Different Spring
Zahir Raihan
Translated by: Razia Khan
May 1999
Azhar Islam Bhuiyan
Director
Language, Literature, Culture and Journal Division
Bangla Academy, Dhaka-1000
British mariners
put up their tents here in the late hours of the night
when everybody was asleep. This part of the city was
then uninhabited. Only a forest of tall, sky-kissing
trees stood at this spot. During the day woodcutters
collected timber from here and at night ferocious animals
stalked the forest. A deep tension gripped the city.
The soldiers at Lalbagh may rebel any moment. The few
English families which were still there, took shelter
in green boats on the river Buriganga.
British marine
soldiers arrived and occupied this spot with their freshly
erected tents. The place came to be known as the Maidan
of Undergora.
Late at night
they attacked the unarmed soldiers at Lalbagh all of
a sudden. The earth at Lalbagh turned red with human
blood. Some soldiers fled marching to Mymensingh. The
ones who were caught were hanged in the Maidan of Undergora.
The corpses were hung on the branches of trees.
This was to frighten
the local populace. The natives must be shown how ruthlessly
the British could punish rebels.
All these events
took place a hundred years ago. The Maidan of Undergora
is still there. Only the name has changed. It is now
Victoria Park.
The forest has
disappeared. There had been a terrible storm which tore
the beautiful branches, as the tree-trunks were uprooted
and fell prostrate on the ground. People said as trees
had life, they could not bear the injustices inflicted
on our people, by the British.
After this the
soil began to be cultivated.
Houses sprang
up all around. Roads were built and a big park was created
to bear the name of empress Victoria.
This park was
once used for public meetings. Now it is crowded in
the afternoons by boys and girls who play here. The
elderly rest and recline, peeling pea-nuts.
But the place
is crowded only in spring and the summer months. In
winter the park is empty¾no one can be seen here
after dusk.
This year the
winter was severe.
It was hot during
the day and bitter cold at night.
The entire sky
was engulfed by mist in the morning. In the lower horizons
a cloud floated slowly, from north to south. It resembled
frozen fog.
Underneath the
floating cloud a young man walked towards Nawabpur from
the side of Victoria Park from south to north. He had
on a freshly washed white shirt and white trousers.
His feet were bare, without shoes. On both sides of
the road sat shopkeepers with their wares spread before
them. The buses had just started plying. The streets
were getting crowded. Busy people filled both sides
of the road¾rushing to their place of work. But
this boy was totally different from them. He had fresh
clothes¾a pen in his pocket¾a watch on
his wrist¾an exercise book in his hand. His face
indicated that he came from a good family. Then why
was he without shoes? It is true many people in this
country were not accustomed to wearing shoes. Many of
them do not have the means to wear them. Their clothes
are also tardy and torn. This young man was not poor.
There was a spark of aristocracy about him. Then why
was he well-dressed and walking without shoes? Everyone
wondered, staring at him. They wanted to know whether
he was unbalanced or not.
Some of them
made remarks about him. No, he was not mad. Someone
close to him must have died. He was mourning this bereavement
with bare feet.
Some thought
this might be fashionable. There were so many new-fangled
vogues these days. The month of mourning was yet to
come.
The boy walked
on, absorbed in his own thoughts once or twice casting
cautious looks around him. He seemed to be looking for
something. His restless eyes were searching the missing
object. He kept looking not at people’s faces
but their feet.
When he crossed
Bongshal Road his face glowed with pleasure on spotting
another pedestrian. He called: Hey Munim, it is this
way.
Munim turned
back.
His complexion
was dark like night. He had a smooth face. His straight
nose held his thick glasses firmly. He had on a pair
of white trousers. He was also without shoes.
They looked at
each other affectionately smiling. Soon after their
faces grew grave and solemn. As they walked together
Munim said to Asad: Mother insisted on my staying at
home. She is so worried about me!
Asad replied
softly: I am free from such interference. May be it
is a good thing that my mother is dead. She would have
created a lot of hindrance, crying and sobbing over
my plight. He sighed as he said this.
Till they reached
thataribazar they were only two in number. As they crossed
the Railway level crossing, marching towards Gulistan,
their number increased to ten.
These ten tastefully
dressed young men with bare shoeless feet kept walking
together.
One of them said:
Don’t walk together¾it is against Rule
144¾get into smaller groups to avoid arrest.
Asad, hitherto
silent, said: How frightened I was when I walked alone,
now you are with me!
: You are right
Asad. Same here, another boy stated.
They left Ramna
post-office behind and came in front of the Railway
Hospital. A police van abruptly pulled up before them.
A few police-men alighted from the lorry, patrolling
the area. They were in shining black shoes, khaki uniforms
and steel helmets. Each carried a rifle. The boys stopped
walking, looking at each other.
A long moment
of silence after which they resumed walking.
Asad said: I
think they stopped the lorry only to catch us.
: that is what
I thought too, said another.
Munim was silent.
He took out his pocket-handkerchief and wiped his face.
The orad that
stood before the university had cypress trees on both
sides. Every February the leaves started dripping like
a soft drizzle. The leaves made an emerald carpet on
the road. At dawn golden beads of dew ornamented the
green carpet.
That morning
the misty road was empty except for three girls coming
towards the university. They wore white saris with broad
borders.
One of them had
plaited her hair neatly. She had faint pock-marks on
her face.
The second girl
was slightly plump. She had a lovely, attractive face.
Her complexion was a mixture of milk and vermillion.
The third girl
had abundant hair, spread all over her back. She had
a big mole on his chin and her eyes were light-coloured.
Their bare feet
covered with dew were moving forward rhythmically.
Ranu, Benu and
Neela were three close friends.
Ranu asked: How
do you feel?
Neela raised
her face: About what?
: Walking, bare
feet!
: Why, this is
not the first time in our life that we have done this!
:No, but this
is the first time that we are bare-feet on the road!
Benu laughed
saying: I like it. Another girl was approaching them
towards the medical college. She had on a Doctor’s
apron and she also carried a stethoscope. She was obviously
a medical student. On other days she would be in a pair
of comely sandals. Today her feet were bare. She walked
with firm steps. There was no lassitude in her determined
gait.
Neela said sweetly:
Are you going to your classes, Salma. Seeing her bare
feet she was jubilant: So you are with us too? Wonderful!
: Yes, I am with
you, Salma declared calmly.
Benu said: What
about the others? Are they also without shoes
: Who?
The girls from
Eden College?
: Yes, they are
bare feet too?
: And the ones
from Kamrunnisa Girls’ High School? What about
them?
: They too are
without shoes.
Four pairs of
eyes shone with joy.
Ranu said: What
fun!
Neela smiled
at this. She looked very attractive when she smiled.
Her pock-marked face grew rosy for a second and then
it came back to its usual whiteness.
Neela looked
back and announced: We must leave, Salma. She was about
to resume walking when she stopped. Suddenly she thought
of something and stopped.
: You are going
alone! Aren’t you afraid of the police?
: Afraid? Her
eyebrows curved; her lips trembled. She walked up towards
Neela and said sharply: Afraid? There was fire in her
eyes. Salma controlled herself and said calmly : My
husband is in jail. So is my brother. Even my younger
sister has been arrested. What do I have to fear?
The three girls
felt their hearts aching for Salma. They saw her walking
away. They could not utter a word. Neela broke the ice:
Let us go. Her voice was cracked.
Benu said: How
extraordinary!
Ranu’s
eyes were filled with wonder. She turned her face towards
Neela and then towards Benu.
Ranu, Benu and
Neela started walking again.
After walking
for a while, Ranu said: Is what Salma said, true?
: Why, don’t
you believe her? Neela counter-questioned without looking
at Benu who was dumb-founded.
Munim was talking
to Sabur, standing in front of the university gate.
He was considered crazy, by everyone. He said: What
is needed is a collosal attack. He laughed like a mad
man, while saying this. Munim moved away from him to
buy a cigarette. He lit it from the fire in the rope
that hung from the roof of the shop. Sabur spotted the
three girls. He made a sour face, turning away from
them.
The girls burst
laughter.
: Why are you
making faces? Munim asked.
: I can’t
stand those girls.
: Why, what have
they done?
: What can they
done?
: What can they
do? They are useless. Have they joined any of our movement,
ever? Sabur pulled a long face. They are showing off
their bare feet. Once the police come they will faint
on the road.
: That's ninsense!
Munim scolded: You are mad. Sabur went on: They are
good for nothing, I promise.
: Your are crazy.
Munim smiled
offering Sabur the half-burnt cigarette. Now, smoke
this. He walked briskly towards Modhu’s canteen.
A group of boys
stood under the mango tree debating something. Seeing
Munim, they rushed towards him.
One of them asked:
Where should I stick the posters? The Proctor is giv
ing us a lot of trouble! He won’t let us stick
them here. Another asked: What happened to the wall-paper?
A third questioned:
Why have the leaflets not arrived from the press, yet?
Bombarded with
three simultaneous questions, Munim wiped his face with
a handkerchief and assured the boys;
: Don’t
worry! Everything has been taken care of. But what about
the posters?
: oh yes, stick
them on the walls of our union-office. Munim turned
towards Rahat: Come with me to the press. Let us find
out what happened to the leaflets.
Salma could not
concentrate on the lecture that was being delivered.
The Professor
was discussing the nervous system and she was thinking
of her husband in prison.
She was often
sad. Whenever she joined any procession or meeting,
she missed him. She wondered how he was doing now. Her
husband, Rowshan.
The last letter
from him to her came, about a month back. After that
there was no other letter. He used to write his letters
himself with his beautiful handwriting. Now someone
else transcribes the letters on his behalf.
Salma’s
face became red with agony, as she thought of her husband’s
missing hands.
How better life
would be if he could have retained at least one of them.
In the beginning
Salma was completely in the dark. She had heard of the
incident of firing inside Rajshahi jail. She could neither
scream nor burst into sobs. She kept staring at the
sky with dumb eyes. Oblivious for a moment of all the
noises of this mobile world, she held the iron grill
of her window, completely speechless. In the centre
of her chest, she felt a strange emptiness.
Had Rowshan died?
She wondered.
Later news came
of his being alive and in good health.
Salma went to
Rajshahi jail to see Rowshan two months later.
In that dingy
room of the jail office she felt as if a thunderstorm
had exploded over her head.
The two strong
arms with which Rowshan used to embrace her, were gone.
Only his shirt-sleeves hung loosely from his shoulders.
Rowshan propably gauged Salma’s reaction when
he looked at her face closely. For a moment he was very
pensive. That was the first time that Salma controlled
the rising waves of sobbing. She asked softly: How are
you?
: All right!
As he said this in a low voice his lips trembled and
his armless stumps moved a little.
Salma felt awful,
finding it difficult to breathe. There was a gnawing
ache in her heart. She asked openly: How do you eat?
Having said this she felt embarrassed. His face turned
blue.
Rowshan averted
his eyes as he replied: My friends feed me. He felt
as if he was choking. Salma’s eyes filled up with
tears.
He might be fed
by friends but how did he drop the ashes from his cigarette?
How did he turn the pages of books, clothe himself?
As she thought of this her heart ached even more. She
remained silent for a long time. Then she asked: Were
you shot on both your arms? - : yes. If the bullets
hit me a few inches further, you would never see me
again. Rowshan laughed as he said this. His bitter laughter
reverberated in that small room and hit Salma’s
ears like a deadly arrow.
She trembled.
Had her husband gone mad? The paroxysm of laughter made
his armless stumps tremble.
On a rain soaked
monsoon night they had met for the first time, in her
home at Tikatuly.
Salma was in
school then. She was just a chit of a girl. The language
movement of 1948 had lost its intensity. Hundreds of
people had been imprisoned. Many others were under arrest.
Rowshan was one
of them. He kept hiding here and there.
One rainy night
rowshan came to their house with Salma’s brother.
Their clothes
were drenched in rain.
Her brother dried
himself and called: Salma, listen.
: Coming! As
she entered her brother’s room, she felt shy on
seeing Rowshan.
Tall and fair,
he had very sharp features. Her brother introduced them:
My friend Rowshan and here is my sister Salma, a student
of class nine. Salma raised her hand to Rowshan in greeting.
Rowshan smiled
and asked: Which school are you in?
: Kamrunnessa.
: He will stay
with us for a month. You have to take care of him! her
brother declared.
Who knew then
that she would have to take care of him throughout her
life?
As she stood
up after her class, these old memories seemed to be
like unreal dreams...
