“He is a
father of four sons and land-lord of more than a hundred cotta paddy fields.”
Any person who hears this clue can predict undoubtedly that a circle of
peaceful heaven revolves over himself, around his house and kindred.
But something goes diversely to our
imagination exposing a reality that requests its viewers to engage in a
meditation of reality which can be the best curing medicine of our lives.
“Oh! Call Moral…” In any personal especially
social matter people used to order one before him shouting loudly when it is
unbridled. People called him ‘Moral’ that is what I have been hearing from my
childhood; still I didn’t know his real name. The word ‘Moral’ simply means in
my provincial Bengali language ‘one who leads a village’. Every Moral reigns
the village for a fixed time - the full life span – but, the father of four
sons became Moral for our entire generation. People forgot his name and named
him ‘Moral’.
Actually, even his sidekicks couldn’t count
the name of all members of his family one by one neither no one could name
their names without pronouncing ‘yaaa’.
There was no special difference between Moral and his sidekicks in the view of
people and him too. Both words weighed equally in one measurement. Moral put
his sidekicks as his representatives not in his personal need but in social
scopes.
But his sons – four sons – revealed opposite
wings to Moral. What Moral and his sidekicks were respected, they were not
minded. They used to cheat people. For example, making delay in field
registration. They didn’t welcome any one neither were welcomed. After
marriage, they were deviated more. They forgot their customized traditions. They
brought new theory becoming separated from root family and setting up homes only
for couple-not the old father. Two sons didn’t stay at village. Now Moral
became in three storied clay-built house while the sons in cement-concreted palaces.
After Moral was attacked by serious cancer
dieses, he could not get out of bed. It becomes strong cage for him. His whole
body got dirty. But his teeth were shining, because he never quit brushing
every day. There, outside his house was designed as garbage of tooth-powder
packets. Children would go there and
collect those packets to play selling, buying and bargaining
The time was coming to Moral that once comes
to every life but, still he was paid no service. His left leg had been bent because
of placing the heap of his body in a rope twisted bed for a long time. Still no
one came to put it right. It would last even after his death. No one was stood
by him. He was alone. He would travel alone. Stop! The breath has stopped. He
quit everything now but, his bent left leg.
Until now there was no one by him with a
glass of water but, uncountable people were flocking behind his death ceremony
splashing tears in eyes.
Md Sohel
Mondal
Darul Huda
Islamic University
Bhimpur,
Murarai, West Bengal
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