একটি দিন/One Day

                                                           একটি দিন

মনে পড়ছে সেই দুপুরবেলাটি। ক্ষণে ক্ষণে বৃষ্টিধারা ক্লান্ত হয়ে আসে, আবার দমকা হাওয়া তাকে মাতিয়ে তোলে।

ঘরে অন্ধকার, কাজে মন যায় না। যন্ত্রটা হাতে নিয়ে বর্ষার গানে মল্লারের সুর লাগালেম।

পাশের ঘর থেকে একবার সে কেবল দুয়ার পর্যন্ত এল। আবার ফিরে গেল। আবার একবার বাইরে এসে দাঁড়াল। তার পরে ধীরে ধীরে ভিতরে এসে বসল। হাতে তার সেলাইয়ের কাজ ছিল, মাথা নিচু করে সেলাই করতে লাগল। তার পরে সেলাই বন্ধ করে জানলার বাইরে ঝাপসা গাছগুলোর দিকে চেয়ে রইল।

বৃষ্টি ধরে এল, আমার গান থামল। সে উঠে চুল বাঁধতে গেল।

এইটুকু ছাড়া আর কিছুই না। বৃষ্টিতে গানেতে অকাজে আঁধারে জড়ানো কেবল সেই একটি দুপুরবেলা।

ইতিহাসে রাজাবাদশার কথা, যুদ্ধবিগ্রহের কাহিনী, সস্তা হয়ে ছড়াছড়ি যায়। কিন্তু একটি দুপুরবেলার ছোটো একটু কথার টুকরো দুর্লভ রত্নের মতো কালের কৌটোর মধ্যে লুকোনো রইল, দুটি লোক তার খবর জানে।

I remember that afternoon. The rain lessened every now and again, until gusts of wind encouraged it back into torrents.

The room grew dark, I could not pay attention to my work.I picked up my instrument and started playing a song about the rain, set to the Mallar raga.

She came from the next room and stood at the door. Then she went back. She returned and stood outside the door; finally, she walked in slowly and sat down. She had some needlework with her which she now concentrated on. Presently, she put down the needlework and gazed at the faint outlines of trees outside the window.

The rain stopped. My music came to an end. She went away to comb her hair.

This is all. Just one afternoon filled with rain, song, idleness and shadows.

In the pages of history, the stories of kings and the wars they fight happen so often, they become commonplace. But our memories of that one afternoon are locked away like a precious gem in the coffers of time, only two people know about that.

One thought on “একটি দিন/One Day

  1. Madam, please post your blogs on Tagore in some widely read e-zine. Please try boloji. You should share them with more people. May I share one more poem of Tagore here? –

    THE LAST SPRING

    Before this day is over
    Let me fulfill my desire
    Together let us go
    Only for once
    And collect the flowers of spring.
    To your garden
    Again and again the spring will come
    I beg of you only this one.

    I forgot so long
    How my time has passed in vain.
    In this evening light
    Suddenly I see in your eyes
    I have no time
    With an anxious mind
    Now like a miser I count
    The remaining days of this spring.

    Don’t have any fear in your mind –
    In your flowering garden
    I shall not spend much time
    Nor shall I look back at you
    When I bid you my last farewell.
    I shall not look into your eyes
    Expecting some tears
    To cherish their memory in my heart
    Pining forever.

    Don’t go away, please listen,
    The sun is yet to set
    For us to beguile some more time
    Still there is time.
    Let this afternoon light
    Coming through the leaves
    Glitter in your glossy hair
    Yet for a while.

    May you laugh loud and sweet
    Without any cause
    In remorseless mirth –
    On the banks of the lake
    May you suddenly startle the squirrel
    And make it alert in fear.
    Whispering past promises into your ears
    I won’t slow down your steps.

    At last, may you fleet away
    Trampling the fallen leaves
    When the birds returning to their nests
    Fill the dying hours
    With their evening songs
    Like the last note of a flute at dusk
    Your shadow will slowly fade far away
    In the evening darkening groves.

    And when the night will become deep
    Please sit at your window.
    Along the way that lies before
    I shall leave at last
    Leaving my all
    We shall not meet ever again
    Please throw your garland of mallika flowers
    You made in the morning, but now pale –
    That will be your touch
    That will be your farewell song.

    Sesh basanta from Purabi.
    (http://www.rabindra-rachanabali.nltr.org/node/12549)

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