Refugee

Refugee
- Asim Saha
Translated by Samiran Kumar Saha

FOREWORD


Scenerio 1
I was a student of class v then. Perhaps it was 1964. We had a charity football match with our neighbours. In that match one of our friends, son of the second officer of the local thana was wounded by Dilip, my cousin, inadvertently. In the evening Dilip and his father was taken into custody. Both of them were tortured brutally by the second officer of the thana, and after passing one month in the dungeon without any visible reason, they came out free. After one month they left home bag and baggage and took refuge in Agartala.
Scenerio 2
It was 1969. I was preparing myself for the ensuing SSC exam. In one evening I was coming home with my friends. Suddenly I was kidnapped by two friends(!) of mine, of course, without any obvious reason. Instantaneously, however, I was rescued by my friend Ali Hossain. Possibly the kidnapping took place to threat my father so that he leaves the School ( He was the Asstt. Headmaster) and opportunists can take over the authority of the School, and run it at their choice. I and my father left the School and we took refuge in Chandpur.
Scenario 3
It was 1978. I was working as an internee in the surgical ward. Following Eid vacation I left station to see my ailing mother. After some days I returned to my working place and heard to my utter surprise that, I was terminated from the service. Later, I came to know that some of my friends informed the Deputy Superintendant of the hospital that I left for India forever, and DS without verifying the news communicated the news to the Directorate, who, instantaneously, dismissed me from service.

Scenerio 4

It was 1988. I was working as consultant in Lalmonirhat then. In one fine morning I was busking in the sun in front of the hospital. One police officer appeared before me with his son for consultation.I requested him to purchase an outdoor ticket. He did not purchase it and left hospital without consultation. Later he threatened me by saying that he will lodge a case against me stating that I am engaged in Hundi business.
Scenario 5
1994. I was working as consultant, Medicine in Noakhali General Hospital. In one evening someone came to me with an appeal to attend a house call. I refused the call. On the next day , the patient, a ward commissioner of Noakhali Municipality bullied me and threatened me with his revolver and declared in public that he will see me, a half - Indian national, someday.
Scenario 6
2002, Bogra. I was gossiping in the tea room of Shaheed Ziaur Rahman Medical College. Then one Cardiologist came to submit his joining letter. He was introduced to me by the president of the local BMA, who, in reply to the query of the colleague declared that I was from Kolkata. Stunned, I left the place.

These are some of the cute scenarios of very peaceful coexistences of two communities in this country. Although they are not painful physically, they are painful and shocking both mentally and socially, sometimes it becomes intolerable , and failed tolerance stimulates one to take refuge to some other country.
Although it is undenying that the social functionality of any religion outnumbers its dysfunctionality by many folds, nonetheless, the dysfunctionality of a religion in the society is not to be undermined. Religion unites people. Common faith, value judgement, and sentiments in one hand, and common rituals and worship done collectively in many cases in the other, are significant factors in unifying beliefs of a faith. Religion affects an individual's understanding of who they are and what they are. In fulfilling its identity function religion may foster certain loyalties which in turn may actually impede the development of new faith and the recognition of those already exists. Religion provides an element of identity promoting intergroup conflicts by dividing people along religious lines. It can build deeply into the personality structures of people following a religion, and thus a strong animosity towards others' religion, in turn, making the former oppose the latter tooth and nail in many cases. Religious identification may prove to be divisive to societies. Religion has often made people to become bigots and fanatics and those in turn have led to persecution, inhuman treatment, and misery of a religious community by another. Many battles and wars have been fought in the name of religion. Rape, arson, coercion etc. etc. that followed 2001 election in some villages of this country testify it as hard truth. The historical overview of the relationship between the religious communities in Bangladesh until the creation of Pakistan became increasingly constrained with violent outbursts. Thereafter, violence still remained a manifestation of the relationship among the religious communities somewhat with a changed nature. The Muslims being the majority became the violator and the minorities were violated in most cases, if not all. After the independence of Bangladesh it was believed that violence would subside, but to everybody's dismay, violence on the minorities not only increased, but the minorities were facing increased denial of such human rights very much needed for survival. Increase in the incidence of violence along with regular surge during elections gave an impression that the violence against minority was in the process of being institutionalized in Bangladesh along with a justification that violence was just another way of getting things done. Such a justification is an evil equally as violence itself.
In a book named 'God is not great' Christopher Hitchens wrote,' Religion is violent, irrational, intolerant, allied to racism, tribalism and bigotry, invested in ignorance and hostile to free inquiry, contemptuous of woman and coercive to children.
Earlier Karl Marx declared religion as 'opium of the people, the heart of the heartless world.' So considering the above mentioned facts and also the role of religion in these dirty social phenomena the relationship between the communities should be engineered as such that all religious minority would be able to live in harmony, with equal rights, and security in this country. In order to have such a healthy society the present state of problematic communal relationship and the causes behind it must be explored ostentatiously and proper measures must be carried out to establish a tolerant, understanding, compassionate, empathetic pleuralistic society like ours. Otherwise it will be difficult for the minorities to get along with the majority and repetition of violence will take place relentlessly.


I met poet Asim Saha just as casually as one doctor sees his patient. He was very sick and was treated with extra care and compassion. During this period, say, six months, a good doctor patient relationship was established between us, which surpassed its limit and was later turned into a relationship between a poet and his admirer. After much persuasion, he brought me two of his books, ‘Refugee’ and ‘Festival of Death in darkness’, both of which I finished in one breath and, instantaneously, picturesque details of my refugee life in Amtali camp in Agartala made its appearance in front of my eyes. I was moved by the contents and expressions of the molested souls, and immediately decided to translate these poems into English. For I believe in that great saying of Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe who stated that Science and Art belong to the whole world and before them vanish the barrier of nationality. It’s true that human beings are different in time and space, its development is not steep, we observe their ups and downs, their status of immobility; But in spite of all these rise and fall, the goal of humanity is transgression of its boundary, and to achieve this goal march forward towards unification of conscience. In this context my intention was to spread the anguish, affliction and mortal sufferings of the refugees among the people of the world, so that they may come up and protest such inhuman activities so that nobody in the world is turned into a refugee further.
At first sight someone may have the idea that poet Asim Saha has written about the inner feelings of Hindus only, but this is not true. He expressed the feelings of the distressed refugees, who may be a Hindu in Bangladesh, may be a Muslim in India, may be a Palestinian in Israel.
The characters of ‘Refugee’ for example, Madan, Dada Bhai, SadhuSa, Rokeya, Khanadi, Saraswati, Shila Saha, Nirupoma are no legendary characters but our brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers. While you rush through the poems goose bumps appear in your skin, a cold tremor blows through your body and you loose yourself in oblivion, and continue to think : are these real incidents or fiction? Thus the poet thrusts a sharp dagger in the conscience of mortal beings.
I think Asim Saha still does not believe in Jinnah’s two nation theory. In his poem ‘1947’ he says, ‘Dividing your heart into two pieces by one thrust of a sharp dagge,r
Maroon Love, like water melon screams from inside the blood stained subcontinent.’ What a marvellous statement in just two lines.
In ‘Agostyagoing’ how he describes the countenances of refugee men and women:
‘For thousands of years thousands of doleful shadows walk very cautiously
As if collective caravans of gypsies are moving along the frontiers of horizon touching skyline.
There in the eyes of children are terror stricken look, young males and females are speechless
Elderly men and women are motionless like stone.
In the ill defined grayish path, in uncertain darkness is this Agostyagoing
Or in fulfillment of paternal command their perpetual goal is Kamyak forest?
Or from the frontiers of Lumbini, crossing Shailagiri
At the call of eternity their beatitude is
Only love tryst to light?

Also he showed us how religion is used as a weapon of massacre: ‘there is chanting of hymns from sacred books, cavalry men are dancing with cloaks in their bodies, turbans over their heads, medieval swords in hands.’
In this night goblets will be filled in by the blood of the heathens.”

Asim Saha’s love for the distressed refugees is extremely pure and high. Perhaps all love starts with respect and ends in devotion. Poet Asim Saha seeks forgiveness from Purnima, from the million of Purnimas whose lives have not matched their expectations, rather who became the victims of rape, arson, abduction in this free, sovereign country.



WOMAN
In this night of full moon expose your garden unwaveringly
From the boundless sky to the frontiers of the earth
Unveil a world like Deep Ocean.
Here comes butterfly reeling, bees quench their own thirst
Burning in your fire ants forget their own glory
Give me shelter over there, construct me
O evergreen creeper - hot source of enkindled passion!
This sky deserves you
This river flows to the sea confluence
In the noisy water of fountain groans afflicted Setar
In emptiness a steady bird like time obeys captivity
Frenzied heart wants satisfaction in lightning-insinuation.
I know a heart as wide as an ocean, vision like star
Nape of the neck like fire spark, waist like cruel snake
You are the hurled arrow of Arjuna -
In your hand dream translates into ashes, word becomes poetry
In your one hand flower-arrow, in the other golden crown of star
You are the persuaded Egyptian virgin of Akolobya's prayer.
You oscillate stingy ascetics engrossed in meditation
By doleful vision
You are inauspicious harlot, a prostitute, imperishable idol.
You were in concealment, alone in the Eden garden
When angels chanting hymns prostrated before your feet
When in imagination adolescent boy gets satisfaction in coition with you
Then in between clouds your pinnacles like glowing sun
Suddenly raise glowing candles.
In its heat all of your love oozes out drop by drop
Great darkness shivers below wounded light.
You start oscillating with doleful eyes.
Then butterfly comes to your breast flying
In the navel thousand bees hold festival of coition
Sense-organs deafen,
Love exhausted bees return to their own nests;
You lie alone stunned, doleful, wounded, barren.
Then my chest sinks in thick fog, tearful two eyes
Self-engrossed Akolobya collects you
Illuminates you
Fills in supplication fog-cleaving one dawn sky.
Ravaged, your breasts again rise and get back lost youth
In mighty vigour of the sun desire stricken body
Becomes in this life my solo adoration.

ONLY DESERVED MAN
From demolished breasts like ancient wreckage and darkness of vagina
In sloth steps an exhausted stalwart is coming down
He is gradually drowning like fresh taste of Chitoi pie
Sunk in the juice of date palm
Drowning ...
Drowning ...
In his lips, in his body, in his whole organ
And in his manliness of insolent first revolution
He is feeling an indistinct world -
An ashen gray world of Ashoka.
Now he is exhausted
In a frenzied greed to win the kingdom
Undressing the robe of cavalry king
Where he is standing now
There from the slippery thigh of moon light
Overwhelmed air is rushing out
Like the intense neck of Ziraff awakes stunned universe,
With boundless surprise
Soundless time is walking over thin string.
In this night young stalwart’s body is floating in the water of moonlight.
From demolished breasts like ancient wreckage and darkness of vagina
He is gradually coming down floating on the saline water of the ocean.
In this unbounded rippling oceanic waves
How far he will drift -
No one knows but time, inauspicious hour, endless destiny of waves
What expected this improvident stalwart -
In lieu of ancient breast and vagina, some other seasonal breast?
Untouched vagina like sprouting bud?
Is that his fault?
Then morning that comes in lieu of the menstruating night
Furious Vaishakh that comes in lieu of dry Chaitra
Smudging wailing of shaded leaves fresh tender leaves that grow in trees
Or at the disintegrated call of time funeral pyre of carnal desire when gets enraged
How will you console it?
River rendered emaciated by the scorching heat of summer during high tide inundating both banks when becomes violent
Is that then something less than shivering manliness of carnal desire?
O ancient breast, used vagina of the century
Ye groan in response to the prayer of manliness
Ye surrender to this great thirst
Leaving grayish world of Ashoka
Cast glance to hurled arrow of Arjuna
Unveil all of your corpus once for all
In the anguish of spark this is your last ordeal.
There is no solution except victory and defeat
There is no conclusion except victory and defeat
O romping and mischievous young man
Running towards bumptious breast and vagina
If your ejected semen like spearhead
Can strike that century old vagina
Then you will be the god of love
Abiogenetic only worth praying man of this earth.

POEM OF NIGHT
This night is like insolent Negro woman
Billowing oscillation of her hip is like
Romping and mischievous waves
Drifting me through dark skies.
In the dazzling light of lightning
Like an indistinct apparition
I see wailing of the soul of a ravaged city,
I hear the doleful lamentations of a helpless street;
Groaning of torn asunder dying electric wires.
Piercing uterus of darkness in the interval of just born light
Like a mysterious python is coming out tenderly
Excessively soft body of a newborn.
In the concrete roof, in new leaves and floating dreaded shanks of street
Silvery mercury of rain jumping like nipple is
Suddenly disappearing towards ocean.
Covered by the stimulated loin of Negro woman
This perplexed manliness
Manifested in the pores of corpus
This slippery ebullience of well-nourished vagina is
Pulling me again towards a dark tunnel.
Now smudged in the body of this night,
Intimate covering of moist dress
In artificial light’s whorling dazzle
Glittering dotted drops of drizzle is
Building a nexus of condensed mystery inside the chest
I continue to see this compassion of a
Desolate companionless last poetry of the world
Indifferent at the icy stupefaction of ice age
This fragile skeleton of primordial man!
In this night I am chilling the whole body of a woman by kissing
Dipping nose in the misty fountain of hair, inhaling oceanic fragrance
Landing an ill defined ship in the port of a frenzied body
At last exhausted, tired set anchor and slept in the Mediterranean Sea.
O night, in your dark forest’s magnanimously huge wilderness
Like silent movement of air in between leaves
Take me with terrible speed
Allow me to drink clusters of prairie’s Madeira.

When I engage myself in the nipples of night
Place myself in passionate well-developed loin
Then in strong heat of lips
In each organ unveils another
Condensed passionate bluishness.
I build you like Venus
You also illuminate me.
In this night both of us float in darkness like Rauda's mural
As if stuns an exalted poet’s manliness
Just before ejaculation.

SIDDHARTHA
Time is moving faster than air beyond the frontiers of sky;
In a decorated flower
Bewitched and perplexed I am sitting
Unctuous butterfly

Just there a bit further within my visual field are ravaged pinnacles of temple
This house of religion came out from the dark cave of ancient age
Surrounding it there are groups of revengeful human beings
Like frantic bees
On the other side of it are trembling helpless human being’s intense groaning;
Wailing, groaning, blazing fire and encircling it fanatic jubilation
Piercing darkness of dusk suddenly dazzles like thunder storm.
I have never ever seen this scenario with eyes open
In the blindness of vision did not understand how deep is this cruelty;
In the garden of flowers calm and composed
I am in sniffing sight
Sitting still as a bewitched butterfly,
Forgetting surroundings, groaning of men,
Severe affliction of the fanatics -
There nature will not give me any aroma
Butterfly will go to somewhere else leaving fragrance of flower
To some other grass
The birds will not come to my sky flying by wings of air
Only I will remain alone as an immovable root
In a dark room!
In my vision wake up like transparent water
Afflicted memories: my childhood and my adolescence;
I am a fugitive bee - at the end of winter season
Fled away from my own town alone in darkness.
Each tree of the courtyard in a very familiar voice
Still calls me - floating Helencha leaves
Over the blue water of the pond shaking their heads
Want to tell me what secret.
Beside the temple that is my shadow surrounded own room;
Bewildered by the fragrance of Chalta flower my eyes rotate
in the green garden behind;
Not far away I see Kalibari, narrow green path
Meandering reached mementos of my childhood.
In the southern door placing mat on the floor
My father's eyes are caught in the leaves of the holy book
As if angels of heaven at the call of the earth came down
And occupied their seats there permanently.
My mother's face floats in the glaring fire of the courtyard's oven
Her warm soft hand sorts my hair
How severely distressed in doleful pain!
Leaving aside that dear room and love of courtyard
Now I am a refugee poet living in one corner of the town
Seek solace in the depressed air of failure.
Bit by bit my blind eyes get back sight
Suddenly by an intense blow -
Opening my eyes I see everything very clear like daylight
Everything very lonely as if in wilderness.
Yet the sky is not very transparent here
Innumerable eagles fly in the horizon.
In their ferocious claws burn doleful affliction of helpless men;
As if a defeated terror stricken deer to some angry Chita -
Running away towards safe haven - secret hideouts of Sundarban.
Thus frightened dears for a large number of years flee in Darkness
From one forest to another deep forest.
I never had any uncertainty in me
Here like you I said looking at every tree;
I love my dear motherland
Like you kissed earth and uttered: home land.
Why then the two eyes of the killer haunt me
Declares me : this is not your motherland -
You are only a wayfarer - here you will not get water of thirst;
This intense reverberation raises dense shivering in my body!
Crossing Kunjaban Siddharta rushes to the western path.
Is this then beatitude - then this is real deliverance of Siddhartha?
The surroundings guffaw over this question
Dances killer darkness combined.
From my two hands drops earth of belief.

ATTAINMENT
Two persons conversed face to face till dead of night
Discussed story of the corpus
Discussed story of dreams
Discussed story of culture
At last that story became the definition of short story.
Looking at her sharp countenance
Chest trembled
In one glance from her hair to nail of foot
My eyes rotated twenty lac times
Piercing her dress over her pinnacles
Dexterous hands reigned
Towards her well-nourished hip insider cavalryman rushed
At the speed of thirty three crore light years
Exudates of hot lead piercing ear reached the summit of brain.
She told me of the relations between man and woman
She told me of her one lac lover
I heard of her two-lac sex partners
In the fish market
In the Adda of poets
Seeing her cooking delightful recipe of rape
Forgetting the pain of starvation of
One crore years
I prepared myself to relish that delicious meat!
Suddenly shower of rain dropped in heavy torrent
In relentless rainfall and lightning
The nature was squandered.
The moment before last preparation when I thought
She will jump over my chest
Then power outage took place.
In the sudden light of lightning
Her whole body dazzled
My heart thumped.
I saw:
In a glass tray is decorated insolent breast
In another tray delicious blossom of vagina
Cut in multiple slices!
TRANSFORMATION
There is a time when women jump over the chest
Offer heart
Rubs body over body
Organs and organelles are used very much with or without purpose;
Eyes dazzle like diamond's sharpness.
Then any of the women opens the latch of the door very silently
Any woman comes and continues kissing one lac times
Any woman sleeps in bed naked
Any woman at last gets used
And becomes porcine!
A time comes -woman swings in some other flower
Thirst becomes intense
Rain falls
Heart remains ready
Organs and organelles shiver very much like dew drops
Dust deposits on manliness
Someone oscillates buttock beside tearful eyes.
Then also women remain women
Only men cease to remain men.

PAMELA
The name of a new empress is Pamela
Who created a terrible brawl in the world
Once miss India one day
Becoming mini headline of news paper
Silently got bound to black syllables of memoirs.
Performing stifling diving beneath the surface water
And crossing ocean of time.
After many days she again raised her head
On the other side of the ocean.
No, not a silly matter.
After Rabindranath and Satyajit that raised violent commotion
Where are those Indians!
And woman? Their whereabouts are difficult to gather.
Heard, fresh Heroines of Bombay carry under their armpits
Sheikh Sahibs of Middle East
And earn a lot of money!
But none of them are like Pamela.
Then is Pamela like Cleopatra truly?
When pages of world's all newspapers
Are publishing bright thrilling news about Pamela
Then in the body of mothers-sisters spreads waves of shame,
Condemns and spits in lips;
If capable should spit upon Pamela's face right now.
And Pamela?
She is hiding in a secret hamlet of Britain
From one corner to another.
Wounded Pamela's photo in Hong Kong hospital
Mini interview in television
And daily news paper's disconnected
Description of discrete events
After many days presented the world a very interesting theme.
Even Sakuntala Devi - mother of Pamela
Her own cord severed child, beloved Pamela
Disinherited her right of Daughtership!
Pamela is guilty -
Offender to her neighbour
Offender to her fatherland
Offender to her motherland
Offender to the whole world
Offender even to her mother.
Undoubtedly, Pamela's crime is serious, unpardonable!
Because, Pamela from the cover of white skin mask
Unmasked uncivilized naked skeleton in one sudden pull.
From each night’s soft thirst
From endless bottom of Atlantic
From hateful loin of monster
And from cover of dazzling prince's dress
Exposed scandalous stains of kissing.
Pamela stands alone
with pincers of hatred in hand.
Slapping two cheeks of civilization
Pamela herself became profligate of civilization today!
Lost all skeletons of the world to uncivilized thigh!

REFUGEE-1
In a winter evening we two set out for the southern street
I and my friend Firoz.
After many years we gathered here again.
This street was once very familiar to us;
Green breeze from unknown southern village
Caressed our body every day.
Then our voice recited Jibananada,
Bivutibhusan resided in heart.
Today also came breeze like that,
Like that impatient breeze let its touch over our whole body.
We moved forward along the narrow muddy path.
'Here lived Sorojus', here Haran' -
Siraj's voice sings wounded song.
'Absent today, left for another world' -
I also get indifferent; a sigh leaves in aerial speed.
Beloved, known paths seem to be unknown.
Potters lived here, Ghoses’ homestead were here
In the shade of banyan tree.
Madhabi got married with Swapan of that locality
They also are not present here, left for where who knows –
May be Andaman, may be somewhere else.
Siraj continues walking, spellbound.
I also walk alone. The sun sets behind the horizon.
Advancing a little forward I had to stand stunned in the indifferent courtyard-
Madan lived here in this small hut,
Dilapidated, small his hut;
Now, nothing except the empty courtyard remains.
Abandoned earthen oven, urn-shaped pot,
Pitchers scattered hither and thither
Small hut - as if just now
Some one uprooted avoiding contact.
We two get the smell of respiration
Madan still walks - children sways in the courtyard, lobby;
Madan is not here
Our severed heart fills in a great sigh.
Spellbound both return to our house.
After many years in a known rail station of Burdhaman
While rushing for the train, a pull on the trouser’s sleeve
Stops me suddenly.
Startled, looking back I see:
Hands, feet and lower part of the body
Decorated with rubber sheaths an invalid hunched back Beggar is
Looking confusedly at me -
Disgusted in a perturbed voice I reprimand, leave, leave.
Then listening one word from the voice of that hunched back beggar
I get stunned -'Failed to recognize me, Dadabhai'
'I'm just Madan.'
Two eyes of Madan smudge in the water of Meghna!

REFUGEE -2
Still Khidirpore calls me in sleep.
Came in fifties.
An inconsolable boy I was then
Holding my father's hand came to a new town in sleep
Till then this town was unknown to me;
No play ground, no familiar friends, no whistling of on going ships!
My solitude and I in a very dense diffidence sleep everyday.
Walking by foot I go to Sadar Ghat,
From there far away going launch sets for unknown somewhere;
Occasionally one or two steamers leave whistling for unknown destination.
My heart misses beat!
From Sadar Ghat the Tangawalla harangues, 'Gulistan, Gulistan'
From Fulbaria suddenly leaves one or two trains.
Indifferent breeze blows inside the chest.
Came in fifties
Bought a ten taka ticket from Khidirpore dock and boarded on Dhaka's ship;
Flower drawn tinned suitcase in hand.
Calm air all around.
Walking along narrow muddy path alone,
Green paddy fields on both sides spread beyond horizon
Unknown star of faraway sky twinkles in eyes.
Boarding on the ship laid bed sheet on the deck and fell asleep suddenly
When reached Buckland dam in the dawn unresisted.
Then khidirpore dock was far away,
Dried upriver, walls stood firm on that known path.
No Buckland dam, no faraway ship
Now how far I look, my eyes return from a fathomless emptiness.
Border's passport ties me here down.
In oblivion I purchase one ticket from Sadarghat- ten taka only price,
The ship will start at ten night;
I occupy my seat far before
In the deck of the ship.
Spread bed sheet tidily.
At last faraway ship whistles
When I fell asleep even I myself do not know.
Getting up from sleep by the noise of the port
I see what a surprise reached Khidirpore dock!
Yet, till today I could not reach Khidirpore!

REFUGEE-3
In a low leafy hut she was sleeping with the kid
Tightly embraced to her breasts
Loincloth left her breasts barren - the night was dark
Father of the kid after passing night near rail
Was returning to the house - then disappeared
Four kids in darkness - sharp knife in hands harangued
'Hi in law, whore, open the door, open'-
Shouting shoved the door severely
Raised an uproar
Twenty year old lady jumped and got stunned.
The baby groaned, embraced mother - mom!
At that very moment those very dacoits snatched the kid away
Jumped over the body, played on it rampant -
Gorged the body clawing and escaped in the dark.
Father of the kid arrived rushing, saw everything is finished;
Wailing inside the chest, no tears in eyes,
Did they leave their village, leave own country for this?

Abandoned village, abandoned country, O my God!
Girl of ebb tide country listens which Bhatiali song?

REFUGEE-4
Night air oscillates at the dashing liquid sound of the scull
Son of Shukur Ali holds the rudder sitting on the prow;
Splitting level water like cool mat
Boat of Shukur Ali rows from the wharf of Bethua to Betila.
An organized column of trees in darkness
Like dejected cloud
Stands immovable on the bank of Bethua.
In the womb of the small boat in more silence
Sit five- five living corpses
In the little light of the exhausted lantern
Sounds of respiration can be heard.
The ordinary little boat of Shukur takes the shape of
An unknown oyster of the ice age.
Kaliganga flows in circumspection.
Today Kaliganga is very calm and quiet
There are no waves in the breast of Kaliganga
Today Kaliganga wails as
A morose idol, cries alone in solitude.
Only a few days back, the bosom of Kaliganga
Was marked with
Blood stained thirsty frenzied waves
Like women's breast conglomerated
With red colour of vermilion.
Yet, Kaliganga is very much calm and quiet today.
'Everybody will go- no one shall stay –
At the sudden declaration
Breaks up thick coat of silence
Someone changes his position.
'Grabbed everything, the son also did not return home,
Whereabouts of the daughter is not known,
Wife died- now alone I am
What should I do, where to go - don't understand anything.'
Shell of the boat fills up at the great sigh.
'Every body will go - no one will stay.'
Words groan in one voice, 'ha'.
Again prevails pin drop silence.
Off and on at the dashing liquid sounds of the scull
Oscillates night air.
'Dadabhai, allow me to speak one word?'
Suddenly voice of Shukur Ali
Resonates inside the tent!
Five-five souls startle.
Body shrinks in fear
What Shukur Ali boat man wants to say!
In front of eyes float five-five bisected corpses
Under insolent knife.
Voice of Shukur Ali turns heavy;
‘Where will you go, tell me Dadabhai;
We never bullied you
Then where will you go?'
Shukur's boat spins and turns from
East to south.
One root enters into five chests and sticks like rib bone!

REFUGEE-5
Seeta also returned home once after banishment.
Twenty-five years back you also left me here;
Parentless, acquaintance less and friendless
Elapsed twenty-five years.
Am I more sinful than Seeta?
If not then why imposed such penal-banishment?
In this motherlandless unknown homeland
For twenty five years
I seek my homeland.
Where are Rokeya's now,
Where lives Khanadi?
Near Sakuni Dighi in their broken hut do Ranudis'
Kindle lamp as early days in the evening,
Das’ people sing devotional hymn?
In very dawn in high and deep tone
As early days Bostomi rouses all from sleep every day?
Does Dinmoni Bostomi kindling fire of melody
Stun night hours?
Memoirs spin like violent whorls in the brain!
Sometimes again I rush to the Dorgakhola as early days
Again in the bank of the pond collect Bokul with Rokeya
In the field of Thakur Bari again
Everybody plays blind man's buff
Again tie my childhood in life.
Yet here I am under the Ashoke forest
In captivity for twenty five years
Wearing gold shackles in my feet.
Where is the son of Pavana,
Where is that spirited Dasharath's son?
Dividing water of one river into two
Why hurled anguish of Karbala in this chest?
Those pages of the sacred book that turned discoloured
You push them away
On two sides of the border those darkness
That turned into conscienceless aggrieved wall
You by your two hands uproot
And deliver me, o my soul's charioteer.
You wipe this motherlandless tears of anguish;
Or earth, divide into two-
Let me release my affliction by
Entering into the nether world
The last Seeta of the Earth.
Is this emancipation,
O frontier, barbed wire, religious wall!

REFUGEE-6
Where is Saraswati now, where is Shila Saha?
Floating two small flowers by pull of stream
Went faraway, eroded bank of the river;
Petal was there - lost in whirlpool.
Smudging blood vermilion in Ghatshila in seventy one
Saraswati entered into the room - unknown her room;
Everything floated in tears, sorrow in the heart;
Paint brush of lamentation was drawn in river's waves.
From then on Saraswati lives in Ghatshila,
Even before that Shila Saha suffered severe deportation;
Witch Asokebon beckons in darkness-
Blind, lame rustling mistake- towards life.
In that darkness of frontier Shila-Saraswati
Spend days, spend nights, time runs away
Does not take place return journey to thirsty doll's house
But hope breaks stone-augments huge loss?
Need to understand, in rest of life
What type of doll's house exists on two sides of two rivers!

REFUGEE-7
I do remember it was raining
Along with that torrential rain and scourging air,
Chips of ice broke and fell down on the universe.
Screens of the steamer were raised all over
Among the thick cumulus engrossment of Allahu Akbar and chanting of Harinam
Daring sailor set anchor of the steamer in an unknown shore of the river.
As if the dark sky prostrated before the Earth's feet;
In a cool sensation hiding face in mother's breast
Passed much time.
When whining of air and galloping of horses
Gradually began to disappear
The sailor weighed the anchor by blowing a big trumpet like fate.
Then sounds of whirling wheel in water
And palpitation of ear inside the chest like a small pigeon.
Yet Nirupama remained spellbound from that evening;
Oscillations of the ship from vibrating waves
Failed to console her a bit.
She is sitting as earlier dipping her face in the knee
Beside her father
Small twelve year old Nirupama today looks
Like a centenarian;
As if all her crying oozed like heavy rainfall of morose evening
In the water of Padma.
Looking there Nirupama's eyes twist in the dark whorl and return back.
Nirupama sees, she is being taken to a dungeon,
There are innumerable teenagers like her
Their intense wailing caused to shudder
Each iron frame, doors and windows of the dungeon.
Nirupama screams staking her life -'No, I shall not go.'
Behind there are some of the medieval cavalrymen
Chasing her; raising swishing noise of whips
Once Nirupama is running forwards - no.
Once Nirupama is running backwards - no.
At last the body of unconscious Nirupama
Was dragged to the boundary line
Near an unknown city
Where people who are waiting for her reception
Their whole body is stained with blood
Frail and covered with dirty shrouds
Smelted tears in the corner of their eyes.
Handing Nirupama over their hands
Some of the cavalry men returned to their own house.
Looking back to the undefined darkness of twilight
Poor Nirupama groaned - mother.
Steamer of Padma returned in time to the definite destination.

REFUGEE-8
'You know Khokan, I very well remember the name till today;
A small calm and quiet village - Ghuri'
'Nothing else you remember-
Which police station, which district, which subdivision?
Any other village in and around?'
'No, my boy, nothing like that I remember today.
Only remember- 'Along the bank of Jamuna
Like an obstinate child was our beloved village.'
'Then how we shall find that village of yours'?'
'That I don't know, my boy-but any how search,
Where is your father's homestead?
Where is that beloved village?'
Doleful melody of wailing rings in his mother's voice
Tumult waves of Jamuna rolls in Khokan's chest.
Thereafter, a small vessel drifts along the bank of Jamuna
Further to the west
Both of them stop suddenly near each village.
It seems- this is the very homestead of her husband
This is his father's village
This is that dear name-'Ghuri'.
Curious village peasants gather;
Taken aback young guys, elderly look at guests.
'In forty seven just here was a village named Ghuri
My husband's homestead, I have come to see it, brother;
After forty four years filling my eyes I shall
See my husband's homeland.'
There is no village bearing the name 'Ghuri' the aged recollects.
In nobody's memory lives anything named Ghuri today
Eroded, Jamuna's paw rendered her addressless and left for somewhere else?
Someone advises to proceed forward.
On advancing forwards- may be you will find
Left out in forty-seven
That small calm and quiet village named Ghuri
Rambling exhausts body and mind.
Exhaustive voice only shouts indifferently: Ghuri....
Waves of Jamuna rush further
Raising metallic noise of laughter.
At last the two come back with doleful heart
Carrying some soft soil of the bank.
In both the banks of dark Jamuna
Suddenly silent villages start wailing
Like a small 'Ghuri.'

REFUGEE-9
The dwelling house of Sadhusa' glitters in full moon night.
The tamarisk forest swings in air and inclines on the wall of the building,
Sitting on the depressed courtyard, the old man hawks.
Sitting in the north house Vaisnab lady chants hymns of lord Hari;
A fox very cautiously runs towards the courtyard.
Who's there?
The old guy shouts faster than it.
The affliction piercing silence flies far away....
In the courtyard beside the house of worship
Spreads nonplussed light,
Incense covers the devotee’s face;
Smile prevails in the face of the idol,
Angels raise commotion all around.
Sounds of reverberation are heard from Buffalo's char
Men and women rush at the huge sounds of drum
Dwelling house of Sadhusa' dazzles in full moon night.
Where is Sadhusa' now?
Where are the joint owner's dream soaked pots of the temple?
Breaking motionlessness of maudlin night
Sadhusa's dwelling house shouts
Cursing everybody at midnight.
Like tidal wave from Buffalo's char
Village headmen jump over Sadhusa's water
Groaning, in lamentation, excessive wailing
Doleful feathers of birds drop,
Before sunrise in darkness leaving homestead
Come down to the street Sadhusa's company.
Sadhusa' walks in front
Successors walk behind
The whole palace walks;
Trees of the courtyard continue walking very fast.
Walking and walking for thousand years
All of them start gathering towards the horizon;
At the call of the frontier
Piercing borderline
Sadhusa's move towards uncertain stars.
From then on Sadhusa's courtyard
Remain sunk under water of Morel.

REFUGEE-10
Crossing the horizon that flushed with the colour of the sunset
Birds are returning to their own nests in a flock.
Before sun rise flock of birds
Came out to the aerial way-
Where are they going - are they nomads;
Suddenly will pitch tent in the imperilled sands of the earth?
Or they are groups of gypsy men and women
Tired and exhausted
Rambling around the paths of the world.
Laborious are these dreadful nomads
Suddenly set anchor of boats in unknown unseen quay?
Just a bit later the sky will disappear in the dark body of the sky
Flocks of birds will disappear from the boundary of vision
Only I will remain seated alone in the long shore of the river;
Night will roll
Drenched with dew drops of winter
Over my trembling body roots will grow
Memoirs will be scorched in eyelids;
Lamentation will heave over my heart no more.
With vast wealth this river in no way
Will reach south crossing Padma
Like embodied Balmiki
I will remain here forever as unsuccessful Ratnakar!
Still sitting here
There is no ferryboat, boatman, no light,
No dream in front of eyes,
Only darkness-
Then this is the destiny, this is hard inevitability?
Flock of birds returned to their own nest,
Only my body stays in the long riverbank.
Even gypsy men and women have their means
Only I do not have any path to return-
Even birds possess their own nest
I do not have any house to come back-
As if I am a young man searching for a refugee camp.