Biography: Shanta Farjana
Shanta Farjana. Beloved of the new generation in the field of education, literature, culture, social and politics in green Bangladesh. After passing SSC exam with GPA 5 from Viqarunnisa Noon School and HSC exam with GPA 5 from Dhaka City College, she went to London. After completing Honors and Masters in Management from Sunderland University, London, she back to the Bangladesh. As the founding principal of Sound Bangla School & College, she pursued the slogan ‘Education is not a business/We will spread knowledge and gain success’. Shanta Farjana is well known in the field of politics also; working as Senior Vice Chairman of Natundhara Bangladesh. As a skilled organiser Shanta Farjana involves in various activities including acting as the Director General of Sound Bangla, Secretary General of social organisation Save The Road, member of Dhaka Sub Editor Council. Shanta Farjana, editor of banglareport24.com, the country’s first online news portal on education, literature, culture, socio-politics and housing. Her first short story was published in 2006 in the daily Prothom Alo. The list of her published books includes Bicycle (2006), Rong Beronger Valobasha (2009), Athocho Taar Naamtai Jana Holo Na (2010), Vuter Chobi (2011), Vut Taranor Doll (2012), Paikparar Hawaii Mithai (2015), Ekti Krishnocurar Mrittu Songbad (2017), Chakbazar Tragedy (2019), ‘Thuu’ (2020) etc. She has many published translated books as poet Hasan Hafiz’s ‘Rain is the distant lover’, Poet Manik Chakraborty’s ‘Dream Everyday’, Narrator Ruhul Amin Bacchu’s ‘My Corpse’, Columnist Taimur Alam Khandaker’s ‘National Election, 2018’. She has traveled to different countries of the world including London, Denmark, Kuwait and Turkey. In recognition of her work, she has received various honors and awards including ‘Education Award’ (2014), Mother Teresa Award (2015), Mahatma Gandhi Gold Medal, Natyacharya Selim Aldin Literary Award (2016), Shohid Nur Hossain Memorial Award (2017), Education Watch Award (2018). She dreams to establish a school and training centre for the ‘third gender’ people; as they are deprived in Bangladesh.
Au-u-u-u…
The sound of the group of dogs crying came to Rahmat’s ears. Sometimes it seems very close, sometimes it seems that the dogs are sitting far away and crying. Rahmat can’t open his eyes. However, so far he had no sense; he can guess that. The smell of filthy dirt near the nose. Fruit peels, discarded vegetable parts, leftover fish and meat, dirty tissue-cloth-paper, baby diapers, many days old indigestible polythene and much more. The back of Rahmat’s shirt is getting wet with glaireous thing. Something soft is groaning under his lying right hand. The dying small animal breathes once after a long time, then releases again.
Assumes mercy; rat, maybe. People may have been beaten and left speechless. People avoid pretending not to see the thousands of injustices that happen infront of their eyes; But if the little soul can be caught with a trap or glue, people celebrate its death with various pains. Rahmat left a long sigh, slowly.
Keu-u-u-u…
The dogs keep crying. Rahmot tries to open his eyes again. But can’t. However, it seems that they are sitting very close and crying. Probably close to his head.
Rahmat Ullah’s house is in Noakhali. He had some land of his own. He used to cultivate them. Ramiz and Khabir, his two young sons also used to work in the land with their father. Khabir also has own shop at three truns road after the pond. Ramiz is lazy. He walks around the land for an hour or two than leaves . Sometimes he goes to the market and sits down. He doesn’t like to work. Because of this, the two brothers used to quarrel all day long. And for all these, there was always a domestic quarrel between the two of their wives over the utensils, cooking and the stove. Rahmat Ullah feels deep pain in the middle. His age has increased. As much hard work as before, no longer he can tolerate now. One day, while having lunch, Khabir raised the issue.
„Dad, your age is over. How long will you alive? Divide all of your wealth between two of us.“
Rahmat Ullah was taking red spinach cooked from the pot on his plate. Hearing his son’s words, he put the spoon in the pot again. The eldest son’s wife Jobeda started blowing loudly with hand fan to her father-in-law.
Ramiz took a bite of green chilli with full of rice and said, „Father, Khabir spook the right. You’ve become older. Why should you maintain all the trouble? You suppose to sit and eat only.“
Standing at the kitchen door, the lame dog is waiting for the master. Bulu is very good. If Rahmot doesn’t feed him all day; never puts his mouth in the rice pot, never shows anger. Spreads his front legs and lies down quietly his head on it. Without answering the boys, Rahmat took the plate of food and put rice with fish on Bulu’s plate. Then left to the market. That whole night Rahmot thinks.
He thinks about the division of property between the boys. Ramiz’s laziness, Khabir’s stinginess, his own age, all together, Rahmat Ullah couldn’t make any proper decisions.
Rahmot was startled by the touch of something hairy near the head. The dogs pulled a soft, heavy piece of cloth or a blanket over his head. The dogs are sniffing him after a while. For a long time, an insect has been biting his big toe. Maybe there’s blood, too. But Rahmot does not hurt. There is only the feeling of muttering. He can’t open eyes. They are like closed doors of a closed room.
Khabir went to the market once when he was very young. He was walking holding his father’s hand. As soon as he came home, he started crying to his mother. „I want to eat beetle, I want to eat beetle.“
Rahels started laughing at the boy wants eating insects. „What you want to eat? How will you eat beetle!“ Khabir was still crying. „I will eat that. Black beetle on the red.“ Rahmat didn’t understand, but took his son running to the market again. The boy showed the father the black insect on the red! Rahmat bought a watermelon to his son with a smile. Khabir sat on his father’s shoulder and returned home eating watermelon happily. On that day, Rahmat’s neck and throat became wet and sticky with watermelon juice. Still, the son’s happiness is the father’s happiness. Tears comes out of Rahmot’s closed eyes. He feels that there is sticky juice of watermelon still on his throat. Suddenly there was a noise all around. The siren sounds. Very close.
Regret in the voices of the people.
– Oh Alnighty! Is he dead or still alive?
– Who knows? The dog was barking. Heard that, I came and saw this body in the middle of the dirt. So, I have called in 999 quickly.
– That’s how polices have also arrived.
The police grabbed Rahmat’s legs and hands and got into the van.
In chilhood, he swang Ramiz a lot in this way. Ha ha ha, the child laughed like lightning. Rahmat also smiled at the child’s smile. For last few days, 60 years old Rahmot had problem of breathing and it increased. Stay away from treatment; the boys slandered him as Corona patient and left him in this dustbin in Comilla. Rahmat Ullah wants to cry profusely. But, the soul is slowly drying up. Even though he is a father of two sons, he will be buried as a barren corpse today …
[Based on a true story happened during the Corona period in Comilla, Bangladesh.]