Asia Writes

28 March 2013

Deadline: 11 April 2013

The Democracy and Governance Cluster of UNDP Bangladesh is providing technical and financial assistance to the Government to find innovative solutions to its development challenges and to build capacity of national level institutions to implement policy reforms. The Bangladesh National Human Rights Commission Capacity Development Project (BNHRC CDP) is supporting the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) to establish the required infrastructure and functional capacity in order for the Commission to fulfil its mandate to effectively promote and protect human rights throughout Bangladesh.

Within this framework, the BNHRC-CDP is supporting the NHRC developing publications to raise awareness about human rights and conducting research. In order ensure the quality of the reports a Copy Editor is required. Under the guidance and supervision of the Project Manager (PM), the Copy Editor will review and do a thorough proofreading/editing of the reports and others communication documents produced.

INTERNATIONAL CONSULTANT: COMMUNICATIONS/COPY EDITOR EXPERT UNDER NHRCP PROJECT

• Location: Home-based
• Application Deadline: 11-Apr-13
• Type of Contract: Individual Contract
• Post Level: International Consultant
• Languages Required: English
• Duration of Initial Contract: 40 Working Days

OBJECTIVES:

An international communication expert is required to edit and/or review text and layout of various publications and communications pieces that the Bangladesh National Human Rights Commission – Capacity Development Project (BNHRC-CDP) will produce in 2013. This will be required to ensure that key messages are clearly communicated to the target audiences.

The objective of this assignment is to write, edit and/or review articles, reports, quarterly publications, press releases, e-newsletters, website content, and other communication pieces.

SCOPE OF WORK AND EXPECTED OUTPUTS / DELIVERABLES:

The Expert will be responsible for timely delivering the following tasks:

• (Re)Write, review and/or edit print, electronic and web-based communications pieces.
• Write, review and/or edit news or public relations releases, special brochures, project quarterly reports and similar materials.
• Ensure all work follows UNDP editorial policies and standards.
• Provide advice on content of books, newsletter, project fact-sheets and brochures.
• Provide advice on production of publications.

The expert will work closely with the Project Manager and/or National Communication and advocacy analyst who will provide guidance on each task and timeframe for delivery based on project-need. Since this is a home-based task, communications may take place via e-mail, Skype and/or phone.

The consultant will produce the following reports/deliverables:

Timely and high quality delivery of reviewed/edited works commissioned by the BNHRC-CDP project including:

• Review/edit of project quarterly reports
• Project fact-sheet(s)
• Brochures on work of the NHRC
• Review/edit of Policy briefs
• Review/edit of manuals and reports
• Review/edit of newsletters
• Write/Review/edit of contents for website
• Write/Review/edit of public relations releases

SUPERVISION AND PERFORMANCE EVALUATION: The expert will directly report to the Project Manager and will work closely with the national Communication and Advocacy Specialist and other relevant personnel of BNHRC-CD Project. The expert will be given clear instructions on task to be performed and timeframe for delivery. The expert shall ensure availability to complete the task by the time indicated by the BNHRC-CD project.

TIMEFRAME AND DEADLINES: The assignment will require tentatively 30 working days spread over for the period from March – November 30, 2013. Payment will be made quarterly upon certification of supervisor of number of days worked and satisfactory performance.

INPUTS: The expert will work from home and is responsible for ensuring necessary computer and software tools and Internet access to respond timely to requests.

EVALUATION OF THE CANDIDATES:

The candidates will be evaluated through Cumulative Analysis method. When using the weighted scoring method, the award of the contract should be made to the individual consultant whose offer has been evaluated and determined as:

• Responsive/compliant/acceptable, and;
• Having received the highest score out of a pre-determined set of weighted technical and financial criteria specific to the solicitation.

**Only candidates obtaining a minimum of 70% in technical evaluation will be considered eligible for financial evaluation

Technical Evaluation Criteria (Total 70 marks):

• Solid writing and editing experience, preferably with human rights and governance products (25 marks);
• Experience in results reporting (25 marks)
• Previous experience with UN/Democratic Governance and Bangladesh context (20 marks)

FINANCIAL EVALUATION (Total 30 marks):

All technically qualified proposals will be scored out 30 based on the formula provided below. The maximum points (30) will be assigned to the lowest financial proposal. All other proposals receive points according to the following formula: p = y (μ/z)

Where:

• p = points for the financial proposal being evaluated
• y = maximum number of points for the financial proposal
• μ = price of the lowest priced proposal
• z = price of the proposal being evaluated

CORPORATE COMPETENCIES:

• Demonstrates commitment to UNDP’s mission, vision and values.
• Displays cultural, gender, religion, race, nationality and age sensitivity and adaptability

FUNCTIONAL COMPETENCIES:

• Focuses on result for the client
• Ability to perform work of confidential nature and handle a large volume of work
• Remains calm, in control and good humoured even under pressure
• Demonstrates openness to change
• Responds positively to feedback and differing points of view
• Consistently approaches work with energy and a positive, constructive attitude
• Proven communication skills to work with multi-cultural teams
• Demonstrated skills to handle a variety of assignments simultaneously;
• Ability to work under deadline pressure and under tight deadlines if needed on assignments;
• Strong analytical ability and written communication skills is required;

EDUCATION: Master degree or equivalent in English or communication.

EXPERIENCE:

• At least 5 years prior experience working in communications roles;
• Previous proven experience in communication roles particular in editing and publishing papers (one piece of written work to be submitted with application)
• Demonstrated experience working in academia preferred;
• Previous working experience with UN agencies or international development partners is preferable.

LANGUAGE REQUIREMENTS: Spoken and written fluency in English.

FC: 04000

UNDP is committed to achieving workforce diversity in terms of gender, nationality and culture. Individuals from minority groups, indigenous groups and persons with disabilities are equally encouraged to apply. All applications will be treated with the strictest confidence.

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For submissions: apply via UNDP Jobs

Website: http://www.undp.org/

11 September 2012

Deadline: 20 September 2012

Victims and survivors of Mirsarai tragedy are suffering from different types of mental illnesses. The number of persons with psychosocial disabilities has increased in Mirsarai due to absence of psychosocial care and support.

To highlight this issue in print media, Unite Theatre for Social Action has launched an award for journalists that will help in increasing GoB officials' positive concern towards mental health rights.

Journalists are encouraged to visit Mirsarai tragedy survivors community to learn about their psychosocial conditions and develop a report for publication in any newspaper by the 30th of September. The best reporter will receive an award on World Mental Health Day, October 10th, in Chittagong.

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For queries: Mostafa Kamal Jatra, UTSA Executive Director, at utsabd@gmail.com, utsactg@yahoo.com

Website: http://www.utsa.up.to/

06 August 2012

Deadline: 14 August 2012

UNFPA, the United Nations Population Fund, is an international development agency that promotes the right of every woman, man and child to enjoy a life of health and equal opportunity. UNFPA supports countries in using population data for policies and programmes to reduce poverty and to ensure that every pregnancy is wanted, every birth is safe, every young person is free of HIV/AIDS, and every girl and woman is treated with dignity and respect.

GUIDELINES/MAJOR ISSUES FOR CONSIDERATION which may help to write the Essay

• Bangladesh achievement in reduction of Total Fertility Rate (the average number of children per woman) and the way to achieve Millennium Development Goal (MDG) -5
• Success in family planning programme in Bangladesh
• Family Planning and women’s empowerment
• Women’s rights in decision making
• Maternal mortality situation in Bangladesh
• Low percent of births delivered at a health facility in Bangladesh
• Challenges and opportunities on population and development
• Impact of the above for the development of Bangladesh
• Population Momentum in Bangladesh
• How the ICPD (International Conference on Population and Development) made a difference in giving access to reproductive health

ASSESSMENT OF ESSAY | Judges will select the top eight essays per each of the following four groups:

Essay in Bangla

• Age group (15-16 years old)
• Age group (17-18 years old)

Essay in English

• Age group (15-16 years old)
• Age group (17-18 years old)

PRIZES | Top eight essay writers will be chosen as winners and will be awarded in following manner.

• 1st : 20,000 Tk
• 2nd: 15,000 Tk
• 3rd: 10,000 Tk
• Special prizes from 4th - 8th: 5,000 Tk each

TERMS AND CONDITIONS:

• Essay should be written in 1000 words either in Bangla or in English and sent to essay.unfpabgd@gmail.com
• You will be automatically disqualified if plagiarism is found within the content of your essay.
• One participant can send only one essay.
• 20 from each group will be selected as primary selection
• Original certificate and forwarding letter from School authority is an essential and integral part of this competition. No entry will be allowed without original certificate
• School authority should certify about the original writer of the essay
• Essay should be named by her/his name, age, school, e-mail address and mobile number
• UNFPA holds the complete right to include & remove any entry for the contest at any point in time.
• Any writing considered inappropriate with the culture & values will be eliminated from the competition.
• UNFPA holds the right to use any of the top essays awarded with prize in this contest at any cause upon mutual consent.
• UNFPA holds all the rights to take any required decision without prior notice.

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For queries/ submissions: essay.unfpabgd@gmail.com

Website: http://www.unfpabgd.org/

29 July 2012

Deadline: 8 August 2012

Via shahidulnews: Deutsche Welle is looking for a senior journalist to lead the Bengali Department situated in Bonn, Germany.

QUALIFICATIONS:

• University degree
  
• Some years of experience working in Radio, TV and Online Media
• Ready to live and work in Bonn, Germany
• Knowledge of politics, economics, history and culture of Bangladesh, India, Germany and Europe
• Good command over German and English language

Apply with a cover letter mentioning the Job Announcement Number 040/12, CV and a photo by 08.08.2012 to Ms Gabriele Hein, Head of the Human Resource Department of Deutsche Welle, Bonn.

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For queries/ submissions: Cordula.Wetter@dw.de

Website: http://www.dw.de/dw/

28 July 2012

Deadline for applications: 30 August 2012

The Economic Research Group (ERG) and the South Asian Network for Development and Environmental Economics (SANDEE) are jointly organizing a Research and Writing Workshop in environmental and natural resource economics on October 6th - 9th in Dhaka. The aim of this workshop is to build research capacity in the area of environment and resource economics. Bangladeshi researchers interested in the field of environmental and natural resource economics and wishing to improve proposal writing techniques should apply for this workshop. The faculty for the workshop will include International and local experts who also familiarize participants with research trends in South Asia.

The workshop will provide practical training and guidance to participants and help them to improve their concept notes and research proposals. A total of 12-14 participants will be selected to ensure individual attention to each researcher. Participants will initially present their research concepts to peers and receive comments. Reading some new research papers and informal consultation with the experts for revisions will follow this. The candidates will have to present a modified version of the research concept again, which might help them to shape a complete proposal for submitting to SANDEE.

ELIGIBILITY:

• At least a Master's Degree (completed, not ongoing) in Economics with two years of work experience is essential.
• Interest in research and teaching related to environmental and natural resource economics.
• Mid Career and young applicants are encouraged to apply.
• Quantitative skills and previous research experience would be helpful.
• Only Bangladeshi Researchers are eligible to apply for this workshop.

YOUR APPLICATION MUST INCLUDE:

• A short CV (no more than two pages) and a cover letter indicating the reasons for your interest in this workshop (no more than one page).
• A three page concept note (as per the attached guidelines)
• Key research topics for the concept note: Climate change, Environmental degradation, Pollution Management, Forestry and fisheries resources and protected area management, Economics of Ecosystems, Economic incentives and policy instruments
• E-mail your application to sandee.erg.workshop@gmail.com and cc to application@sandeeonline.org by 30th August , 2012

The quality of the concept note will be the main criteria of candidate selection for the workshop.

VENUE & DURATION: The workshop will be held in Dhaka, Bangladesh. The workshop will be fully residential and organizers will provide accommodation and meals for the duration of the workshop, necessary course materials and reasonable travel claims on the basis of actual expenses.

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For queries/ submissions: application@sandeeonline.org

Website: http://www.sandeeonline.org

08 May 2012

Deadline: 15 May 2012

We are happy to announce that the next issue of Chitrolekha Magazine (Vol. II, No. 1) is going to be on the Temples of Bengal (from the Ancient Period to the 19th Century). Since we want to bring out a collection having holistic approaches to the topics, we have selected this vast area, which can be explored from many interdisciplinary perspectives and multidisciplinary positions.

We seek submission on the following areas:

• Archaeological findings on the temples;
• History of the Temples of Bengal in general, of a period, of region, of a place of temples or of temple/s;
• Materials, styles and technological evolutions
• Cultural conditions in Bengal and the temples;
• Religions of Bengal and the construction/modification/destruction of temples.
• Aesthetics of the temples of Bengal;
• Iconography and the visual culture of Bengal;
• Bengali architecture and the construction of temples;
• The climate, environment and the temples;
• Depiction of lost temples in literature, legends, historical accounts;
• Heritage in Crisis and preservation and management.

Word-limit: 1000—5000 words

Images: copyright free images are essential. Minimum 5 images (800 pixels minimum on the largest side) required.

Style: MLA

CONTACT INFORMATION:

For inquiries: editor@chitrolekha.com, chitrolekhamagazine@gmail.com

For submissions: editor@chitrolekha.com and chitrolekhamagazine@gmail.com

Website: www.chitrolekha.com

15 July 2011

Deadline: 22 July 2011

The Season of Bangla Drama, which will run from November 5 to 27, commissions original plays which delve into South Asian country’s heritage and arts.

Now in its ninth year, the festival has become a “flagship event” for the borough, Steve Murray, head of arts and events at Tower Hamlets Council said.

The festival takes place at the Brady Arts Centre, Hanbury Street, Whitechapel.

Email kazi.begum@towerhamlets.gov.uk by July 22 to get involved.

Preference will be given to Tower Hamlets-based organisations.

Via: eastlondonadvertser.co.uk

Contact Information:

For inquiries: kazi.begum@towerhamlets.gov.uk

For submissions: kazi.begum@towerhamlets.gov.uk

Website: http://www.towerhamlets.gov.uk/

14 July 2011

Deadline: 31 July 2011

The Yunus Centre's Social Business essay competition is aimed at young people who have creative ideas about how to achieve the Millennium Development Goals through Social Business. The concept of Social Business is new and very innovative as it pursues a social objective within a business structure. Young people have supported and embraced this concept. The world is eager to hear what Bangladeshi young people have to say and what creative ideas they have in order to achieve the Millennium Development Goals.

This is an extraordinary opportunity for young students of Bangladesh, as their ideas will be read through by Professor Yunus, social business entrepreneurs and influential people in the social business movement. They will have the chance to contribute to the development of the social business concept with ideas meant to improve the social and economic conditions of the world poorest countries.

Elegibility qualifications

1. The Competition is open to Bangladeshi students.
2. Participants must be between the ages 18-25 on November 14, 2011.
3. The Yunus Centre will hold an optional introductory workshop on the social business concept on July 9th. You can sign up for one of the following:

* Session 1: 10am to 12:30pm
* Session 2: 1pm to 3:30pm

In order to sign up, please write to info@yunuscentre.org

Rules

1. The theme of the essay is "Achieving the Millennium Development Goals through Social Business". Students can write about how a social business can address one or more of the Millenium Development Goals, how your social business is an adequate tool for these goals, or any other idea around the theme. The connection between the MDG's and Social business should be clear.
2. Submissions will be accepted until July 31, 2011.
3. Essays must not be longer than 2,500 words. In addition, an abstract of a maximum of 250 words is required and should be included with the submission; this will be used by the jury to make a pre-selection.
4. Essays must be typed and double-spaced on one side of each sheet of paper with a 12 font size.
5. All entries must be written in English.
6. Candidates may only submit one entry.
7. Quotes and references must be clearly marked throughout the essay and properly cited.
8. Essays are accepted in the .doc or .pdf format.
9. Essays must be submitted via email to info@yunuscentre.org, you will receive a response with the acknowledgement that the essay was received.
10. The Yunus Centre reserves the right to publish and/or to make available to the public the winning submissions.
11. The decision of the Jury is final and is not subject to an appeal.

Key Dates:

June 28: Launch
July 31: Deadline for submissions
August 31: Yunus Centre announces the winners
November 10-12: Global Social Business Summit in Vienna

The essays will be judged on the following criteria:

* Addresses the theme of the essay competition (Achieving the Millennium Development Goals through social business) (25 points): Essays should touch upon one or more MDGs. For more information please click here

* Demonstrates understanding of the social business concept (25 points)

* Builds a persuasive argument in support of their conclusion (25 point)

* Displays a strong command of written English (25 points): proper spelling, grammar, sentence structure, etc.

* Total = 100 points

Please make sure to email your submissions to info@yunuscentre.org This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it on July 31st. Along with your submission, please attach:

* A scanned copy of your current university or high school ID or papers to prove you are a student registered to take O/A level exams etc.
* A proof of address: passport OR voter ID OR driver's license, etc. that shows your date of birth and address in Bangladesh.

Please be advised, in order to be eligible for this competition, you much be between the ages of 18 and 25 years on November 14, 2011.

Prize:

The winners of the competition will be awarded with a trip to Viena, Austria, where the Global Social Business Summit will take place on November 11-12th of 2011. The Global Social Business Summit is the premier forum for the worldwide social business movement; it brings together social business pioneers from the corporate sector, civil society, academia and governments.

Contact Information:

For inquiries: info@yunuscentre.org

For submissions: info@yunuscentre.org

Website: http://www.gsbs2011.com/

11 June 2011

The National Association of UNESCO Clubs in Bangladesh has introduced the “UNESCO Club Journalism Award-2011” in this year, reports BSS.

The UNESCO Club Association will award 13 young and promising journalists for their outstanding contribution in journalism who have been working in the print and electronic media.

The National Association of UNESCO Clubs in Bangladesh hopes the award will encourage young journalists in the challenging profession, a press release said. The young and promising journalists who are capable of creative reporting on various social issues in Bangladesh have been requested to send their bio-data.

Via: newstoday.com.db

Contact Information:

For inquiries: unesco@agni.com

Website: http://www.bncu.gov.bd

24 April 2011

Deadline: 5 May 2011

Level: Graduate

Facility: Selected fellow holders will receive 40,000 monthly

Requirements:

Applicants should have a minimum of 3 years work experience (daily paper, online media, TV and radio.)

Application Process:

Applicants must submit application with CV to Director, Bangladesh Press Institute (PIB), 3 Circuit House Road, Dhaka

Via: bdunilife.com

Contact Information:

For inquiries: tcfellowship@yahoo.com or

For submissions: Director, Bangladesh Press Institute (PIB), 3 Sirkit House Road, Dhaka

Website: http://www.progga.org/

21 April 2011

Date: 23 - 24 April 2011

Story of Bangladesh and Bangladeshi People, at home and in the Diaspora, a conference in East London - 23 & 24 April 2011, Brady Arts Centre, Hanbury Street, London E1

Brick Lane Circle is organising a major two day weekend conference during 23/24 April 2011 to celebrate the 40th Birthday of Bangladesh. Our aim is to bring people who have undertaken researches on Bangladesh and Bangladeshi people together with the wider community to facilitate exchange of knowledge and help promote networking. If you would like to participate in this unique conference and be part of a critical and dynamic audience please email bricklanecircle@yahoo.co.uk to book your place.

Saturday 23 April 2011, 11am - 6pm

The Diaspora experience

10.30am - Door opens and refreshment

11.00am - Aspects of Bangladeshi Experience around the world and in the United Kingdom by Dr Nazia Khanum OBE, Director of Equality in Diversity. She has written many research papers including on the Bangladeshi Diaspora.

12.10pm - Oral History of first generation Bangladeshis living in Camden by Faridha Karim, who she is currently working for Bengali Workers' Association in Euston as an Oral Historian. She studied at universities of Greenwich and East London. Faridha has been involved in Community and youth work since 2004.

1.20pm- Lunch break

2.00pm - Imaging British Bangladeshis through fiction and sports participation: a comparative study of Bangladeshi Diaspora in Brick Lane and Oldham by Dr Tasleem Shakur FRSA, Senior Lecturer in Human Geography. Editor of Global Built Environment Review (GBER) www.edgehill.ac.uk/gber and South Asian Cultural Studies (SACS) www.edgehill.ac.uk/sacs, Edge Hill University, Lancashire, UK.

3.10pm - Home away from Home: British Bangladeshi Professionals and their Social Networks by Dr. Seuty Sabur, Assistant Professor, Department of Economics and Social Science, BRAC University, Bangladesh.

4.20pm- Refreshment break

4.30pm - History of Modern Architecture in Bangladesh by Nazmus Saquib Chowdhury, who studied at Brac University and London Metropolitan University. Currently, he works as Director of PARA, an organisation that aims to enhance spaces community in Bangladesh.

5.40pm - Panel discussion: What role for the Diaspora in the development of Bangladesh? Dr Nazia Khanum, Faridha Karim, Dr Tasleem Shakur, Dr. Seuty Sabur and Nazmus Saquib Chowdhury.

Sunday 24 April 2011, 11am - 6pm

The past, present and future challenges

10.30am - Door opens and refreshment

11.00am - Four Pioneers of Islam in Bengal (Muhammad Bakhtiyar Khaliji, Jalal al-Din Tabrizi, Shah Jalal and Khan Jahan Ali): Introduction to their Lives and Works by Mojlum Khan, author of several publications including the acclaimed book, The Muslim 100: The Lives, Thoughts and Achievements of the Most Influential Muslims in History and The Muslim Heritage of Bengal.

12.10pm Peasant, Pir and Politician: The making of Maulana Bhashani 1930-47 by Layli Uddin, 2nd year M.Phil student in Modern South Asian Studies at Balliol College, Oxford University.

1.20pm- Lunch break

2.00pm - Rokeya's Dream - A dream still relevant today (short performance and presentation) by Showmi Das and Claudia Jazz Haley, who run the non-profit making initiative, The Rokeya Project. Showmi is a professional dancer who specialises in North Indian Classical Dance, KATHAK. Claudia has a background in community theatre and her work has always had a social and environmental focus.

3.10pm - Climate change and Bangladesh by Dr Saleemul Huq, Head of Climate Change Group, International Institute for Environment and Development (IIED). Author of many publications.

4.20pm- Refreshment break

4.30pm - Bangladesh: Partitions, Nationalism and the Crisis in our India Policy by Professor Mushtaq Khan, Professor of economics at School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS). Previously he taught at the universities of both Oxford and Cambridge. Information about his research interests/publications: www.mercury.soas.ac.uk/users/mk17/

5.40pm - Panel discussion: What are the main future challenges for Bangladesh? Mojlum Khan, Layli Uddin , Dr Saleemul Huq, Professor Mushtaq Khan and Showmi Das and Claudia Jazz Haley.

Free entry.

Contact Information:

For inquiries: bricklanecircle@yahoo.co.uk

Website: http://www.bricklanecircle.org/

08 April 2011

AT THE SOUND of a curious noise the little boy pulls up the window hatch. Standing there he peers into the darkness, braving the chilled wind against his face. The window is neither glassed nor netted. It’s only a cavity. Open to everything. Like any hole. Airstreams blow past the child’s face into the tiny room making the people within shudder and the fire in the stove shiver. His mother shakes her head in dissatisfaction, but his father smiles, looking at his son from behind. He too has heard the sound and is just as attracted.

Cocking his head from side to side the boy tries to descry the source of the sound. But it’s difficult as his ears are assaulted with a cacophony of other sounds. Familiar ones. The sound of spitting, sneezing, blowing noses, or simply dry coughs. He hears someone singing a Hindi song, he hears a couple fighting, he hears another couple giggling. The boy feels restless; he huddles within himself. He strains his eyes and ears; the curious sound has now transformed into a lament. The wind blows into his face, crickets hum around his head as his eyes roam through the murky darkness outside the hut. For a while everything is dark and then out of the darkness it emerges. The boy’s eyes are widened instantly.

Moonlight has fallen on it making it look like a mythological creature; standing by the swamp, bending its neck it’s tugging at some grass. A necklace of flowers is hanging around its neck, and its skin is giving out a vegetal glow. It is a cow. A beautiful cow. A very beautiful cow. Majestic. Wonderfully White. A Maharani among the bovines. The boy has never seen such an elegant cow. He can hardly take his eyes off it. The cow turns to gaze at him in return — its munching jaws stop in mid-motion.

Inside the hut the boy’s mother shoves some extra timber in the stove. The other children gather around the fire. The father comes up from behind and wraps the boy with a ragged blanket. The child keeps looking at the cow. A rich cow without a shelter and without a blanket seems odd in his eyes. He looks at his father.

“It seems sad, Father. Can I bring it in?”

“Where? Here?” the father frowns.

“Yes, just to warm her up. She seems to be suffering out there.”

The father lets his hand glide over his clump of beard a couple of times and then nods. The boy goes out and approaches the cow. The cow moves a little, but it is not frightened; just a wee bit surprised. The boy notices the loose end of a rope, hanging from its neck. He tugs at the rope. The cow follows him into the hut, without making a single protest.

“It must have gone astray,” the boy says.

“I’m sure it has. We will provide it with a shelter until we find its master,” says the father.

“It’s cold outside.”

“Tie her to the pole in the backyard. We will put some empty sacks on her to keep her warm.”

“What can we offer it to eat?”

“I’ve some left over starch,” the mother intervenes.

“It’s a rich cow, Mother,” the boy says, “I wonder, if it has ever been fed rice starch.”


OVER THE YEARS, the father has gained the reputation of being an educated man among his uneducated neighbours. Once in while, people line up in front of his simple dwelling to have him fill in their forms, or ration cards, or to have their letters written, or read. He is also recognized as an honest man who holds to the Quran, and every Friday faithfully goes to the local mosque to perform his Jummah prayers. During the days, he works as a bookbinder, and during the evenings, he teaches slum children to read. He does not earn much from his work but just enough to feed his wife and offspring. “We will give it what we have,” he says, “tomorrow we will start searching for its master.”

As it happens, the master of the cow is a cattle-merchant in Mirpur who treats his creatures well not because he is an animal-lover, but because he is well aware of his consumers’ demands. Besides, fat and fit creatures bring in a fat profit. And particularly at Eid ul Adha market one can make a fortune in the cattle business. Now the Eid is in the offing, and the cattle-breeder has been over feeding his creatures to fatten them up. He has had them taken to the local vet to have them checked and rechecked. They were given extra vitamin injections; everyday his grooms have been brushing and bathing them, and a village girl has been polishing their horns and hooves. So as one may imagine, the merchant hits the roof when he realizes that his favourite cow is missing. He has been planning to put this nonpareil cow up for auction just to see how much money people were ready to pay for it. But now he is not only going to miss the money, he is also going to miss the fun at the auction. The cow can’t have run off by itself. Someone must have stolen it. Someone, who would like to sell it at a profit at Eid-bazar. Someone who begrudges him his fortune. Oh, the very audacity!

The agitated merchant sends out troops of his employees in every direction to find the cow. He sends out his three sons to the centre of the city; he himself goes to the nearest police station to report the theft. But all in vain. There is no sign of the lost cow. The morning passes, afternoon arrives, the evening draws closer. The wind falls. When the night settles in, the merchant walks to and fro on the roof of his three storied building. He pulls at his long black beard which has a fat stripe of white just in the middle. He pulls at his hair. He squashes mosquitoes on the bare parts of his body. He shouts, curses and swears that he will murder the thief that has stolen his number one cow. The night passes like this.

In the morning the boy wakes up in the slum. He thinks he has dreamt of the cow, but when he goes out of the hut, he sees the white cow tethered to the pole in the backyard. His mother has removed the sack from its back, and it’s sitting there on the ground with its legs folded under it; its white fur sparkling like silver dust along its flank and the bell on her neck — which he hadn’t seen the night before — glittering like gold. He can feel the smell of cow dung in his nostrils. He sniffs it in, as he hears his father’s mild voice from behind, “The brass bell around the cow’s neck has an address engraved within it. It must be her master’s address. She has to go, son.”

“Can’t we keep her one more day?”

“No. She has to go now. The master must be searching high and low for her.”

The father has to go to his work so he asks the boy to lead the cow to its owner. The boy puts on a pair of clean full pants and a full sleeved shirt. Slips his feet into a pair of rubber sandals and ushers the cow out of their yard. He says goodbye to his parents and siblings and walks slowly towards Mirpur with the cow walking by him. It takes him almost an hour before he reaches the area. He finds the house quite easily. For a few minutes he stands in front of the imposing three storied building, awe stricken. The size of the building frightens him in a peculiar way, and he begins to back away, when from the top of the roof the merchant sees the little boy and the cow walking away with him.

The merchant runs down the stairs, panting. The boy has by then passed the building and is about to walk round the premises. The merchant catches up with him.

“Where did you get that cow?”

The boy looks into the face of the man, his heart hammering. There is a black spot on the man’s forehead; he is wearing a lungi which is gathered far above his waist on the highest peak of his protruding belly. His long black beard with its sloping white stripe in the middle looks like the devil’s slide. His pan stained teeth red like a vampire’s. Beady eyes - full of fantastic suspicion. The boy stammers.

“It came to us yesterday.”

“You little thief!” The man raises his voice, “it came to you on a visit. Pah! You have chosen the right person to pull a fast one on. Now I will make you pay for it.” All of a sudden a whim seizes the man. He takes the rope from the boy’s hand, makes a loop and puts it around the boy’s neck and leads both the cow and the boy into the enclosed pasture by the building. The boy can’t understand what’s happening. The workers in the pasture look up, aware that their master is up to some wicked game. Nobody is concerned about the little boy, though. Then before anyone can react, the owner gives the cow a real bash. The cow seems reluctant as it persists in staying stay where it is. But the man is as stubborn as the beast; he gives it a bash again. This time with redoubled energy. The cow sets off. The boy tries to keep pace with it. The loop becomes tighter around his neck. Each time the cow gets close to the merchant, he releases a mocking laughter and gives it a new thump. The workers laugh a jeering laughter, but the herd of cows in the pasture moan and lament as though they are breathing in the warmth of a departing soul. After a couple of minutes, the man decides to stop the entertainment. He motions to one of his workers to stop the running cow. But by now the boy’s face has become purple from suffocation, his tongue is tumbling out and his eyes open in wonder. The panting cow stares at the man. Tears rolling out of its huge eyes.

The man looks stupidly at the cow and the boy’s slack body; the tattered pants, the torn shirt, the bruised bare feet. The cow is standing, but the boy is lying on the ground. Slowly the merchant begins to be aware that the incident has robbed the playful pursuit of its relish. This is not what he has been aiming at; he has only been trying to teach the boy a lesson for the thievery and at the same time have some good fun. Legitimate fun. Surely he has the right to punish a thief. A thief. Not just any thief, but a thief who has committed the gruesome crime of stealing his beast. His favourite beast! Of course, he has all the right in the world to punish him the way it pleases him. What a pity that the pursuit has to be over already; the climax – disappointing if not catastrophic. One never knows how things may turn out. It’s strange that man can’t have control over everything. A shadow of a thought suddenly settles on his face. He tries to shrug off the uneasy feeling. He should not be held responsible for this little accident. For sure, it is an accident. Like any other accident that people read about every day in the newspaper and then forget as easily. No one can be blamed for an accident. Accidents are accidents. He thinks quickly. Before the news spreads, he has to report the incident to the Police Station, and charge the boy with theft. To repair some of the damage, he will pay for the boy’s burial. Yes, a decent burial, similar to a rich man’s son’s burial. The thought makes him feel better. Much better.

He orders his men to move the body and put it inside the cowshed. Two workers volunteer to take the body away; telling each other that if all thieves were punished like this, the world would be a nice place to live in.

In the meantime, the boy’s father returns home for lunch and discovers that his son has not returned. His wife comforts him, telling him that the rich man is perhaps so happy to get back his cow that he has decided to offer the child a proper meal. And maybe the boy will return with some money as well.

The afternoon passes and evening falls. The father gets worried. No sooner has he finished his evening prayers than he leaves for the address he copied from the cow’s bell in the morning. The wind has dropped, the air is clear. There are a few stars in the sky. Wrapped in an inexplicable gloom, he walks on. He takes long and quick steps. When he gets tired, he jumps on an overcrowded bus, stands on the steps, clinging to its iron handle. The winter wind chills his body, ruffles his hair. He closes his eyes.

The bus stops at Mirpur zoo. He gets off the bus and walks towards the address in his pocket. When after some twenty minutes, he finds the address, in the wintry dusk he stands under a lamppost opposite the huge building and looks at it in equal wonder as his son did in the morning. But he doesn’t back off. It takes him ten more minutes to gather enough courage to press the calling button.

When the gate opens, he introduces himself and announces the reason for his visit. The servant shows him into a small room which is used as an office. It is a dim room, the floor covered with an old fat carpet, and the windows with heavy drapes. There are a few chairs around a desk topped with a thick glass. He carefully pulls out a chair and sits down on it. After a couple of minutes the meat-merchant appears. The poor man stands up immediately at the sight of the rich man. For a long while, they stand there looking at each other. One in fine clothes, the other in a darned lungi and Punjabi; one slim and taut from hard work, the other fat and flashy from sitting behind a desk.

The father tells the merchant his errand.

The merchant slowly sits down on his chair as it hits him that the boy was not a thief. He was an upright child of an upright father. The merchant finds himself thinking about the morning, the boy, the weeping cow, the loop around the boy’s neck. And the anti climax of the whole thing. He sees everything with clarity and precision. They all seem so real that he feels he still is in the pasture. And the dead boy speaking to him. Making faces at him. The man starts weeping…


A NUMBER OF years pass by. The merchant’s sons are all grown up now; they are all married and each has his own floor in the same building. The merchant and his wife have been given accommodation in their oldest son’s flat. The merchant is old and wizened and has become an ailing man over the years; during the nights he’s wakeful as the little boy roams in his brain, and the cow’s moaning repeats itself in his ears; during the days he fidgets inside the flat, nagging at everyone and every thing. His voice never stops. It sounds like a man’s jeering voice: I will make you pay for it. I will make you pay for it. The son gets tired of his father, and after a year, he shoves the duty to his middle brother. There the voice takes a different turn. Now it repeats in a child’s voice: It came to us. It came to us. The sentence comes out of the man’s fat mouth as though he was an idiot. A year goes by and the middle boy gets weary of his father too and shoves the duty to his youngest brother.

That very night as the merchant dozes off, he twitches convulsively and he feels a loop around his own neck. Tightening. He tries to scream. But the voice now takes a different route. Now it sounds like a cow’s voce. A lamenting cow. Crying from the depth of its belly. Moaning. Lowing, Crying. The voice of a cow! From this night on, this new sound becomes the merchant’s constant companion. His wife moves out of the room, the children and grand children are all annoyed. Finally, one day their patience runs out, and he is ushered out of the ground floor and steered towards the cowshed which now stands empty as his sons have given up the cow and cattle rearing business. The boys install their father in it, telling each other that it is the best solution under the circumstances. For, a man with a voice of cow should be treated like a cow.


DILRUBA Z. ARA is a Bangladeshi-born author living in Sweden. Her stories have appeared in various literary magazines such as Chattahoochee Review, Drunken Boat, and Shipwrights Review; and in newspapers in Pakistan and anthologies in Bangladesh. Her first novel, A List of Offences, has been translated into Spanish and Greek. Her second novel has recently been accepted by the literary agency Books Crossing Borders, USA. Visit her at www.dilrubazara.com

25 March 2011

What is a little magazine and why is it there? What is its history and who first brought it out? Before getting into the answers let us first see the definition of little magazines.

A little magazine is a periodical, usually not published for profit, that prints reviews, essays, fiction, or poetry, supposedly devoted to high literary standards. Little magazines often run innovative or experimental works. Some are widely influential, but others are virtually unknown except to the editors and contributors.

The publicity and expansion of little magazines began mainly at the turn of the twentieth century. But its real journey started in the mid-nineteenth century. The Dial, (Boston, 1840-1844), jointly edited by Ralph Waldo Emerson and Margaret Fuller, is considered as the original model. At the end of the nineteenth century and in the beginning of the twentieth, little magazines became popular in England, France and America through the imagist, symbolist and other movements. In Bengali literature, Promoth Chowdhury's Sobujpatra (1914) is thought to be the original model for little magazines. Other than that, Bankim Chatterjee's Bangodarshan (1872) is also a point of reference.

Mizan Rahman, a young promising poet, researcher and editor of a little magazine, has edited two books regarding little magazines in Bangladesh and thoughts around little magazines in the two Bengals. Undoubtedly, this is a pioneer work and these books are first in linking the two Bengals. Bangladeshey Little Magazine Chorcha, Otit O Bartoman (Little Magazine Practice in Bangladesh, Past and Present) is divided mainly into three parts. In the first part of the book come write-ups on the subject of little magazine practice, in the past and present, in Bangladesh. Ahmaad Majhar has written about Dhaka-based little magazine practice and activities. We come to know from his write-up that the little magazine wave came up in Bangladesh strongly in the 1960s.

Saptak (1962), Baktabbya (1963), Swakkhor (1963), Sad Generation (1963), Samprotik (1964), Kanthoswor (1965), Chhotogalpo (1966) and several other little magazines caused a big movement in the field of little magazines in Dhaka. And it is to be noted that Abdullah Abu Sayeed's Kanthoswor played a vital role then. The magazine was published continuously for twelve years. Kanthoswor was a strong voice of the emerging litterateurs of our country, most of whom are well-known names in Bengali literature today. The second part, named as a supplement, includes several renowned litterateurs' write-ups on little magazines. The writers include Buddhadev Bose, Shibnarayan Roy, Subimol Mishra, Robin Ghosh and so on. And in the third part is a list of nearly all little magazines published throughout Bangladesh.

Dui Banglar Little Magazine Bhabna (little magazine thinking in two Bengals) is a compilation of write-ups regarding little magazine thoughts of several litterateurs from the two Bengals, eleven from each. In the writers' list there are not only renowned litterateurs but young emerging litterateurs as well.

From these books it becomes clear that the little magazine is the real ground for rearing future writers. It is the best territory for all kinds of experiments in literature. Newspapers, magazines are nothing but institutions. They do not build up a writer. Moreover, like taking the cream from the milk, they collect good writers from little magazines.

We also come to know of the significant characteristics of little magazines. For instance, little magazines are not traditional and popular. Most writers in little magazines are young and newcomers in literature. Loss is the common word in the dictionary of little magazines. Anyone who wants to publish a little magazine does so at risk of financial loss. On the other hand, if a little magazine becomes profitable, it soon loses its characteristics.


RAHAD ABIR is a short story writer and translator from Bangladesh. He has three published books: Aamar Dui Prenika Ebong Tiktiki’ (2007, Oiitijho), Mirza Sahiban (Translation, Oitijjho, 2007), and Bhalo Bou (Translation, Kothaprokash, 2008). This article was first published in The Daily Star.

11 March 2011

Minah knew Sidu, short for Siddharta, ever since they were children. Playmates for over fifteen years, both reached puberty not realizing how fast time had passed, but as each day went by their bonding grew stronger; they became the best of friends. Their favorite haunt was the mango grove by the village pond where they hung out everyday. O, what did they not do here? Laughed, skipped around, climbed up trees, larked about and danced insanely with the accompaniment of the flute when one was available. They sealed this relationship with the vow that they would always be there for each other, not knowing however, that in the cosmic scheme they have already been set apart for their inherent beliefs; also, for being a boy and a girl. While Minah’s Muslim family had great wealth, Sidu’s were orthodox Brahmins of the highest caste and in those days of carefree joy any misgivings was like feather in a storm swept away by the winds of innocence.

And then, one day Minah came a little late as Sidu waited for her anxiously at the rendezvous. By now, Minah had turned eighteen and Sidu twenty. When she finally showed up, Sidu scrutinized her from head to toe, something was wrong, he thought.

“About time! You took for ever, didn’t you?” he asked her. “And why are you dressed like that? You look, hmm, somewhat different.”

“Why? Because people came to see me today!”

She sat down on a grassy spot under the tree with Sidu following closely.

“Who? Who came to see you?”

“People!”

“What people?”

“How would I know? I guess I am to be married soon.”

“And when did you buy that sari? You never told me!”

“No, amma bought it for the occasion, what do you think of the color?” Minah asked him.

“It’s nice, just that—that—I am not used to seeing you in a sari. By the way, that red? It really suits you. When’s the occasion?”

“I don’t know, silly!” she blushed.

“You look pretty! Like a grown woman.”

Minah stood up and pulled him by the hand.

“Come, let’s do something.”

“You could wear this for the Durga Puja though, couldn’t you? I could buy you matching bangles. Do you think you might be married off by then?”

He rambled on as they walked the mango grove holding hands, unaware of the time that was soon going to be out of joint. Suddenly, something dropped from the trees above and landed with a thud on the dirt road before their feet.

“It’s a bird egg! We need to put it back,” Sidu said.

A couple of cuckoo birds nested in one of the mango trees. He picked it up, but the nest being too high he needed Minah’s help.

“I’ll put it back. I am sure I’d be able to reach the branch if I stood on your shoulders,” she said.

It seemed like a good plan. So Minah took the little egg from his hand and put one foot on Sidu’s shoulder as he bent down for her to get on. With both feet firmly placed, she stood up shakily holding a thick branch of the tree with one hand while she set the egg gently back into the nest with the other. Her sari buffered Sidu’s head between her legs as he looked up. But no sooner was the job done she lost balance and they both tumbled down.

Incidentally, the highly respected school pundit, Mr Mukherjee who was passing by saw them fall. Being out of school since graduation, it had slipped Sidu’s mind that it was lunch time and dad would come home for the break. He was also Minah’s teacher, one of her favorite. Mr. Mukherjee looked at them quizzically through his old-fashioned rimless round glasses as they stood up awkwardly arranging their disheveled clothes. Minah’s sari was all the way up to her knees which she was desperately pulling down to her ankles. The pundit expressed concern as he ran down the dirt path to the low land of the pond to give them a hand.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“We are fine!” Sidu said.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing serious just fell down.”

“O, I can see that!”

After he found out what had happened, he could not hold his laughter.

“You’re going to be married soon, my dear! It’s not good to be seen with him anymore,” he said.

“So what?” Minah hissed.

The pundit was taken aback at her retort. Raising an eyebrow, he invited them to join him for lunch.

Sidu lived with his mum, dad and a younger sister in a small two-bedroom brick house close to the mango grove. They ate in the front verandah on the floor which was also their kitchen. As they approached, Sidu’s mum Monjushree rolled out a paati on the floor as though she was expecting them while a vaporous pot of hot rice boiled on kerosene stove. She had just finished stirring the rice with a wooden spoon when they stepped onto the verandah. She put the lid back on the pot and the spoon away.

“Hello Minah, how are you, love?” she asked. “Why? How lucky are we today? Our guest is a bride-to-be,” she smiled.

“Um! What have you been cookin` mashima?”

“A blushing bride already,eh? All your favorites: fried Hilsa, Daal, and fried potatoes in tomato sauce.”

“Yummy!” Minah chuckled.

“Sidu, help Minah wash her hands. Lunch is nearly ready.”

Mrs Mukherjee laid down five copper plates and glasses on the mat while Sidu poured a mug full of water down her hands from a bucket placed on the edge of the open verandah. Her interlocked hands rubbed slightly with his as he did so; it made them both a little self-conscious. On the mat afterwards, Sidu sat in yoga position between Minah and his sister Moushumi, while Mr and Mrs Mukherjee opposite to them.

Minah’s frequent visits to this house have always been looked upon favorably. Her own was just next door—the two storied, old fashioned rendered brick house. It had a big paved front and a back yard and a large round balcony which glowed every evening when hurricane lanterns were lit. These lanterns hung from curved iron dowels positioned on a horizontal pole fixed with two bolts across a couple of narrow supporting walls. In fact, it was Minah who lit them one by one, every evening.

Her dad, as one of the village’s wealthiest rice farmers, owned a lot of fertile land. He sold the rice to the superstores and village markets around the country and this gave him a powerful station in the hierarchical social order.

Mr Mukherjee served Minah spoonfuls of rice. Minah laughed and said that she could not eat anymore but that did not deter him.

“We would have to get you something nice for the wedding! Don’t we?” Mrs Mukherjee said.

She turned her gaze away from Minah to scan Mr Mukherjee’s placid face. The pundit smiled at her ruefully. It did not escape their eyes that whenever the “w” word was spoken, Sidu moved his fingers either too fast through the rice or gulped water so hurriedly that he once nearly choked.

“Go easy on the fish! Don’t forget it is Hilsa, those razor-sharp bones could cause havoc, if they were to get caught up in your throat, Sidu,” the pundit cautioned.

“Yes! If we could change the subject!” Sidu said chewing a mouthful of rice. “I don’t think Minah wants to talk about her wedding plans right now.”

He gave her a cursory glance to which she lowered her head even further.

“I haven’t seen your amma lately,” said Mrs Mukherjee.

“Haven’t you? She did mention you last night; said she’d drop in soon, if not today, then tomorrow perhaps?” she said.

“Yeah, she probably would.”

“Minah, are you going to move out once you are married?” Moushumi asked.

“Most likely,” said the pundit.

There was no getting away from this topic, Sidu thought regrettably. He cleaned his hand and got up, leaving his plate right there on the paati avoiding everybody’s uneasy gaze.

Lunch was over soon after that. Mrs Mukherjee collected the plates and took them out at the well in the front yard to do the dishes. While she scraped Sidu’s plate for the tired, malnourished dog at their doorstep, Sidu took Minah home. Minah said good-bye to everyone and squeezed Moushumi’s chubby cheeks before she departed. Not participating in the good-bye ceremony, the pundit slowly stepped inside for he gauged some kind of disaster looming about; life’s complexities lurked unexpectedly.

Sidu and Minah were at the gate of her big house. When he saw Mrs Ruby Rahman looking at them from the balcony upstairs, he joined hands to greet her nomoskar. She reciprocated by nodding with a smile. As Sidu left her there, Minah went in through the gate and ran upstairs to her room.

Mrs Rahman sat down erectly in an easy chair made out of cane. She leant forward to pick up the knitting from the basket when Minah came around and stood by the railing on the balcony.

“I’ve already had lunch at mashima’s.”

“Yeah, I figured that! What have you had?”

“O, the usual, but it was tasty.”

“How is she? Haven’t seen her in a while!”

“She’s good, wanted to know how you were,” Minah said.

“Yeah, well now that you are about to be getting married, you need to stay home. The Jeweler will come this after-noon to take orders. I want you to be here with me, don’t take off.”

The lady of the house, Mrs Ruby Rahman, was a woman of few words but she was usually clear on what she wanted to say. Despite all her wealth, she was a plain looking character who seldom interfered into other people’s affairs.

“The match maker was here a little while ago, a wedding date has been fixed.” She said it with such a note of finality that it seemed as though it were carved in stone but Minah’s mind was racing; who was he? What did he do for a living? Where would they live? But she was too afraid to ask! It was too daunting. Thus, she continued to look ahead at the rice fields while her heart madly pounded away. A maid beckoned Mrs Rahman inside as the fish seller had come to collect his money.

Minah stared blankly at the tall green grass that swayed in the late autumnal winds. She visualized a future that seemed uncertain, bleak. Her thin determined lips looked sallow without lipstick on an expressionless fair, small face while her untidy, long, curly hair brushed gently against her cheeks in the afternoon breeze. She did not realize that the sun had slowly dipped into the blushing western sky— a blush that matched hers. It was time to light the lanterns.
Slowly she bent down to pick up the match box stashed in the corner of one of those pillars. She pushed the glass cover off the bracket of the lantern at an angle to get to the wick underneath. All of a sudden she became aware that she had audience that evening. She began to light them one after another, and when she came to the last one, turned instinctively around to look at her neighbor’s house. Her eyes were locked into Sidu’s. She smiled wanly then went inside.

The wedding preparations were well under way. Minah heard people come and go downstairs every day. More maids and page boys were employed. Relatives came from far and wide to stay with them until it was over. As soon as the jewelers left, tailors came in to take measurement. There were endless supply of Sweets, Shingaras and Pithas. Lunches and dinners were served in several oodles. The spread consisted of many items of fish, meat and vegetables. Men mostly ate downstairs and women upstairs. The house smelled of curry for days on. Minah saw Mrs Mukherjee one day but was not sure if Sidu came. She did not go out anymore but saw his dark eager eyes under the narrow forehead as he looked at her from the other side of the fence at lantern lighting times. And that was all.

A few days before the wedding, however, Minah heard noises coming from Sidu’s house as she waited to see him that evening. There was a cry and Sidu stalked out of the house followed by Mrs Mukherjee’s frantic appeal to stop him. And that evening when her parents chatted as usual in the main bedroom, Minah quietly slipped out of the house after dinner.

“Why does Akeel need to stay in the village when he could easily move to town, I don’t understand! His work starts at 8. How would he get there on time?”

Presumably, that was the name of the groom and the discussion was about his work, she thought. The conversation gradually faded as she ran down the stairs across the hall into the yard and out of the gate. Moushumi sat dourly on the verandah steps as Minah pushed herself through their cane fence-door; she came running to her.

“Moushumi! What has happened here?” she asked.

Moushumi hesitated for a moment. Minah looked at her in silent query.

“It’s Sidu,” Moushumi said.

“Well?”

“He asked baba, if he could marry you.”

“What! And then?”

“Baba said no, something to do with our faith.”

Neither of them realized that Sidu’s parents appeared on the scene and overheard them whisper. The pundit asked Minah to come into the lounge room as he ushered her inside; the uncanny silence was unbearable.

The room was not that large. They faced each other as they sat on short bamboo stools while Mrs Mukherjee and Moushumi stood in the doorway.

“And we love you very much,” he was saying. “But I am bound by the tenets of our religion; I can’t permit Sidu to marry you. Please for give me, we would become ostracized, no one would marry Moushumi … can’t beat the odds, the stakes’ too high. I wish we were born in another world, another era.”

Through the dim obscurity rendered by the lantern, Minah saw the dark scowl and the stress marks on his narrow forehead as his voice trailed off. She looked at the piled up fat books on the corner table of the room, felt dejected that there was no place for her and Sidu in them.

“I must go then, mustn’t I?” she asked.

“Yes, you must,” he paused. “I’ll pray for your happiness, always. I wish you only the best. May Bhagwan bless you my child.”

She muttered adieu somehow as she flitted out of the room and entered into her house the same way she came out, nobody noticed.

Moments passed, but Minah could not sleep that night. She lay awake listening to the creaky noises in the wooden window shutters as it slammed in the hollow winds. She kept her ears open and craned her neck to see if Sidu was in! But no, apart from the murmur of the dry leaves, there was nothing! Nothing besides to console her fretful soul! Not even a shadow under the brightly burning moon of the night.

The last few days she seemed to care for Sidu more than ever. Her days were filled with tremors and quivers as she craved for his company, for his touch. They gazed at each other over the fence while their unspoken words burned in the kindled fire within.

`A passion so intense! Is this love?’ she asked herself. ‘I must! Oh, I must! Meet him, at least once and this will be the last, I promise! I promise.`

The next morning a maid entered her room. She wasn’t there. The maid thought, Minah might have gone out for a walk. But it was a bit too early, wasn’t it? “Minah apu! Minah apu, where are you?” she called out.

But no! She was nowhere in her room; her screams steadily took a nervous pitch which aroused every one in the house to the knowledge that Minah was missing.

Not fully awake yet, Mr Rahman’s half-shut eyes squinted as he yawned. He got out of bed and went on the balcony but saw nothing outside. Servants were sent all around to look for her. This stirred up the entire village including Sidu and his parents. When he heard, Sidu took off in a flash as though he knew exactly where to find her. And he did! Minutes later he carried Minah through the gate of the big house.

As soon as they arrived a clearly distressed Ruby Rahman met them at the entrance.

“Where did you find her?” she asked.

Sidu staggered and then proceeded towards her room in silence. He laid her down gently on the bed. Mr Rahman quickly sent a page boy who scurried along to find a doctor.

“Under the mango tree, by the pond. She’s okay, sleeping,” Sidu gasped.

When the doctor finally arrived, apart from Ruby he asked everyone else to leave the room. He turned Minah over and found a tiny bit of blood clot on the back of her head. There was a fracture there as though someone had tried to thwack her. She woke up disoriented in the midst of it all.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“That’s what we would like to know! How? Why?”

Ruby continued to harangue her while Minah kept quiet against the tirade of attacks. Afterwards when the doctor sat with them on the verandah, he told Mr and Mrs Rahman over a cup of tea that Minah had been sleep-walking. Most likely she injured herself when she flopped on the ground thinking that it was her bed.

“Could she have gone anywhere?” Mr Rahman enquired.

“It’s possible,” the doctor replied.

Mr and Mrs Rahman sat quietly on the two upright chairs thinking how this might impinge on the wedding. In the mean time, one of the page boys burst into the room holding a lantern in his hand.

“What is it?” Mrs Ruby Rahman cried.

“I found this by the pond!”

Ruby looked up and saw the empty spot on the pole that held all the lanterns together.

“Indeed!”

The boy hung it back and left. The doctor left too. But by now the entire village came to know that she had slept under the mango tree and that Sidu brought her home. This gave rise to all kinds of speculation. Maids and housewives gossiped at every corner: in the market, on the street and in their homes. This was hot topic whenever people got together. And for days on, this is all they talked about. Some people said, she was jinxed, others thought she might be possessed and yet some women questioned her honor. They whispered, Sidu and Minah might have actually spent the night together, or else how did he know where to find her?

The wedding being just ten days away, the news traveled all the way to Minah’s would be in–law’s household and three days later the match-maker was at their place. The servant opened the door and led him through the hall into the balcony. Mr Rahman greeted the match-maker by touching his own forehead with the right hand while Ruby quickly draped her head with the loose end of the Anchal and welcomed him in the same manner.

“Asslaam-u-alaikum.”

“O-laikum-us-salaam,” he replied.

“Please have a seat.”

They sat comfortably on high-backed chairs. The match-maker sat down opposite to Mr Rahman as Ruby excused herself to go inside. Soon, refreshments were sent out for the guest carried by a page boy on a tray. They were home made snacks called Bhapa Pitha; tea was also served. Mr Rahman placed one such Pitha on a plate and handed it to the match-maker.

“There have been issues lately,” he said. “It is bothering a lot of people.”

The viscous molasses slowly oozed out of the coconut covering as he took his first bite into the Pitha. He licked it off his upper and the lower lips.

“What do you mean?” Mr Rahman asked.

“Well! They want to break up the wedding over this incidence. They think Minah might be possessed.”

“My God! No, no! She was just sleep-walking.”

“Look, they don’t want to know all that. She needs to be exorcised and that’s that. There are no two ways about it. You would have to put a ritual in place to expel that devil from her head.”

“And then? Then would they rethink?”

“Yes,” he said briefly.

The slick mercenary studied Mr Rahman’s sullen expression pinching his prickly mustache on his non-descript grubby face. And as he observed his eagerness, he thought that he had a potential bargaining position which would open not only a window of opportunity to get his social credentials up as a match-maker with the families of the eligible bachelors in the village, but also more money into his coffers.

“They might, for a price, more gifts for the groom and fifty thousand taka in cash.”

“Fifty thousand taka! But that’s a lot of money, even for me!” Mr Rahman said aloud raising his hands up in the air.

“And I say, take it or leave it. End of discussion,” the match-maker told him.

“Okay, okay! I’ll do it, but I’ll need more time. As soon as I have the money, I’ll let you know.”

“Let me know. Soon.”

No sooner had the match-maker left; he sat mulling over this matter. In the eyes of the society they would forever be stigmatized if this wedding did not take place; no honorable boy would marry his daughter again. For a respectable life in the village he was prepared to do anything. If he had to sell land to raise money! So be it. Get Minah exorcised! So be it. The scandal! Oh the horror! He panicked.

Minah hardly ever came out of her room as she was not allowed to go out with Sidu anymore. By now, she was not only forlorn but beginning to wear this loneliness on her face. Her eyes were increasingly cheerless and vacuous. She grew thinner by the day as her appetite slowly dissipated. She longed for him more than ever and that night she felt a strong desire to meet Sidu under the mango tree, by the pond. When everyone went off to sleep that night, Minah sneaked out in the dark. On her way, she peered in the direction of Sidu’s house, but saw nothing other than the slight glow of the wick lantern. Minah knew Sidu would be there. She chanted his name repeatedly in her mind. And as she approached the meeting place she saw a figure in white waiting for her. She saw Sidu’s Dhoti and the top. Seeing her, Sidu extended his arms so she could run straight into them. Minah was not sleep walking to-night.

Breathing heavily, Sidu held Minah in a tight embrace. She rested her head shyly on his heaving chest as he kissed her hair.

“I missed you,” he said.

“I missed you more.”

They stood motionless locked into each others’ arms for God knows how long when Sidu took Minah’s chin. She opened her eyes to meet his. In the moonlight he tilted it with his index finger and held it close to his lips; they kissed.

And suddenly, the world around them exploded into millions of atoms as Sidu’s kisses were returned with tenderness beyond comparison. Then they sat down under the tree while Sidu held Minah’s small waist in a gentle grip. Minah inclined back on the stump for Sidu to caress her shoulders, her round taut breasts and then her lips again, and again until they climaxed; she was not afraid. When they finished, they lay contented beside each other while an occasional owl hooted at a distance in the murky night—the mango tree, the lover’s den, witnessed it all.

“When’s the wedding?”

“Don’t know, don’t want to know! Minah said with eyes still closed. “Say something else.”

“We shall meet, no matter what!” Sidu said.

“We are together! You and I, do you understand, Sidu?”

Minah said looking deeply into his dark troubled eyes and saw his them twinkle. They stood before heavens and chose each other as partners—a celestial union which none of the world’s social or religious laws could have altered. They heard the azan gently drifting through the silence of the night proclaiming the Morning Prayer.

“I need to go,” Minah said.

Sidu grabbed her hand as she got up.

“Don’t go! Not just yet. Stay! Stay a bit longer,” he pleaded.

“I’ll come back to-night, same time,” Minah promised.

“Okay.”

He let her go. But how could he? Oh! How could he let her go? He looked haplessly as she pussyfooted down the narrow dirt road disappearing into the semi darkness of the dawn. She darted back into the house, locked the front gate and hung the key beside it on the nail before running up the steps into the safety of her room. Warily, she went into the bathroom to take her sweaty clothes off. She took several mugs of water from a bucket set in the bathroom and poured it over her head. She changed into fresh clothes, dried her wet body with a red gamcha. She saw blood stains on the sari that she just took off, hid it quickly under the bed and thought of washing it later, for she had no more energy left; she went straight to bed.

Mr Rahman was able to sell some land eventually, but Minah did not need to get exorcized as she stopped sleep walking for awhile. A wedding date was fixed again and it was due to happen within seven days once the money was paid. The deal had closed and Minah knew that in this negotiation she was being sold but to preserve the family honor said nothing. On the day of the wedding she was not sure if Sidu was present among the large crowd of people that attended it.

The night before the wedding they met again for the last time. They kissed and made love under the starlit sky and Minah left as usual. But both knew that they were so entwined in spirit and mind that in this oneness they would always communicate, although never really meet again. But they did, in a most peculiar way.

Minah’s in-laws were just another traditional family who lived about five miles away from her village. After the wedding ceremony, the plan was to take the train back and Minah was to be carried to the station on a decorative palki, contrary to the plain ones used by the other women; the men would walk alongside the cavalcade. And as the wedding procession ensued towards the station, Minah saw Sidu through the draped little window, appearing and disappearing over the horizon. When all the palkies were parked at last, she was brought into an empty carriage by the groom who callously put her down on the window seat and left without a word.

He went back to the platform while she sat alone by the carriage window and sobbed quietly as she looked occasionally out. Hours went by, she waited, and she waited, in anticipation not for the man she had just married but for Sidu to emerge in the doorway. She could not, rather would not, say goodbye to him. This is who she desired, this is who she wanted from the bottom of her heart; hence, in desperation she cried out, Sidu!

The train nearly moved, yet no sign of anyone. And then quite unexpectedly, Minah saw a man’s shape in the doorway, a vision so blurred that it was barely recognizable! She found herself being seized by two strong arms and swiftly taken out of the carriage. In one long stride they dismounted from the train, she was put back in the same palki, lifted up by the bearers who in light, hasty pace dashed her out of the station.

In the meantime, the train slugged away. All Minah could see was a number of passing faces who looked on incredulously through the carriage windows, seemingly her in-laws. And then it was magic! The next enchanting few moments; Sidu entered through the small opening of the palki as its bearers put it down in the middle of nowhere.

“O, my love, it was awful! I couldn’t bear to let you go, just couldn’t!” Sidu exclaimed huskily as he kissed her wet cheeks. “You look ravishing, beautiful, out of this world today in that sari and jewelry and you belong to me; I’d go crazy without you.”

Minah stared at him, bemused and gaping, with mouth wide open as he whispered into her ears and kissed her relentlessly. How extraordinary for this to be really happening! Happening to her?

“I bribed the bearers and I told my parents that I had adopted celibacy to go away on a pilgrimage, never to return,” Sidu explained.

“Did they believe you?”

“Yes, they did. They said it was an acceptable proposition.”

“Where would we go now?”

“Don’t know!” he answered.

As he bent his head gently down on her parted lips to kiss her again, one of the bearers knocked on the wobbly little door of the palki saying that they were not from here; they needed to go before dark. Sidu asked him to carry them to the outskirts of the village.

Since that day Minah could not be found anywhere, although the police looked for her everywhere. When the bearers were questioned all they said was that she was last seen with a man. The description of the man fitted that of Sidu’s—tall, dark and slim but they failed to make the connection because Sidu was supposedly on his way to the pilgrimage.

Soon everyone gave up; the gossip, the moaning also ended. The story that spread through the village was that Minah was kidnapped from the train for jewelry and was left alone to die in a distant place. Her mutilated body was so unidentifiable that a proper burial was not possible. It had to be taken to the morgue. The tainted sari was found by Ruby Rahman herself who had entered Minah’s room later to check if her trousseau was all taken. As she looked under her bed, she saw the sari and pulled it out; her bewildered gawk was momentarily fixed on the dry blood stains. She washed it with her own hands and put it away in her closet, a secret she shared with no one.

But, the wise pundit smiled in disbelief when he heard this story; he knew the children only too well. And when Sidu wrote letters to Moushumi from anonymous addresses, he was proven to be right. She too married and lived happily, but never saw them again.

Moushumi buried those letters in their legendary secret garden under the mango tree, by the pond upon Sidu’s request; in her diary nevertheless, she wrote this narrative as it occurred without the characters ever being exposed: once upon a time there lived two lovers in an obscure village is how it began. This, for a fleeting moment, gave Mr and Mrs Rahman some hint as to their daughter’s disappearance when she read it to them one day—a tale most confronting, of love and elopement that left everyone speechless!

Glossary:

• amma: mother
• anchal: the loose end of the sari that flows down a woman’s shoulder
• apu: sister
• Assalaam-u-alaikum: Muslim greetings meaning peace be upon you or salaam
• azan: announcement of prayer times
• baba: dad
• bhagwan: Hindu terminology for god
• bhapa pitha: Bangladeshi snack made of coconut and molasses stuffing
• daal: lentils
• dhoti: the bottom part of clothing worn by Hindu men only, especially in Calcutta
• gamcha: a thin cotton towel
• Durga Puja: A Hindu festival
• hilsa: a popular fish with big bones
• mashima: aunty in Hindu terminology
• nomoskar: Hindu greetings
• paati: eating mat
• palki: palanquin
• Shingara: A deep fried triangular shaped flour pod stuffed with potatoes mainly
• sari: An unstitched piece of cloth ranging from four to nine meters in length that drapes over a women’s body when it is worn
• O-laikum-us-salaam: response to Assalaam-u-alaikum
  

MEHREEN AHMED is a published writer from Bangladesh. She has been publishing since 1987. Her works have appeared in newspapers and literary magazine namely, VelvetIllusions and Asia Writes. She has also published academic works which have appeared in leading journals of her area of study. She has completed two MA degrees: English Literature from Dhaka University in Bangladesh and Applied Linguistics (Computer-Assisted Language Learning) at the University of Queensland, Brisbane. She is currently working on a novella and lives in Brisbane, Australia.