out of reach. It is only going up. Kamalesh has fallen to the ground from it long ago. He is not alone. Around him on the ground, thousands and thousands of common people, lakhs and lakhs of working people are running around in utter confusion.
Samakal, October ‘81