Run.
Run through the fields of dragonflies. Here long kashfuls are fluttering in the breeze like the heartbeat of a restless child.
Above the vast white meadow of kashful an azure sky stretched from horizon to horizon.
A sun, two birds, and invisible waves of loud commotions in the distance.
Many days flew by through these fields playing hide and seek. Many stolen mangoes and guava were eaten in secret. Many generations of lives dwelled in the sin and innocence of this village.
Now run. Run like you used to before jumping into the bosom of Ichamati River. Run to the cool water that embraces your soul in the utmost affection. Sun doesn’t seem fierce when you do so, the rough ground feels comfortable against your feet.
Stealing Mazid Mia’s soap was always fun. The sweet smell of the soap bar felt nauseating sometimes but it was the experience that mattered.
Jumping into Ichamati was followed by a sweaty game of football with a huge pomelo fruit. Unlike other things, this was not stolen from anyone. They took it from the pomelo tree near the graveyard. It belonged to no one.
Someday they would postpone the sport to take part in a different kind of game. They would get some money out of it as well. For them, this money meant a chance of relishing an unique vibrance. Their routine would be different the days they played this game. After they were done bathing in the river, they would get dressed and go to the bazaar. There, they would buy tickets with that money to watch the theater. They always watched a colorful puppet show called, “Rakkhosher Deshe”.
The ferocious monster chasing the pretty princess. The princess ran around calling for her prince while the monster screamed and thumped loudly. But just before the monster catches the princess, the prince comes and fights off the horrendous beast. After an exciting battle, the prince always wins and marries the princess.
Though they have watched it many times, the thrill never fails to satisfy them.
The game they played to get the money for the show is just as thrilling as “Rakkhosher Deshe.” They all have fun in this because it is no different than playing hide-and-seek or gollachhut.
They take a bag heavy with some goods that they don’t know about and they have to cross the border with it avoiding the guard’s eyes. They would slowly approach the huge fence and tie the bags on their back. At first, it felt really heavy and they would fall. But after a few times, it didn’t bother them anymore.
They would climb over the tall fence with bags full of heavy stuff on their back. They would jump on the other side of the fence and walk slowly along the large barrier that divided the two countries. They walked slowly so no one would suspect them for smuggling. When they are done handing the bags over to a fat man with a thin mustache they would cross the fence to this side and run again.
And they are running now, today faster than ever. Today the thrill is throbbing throughout their body because there are people screaming behind them with loud bangs of gunfire. There is no time to look at others, you just have to run through the empty field of kashful where there is nowhere to hide.
Run as if the monster from “Rakkhosher Deshe” is chasing you. You have to keep running till you reach the Ichamati because the river is your prince.
Run like the living wind. Run like a leaf trapped in a storm.
Run as if you are chasing a falling kite. And before the kite falls, you have to reach a place where your bloody shirt won’t be as scarlet anymore, where Ichamati will absorb all your pain and embrace you again in its eloquent affection.
Abdullah Rayhan is a student of English Literature at Jahangirnagar University.
