Love story

Some questions and answers in love stories

Some questions and answers in love stories

It’s about 12 o’clock at night, I’m sitting at the station, but I’m not alone. In winter, there is fog all around and a bone-chilling frost. Although the fireplace in the waiting room has been installed, the doors are broken and cool air is coming through there. I’m at this station
I arrived about 2 hours ago although I was supposed to arrive in the afternoon. Someone was supposed to receive me, but I didn’t get to see him at the station. Of course, it is normal not to find him so late at night.

 

The poor man may be tired of waiting for me, he may have thought that the train will not come today. This is my most annoying journey by train. Anyway, now I am waiting for the dawn, I will leave for his house as soon as the light comes on, although this is my first visit to his house, I will recognize him.

My phone is off, the charge is over. My mother would have thought if I hadn’t talked to her as soon as I got off at Bhagyas station, even though I hadn’t told her about the problem. It’s almost like frozen hands and feet in the cold air, a little tea is not bad now. I left the waiting room and came out. A few dogs were lying on their backs and looked up at the sound of my feet. I passed them and went to the tea shop.
Once I looked at the shop, the stall is small but it has all the daily necessities. I saw a pillow and mattress on one side, it is clear that he lives here. On one side of the stall sat a middle-aged man with only one door open, wet. Seeing me, he got up from his bed and sat down

– The train is late, isn’t it?

– Yes

– Where are you going, Dad?

– At the house of Mr. Jaglu Mahmud.
– Oh
I clearly understood that his word “O” was neglected, but I pretended not to understand anything and said,
– I’ll have some tea, uncle.
After hearing this, he silently lowered the rice bowl placed on top of the kerosene stove and placed the tea kettle. Seeing this, I said,
– The tea is over
– No, I was actually cooking rice.
After a while, he poured tea from the kettle and started adding sugar to it.

I asked,

– Do you live here?
– Yes Dad, lonely man is the only means of survival and my chauchala.
When he wanted to make tea and bring it, my eyes went to the crutch next to the small door, he doesn’t have one leg. I haven’t understood it for so long,I got up and took the tea from his hand. I am drinking tea in silence, Uni is also silent but looking at me again and again. I saw some questions in his eyes and asked,
– Uncle say something?
He didn’t say anything, his mind was on the rice bowl. There are some people who wake up with respect when you see this man is just like that. The scar in the middle of his forehead indicates that he never prays. Suddenly he asked,
– Well Jaglu Mahmud, what is yours ??
I looked at him and let out a sigh but said nothing. He asked again,

– What do you do with him, father?

I avoided his question, he said,
– I want to tell you one thing
– Yes uncle said
– 13th September, Salta 1971. A total of 19 of us are advancing towards Banshkhali, our operation at the primary school of Jamshedpur village next to Banshkhali. The raiding dogs have set up camp there.
– You’re a Liberation War !!!!

He did not listen to me, he kept saying

– Everything in the operation went according to plan, only their number was much higher than our calculations and they had heavy weapons. Some of our light machine guns, some of the LMGs are busy. They hesitated in our first attack, but when the counter-attack lasted for about 15 minutes, we survived but could not recover.
13 people were martyred there, 6 of us were caught. I am one of those 8 people. They tortured us for 4 days, I can’t describe it to you, father. Four days later, we were lined up on the bank of the river and shot. Unfortunately, the bullets in my body did not kill me, but my right leg was blown away. When I regained consciousness, I found myself on the bank of the river. Shortly afterward, an old woman from the village took me to her house. I survived.I look at him with fascinated eyes, as if I was thirsty to see him. I wonder if he is a freedom fighter and whether he runs a tea shop. Then he said,
– I saw the anagona of several Razakars in the Pakistani camp, one of them was Ramiz Razakar. He has killed many people during the war, he has ruined the honor of many mothers and sisters. But how good he is today, you know, in the present generation, sometimes the father seems to be successful and sometimes it seems that they are very ungrateful.

– Where is that Razakar now, dead?

– You’re going to him, Dad.
He let out a sigh but I was not surprised because I know that Jaglu Mahmud is a Razakar but I did not think that Ramiz would be a Razakar. Many more things happened to him, his wife died five years ago and he had no sons or daughters. He also wanted to know a lot about me, what do I do? Where do I live? Etc., I answered him almost everything. At one point he wanted to know again,
– Why are you coming to Jaglu Mahmud, a father?

I didn’t avoid his question this time, I answered straight,

– Uncle, I came to him to make an atonement. To reduce the responsibility of the current generation a little.
He stared at me blankly. The night passed in words, at one stage he called for Fajr, he was busy with prayers. I also left his small stall and went out. The chill of the birds with the chirping of the birds around the station. Shortly after that I saw Kalam Bhai, he was supposed to receive me yesterday and after that, I reached my destination.
Jaglu Mahmud’s house is very tidy and secluded. I was taken to an inner room. The room is decorated with expensive furniture, large paintings are hung on the walls and many books by local and foreign authors are on a big bookshelf. I am sitting, as far as I know, he is a matabbar and as a matabbar of the village, he has enough influence in this village. I met him after a long time. When he saw me, he said,

– Rudra, are you coming ??

– Please don’t call me by that name because this name is given by my mother, this name does not suit your face.
– You have become as stubborn and stubborn as your mother.
– Yes, I am my mother’s son so it will be normal to be like my mother.

– Stay for a few days ??

– No, I’m leaving today. I just want to ask you a question
He is staring at me, I asked him the question that has been cherished in my chest since childhood,
– What crime did the innocent people of this country commit against you?
Who has been shot and killed like dogs? What was the crime of the freedom fighters, who are male today?
What is my crime, that I am ashamed to identify my father ??
Mr. Jaglu, I left without waiting for his answer. He may have been staring at me for a long time. My chest feels a lot lighter today, I’ve been waiting to ask these questions since I was little. In the last 23 years of this unbearable pain, even if it is a small amount, I have repaid the debt, I can only tell the next generation that I asked Razakar some questions about his deeds but he could not answer because he is incapable of answering.
The uncle of the stall was surprised to see me again and said,

– Is Dad finished work?

– Yes uncle, there was a responsibility on my shoulders which I could not bear all my life. Today it went down.
– I don’t understand what you’re saying
– Uncle, you didn’t say a word.

– What, Dad?

– Jaglu Mahmud is my father.
He stared at me in amazement, I said,
– Uncle, I want to greet you once.
He did not say anything, I did not wait for his permission, I entered the stall and saluted with my feet.
– Come on uncle, you’ll be fine, you’re very good.
When I got back on the train, I saw tears in his eyes but I didn’t understand what these tears were, but I could easily understand what the tears in my eyes were.

Sumon Sorkar

Hello, I'm Sumon Sorkar. We promote this content regularly. So tell us what kind of content you want to get. We will broadcast that content. Thank you

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