Fowzia Huda :
It’s not far away from my residence an old-people’s asylum is newly built called “Santo-Nir”. This asylum, a bungalow-pattern blue-colored tin-shed house is surrounded by the wall having huge big trees. Some fifteen to twenty old men and women reside here. They want to stay here anyway in peace and good-condition only. Here happiness seems chilly ice and sorrows’ burning fire. They all appear to be the residents on a deep narrow valley with steep sides of the gorge.
As a daily routine I used to go on walking in the early morning. By the side of the wall of the old- peoples’ asylum a Bokul-flower tree leaned over. On way to my walking I often see an old woman aged about seventy or seventy two. Her calm white face with black-framed bespectacled, hairs are all white but disheveled with hand-made bun standing by the leaned Bokul-tree, she appears to have been looking for something to a far distant vast barren field. She looks at fixed eyes. I inferred her as the resident of this asylum. It seems she has her heart broken as she could not earn happiness from her family. Only she must have realised a river of sorrow in life.
I wish, I approach to her and speak but I hesitate what should I ask with this unknown and unrelated woman. Again I am to get back home earlier for my homework this morning. Hence I could not face her.
Next one day the scene reversed. She approached to me herself and said, “Good morning!” I became ashamed. Better I had to wish her before. Anyway she said, “Do you walk regularly on time?” I smiled.
She said, “Well, don’t take it otherwise, I think of you, as it were, of my own. This is my old-age and I become somewhat out of order. I can’t make way for what should I say. “
It draws me an irresistible favour for the old woman. Disappointment of love makes man lonesome. I became heavy hearted in her sorrow. Since, we get along with each other. She is Surovi. She is my Surovi auntie. Human life is like that. Around the innumerable people someone becomes relative all on a sudden.
Auntie is unmarried. She was a teacher in a school. That’s long ago. She lives on pension money anyway. Her relative put her in this asylum a few months ago. We had nothing to speak about our personal affairs. I had no interest in listening about someone’s family separation till now. So I did not take interest to know about her much more. But I could understand that she was a woman of clean mind. She had her basic ideal that’s honesty and clear perception about all in life. I used to meet auntie in the asylum and passed sometimes.
On one fine morning I went to her asylum on the way of my morning walk. The maid-servant was then cooking rice in this early winter morning. Some vegetables and dal (pulse) would be the recipe and for this arrangement everyone seemed happy. There’s nothing to say against it. I found auntie by the side of the veranda. I asked her, “Would you not like to go out to see the field?” She smiled. I thought that it might give her relief from agony if she’s in the empty field. By this way she might be relieved of sorrow and sufferings of separation and disappointment. I found another old lady with auntie. She introduced her as her relative. I told her, “I would like to take you at my home. Will you go?” she agreed. I got permission from the asylum authority and I brought her at my home. I cooked everything in my hand and dined together. I noticed some hairs fallen over auntie’s forehead looked very nice. Today I felt heavily pleased. Time was up. The sun set behind the shade of the tree. I took her to the gate of the asylum. The cuckoo sounded kuhu-kuhu. She said, “The cuckoo is absolutely my lovely bird, a homeless one.” I came back home.
It was about after two or three days, I was passing idle time and looking through my window and I found the wall of the asylum. Auntie, most probably, was coming towards my home. She looked impatient and her helplessness reflected her eyes and face, somewhat frustrated. I came out of my door hurriedly. She gave me an envelope and told me, “Please read the letter and dispatch to the given address. He must come, you see, he must come forgetting his pique.”
Before I put any question she left the place very quickly.
“What makes her so sad and disturbed? Is she well?”- I thought myself.
After closing my door I opened the envelope. I became perplexed. It’s absolutely a love-letter. Is this a letter of a woman of over seventy years old? She writes a very good hand. I put the letter before my eyes the entire room smells sweet flavour of honey.
My dear
I hope you are hale and hearty. After a long time I write you this letter. Surely it’s surprise to you. Do you know that the distant empty land where we played and dreamt those fallen dreams which I see from afar and shed tears? Hundreds in words fly there in the wings of the colorful butterflies what I watch till now from under the Bokul tree. Till now, I walk along with the wrong butterflies where my mind looks for you. You were my shade under the scorching sun, and a shelter in the rain, but you can’t recognise how separation pricks my body all day and night. My desires are kept hidden inside the old box. Only I would like to spell out a few words before you today. Won’t you hear me? My door was always remained open for you, why didn’t you explore the path?
Do you remember how much muddy water I came across to be a shade of a leaf being sun-burnt? What makes you then break my heart by striking words? I saw just two hands away from you dispelling illusion in your eyes. That made me frustrated. Because the sense of love in me was so keen and infatuated that I had to be distracted. That’s still made me attached even after forty years so I put you in my pen. Now in this odd-time I could understand that life should have been extended to forget sorrows at ease thereof.
I am still your love. Now I need you most. We shall be walking again hand in hand on our bonded way with the deepest moving love. And we shall mend our left over wrongs. Let them stay along with the way. Would you come back again? Am thinking you had given pledges. You told me not to forget you ever. I got confidence you would come back. Because of wrong notion our path had been distracted. Please follow the given address below and come back accordingly.
With this end in view here I am your Surovi.
Having gone through the letter I became dumb-founded and sat by the side of the window. How strange is human mind! Auntie, you must have been writing a good hand! Aren’t you poet or writer? What makes the meaning of writing this letter after so long? What made her so much perplexed? Is her lover living in her given address? Is he still living? What a fun of love! What a sacrifice for love up to this old people’s asylum! Where shall I go with this letter? Is there anybody waiting in expectation of this old woman of seventy?
It’s raining cats and dogs outside. Knowing well that nothing will come out of it, I started going disregarding this rainy time in search of her fortunate lover who’s in the fire of love for ages together. At last I reached the given address. There’s a big field and around that there’re huge buildings standing like trees in series. But according to the address nothing could be found. None could say about the noted man in the address. Forty years are not a short period.
I came back to my residence. I felt myself embarrassed. I put the envelope on the table. How could I convince this foolish lover? Thinking this my eyes are filled in water. The excitement is over. O auntie, what makes you hide so long inside the shell of the snail?
I do not like to think any more. Time will speak the end of it. I set out for the asylum. The rainy cloud still overwhelmed the sky.
Translation by M. Mizanur Rahman
It’s not far away from my residence an old-people’s asylum is newly built called “Santo-Nir”. This asylum, a bungalow-pattern blue-colored tin-shed house is surrounded by the wall having huge big trees. Some fifteen to twenty old men and women reside here. They want to stay here anyway in peace and good-condition only. Here happiness seems chilly ice and sorrows’ burning fire. They all appear to be the residents on a deep narrow valley with steep sides of the gorge.
As a daily routine I used to go on walking in the early morning. By the side of the wall of the old- peoples’ asylum a Bokul-flower tree leaned over. On way to my walking I often see an old woman aged about seventy or seventy two. Her calm white face with black-framed bespectacled, hairs are all white but disheveled with hand-made bun standing by the leaned Bokul-tree, she appears to have been looking for something to a far distant vast barren field. She looks at fixed eyes. I inferred her as the resident of this asylum. It seems she has her heart broken as she could not earn happiness from her family. Only she must have realised a river of sorrow in life.
I wish, I approach to her and speak but I hesitate what should I ask with this unknown and unrelated woman. Again I am to get back home earlier for my homework this morning. Hence I could not face her.
Next one day the scene reversed. She approached to me herself and said, “Good morning!” I became ashamed. Better I had to wish her before. Anyway she said, “Do you walk regularly on time?” I smiled.
She said, “Well, don’t take it otherwise, I think of you, as it were, of my own. This is my old-age and I become somewhat out of order. I can’t make way for what should I say. “
It draws me an irresistible favour for the old woman. Disappointment of love makes man lonesome. I became heavy hearted in her sorrow. Since, we get along with each other. She is Surovi. She is my Surovi auntie. Human life is like that. Around the innumerable people someone becomes relative all on a sudden.
Auntie is unmarried. She was a teacher in a school. That’s long ago. She lives on pension money anyway. Her relative put her in this asylum a few months ago. We had nothing to speak about our personal affairs. I had no interest in listening about someone’s family separation till now. So I did not take interest to know about her much more. But I could understand that she was a woman of clean mind. She had her basic ideal that’s honesty and clear perception about all in life. I used to meet auntie in the asylum and passed sometimes.
On one fine morning I went to her asylum on the way of my morning walk. The maid-servant was then cooking rice in this early winter morning. Some vegetables and dal (pulse) would be the recipe and for this arrangement everyone seemed happy. There’s nothing to say against it. I found auntie by the side of the veranda. I asked her, “Would you not like to go out to see the field?” She smiled. I thought that it might give her relief from agony if she’s in the empty field. By this way she might be relieved of sorrow and sufferings of separation and disappointment. I found another old lady with auntie. She introduced her as her relative. I told her, “I would like to take you at my home. Will you go?” she agreed. I got permission from the asylum authority and I brought her at my home. I cooked everything in my hand and dined together. I noticed some hairs fallen over auntie’s forehead looked very nice. Today I felt heavily pleased. Time was up. The sun set behind the shade of the tree. I took her to the gate of the asylum. The cuckoo sounded kuhu-kuhu. She said, “The cuckoo is absolutely my lovely bird, a homeless one.” I came back home.
It was about after two or three days, I was passing idle time and looking through my window and I found the wall of the asylum. Auntie, most probably, was coming towards my home. She looked impatient and her helplessness reflected her eyes and face, somewhat frustrated. I came out of my door hurriedly. She gave me an envelope and told me, “Please read the letter and dispatch to the given address. He must come, you see, he must come forgetting his pique.”
Before I put any question she left the place very quickly.
“What makes her so sad and disturbed? Is she well?”- I thought myself.
After closing my door I opened the envelope. I became perplexed. It’s absolutely a love-letter. Is this a letter of a woman of over seventy years old? She writes a very good hand. I put the letter before my eyes the entire room smells sweet flavour of honey.
My dear
I hope you are hale and hearty. After a long time I write you this letter. Surely it’s surprise to you. Do you know that the distant empty land where we played and dreamt those fallen dreams which I see from afar and shed tears? Hundreds in words fly there in the wings of the colorful butterflies what I watch till now from under the Bokul tree. Till now, I walk along with the wrong butterflies where my mind looks for you. You were my shade under the scorching sun, and a shelter in the rain, but you can’t recognise how separation pricks my body all day and night. My desires are kept hidden inside the old box. Only I would like to spell out a few words before you today. Won’t you hear me? My door was always remained open for you, why didn’t you explore the path?
Do you remember how much muddy water I came across to be a shade of a leaf being sun-burnt? What makes you then break my heart by striking words? I saw just two hands away from you dispelling illusion in your eyes. That made me frustrated. Because the sense of love in me was so keen and infatuated that I had to be distracted. That’s still made me attached even after forty years so I put you in my pen. Now in this odd-time I could understand that life should have been extended to forget sorrows at ease thereof.
I am still your love. Now I need you most. We shall be walking again hand in hand on our bonded way with the deepest moving love. And we shall mend our left over wrongs. Let them stay along with the way. Would you come back again? Am thinking you had given pledges. You told me not to forget you ever. I got confidence you would come back. Because of wrong notion our path had been distracted. Please follow the given address below and come back accordingly.
With this end in view here I am your Surovi.
Having gone through the letter I became dumb-founded and sat by the side of the window. How strange is human mind! Auntie, you must have been writing a good hand! Aren’t you poet or writer? What makes the meaning of writing this letter after so long? What made her so much perplexed? Is her lover living in her given address? Is he still living? What a fun of love! What a sacrifice for love up to this old people’s asylum! Where shall I go with this letter? Is there anybody waiting in expectation of this old woman of seventy?
It’s raining cats and dogs outside. Knowing well that nothing will come out of it, I started going disregarding this rainy time in search of her fortunate lover who’s in the fire of love for ages together. At last I reached the given address. There’s a big field and around that there’re huge buildings standing like trees in series. But according to the address nothing could be found. None could say about the noted man in the address. Forty years are not a short period.
I came back to my residence. I felt myself embarrassed. I put the envelope on the table. How could I convince this foolish lover? Thinking this my eyes are filled in water. The excitement is over. O auntie, what makes you hide so long inside the shell of the snail?
I do not like to think any more. Time will speak the end of it. I set out for the asylum. The rainy cloud still overwhelmed the sky.
Translation by M. Mizanur Rahman
