She had dreams,
Like an autumn blast
Caged in a white frame,
Until the shredded hopes
In a pacifying twilight
And the dune of moonlight
Kept melting and falling
Splat
Onto her soul
To spill it out
Of its dear home.
And there was a postmortem,
Only to find a big void inside
With the shimmering shadows
Of a Moon blanched night.
The
lake view restaurant was costly. I used to walk past it in my evening or
morning walks and sometimes during the noon under the shades of large beautiful
trees, especially on the weekends. And sometimes I would enter the restaurant
in some special occasions because of the serenity and aroma playing around the
entire atmosphere and the captivating view of the soothing lake with crystal
clear water mirroring the color blasts of the tree line; in the special and
magical effects through the glass window of the restaurant.
During
the pandemic lock down for covid 19, the restaurant incurred a huge loss too
and it was apparent in its look after the year-long closure with hardly any
maintenance and the massive job cut. And it remained closed for months even
after the withdrawn of lockdown for a much needed renovation work, which paved
way to another amazing window to earn some more revenue by introducing an improvised lake view café
on the open space by the lake. It appeared to be more flexible and convenient
for the walkers who happen to pass by the restaurant all around the day, partly
because of the open tranquility and mostly because of the reduced price
comparing to that of the main building.
And
it was the reason why I became a more regular frequenter to the café to spend
some more moments under the shades of nature after the regular workouts. And
the coffee was really good; always freshly brewed from the finest quality of
well roasted beans.
The
man was in his late 80s, and he was looking more aged with his thin, devastated
and delicate health: burdened with the shredded hopes in this stage of his life;
and torn with the burden of struggles for sustenance. In an age-old ragged and
faded shirt, he was quivering with a bundle of jute bags hanging from both his
weakened shoulders. As a street hawker he sells those bags to the reluctant
customers, mainly seeking a satisfaction in winning the bargain: so careful to
let him get away with hardly any profit margin.
‘Can
I have some water, please, just a glass of water?’ He requested in a timid tone
defeated by time.
The
waiters got startled with the sudden and unexpected appearance of such an
unwelcomed guest in the terrace. And a senior among them, himself in an old
age, handed him a bottle of water to shovel him away as fast as possible.
What
we normally do in a situation like this is to ignore in a magnificent silence,
sometimes with a camouflaged gesture of disgust playing around our frowning
eyebrows, thinking how could these sort of guys can trespass into our sweet
moments. Or with a delicate style to slide our sights out of the things
unseeable, in a fragile attempt to sugarcoat our guilty conscience thinking
that he will either survive anyway or will go beyond the necessity of surviving
all the way.
But
apparently, he needed some calories to consume; with contrast to the regular
customers of the café who spend hours to burn their calories and then add some
as part of the refreshments and I was probably one like them, seeking some
pace-less moment of solace in the reckless racing for life. He was quivering in
hunger and reached a point to fell down on earth anytime. And still his burnt
out dignity shuttered his mouth to not ask for some food instead of a glass of
water. But, you can easily get away with it by putting you in the dilemma of
noticing and not noticing; whatever is comfortable for you. And whatever was
comfortable for Philip, the wealthy husband of Rosemary Fell.
The
first thing that strike my head was how we possibly can bring a positive change to the destiny
of these kind of people: burdened with the age and ravished off their rights to
the commonwealth society; the carcass of a circus.
And
then Katherine Mansfield’s short story, ‘A Cup of Tea’ flashed back to my vision.
Answering
to the appalling request for alms enough to buy a cup of tea, Rosemary Fell took
Miss Smith to her plush house in the posh area. The image of the poor, pathetic girl
somehow matched with the hungry old man. The girl apparently in quiver and
shiver for hunger and winter, was asking for enough alms to buy a cup of tea.
Her condition was pathetic enough to drive Rosemary’s mind away off purchasing a painted
ceramic box in a posh antique shop. And she drove her instead to her luxurious
palace as a harbinger of destiny vowing to change the fate of the fretted girl.
She was certain of her heart-felt intention to do good and stood irresolute to
her husband’s diplomatic denial. She fed her well and kept her good vibe intact
as long as her husband tricked her with jealousy and a sense of insecurity by
praising the beauty of the poor girl.
With
the slightest risk of our fortune, we back away from all those well wishes to
change the destiny of people, to show them how good-hearted we really are. We forget about our preaching on how a strong hope can change their life and make them land onto their dreams.
Most of us can’t change the society. But we can at least change a particular moment if we are
yet to master the art of looking away dodging our sleeping senses. I know I
can’t do big; but, it’s not good enough reason to force myself away from doing
the least thing I can do. And as I myself was not in either of the categories
of the doers and the ignorers and as I really didn’t belong to the class who would think of their budgets inside the main building or outside in the
terrace, I asked a young waiter to come close. He knew me well as a recent
addition to café for the love of a good cup of coffee.
I
asked him to get the old man to a vacant corner table, which usually remains
unchosen and unoccupied for a hard angle of the beautiful view. I ordered a set
menu combining fried rice, chicken and vegetables. And of course, the action
was not cordially welcomed by the guy in charge of the café. At least this is
what I can ignore. But the way the hungry old man was grabbing the food served
was something I couldn’t bear.
Leaving
behind the half-finished cup of my favorite coffee, I paid the bill with a tip;
bigger than I can afford happily and far lesser than what the other frequenters
usually take back to their wallet from the changes.
In a gloomy morning of dilemmatic and whimsical winter, we set out, on a sudden unplanned tour, to reach the serene tranquility of Dhaleshwari River at Dhaleshwari Camping & Kayaking, without any prior knowledge to the stunning surprise awaiting us.
Dhaleshwari is a distributary river flowing out of Jamuna to make a solo trip to cover a long journey along 160 kilometers on Tangail, Dhaka and Narayanganj districts until it merges with Shitalakshya and then the mighty Meghna.
Unlike the other rivers flowing inside the heart of Dhaka, Dhaleshwari still holds the natural look of a river with the natural flow, uncontaminated water and soothing view on its both banks, especially in the Keraniganj part, which is where the Dhaleshwari Camping & Kayaking is located at.
As I said earlier, it was entirely an unplanned Friday morning tour. Waking up a little earlier than the usual Fridays, I felt like making an escape plan from the motored life and a river outside the mechanized city was the very first imagery to have struck my mind. And I ran into the unplanned trip.
I have
explored several tourist spots based on the river Buriganga in the heart of
Dhaka, but was utterly disappointed with the odor and the water quality of the
near dead river. In this regard, Dhaleshwari River was a little far from the
heart of the city, and the little distance was enough to avoid the unavoidable
pollution streaming out of an over-burdened city.
I had heard about the Dhaleshwari Camping & Kayaking site from several Facebook posts, especially from a group on a cleaning campaign to free the St. Martin’s Island off the curses of plastic wastages. And Jayed Khan Khaled bhai was the one who carried all those wastages all the way from Teknaf to his camping site on a hired truck to make an eco-friendly barge on the Dhaleshwari River.
Even without the necessary pre-booking for the site under maintenance, Jayed Khan Khaled bhai cordially accepted us as friends, not as clients and arranged a late breakfast along with the mouth-watering lunch with the aroma of a blissful village home and a mind-blowing site-seeing.
We had already made our day, quenching the long-cherished thirst for spending an entire day by the spell of a river, far from the mayhem of maddening crowd. And it was all possible because of the unbelievable congeniality and hospitality of Jayed Hasan Khaled Bhai.
We had been
enjoying the short trip way beyond the expectations. And then it became a very
very special one with the sudden visit of Anisul Haque sir. It was one kind of
a moment to feel really fortunate about. Felt so blessed to have the company of
such a celebrated personality from this close!
The Nature is kind,
Enough to get you
find
The ultimate solace,
Floating within
And hidden behind
The water and the
wind.
It was close enough to
reach the spot in about 40 minutes from the Dhanmondi area of the city, but
still far enough to dodge the deafening chaos into the calm and quiet serenity
on the very lay of the Nature. But, the Dhaleshwari Camping & Kayaking is
targeted for the people in love with the raw nature in an entirely village
setting. If you happen to look for the luxury offered by the traditional
resorts, this might fall into plan ‘B’ for you. But, if you want to dive deeper
into the tranquility of the Nature, want to enjoy the soothing greenery of a
village, the bliss of a serene river and the peace hidden deep down your heart,
this is the perfect kind of place that you can choose for a camping site for a
day long stay or for a night to explore the magic of melting Moon flooding the
flow of Dhaleshwari.
We took an uber ride to
get to the spot and the car took about 35 minutes to drop us at Dhaleshwari Camping &
Kayaking at the expense of 600 BDT. CNGs are also available from Muhammadpur bus
stand at Basila to get to Kalatia Bazar, Keraniganj and from there any
auto-rickshaw can drive you to the camp site on the bank of the river in a few
minutes.
I talk to shadows.
A lot many, from
The passing days;
In new bottles
With newer shades,
New looks
And dazzling glows.
And all my questions
Change back to phonemes
In a big void,
With no place to land
Like a newbie in twitter
With no returning flows.
And I'm a shadow myself
Waking up a new born,
Rising from the deaths
Of the earlier nights
In every single morn;
Putting on well a new day
And the colors of past to adorn.
With the flow of crystal
From the mountain ridge
My soul glides along,
Winging on
A northern breeze.
How deeply I miss
The beauty
And the bliss
Of a southbound trip
By a coral sandy beach.
Along the green
Flowing deep
And the blue, swinging high
In a wayward leap,
There lies a heaven to reach.
Ah!
The magical view
Of
the setting Phoebus.
Soothing
and calm enough to brew
Orpheus
to pen a few lines;
As
the dreamy dune of
Reddening
hues
Fly
with the diving Sun
Over
the golden line of pines.
It
is the cherished time of the day
Sitting
by the spell of the bay
When
the nous flings open
With
the closure of his eyes
And the winging suffocated vision
Get
the unearthed words shine.
1.
After a
week long wait, the dream was going to come true and she was in my boat now
with no one else around. She was a beauty like a majestic piece of painting on
a rare piece of canvas by a hand obsessed in a poetic delusion to create a
masterpiece; one in a billion. I could get so easily lost with the glowing pair
of eyes, spilling out the perfect embodiment of innocence. I was feeling so
thrilled to take her along in a boat ride in the lake in my 1000 acre estate.
No one
else is permitted to row a boat in this part of the lake; my favorite place, so
close to the wilderness. It always gives me a soothing feeling in the serenity
of the deep blue lake with forest lines along both the banks. Of course, there
is a fence to keep the wilderness of the forests well inside the border fixed
for them with all the creatures and beasts live in this darkest part of the
forests. And I used to feel a chilling thrill particularly with the
soul-sucking laughs of hyenas, while floating my boat on the lake under the
shade of a night sky. There is a shallow canal that flows straight into the
forest and sometimes on some very special occasions I used to row my boat past
a little gap in the fence to enter the canal in the twilight. And the feeling
of crossing the borderline into the dark was incomparable. And today was such a
big occasion with a real beauty accompanying me.
She
approached me a week ago and it was not a very unusual thing for a marriageable
heir to such a big estate with the biggest metal factory in the county. The
first thing that struck my mind was the pair of eyes: a warm, curious and gentle look focusing on the farthest horizon behind, through my heart.
I wondered why on earth
I hadn’t ever come across a beauty of such magnitude in all these years. The
mysterious beauty with a mystified smile on her lips was actually in a holiday
trip to her aunt’s home in my county. She was a university graduate with an
interest in old castles and the life style running through the heirs to the
estates for centuries. The common people hardly make any approach of intimacy
with the ruthless rulers of their ancestors, but she, obviously as an outsider,
ignored the long lasting tradition of keeping distance with the lineage of blue
blood.
I got
everything ready on my boat and things were going smoothly as per the plan. And
I never failed in the execution of my plans. I make sure to bring everything
under my sole control. But today was a little different. She didn’t want to get
herself exposed to anyone else rather than me. So, I had to pick her up outside
the palace gate and take her to my secret way to get inside the estate boundary.
There was a time when I had to use that secret path. And it was not far from
the lake.
The secret way was so
closely associated to my strewn childhood days when I used to escape the unbearable
silence inside the palace, without my mother. I can still remember the moments
when we were together; two innocent souls in riches and luxury and in prison
under the iron ruling of my father. And then one day she escaped abandoning me
all alone in this large luxurious green void. All the traces and signs attached
to her staying in the palace had been destroyed a long ago. But, I don’t know
how, an old picture of her remained intact with me as a secret childhood
possession. The image of a young lady, radiating warmth of love from an
enchantingly beautiful face and an innocent pair of eyes, had become my only
companion that I almost hated to look at but couldn’t help it.
I forced myself back to
the boat and to the only companion, while trying to re-imagine the exciting and
mouthwatering plans I made to do with her. And I was on the right course,
rowing the boat slowly towards the music of the jungle; towards my most favorite
place in the entire estate. Riding in an
evening zephyr with the peace and tranquility and the mystifying muse lying
deep down the unison of water and jungle, we were sitting in the bewildering
silence. There was a small gap between us and the gap was filled in with one of
the oldest collections of wine bottle from our seller and lots of fruits and
the well-conceived plan I made for her.
2.
I was familiar with the
Konlabos fruit and a few years ago when I discovered the rarest tree in one of
my solo voyage in the darkest part of the forest, I was over excited with joy.
It was such a great feeling of temporary paralysis that I had learned to enjoy
with the extract of the fruit in an artistic blend with wine. The near death
experience, by lying upright under the open sky with the eyes wide open and the
sense helpless in a brutal failure to connect with the organs of the
unresponsive body, is something way beyond explanation. But, today was a
special occasion and the wine was exclusively for the beautiful girl
accompanying me.
As I got the boat close
to the shallow canal flowing inside the jungle, I started pouring the special
wine in one of the glasses.
‘Sorry, I’ve got an allergy in wine and I know it sounds really awkward, but I don’t drink it,’ she told in an apologetic tone.
But the tone seemed so
familiar to me, a long way back from the past. My mother hated wine. And all on
a sudden I feel an awkward chilling breeze flowing straight into my veins. It
had to be a hallucination. The girl sitting opposite to me started melting away,
radiating a glow; powerful enough to blind my vision and my mind. I felt
thirsty and gulped down the wine from the glass even before a friction of
second when I realized that I was doing something wrong. But, I was late by a
friction of second.
I knew very well what
was going to happen with me. I took the wine meant for the girl who was
supposed to be my seventh victim. I used to feel so excited and thrilled by
throwing the immobile bodies down the shoreline of the shallow canal by the
forest for the feasting of hyenas. From the safest distance after moving out of
the canal, I used to see the ghostly figures with burning eyes; blood-freezing screams
and cackling laughter.
And my body was giving
in fast; not like the moments I enjoyed in my bedroom or the green lawn by the
lake when I took the special wine to enjoy the self-induced paralysis for hours
together. I started shivering with all my strength to turn the boat around, but
I couldn’t hold the grip of the rowing oar. The boat kept moving along the
danger zone and hit the shoreline in the shallow canal and I fall down with my upright
body half submerged and my eyes wide open overlooking the darkening sky in the
twilight.
I know I won’t have to
wait long. The hyenas could smell the living flesh, the last line of the
centuries old inheritance from a long long distance. And soon enough there will
be my permanent release from the castle- full of hidden blood stains and sighs-
in the feasting and laughing of the beasts.
© Atique R.
