Translated from Bangla by Zulfiqar Parvez. Cover image: Painting by Eva Bovenzi, Monument.
Today the crowd in front of Dinajpur Medical is not too large. Abdur Rashid tells his wife, Rokeya Ratna, as he holds her hands tight, “Look, Ratna, how lucky we are. Allah is giving us a child at an auspicious moment. Look, it’s crowd-free in front of the hospital today. Maybe we can get the ticket quickly.”
Worn out from intense pain in her lower abdomen, Rokeya felt irritated by her husband’s words. The pain, from one side of her belly to the other was excruciating, making a mess of it like lightning bolts. Rokeya is not familiar with this kind of intense pain. The tiny kicks of the fetus growing inside the womb worked as a balm for it. The kicks of the tiny fetus reminded her of Sumi Akter’s face. Her heartbeat quickened as she remembered Sumi. It seemed the lives of these two garment workers were bound by an invisible thread. Rokeya recalls the joys and sorrows of working in the garment factory. The petals of the crimson flower from the dead Krishnachura tree above her head magically graze Rokeya’s shoulders and hair. Are Sumi and Rokeya’s lives like the petals of a dead crimson flower? No, Rokeya believes a new dream is going to colour her life in bright vermilion like the crown of the tree. She is going to be a mother. Ah! The moment of becoming a mother is the same for all mothers of the world, rich or poor.
When was the last time she was overwhelmed with human emotion? She is able to think herself equal to her factory supervisor apa or even the lady owner, being a mere former garment factory worker and now wife of a tractor driver. This is the wondrous feat of being a mother! Even before birth, a child transforms all the women of the world – into a lineage called ‘Mother’. Their facial expressions, moments of intense pain, time of childbirth and the dawn of seeing the newborn – these opportunities make them ‘mother’ by giving to all mothers the same experience, dignity and nobility.
Why was Rokeya, an eighth grade dropout, considering so many things? Is she really immersing herself in the impertinent thought of an Anti-Discriminating society for her child even before childbirth? The impertinent thought of making everyone – upper-class or lower class, rich or poor – understand one universal truth, that is, that the tiny kicks in the womb of a mother are actually a message. That is – after birth- every child wants the same healthcare and nutrition. They want a world where newborns don’t find the breasts of their mothers dry because of extreme poverty. They want the mother’s breasts to be as bountiful as the rivers of Bengal for their newborn child. May their newborn child find their mothers’ breasts become as abundant as the rivers of Bengal. So the poor don’t have to hide the sorrow of going to school in tears, without shoes or sandals, wearing torn clothes, while the rich children go to school wearing expensive ones.
She is in Dinajpur while Sumi is in Badda, Dhaka. And yet thoughts of Sumi take house inside her like roots. Today is August 4th. Last year, on this day, she attended Sumi’s wedding ceremony. For many years, she used thread to stitch pockets onto shirts – Rokeya understood that human beings are also tied to one another with similar invisible threads. That’s why Sumi from Jhalkathi got acquainted with Rokeya from Dinajpur. No, she cannot hold herself any longer, she will talk with her as soon as she feels better.
Rashid got the tickets in hand sooner than any other time. A mere truck driver but happiness was visible in his eyes. Such a big hospital! He could take his wife there, is that not an achievement in itself?
Getting the ticket for treatment after such a short wait seemed to be a big achievement. Ah! If the country was like this! You would get a ticket for treatment whenever you are sick without any hassle. He told his wife, “Wife, it seems our child is coming at an auspicious hour”. In reply to her husband, she said in an irritated tone, “Why are you saying it’s an auspicious time? Because the crowd is a little smaller?”
But her reply was interrupted. The sound of gunshots destroyed the silence around them. The sounds of a few remaining rickshaws and taxies on the road that seemed to be fleeting. Rokeya, out of fear, moved forward but stopped due to extreme pain. The sounds of bullets made her anxious. Rokeya felt something inside her as she remembered the scene of Abu Sayed standing with his chest exposed in front of the police’s gun and then falling to the ground. Argh, Sayed too had been in his mother’s womb someday. Did his mother think then that such a future was waiting for her child? What will be the future of the child in Rokeya’s womb in this country? Those who were supposed to be the protectors, if they turn out to be killers, what if the people in government turn out be ravaging her child’s dream? What if the police take her child away from home for wanting a society free of discrimination? What if his corpse too goes missing? What if her heart breaks seeing the photo of a corpse published by Anjuman Mofidul after the burial? Whenever these thoughts came to her mind they numbed her entire body. Her head starts spinning. How stars, like the mustard seeds, move around before her eyes? Rashid said in a scared voice, “What’s happening, Ratna?”
‘‘Ah! My belly is writhing in pain like the pained body of Sayed after being shot. Don’t look at the benefits only – consider the pain for someone else’s son – that will bring misfortune for our child. Try to understand the pain of Sayed’s mother. Giving birth to him must have been painful – while becoming a mother …. Uh ….’’
Why do women suffer so much to give birth – in a society that doesn’t even realize the pain of childbirth? In a country where there is no future for their baby. In a society where Rokeya will be rebuked as a beggar’s child for her own child looking at another child’s good clothes, good food with helpless, covetous eyes.
Two
Even though, these questions made her even number, she carefully placed her hand on her belly. As if her child were curled up there seeing the other child’s solvency. Yes, even before it is born, society has already differentiated her child from those who go to expensive hospitals for their birth. Her heart palpitates even to get a ticket worth only ten takas for her priceless jewel – and even then, the father of the unborn child has to endure so much abuse and humiliation for it. Rokeya, shrinking from pain, placed her hand on her lower abdomen in a comforting gesture. Her vagina has become wet. It felt like a salty stream of blood, which while flowing down in its liquid comfort, brought a salty taste to her throat. Argh, if this moment could be described to any man in the world.
“What’s happening, wife?”
“It hurts a lot, Rashid. Ishh, if someone could cut my stomach and get the pain out. I will not be able to walk anymore” as she said this, Rokeya’s body tensed. The sound of gunfire started to get closer. Leaning Rokeya’s body against a Krishnachura tree, he almost ran towards the hospital corridor hoping to find a stretcher. And just then, a cluster of shrapnel embraced Rashid hitting him in several spots on his body. This kind of embrace made him afraid for his vulnerable wife’s safety before he could even dive into the horror of his own pain.
“Brothers, someone save my wife, please brothers!”
His shouts wake Rokeya up like a lightning bolt coursing through her body. Her heart began to beat loudly. She shouted loudly forgetting her own pain-
‘‘Rashi…d… What happened Rashid! Ah, Allah! Why did they shoot my husband?’’
Having said this, she came running, hugged Rashid. The image of a favorite childhood scene from an afternoon filled with mustard flowers flashed before Rashid’s eyes. But today it’s becoming a nightmare by the second. Rashid became restless hearing Rokeya’s anxious shouts. The mustard flowers started to flash erratically, becoming shrapnel. The distant village of Maligacha of Tetulia fluttered before his eyes. Is the overflowing water of Atrai River bank flowing down his body? Is he floating somewhere? Has the water of the river turned into blood? Who has raped the rivers of Bengal so much so that Rashid has to float in their blood? Is the red color of blood mixing with the yellow of mustard flowers turning into the crimson hue of the setting sun in the late afternoon?
Even after Rashid’s mother, who had lost her husband, chose a second husband because she could not afford to feed her son, Rashid’s stomach would still be grumbling with hunger… How did those terrible pangs of hunger come back today with the sound of gunfire which makes his legs tremble? He learned to drive a tractor to save himself from that hunger. He had so many dreams of making his life fertile while ploughing the crop fields with his tractor. The beginning of those dreams was marrying Rokeya out of love. He discovered the magic to make his life fertile like the fertile crop lands. A child would be crawling around the corners of his house. The sun’s ray shining through the gaps in the tree leaves would play on his soft cheeks. Rokeya would run and scoop up the child in her arms before he would put in his mouth an insect he picked up from the ground. No expensive house or car, no expensive furniture, a thatched hut, a stool bed, plastic rack, glass and jug – these few everyday items were the only things he could live on.
Looking at Rokeya’s face in the magical silver light of the night sky, the darkness of the tree on the roof of the house, its dense green casting an enchanting illusion – Rashid, who had only little schooling, did not know how to put these perceptions into words. All he knows, there is no greater happiness than finding a life partner in a hut, on a piece of land in the world. The day Rokeya learnt she was going to be a mother – Is there a greater pleasure and bliss in this world than that day? Did the people living in the brightly lit, expensive houses in the city find this bliss? It was as if many nameless souls were singing in awe with the sound of the crickets all night long, joining in Rashid’s joy. Rashid knew that there was no other place in the world that could offer such contentment as the fireflies, who joyfully lit their tails and celebrated the festival of life in the forest, among the vines and leaves, on the banks of the river. With these small scenes in front of his hut, Ratna’s face and body floated before his eyes. Ah, why is Ratna’s face breaking and melting in the air? Is Ratna unable to find the strength in her soft voice to scream at him? For a long time, as if drowning in the depths of the bloody Ganges, Ratna had been screaming his name –
R… A…. S…. H… I… D… D…
As if to mock Rokeya’s screams, another powerful blast spread through the air, with the sound of firing, striking one side of Rashid’s stomach. His entire body trembled. He wants to shake off all these nightmares and wake up. But a man who used to leap around like a leopard, climb trees to pick up fruits and dead branches for firewood -whose body was so light to him that it was like a bird’s feather, ready to fly- such a man has to struggle to pull his body off the ground. It was as if a ton of weight were crushing him. Rashid still stood up shaking his head. He tried clearing his blurry vision. Yes, Rokeya’s shape is clear now. But why is there blood around Rokeya, who is holding him? Did she have a miscarriage? Whose blood drenched Rokeya’s shari? Rashid noticed – his wife, forgetting her own labour pain, is pressing strongly on Rashid’s belly. Young students came running to help Rokeya even though no one from the hospital responded to her pleas for help. They carried Rashid into the hospital, protecting him with their bodies. Seeing her blood soaked sari, Rokeya remembered a scene from her childhood – One evening, a gunman from the city came to their village to hunt for birds. She heard the sound of a bird flapping its wings along with the sound of gun shots. Astonished, she looked up, she saw a bird trying to fly from the nearby forest adjacent to the lake but could not find the proper directions. The bird’s orientation was getting messed up. The bird could not fly anymore, and then it fell down floating in the void. How surprising! The bird breathed its last and fell onto Rokeya’s hands when she stretched them out affectionately. Those pitiful and frightened eyes still held the longing to live. Blood spraying from its chest fell on Rokeya’s Salwar Kameez. Why did Allah make the teenage Rokeya perceive every hundredth of a second of the moment a bird’s life’s ending so delicately? Tears started falling from her eyes. Rashid seems like that bird? Is Rokeya not the same? Strangely enough, today another scene floated in front of Rokeya’s eyes: a child’s shot, immobilized body is falling from the sky instead of a bird’s. This scene caused Rokeya to lose the weight of her body. Her own body too started to float or fall down below in the void… Down… Even further down below… Ah, when it is time to dream, weightless Rokeyas keep falling down, plunging deep. Such depth that has no ground. The names of several oceans had to be memorized in class five in the village primary school. Which Ocean is Rokeya’s body drowning in? Or is she dead and her body is floating on the waves of that ocean?
As if her floating body had settled down a bit, someone pulled her floating body from the waves. And again took her somewhere floating in the air? Surely Students! Except for them, Rokeya and Rashid’s plunging life is meaningless to others in this society. Where does the human mind grasp (even at a subconscious or unconscious level) that assumptions and philosophical questions shuttle in and out of their realization? Did the students heart and soul not touch the dreams yet? Is that why they are carrying the divine soul? Is every human being still equal in their eyes? That day when the creator gave to numerous lives permission to be born in the same radiance and dignity – it gave every soul a touch of His own essence. But in the world, as they turned immaterial ‘dreams’ into material ones, they learned the way of crushing under their feet the chant named ‘Competition’. Despite being the same in front of Allah at birth, in this world some become tractor driver Rashid and others Anvir, Salman Fokir Rahman.
Three
When Rokeya regained consciousness she discovered herself on an hospital bed. Saline solution is being pushed through an IV. Forgetting her labour pains she first asked, where is Rashid? Rashid…
She shriveled after asking the question. Pain from her womb made the bits of her nightmare even more horrific. She did not have time to know the whereabouts of Rashid. She wanted to see her shot husband once. But the nurse informed it was not possible. If she has labour pain for more than thirty-two hours, she will have to undergo a Cesarian. The students are trying to collect contributions to arrange some money for the operation. Even a government hospital needs money to get itself into action, including when it is a question of life and death.
Fighting against labor pain, small droplets of death sweat begin to accumulate on Rokeya’s forehead. She had heard it from someone when she was a child, that before a good human dies, sticky beads of sweat form on their forehead. Rokeya placed her hand on her forehead. Her sweat too is sticky. The nurse informed her – she is having labour pain for more than 32 hours. But the doctors are not visiting the hospital regularly. Many are not coming out of their homes fearing gunshots. The number of injured patients is also high. That’s why they are trying to help birth the child without having to perform a Cesarian. But can slender waisted Rokeya handle the pressure? Her heart has also become restless for Rashid to come. “Is he perhaps coming now?” A female student informed Rokeya that:
“He has been administered some temporary treatment in the hospital. His abdomen and hand were bandaged. He wants to come. But only ladies who were going through labour pain or had to deliver are admitted here. That’s why he cannot come. Rokeya, biting her teeth, biting her lip and panting, sweating from within, said:
‘‘Many people came. Their family visited them. Tell me truthfully sister, is he okay?’’
‘‘Yes, he is still okay. The doctor said that he would need an operation. The bullet has to be taken out from the body. We are handling the matter. Quiet down sister.’’
Ah, what a cruel time this is! Rokeya’s Cesarian is becoming urgent. Rashid also needs to undergo an operation. Bullets have to be taken out of the body of one of them. What a nightmare! A human child has to be taken out from inside the body of the other. What a dream! Or is that also a nightmare? Will the future for her be less painful than a bullet-riddled body?
‘‘There is no time. You two, please leave,’’ the nurse also said to the two college going girls. ‘‘He has to be taken to the operation theatre now. The doctor will enter the operation theatre soon.’’
A student told his classmates, ‘‘The doctor said after seeing the X-ray report – Rashid bhai needs an immediate operation for three bullets riddled spots. Infection is spreading. But…’’ The student named Sabiha asked, ‘‘but what?’’
‘‘The hospital does not have a system to admit patients without National Identity card. He does not have NID card. ’’Hearing this, Sayma roared, ‘‘What rubbish! Is an ID card more important than someone’s life? Isn’t this a mockery in an Independent country?’’
Sadik said, ‘‘Actually we tried to convey to them that Rashid is a normal citizen. He was shot while he was coming to get his pregnant wife treated at the hospital. They do not believe us, taking him for a member of Anti-Discrimination Student Movement. And apart from that…’’
Sabiha said, ‘‘What else?’’
‘‘There is already a problem with the NID, a lot of money is needed for his operation – the hospital is saying these things.’’
A friend named Anowar says to all of them, ‘‘Arguing with the doctor with a patient in such serious condition will do more harm than good. Anyway, maybe we can get help from reporters.’’
9th August 2024. The operation on Rashid was completed. Some bullets were taken out. Next day, 10th August, a daughter was born filling Rokeya’s lap. The two female students, along with three other friends, informed Rashid who was lying on the hospital floor with bandages covering him, “You are blessed with a daughter. Another happy news is, Rokeya delivered the child without needing an operation when she was taken to the operation theatre. Both Mother and child are fine”. Rashid’s eyes welled up with tears of emotion upon hearing this news.
Four
The arrival of the new baby brought more anxiety than happiness. Rashid’s physical condition was not good. If this situation persists, they will not have enough rice or lentil at home a few days later. Then? Rashid is becoming weaker after coming back from the hospital. He does not have enough strength to move. Rokeya, struggling with her motherly chores, sees darkness in her eyes. She went to the Upazila Health Complex, taking her husband and her one-day-old baby. The Upazila Health authorities were hesitant to admit Rashid, who was motionless on the van. Finally, Rokeya grabbed the hand of a doctor who was hurrying away and asked him to take a look at her husband. The cries of a mother holding a newborn baby in her arms seem to have touched him. As a result, they could see a doctor this time. Afternoon turned into evening. Though the baby was breastfed several times, pangs of hunger inside Rokeya were burning like fire. A breastfeeding mother’s body seems to look for food desperately. However, Rokeya does not get enough food. The same doctor came in front of Rokeya and said,
“Your husband’s operation was not properly done. He is having internal bleeding. He needs another operation immediately. This hospital does not have the needed facilities. Still, if you want, you can have the operation done here.”
‘‘I am a poor person, Sir. How much would it take?’’
‘‘Even though the operation is free, it will cost around thirty to forty thousand taka for other ancillary expenses. Or else it is not possible. Come back after raising the money.’’
Her head started to spin after hearing about how much money was needed. What could she do now? She could not think of any way. On their way back home, she was sitting beside Rashid, who was lying on the van like a dead person. Every familiar person in her life – Rokeya is thinking about everyone. Who can lend her fifty thousand taka now? The more people she remembered, the more she couldn’t see any way out and she became isolated in her pain. Ah, she has not earned the qualifications to borrow even a little money in this world, or maybe it is because she was born in a place where it is not possible for a woman to earn such qualification and trust that many Rokeyas are ultimately forced to make the difficult decision of selling their bodies. The van approached their home then. In that instant she remembered two people at the same time. One was her friend from her days working in the garment factory, another was a woman who was charmed by her child, wandered around and kept on telling her, ‘‘What a beautiful child!” But then stops and says something else.
‘‘What is the future of this beautiful child with your husband in such conditions?’’ How surprising! This woman took Rokeya’s mobile number too. Upon returning home, she breastfed her child and then put her to sleep. She then borrowed salt, lentils and vegetables from the neighbors. Bulbul’s mom gave Rokeya milk, sugar, two chickens and some other things and said,
‘‘You were there for me when I was bedridden with sickness. Today you are in crisis – I know. Don’t be ashamed, whenever you need something – tell me. And, do tell, it seems you met Zulfia at the hospital.’’
‘‘Zulfia?’’
‘‘Oh, you would not have recognized her. Don’t worry, let it be. You should cook first and eat well. Feed Rashid too. We will see him later.’’ Rokeya finished all her chores quickly. She lifted Rashid’s head from his half lying position and fed him a mouthful. Then, after taking a bath and having her meal, she cradled the baby in her arms, fed her milk, and put her to sleep. Leaning on the threshold of her house, she stared for a long time at the dense darkness descending on the bamboo forest. Then she took out the phone that she bought for eighteen hundred takas a few years back, and dialed Sumi’s number. Sumi picked up the call quickly,
‘‘Ratna, Ratna, tell me, are you Ratna, right? Rokeya became afraid hearing Sumi’s voice. It seemed she was speaking with an unnatural girl.
‘‘Yes. How are you Sumi?’’
For a long time, for ages, no sound came out from Sumi’s throat. At last Sumi informed her friend that she is not well. Her cold and defeated voice frustrates Rokeya,
‘‘I called you for an important need. Selim bhai has a good job. Assistant merchandizer of a garment factory. You know Sumi, my husband is really sick because of gunshot from the police. I need some money for his treatment… Who should I ask, from whom should I borrow… At last I called you…’’
Hearing this, Sumi started crying loudly, ‘‘What are you telling me Ratna? What sad news am I hearing? Both of us are ill-fated. Both of our husbands are…’’
Her throat choked. Sumi, who is from a poor family, is indeed going insane after losing her only treasure, her loving husband. This was the first time, after a long time, that she told anyone her life’s story. In the pitch black of the night, the gloom that descended upon the two women made the darkness of nature feel deeper. Rokeya understood that this darkness is swallowing the cries of Bengali mothers and rushing towards some infinite space carrying this infinite world. Sumi said that her husband was shot around Badda, Rampura area on 18th July. Shrapnel bullets riddled his body and head with holes. After 13 days in the ICU, on 1st August, he left this world and their affection. On their first marriage anniversary, a memorial was arranged in Selim’s memory. Sumi said in a gloomy voice,
‘‘You know Ratna, last month I was very sick. He took me to see a doctor on July 4th. And I fainted after his. I fell ill. I had to be taken to hospital too. The doctor informed me on 5th August that I was four months pregnant. He left without seeing his child. My in-laws were also dependent on his income. My father-in-law’s hands and feet swell up if he sits for a while… What will I do with this child of mine? Without a husband, without the assurance of food, the child will have to suffer the pains of hell in this world. Your husband is alive – do whatever is possible to save him!’’
Five
At that moment, Rashid and the child are in deep sleep. Rokeya started walking in the dark. Her destination is Bulbul’s mother’s house. But everyone in the village is asleep at that time. It is a quite night. She went to the back of the house in front of the window of the room where Bulbul’s mother sleeps. Upon hearing the knock on the closed window, Bulbul’s mother lit up the lamp. Peeking through, she saw Rokeya and asked,
‘‘Do you want to say something?’’
‘‘Yes, Aunty.’’
‘‘Come. I will open the door. Let’s talk sitting in the outer room.’’
They sat face to face in the outer room. There is often no electricity in villages. Bulbul’s mother brought a lit candlestick. The deep anxiety in Rokeya’s eyes and face seemed to burn even more brightly than the glow emanating from her youthful sunburnt skin in the light of that fire. Bulbul’s mother feels pity thinking how such a young girl fell into life’s struggle!
‘‘I understand, everything. You are not able to sleep thinking how you will manage if something happens to Rashid.’’
‘‘Yes, Aunty. What will I do now? Why did you mention the woman named Zulfia? Who is she?’’
‘‘What do you think? Zulfia is a name for your ‘hope’.’’
‘‘What do you mean?’’
‘‘Listen, my elder daughter is married into a big family in the city. By the grace of Allah, they do not have a lack of money. They have only one need.’’
‘‘Housemaid? I want to work for them, but they have to give some money beforehand.’’
‘‘Ah silly, there is no shortage of housemaids in the city, Not that. And if you go to work in the city how will Rashid manage alone after driving his tractor all day?’’
‘‘Yes, that’s also true.’’
‘‘It is easy to conceive but nowadays the cost is unbearable. Raising a child and raising an elephant is the same now.’’
Rokeya’s heartbeat sped up after hearing this. It was like that day when she trembled like a doe after hearing the gunshots, today too she trembled from deep within. Her hair follicles prickled. What did Bulbul’s mother mean to say? Bulbul’s mother let go of any hesitation and said,
‘‘Zulfia lives at my daughter’s place. She looks after the house with cooking. When you were in the hospital, I said to her – to go and see the child. You yourself are a child, how will you handle the hardship of raising another child! In the meantime, Rashid’s condition is like this. My daughter wants a daughter very much…’’
All her passion gets stuck in her throat. The memories and hardships of the past few days seem to be staring at Rokeya through narrowed eyes. The sticky sweat on her forehead collected in the battle with the messenger of death! Is Bulbul’s mother eyeing her child whom she birthed after 32 hours of death, the baby torn from her umbilical cord? She felt like she was about to vomit the pieces of chicken that her neighbor had given her. Beads of sweat started forming on her forehead. Rokeya placed a few fingers on her forehead to check – found it was sticky. She burst into tears this time. Rokeya fell onto Bulbul’s mother’s lap. Bulbul’s mother softly stroked Rokeya’s head. She gave Rokeya time to calm down and then said in a charming voice,
‘‘You gave birth, that’s a good thing. But, what will you do after killing both the child and its father, tell me?’’ Rokeya, who had been quiet, raised her head. A scene floated in front her eyes:
Her daughter is getting ready for school wearing a clean beautiful school dress. There is a beautiful cartoon drawn on her school bag. The braids on her head were neatly tied. She is wearing white socks with black sneakers, like a princess that came down from heaven. She does not need to know, that a poor woman named Rokeya, an unfortunate girl is her mother. Rokeya will spend the rest of her life watching her daughter’s beautiful life from afar. Bulbul’s mother is saying,
‘‘Give your daughter to my daughter. Let her adopt the newborn child. You will get fifty thousand takas. Get treatment for Rashid and get him back on his feet. Whenever necessary, I will help with what you need.’’
While listening to Bulbul’s mother’s cruel words, Sumi’s words also kept playing in Rokeya’s head, “What will I do with my child now? There is no time left for abortion! Without a husband, without the assurance of food, the child will have to suffer the pains of hell in this world. Your husband is alive, do whatever it takes to save him.”
Six
After returning home from the hospital, Rashid asked Rokeya,
‘‘I didn’t see my daughter properly after her birth. Bring her to me, Ratna. Let me take a good look at her. My heart is bursting to see my daughter…’’
Rokeya stood still. Wiped her eyes with the hem of her sari repeatedly. Then an unearthly smile appeared on her face. Seeing that smile, Rashid felt as though he was seeing a dead body with an eternal, yet terrifying, smile on its face. Rokeya seemed unnatural to him.
Nowadays, Rokeya hears the sound of walking whenever she stands still. A child, with a school bag over her shoulders and the clattering sound of her sneakers rushing towards a Coaster bus waiting on the side of the road. Moving forward… its shadow getting longer and longer…
Getting far away from Rokeya; little by little…
The End.
Kazi Rafi a post graduate in English literature is a prominent fiction and dexterous short story writer in Bangladesh (B-1975). He has eleven novels and six volumes of stories to his credit.
His first novel Blurred Dream of Sassandra was awarded with HSBC-Kali O Kolom Award-2010 which is one of the most prestigious awards in Bangladesh and Bangla literature. He received three more awards including ‘Nirnay Gold Medal-2013’ for the outstanding performance in the era of Novel and Short Stories.
Zulfiqar Parvez is a teacher by profession and a poet by passion. He graduated with an M.A in English from Rajshahi University and is currently working as a Vice Principal at an English Medium School in Dhaka. He has also penned over 118 sonnets in English and many more poems of other genres.
