A tremendous village and his beauty.

The village calls me incessantly. Even today, when I am like a demon-possessed person, I go to the village. I live in Dhaka. According to many, it is a uninhabitable city. We ourselves have made this city uninhabitable.

Whatever he is, the context is different. Not today's topic. Maybe one day I will write about it. From Dhaka city I often go out to the surrounding villages, sometimes on the way to Narsingdi, sometimes to Tangail, sometimes to Mymensingh. Every weekend I try to stay out of Dhaka. Spend the whole day in the shade. Hearing the call of birds. There is great joy when we return home in the evening. It's as if I'm returning to discover a new life. Once every two months I go to my ancestral home. In Ratanpur village under Brahmanbaria. There Anabil spends three or four days with joy. When there are no people, the whole world is completely silent. Only the call of the dove can be heard from time to time. Or the call of a tired bird at noon. I went and sat under the neem tree in the south-east corner of our house. The body is covered. It looks good. Mild-Bad Wind Boy this summer.

Again the gray earth in winter. The paddy fields are covered with fog. I looked at that and sat down. Doing nothing seems to do a lot. The joy of doing even if you don't do it, can be felt only when you go to our village. I was revived. Sometimes I sit down with a pen and paper to write something. But he lost sight of the beautiful landscape of the village. This is how I went to the village. That's how I want to spend the rest of my life. An extraordinary feeling in our Bengali village. I grew up reading different types of Bengali literature from my childhood. In particular, stories and novels. If we start with Sarat Chandra Chattopadhyay, whether before or after his description, or in Bibhutibhushan Bandyopadhyay's 'Pather Panchali', the image of rural Bengal seems to have become clear in our literature. From there, my attraction towards rural Bengal has increased even more. After reading those books, knowing the details written about the village in those books, it is as if I have seen various scenes with divine eyes.

The bamboo bushes are bent on the sweet path. I am walking that path. The bamboo leaves are caressing my body like a hand. One time I saw this scene in the eyes of imagination. Felt. Then in reality it has become my village or the way I go to the village. From lying under the bamboo bush, I have passed the fiery day of Boishakh in the gentle-evil wind. That feeling is extraordinary. In fact, I have visited all the major cities in the world. But again and again I came back to my village, to our village. I often joke to my friends that walking down Fifth Avenue, the most interesting street in New York, is a beautiful sight. Next to Central Park. Filled with swelling. Suddenly my mind flew to the sky. Crossing almost half-world, I reached my village Ratanpur. Along the sweet path that cuts through the green paddy fields, I walk towards the distant horizon. The crooked river in front is drunk in the rainy season. Oblige gets him in the dry season. If you want to see the conspiracy of Bengal, there is no alternative but to go to the village. That's when I reached the village.

It's been almost two decades since I came and went. I didn't notice that in the meantime, things around me are slowly changing. In the beginning it was to go to the village by boat in the canal, to come from the village. It took a long time. But what's in it? The boat would sail through the clear water towards the destination. Many a time I did not even notice when I was sitting on the rice of the boat and listening to the song of the wind. Then the river gradually became decaying in front of my eyes. Most of the year it is no longer navigable. Therefore, from autumn to summer heat, you have to drive to and from certain places. In the meantime, plans were made to build small roads in the submerged village. No more than one car can run on those roads. Therefore, rely on rickshaws. When the rains started again, those roads started breaking down. Then it becomes dangerous. I sometimes think that it is like working hard, caring a lot and trying to do what is not going to happen in our villages. But it should have been that the situation was understood and action was taken. Bringing back the navigability of rivers and canals and modernizing the vessels without spending so much money on road construction and maintenance in that Zolo place.

Our country is in the plains of Bengal, if we behave like Radha Bengal here, then it is bound to fail. Ratanpur located in the remote area of ​​East Bengal can no longer be like Rangpur in North Bengal? But it is going on now. As a result, our villages are being deprived of character. Who knows where these villages will gradually become dilapidated and lost? The signs are always visible now. All the people in the village are now moving to the city. No one talks about rural development anymore. No way about it at all. If he can, he always wants to sell his house and property and move somewhere far away.