ড.যশোদা জীবন দেবনাথ এর লেখা-The Story of My Life
- সর্বশেষ আপডেট মঙ্গলবার, ৫ নভেম্বর, ২০২৪
- ১৪ বার দেখা হয়েছে
The Story of My Life
Part 1
Year 1987. I still can remember the day. It was a Tuesday. The sky was cloudy, as was my heart. It was drizzling outside, thunder was rumbling from time to time. It seemed to me that all the clouds of the universe have gathered in the sky over our home. Our home was a tiny hut, consisting only one room, made of straw with a cloven thatching. Poverty was crawling on the floor, starvation was grinning every corner. That grin was growing larger and we were becoming lesser. Becoming lesser to the world, even lesser to ourselves. The famous line from Sukanta Bhattachariya, “Khudhar Razze Prithibi Goddomoy.” (The world is poetic in the reign of hunger) Our life was the living explanation of this verse. Cruelty of this world was devouring me. Thick cloud covered the sky, darkness swallowed every quarter. Poverty is a darkness too, isn’t it?
Poverty was an eternal feature of our family. That day, not even a handful of food was there to eat. Our parents reached to an old age by then. As the oldest son of the family, my disquiet was the highest. I have some liability for the family, but I do nothing so that I can lighten the burden of my parents. On that Tuesday, we were almost without food for last three days. The first day was managed with chapatti of corn-flour, second was passed with wheat-flour and nothing left for the third day. It was raining relentlessly and it seem to us that hunger was spilling ceaselessly with the raindrop from the sky.
Penury and kinship have an inverse relationship. As the penury intensifies, the kinship-tie loosens. In such situation, one attains the awareness that she/he is the closest kin of herself/himself. It was our turn to attain that awareness. Let alone helping us with any money or food, none of our kin ever came to ask how we were doing. Poverty and starvation make me perceive the truth that the other name of living is fighting. Fighting for relishing life, struggling for survival. That’s how started my wrestling with life.
As mentioned earlier, Our home was a tiny hut, consisting only one room, made of straw with a cloven thatching. Behind the room, there were some coconut trees. I couldn’t bear the starvation. Seeing no other way, I started to climb up the trees one by one ignoring the rain to collect some coconuts. The trees were wet and slippery. While climbing down the last tree, my grip slipped and slid down to the ground abrading my front on the rugged trunk of the tree. I was bare-top. My chest was wounded badly from the abrasion of rugged trunk. In no time, fresh blood covered the wounds and the raindrops started to pierce them. I gave no heed because burning stomach defied the burnings of wounds. I was not used to climbing trees, but situation obliged me to do so. I had many mouths to feed and all other doors were closed. So, I did what I had to. I had to win the fight against this grinning hunger.Lest someone in the room see my bleeding wounds, I covered them with a Gamcha and slipped outside furtively. Taking the coconuts on my head, I started for Kanaipur Hat (a local market nearby). Thus started my journey forward. It was drizzling still. I was on my foot with the coconuts on my head. Thunder was rumbling in regular intervals, everyone could hear the sound and feel the vibration underneath. But the thunder-storm that was disarraying me from the inside, nobody will ever know. I sold the coconuts as fast as I could. I sold them quite cheaply. With that small amount of money, I managed to buy some rice, lentil and two small Hilsha fishes (small ones, the ones that we call Jatka), and rushed home back.As soon as I reached, it started raining heavily again. While raining, water used to ooze through the torn roof into our only room. To stop the rain-water, father used to cover the torn part of the roof with banana-leaf. That day banana-leaf also failed to manage the water-flow. Our Chula (stove, made of mud) was on that torn-side of the room. As water was dripping from the roof, it was impossible for my mother to start cooking. So, we started to wait for the rain to stop. Our faces were shining with the thought that, in no time, the rain will stop and mother would start cooking, we’ll get something to eat finally. In our eyes, there was solace of joy. In our hearts, there was flood of invisible tears. After an eternity, the rain stopped. Mother cooked as swiftly as she could, served the food with a bright smile on her face and we sat together for our long-awaited dinner.
Starvation of three days in a raw. The food smelled divine. And the taste! Oh, I can’t describe! I can only say that it felt as if God had sent the meal Himself. I have never experienced the taste of that meal ever since.
Still now, whenever it rains, I miss that meal, its taste, its joy. Nowadays large Hilsha fishes are cooked at my kitchen in such rainy days, served in my lavishing dining room. But my heart aches, my eye wets. I miss that taste. I still look it in my inner-self. Raindrops and cloudy sky, like very old friends, remind me of my passed-days. On that day, I started to know myself, to perceive my potentials and to learn my limits. Poverty was my first-foe. Starvation was my first teacher. The story of my life is incomplete without them.
The Story of My Life
Part 2
Mother asked, “It’s already evening, aren’t you going to read?” I replied, “Going, mother!” Lighting a Kerosene-lamp, I started to read. Final exam was knocking on the door. I was reading an explanation of- Every cloud has a silver lining. The phrase felt very close to my heart, as if the phrase is for me. Not only the final exam, my life itself is an exam. An exam to outgrow my own self. It felt like- I was not reading the explanation of a phrase, I was reading the explanation of myself. I was apprehending my own life. The night was getting darker, crickets were chirping outside relentlessly. With it, solemn hoot of an owl came to my ear. All these seemed to me to be an ill omen. Known-fright was lurking deep inside- everything is over! Grinding the jaw, I asked myself- is there any silver lining in my cloud? The wounds from the coconut tree was healing very slowly. The pain had spread the whole body. I was feeling feverish. There was a duel going on inside me. I was shattering outside but determined inside. I cannot lose this fight, I have to win, I have to turn around. I persuade myself, “these wounds are not my weakness, they are my strength. I can do it. I can win.” Open book was in front, but I was somewhere else. I was thinking about life. I was worried that my SSC exams are coming closer but I do not have the money to fill up the form. I could think of none who can help me with the money needed to fill up the form. Helplessness was consuming me and my thoughts. The night was getting deeper, kerosene in the tiny lamp was running out. Blowing the tiny fire on the top of my tiny lamp, I went to bed. I was lying on my bed, looking sightlessly at the dark ceiling, thinking about my ambiguities. I was born in a remote village where modernity was a distant dream. Technologies of modern-world never found us. Nobody ever heard of civic amenities or citizen facilities. Miry-muddy paths were our companion of daily life. I borrowed the money for my form fill-up from several people in my neighborhood. While borrowing I promised them to pay their money back after the exam. My SSC exam center was in Madhukhali, a distant town from our village. If I want to sit for the exam, I have to manage an accommodation there. We had no relative near Madhukhali. We had no extra money in-hand so that I can rent an accommodation during the exam. I could find no other way. All doors seemed to be closed. Many boys were going to Dhaka from our village in search of work. Most of them are of my age. I heard that some of them managed a modest work in Jewelry-shop. I knew some of them. I needed a work too, so I went to them, asking for any work, “Brother, if you can manage any work for me, it will be a great help.” Every time I went to them, they promised to try for me. But no help ever came. They even started to avoid me. With time, I came to realize that no help is going to come. Whatever I have to do, I have to do it myself. And managing an income source was necessary because I promised to pay the money back that I had borrowed for my form fill up. Finally I decided to visit Madhukhali before the exam. Those were really bad days. I am very grateful to those bad days. They taught me many thing. In those days, I learnt that God only helps them who help themselves. I came to the realization that I myself am my only best friend.
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