Close to sights and sounds of Nature

City life is poor indeed if considered in the context of sights and sounds of Nature. In fact, the unpleasant mechanical excesses of both have numbed city people's senses. Belying the weathermen's prediction, this year has appeared to be a rare one to generously bestow the heavenly gift. But instead of enjoying it, city people were, more often than not, harassed and left edgy because of the accumulation of rainwater on roads and alleys.

Contrast this with the life in a typical village of Bangladesh. One who has not seen the choreography of the dancing meghbalikas (does cloud girls or damsel remotely carry the nuances of this Bangla metaphor?), can legitimately considers one's life worthless. Dark as kajol, the black beauty line used for enhancing the appeal of girls' eyes in this part of the world, the merry clouds in their sprightly dances creates sequences indescribable by words. They roll on or simply float one above the other in their lively sojourn, at times outdoing each other as if the anchals of their sharis fly, twist and turn with their deft movement. The dance mudras, the detailed and subtle formation of figure and parts of their body, created are at times slow and at times very fast.

Then suddenly rains come down on water, vast expanses of paddy field, water bodies and trees standing like a silhouette at a distance. A mist envelopes the entire horizon there, creating an illusion for the eyes if they are real or surreal. Boatmen paddling their oars or pushing their poles also appear to be creatures from a different world. Teenagers in particular relish the rains most as they glide in water or swim with their raft made from banana tree stems.

Rains to village people are not mere lifeless substance but something living and inspiring. With rains green paddies grow, water lily and lotus proliferate and they produce a sight to behold when hundreds and thousands of them bloom and their white or red petals with splashes of yellow dotting them appeal to the hungry mind. Under the full moon, the arc created round it is so enchanting that the vast emptiness in between the heaven and earth makes one think of the futility of man with his smallness in the universe.

Yet, there is reason to feel blessed. The feeling that man has got his place in the comity of planets, their satellites and the stars is so exciting, so fulfilling that one cannot but be grateful to someone unknown. It is thus mental space and horizon actually expand. No seasonal changes are conspicuous to eyes in the city life. But how intense the feel is in villages! Now is the borderline between monsoon and autumn and the latter is getting ready to take over from the former. Does urban life permits one to see the subtle transformation in Nature?

Perhaps not. But go to a village away from the hustle and bustle of an urban centre and observe what happens. Already the sun shines brightly and there runs a tune of separation in the air so subtle and mute and yet so unmistakeable that one can feel it and almost touch it. Kash flowers (kans grass) have started blooming with their white abundance dancing in the air and creating waves of pure whiteness. A dove starts singing tentatively first in a tree and then it clears its throat and the drooling song gathers pace to become louder. Then another one responds from a different tree. Autumn is right there.

This is a season unlike the one in the Western hemisphere where trees leave their leaves to get prepared for the winter. No wonder shedding of leaves and 'fall', as it is often called, are so interlinked. But in this part of the world, autumn is bright tinged with a painful tune running like an undercurrent. This seems to be a preparation for the dusky season of Hemanta which has no equivalent in the Western globe.

It is because of this Hemanta has been a favourite with Jubananda. It is he who has drawn attention of the Bangalees to the special characteristics of this season. No one from a different culture can truly appreciate the charm of this season. It is our own, so close to the heart of the Bangalees. The sound of dew drops evades the most alert of ears.