A Day from Eight Years Ago: Jibanananda Das
It
was heard—
They
took him to the mortuary;
Last
night— in the darkness of a Phalgun night,
When
the fifth-night moon had set,
He
longed for death.
His
wife lay beside him— the child was there too;
There
was love, there was hope— moonlight— yet, what did he see?
What
ghost? Why did his sleep break?
Or
had he not slept in a long time—
Now
he sleeps in the mortuary.
Was
it this sleep he wished for?
With
a blood-foamed face, like a plague-stricken rat,
He
now sleeps in the cold embrace of darkness;
Never
to wake again.
"Never
to wake again,
To
bear the deep sorrow,
The
ceaseless— ceaseless weight
He
shall no longer endure—"
So
they told him.
When
the moon set and left— in that strange darkness,
It
was as if by his window,
A
silence like a camel’s neck had settled.
Yet,
the owls stay awake;
The
decaying, stagnant frogs beg for two more moments,
For
one more dawn— with a silent, warm yearning.
I
can feel it— in the dense, collective void of darkness,
The
relentless defiance of mosquito nets;
Mosquitoes,
in their blind monastery of night,
Stay
awake, savoring the stream of life.
From
the stench of dried blood, flies rise again in sunlight;
In
golden waves of light, I have seen insects play.
The
intimate sky—
As
if some shattered life,
Has
claimed their minds;
The
electric shudder of a grasshopper in a reckless child's hand
Battled
with death.
And
when the moon had set in the deepest dark,
You
went to the banyan tree,
A
rope in hand, alone— all alone;
Knowing
that the life of a grasshopper, a swallow—
Never
truly meets that of a man.
Did
the banyan’s branches not protest?
Did
the fireflies not swarm like tender golden blooms?
Did
the frail, blind owl not whisper—
"The
old moon must have drifted away in the wild waters—
Wonderful!
Let’s
catch a couple of rats tonight!"
Did
the owl not deliver this grave news?
The
taste of life—
The
scent of ripe barley in the autumn afternoon—
Did
it feel unbearable to you?
Did
the morgue soothe your heart?
The
morgue— suffocating,
With
blood-smeared lips like a crushed rat.
Listen—
Yet,
this is a dead man's tale;
No
woman failed to love him,
No
desire for a married life was left unfulfilled.
Time
had lifted his wife
To
offer him both love and intellect;
In
the winter of pain, in the fatigue of poverty,
This
life had never once shuddered in fear.
And
so—
In
the mortuary,
He
lies flat on the table.
I
know— yet, I know,
A
woman’s heart— love— a child— a home— are not everything;
Not
wealth, not fame, not comfort—
But
another, deeper bewilderment
Plays
within our blood,
It
exhausts us,
Exhausts—
exhausts us;
But
in the mortuary,
That
exhaustion does not exist;
And
so—
In
the mortuary,
He
lies flat on the table.
Yet,
every night, I look and wonder,
As
the frail, blind owl perches on the banyan’s branch,
Rolling
its eyes, whispering—
"The
old moon must have drifted away in the wild waters?
Wonderful!
Let’s
catch a couple of rats tonight!"
O
profound grandmother, is it still wonderful?
One
day, I too shall grow old like you—
And
I will send the old moon floating away
Into
the depths of Kalidaha’s dark waters;
Together, we will empty life’s overflowing vessel.
-----------------------------------------------------------
নিয়ে গেছে তারে;
যখন গিয়েছে ডুবে পঞ্চমীর চাঁদ
মরিবার হ’লো তার সাধ;
বধূ শুয়েছিলো পাশে— শিশুটিও ছিলো;
কোন্ ভূত? ঘুম কেন ভেঙে গেল তার?
এই ঘুম চেয়েছিলো বুঝি!
আঁধার ঘুঁজির বুকে ঘুমায় এবার;
‘কোনোদিন জাগিবে না আর
জানিবার গাঢ় বেদনার
অবিরাম— অবিরাম ভার
সহিবে না আর—’
চাঁদ ডুবে চ’লে গেলে— অদ্ভুত আঁধারে
যেন তার জানালার ধারে
উটের গ্রীবার মতো কোনো এক নিস্তব্ধতা এসে।
তবুও তো পেঁচা জাগে;
আরেকটি প্রভাতের ইশারায়— অনুমেয় উষ্ণ অনুরাগে।
টের পাই যূথচারী আঁধারের গাঢ় নিরুদ্দেশে
চারিদিকে মশারির ক্ষমাহীন বিরুদ্ধতা;
রক্ত ক্লেদ বসা থেকে রৌদ্রে ফের উড়ে যায় মাছি;
ঘনিষ্ঠ আকাশ যেন— যেন কোন্ বিকীর্ণ জীবন
অধিকার ক’রে আছে ইহাদের মন;
মরণের সাথে লড়িয়াছে;
এক গাছা দড়ি হাতে গিয়েছিলে তবু একা-একা;
এই জেনে।
অশ্বত্থের শাখা
করেনি কি প্রতিবাদ? জোনাকির ভিড় এসে সোনালি ফুলের স্নিগ্ধ ঝাঁকে
করেনি কি মাখামাখি?
বলেনি কি: ‘বুড়ি চাঁদ গেছে বুঝি বেনোজলে ভেসে
চমৎকার!
ধরা যাক দু-একটা ইঁদুর এবার!’
জীবনের এই স্বাদ– সুপক্ব যবের ঘ্রাণ হেমন্তের বিকেলের–
মর্গে— গুমোটে
থ্যাঁতা ইঁদুরের মতো রক্তমাখা ঠোঁটে।
শোনো
তবু এ মৃতের গল্প; কোনো
নারীর প্রণয়ে ব্যর্থ হয় নাই;
কোথাও রাখেনি কোনো খাদ,
মধু— আর মননের মধু
দিয়েছে জানিতে;
এ-জীবন কোনোদিন কেঁপে ওঠে নাই;
লাসকাটা ঘরে
চিৎ হ’য়ে শুয়ে আছে টেবিলের ’পরে।
জানি— তবু জানি
নারীর হৃদয়— প্রেম— শিশু— গৃহ– নয় সবখানি;
আমাদের অন্তর্গত রক্তের ভিতরে
খেলা করে;
ক্লান্ত— ক্লান্ত করে;
সেই ক্লান্তি নাই;
লাসকাটা ঘরে
চিৎ হ’য়ে শুয়ে আছে টেবিলের ’পরে।
তবু রোজ রাতে আমি চেয়ে দেখি, আহা,
চোখ পাল্টায়ে কয়: ‘বুড়ি চাঁদ গেছে বুঝি বেনোজলে ভেসে?
হে প্রগাঢ় পিতামহী, আজো চমৎকার?
কালীদহে বেনোজলে পার;
*** Jibanananda Das: A Biographical Sketch
Jibanananda Das (1899–1954) was one of the most significant Bengali poets of the 20th century, often hailed as the pioneer of modernism in Bengali poetry. His works, rich in imagery, deep existential musings, and profound connections with nature, set him apart from his contemporaries.
Early Life and Education
Jibanananda Das was born on February 17, 1899, in Barisal (now in Bangladesh) into an intellectual and progressive family. His father, Satyananda Das, was a schoolteacher and social reformer, while his mother, Kusumkumari Das, was a poet herself. She famously wrote the poem Adarsha Chhele ("The Ideal Boy"), which is still remembered in Bengali households.
Jibanananda completed his schooling in Barisal and later graduated with a degree in English literature from Presidency College, Calcutta. He pursued a master's degree at the University of Calcutta and soon started his career as a teacher. However, his passion for poetry remained at the core of his life.
Literary Career
Jibanananda Das’s first book of poetry, Jhara Palok (Fallen Feathers), was published in 1927. Initially, his poetry was not widely accepted as it deviated from the conventional styles of Rabindranath Tagore and Kazi Nazrul Islam. However, over time, his unique voice and modernist approach gained recognition.
His poetry is characterized by vivid natural imagery, philosophical depth, and a melancholic yet mystical tone. Some of his best-known works include:
- Banalata Sen – A deeply reflective poem about a weary traveler finding solace in a woman named Banalata Sen, symbolizing beauty and timelessness.
- Dhushor Pandulipi (Grey Manuscript) – A collection of poems exploring human existence and nature.
- Maha Prithibi (Great Earth) – A work that reflects the poet’s complex thoughts on history, civilization, and life.
Despite his growing fame, Jibanananda lived a quiet and often troubled life, facing financial struggles and a lack of widespread recognition during his lifetime.
Personal Life and Tragic Death
Jibanananda Das married Labanya Das in 1930, and they had two children. He was known for his introverted nature and preferred solitude over public recognition.
On October 14, 1954, he was struck by a tram while walking along a road in Kolkata. Some believe it was an accident, while others speculate it might have been a suicide attempt. He succumbed to his injuries a few days later, on October 22, 1954.
Legacy
Though he was underappreciated during his lifetime, Jibanananda Das is now regarded as one of the greatest poets of Bengali literature. His unique style, filled with dreamlike landscapes, surrealism, and existential depth, continues to inspire readers and poets alike. Today, his poetry is considered essential reading in Bengali literature, and his influence extends beyond Bengal, making him a true literary icon.
