PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Life is like war. Those who are blessed with the riches do not seem to be touched a great deal by the trepidation of the war but those who taste money by selling each drop of sweat, life is like an inferno to them and the only way to be free is- DEATH! The honey collectors aka ‘Mawalis’ of the Sundarbans start off holding their lives in the hands!

As a mother sends her child to the school in the most orderly manner, similarly, Mother Nature has so beautifully and aptly located the Sundarbans in the precise place. The forest is like a fair where all kinds of trees, birds and animals assemble collectively.

The first of April marks the beginning of the age-old traditional honey collection season, which lasts for three successive months. The team-leader Sher Ali, whom the other Mawalis call ‘Sajuni’ or ‘Bohordar’ is well-equipped with his team that consists of seven efficient and dynamic members. Notably, the word Sher stands for ‘tiger’; Sher Ali is as powerful as a tiger. He has earned the reverence of the local people with his matchless behaviour and great courage. 

Among the seven members, Mahfuz Ali is the younger brother of Sher Ali. He is ‘protected’ as his name suggests in Arabic. In fact, Mahfuz does not accompany the Mawalis with a view to collecting honey; his sole purpose is to cut woods from the jungle, although he stays close to the honey-collecting group. He has a huge axe with him.

However, all of them are on the move after chanting the name of Allah and wishing the dear ones goodbye. They have a boat standing by to reach the destination. All of them are on the boat now. The boat moves ahead by playing with the water and the sweet breeze. There is grave-like silence all over. No one utters a single word! Indeed they know how risky it is to collect honey from the Sundarbans! However, they do not have any other alternatives. They cannot help doing it in order to continue to exist. Life is like a vulnerable beggar before hunger!

The area of the Sundarbans is nearing. The mangroves are plentiful. Some of the fishing-boats are sighted in close proximity. Plenty of hilsa are caught in the Boleshshor and Kunga rivers at this certain time of the month. Besides, prawns, lobsters, crabs etc. abound. The boat reaches the bank. Sher Ali along with his members steps down. The silvery sands look like the moonlight.     

Right before entering the forest, all of them hold a special prayer for a few minutes so that Allah saves them from the feasible attack of the tigers or any other ferocious animals. After that all the Mawalis wrap a red piece of cloth around their wrists. They have firm belief that this little cloth shall protect them from any possible harm.

All of them march on quite carefully maintaining dead silence. Each one holds a chopper in hands. Fortunately, they do not have to linger for long to find a hive. As soon as the Mawalis spot a hive, they start chanting Allah’s name. Sher Ali makes the decision to cut the hive himself. Just before he prepares to cut, he checks rather cautiously whether it was cut earlier or not. If so, then the bees will become crazy and attack them. However, good fortune appears to be in the Mawalis’ favour today.   

With the permission of Sajuni, one of the members climbs up the tree. Then he burns some straw and uses the smoke to get rid of the bees for the time being. The cutting of the hive begins and a special mat is spread on the soil. So far so good; but, everything turns into a nightmare right after a furious tiger abruptly attacks with a deafening noise. The situation looks like a well-organised city is wipe out within minutes after a destructive earthquake. Panic seizes everyone; all of them rush towards the boat with the speed of a thunderbolt! The air turns heavy due to the “HELP” “HELP” utterances and the piercing roar of the tiger.

All the members have made their ways to the boat except Sher Ali. Everyone feels suffocated owing to the panic. They are not in the least willing to hang around for anyone else. All they know is- they have to leave the place as soon as possible. Mahfuz is so anxious about his brother. He is not a coward; he cannot go back home letting Sher Ali die behind. His eyes have turned into seas. Teardrops are dropping on and on. The thirsty sands absorb them straight away.    

Every person suggests Mahfuz to let bygones be bygones and return home in a little while. But, he would rather die than leave his brother in such a terrible condition. What would be his answers to the rain of questions from the family members? He says,

- I SHALL not return home until my brother is with me. Either both of us will be there soon or I would prefer to be killed by the tiger too.  

With these few words, Mahfuz heads towards the forest. As a banyan tree stands upright even amid flood, he will struggle until the last drop of blood is there in his flesh. The rest of them are left dumbfounded as if they did not know how to talk!   

Mahfuz reaches the place soon and finds some blood stains on the soil. He watchfully observes that a long bloodline has gone to a certain direction. It is quite understandable in which way the tiger has dragged the body of Sher Ali. Mahfuz does not have the least idea whether his brother is alive or has passed away. It will be wrong to say that he is not scared; yet, he does believe that darkness escapes as soon as the dawn appears.

Mahfuz follows the trail of blood with care. He does not want that the tiger should feel the presence of someone approaching near it. The tigers hear as sharply as the dogs. They are capable of hearing even the noise of the far-off dead leaves. Consequently, Mahfuz lands each step on the ground stealthily.       

After leaving a few yards behind, Mahfuz hears the faint roar of the tiger. Now, his heart beats faster than before as though someone were playing on the drums! He hides himself behind a bush. He can see his brother quite clearly. Sher Ali’s dead body lies on the ground like a huge log. This pitiable scene makes him cry like a baby. He cannot believe his eyes!     

Mahfuz is in a fix; he does not know what he can possibly do. He realises that if he delays a little more, his brother’s flesh will be swallowed by that certain feral animal. In the battlefield, a soldier is well-equipped just before he rushes on to fight but Mahfuz has nothing but the axe in his battle against the tiger.  

            Mahfuz makes up his mind to attack the tiger at any cost. He will wait for the apt moment to do so. He thinks that it will be better to injure the animal from behind. He sees that the tiger is licking fresh blood from the neck of Sher Ali. Mahfuz cannot stand any longer. He moves forward without a sound and hits robustly at the back of the tiger with the axe. The wounded tiger does not go for a counterattack; it rather vanishes like a spirit in the dense forest.

            Without any further delay, Mahfuz ties up the axe with a napkin around his waist and keeps dragging the stone-like-corpse with utmost energy. He is supposed to reach the bank of the river in no time. He knows it well that a wounded tiger turns out to be more furious. It may attack for the second time. At that very moment, Mahfuz hears the piercing roar of that tiger. Now, he drags the dead body with more intensity. His hands and feet appear to be numb. The severe fatigue that the footballers feel right after the game is over, Mahfuz feels the same now.

            Mahfuz thinks that it would be much easier and comfortable if there were another helping hand next to him. After a little while, the sweet and soothing sound of the water is heard by him. His heart is filled with ecstasy as if he climbed up the Mount Everest! He does not forget to thank the Almighty from the core of his heart. He reaches the edge of the river and becomes much disappointed. In fact, Mahfuz thought that the other companions would still be waiting until his return. Perhaps, they did wait and thought that Mahfuz might have become that tiger’s victim as well and decided to leave. Anyway, he keeps on searching for a boat. He must manage a boat as soon as possible. Now, Mahfuz moves his eyes towards the sun.

            The sun looks as if it were a mammoth yolk! It is about to set. The ornaments of the sky i.e. the birds are also busy in reaching their nests. It is absolutely due to the blessing of Allah that Mahfuz’s eyes spot a boat. He starts shouting aloud with all his strength,

- Boatman, hey boatman.

The boatman is a familiar figure to Mahfuz. His name is Alo Mia. He resides with his family in the same locality where Mahfuz has his home in. Alo is shocked to have seen the corpse of Sher Ali. He is utterly speechless as if he just saw a ghost! Both of them uplift the dead body and place it on the boat considerately. Alo oars the boat faster ahead. Once he looks at Mahfuz but cannot pronounce a single word. In fact, he does not know what to say! He does not want to add salt to injury. Seeing the corpse, he assumes that a tiger must have been behind this. Another boatman is passing by singing Lalon’s song, “খাঁচার ভিতর অচিন পাখি কেমনে আসে যায়, তারে ধরতে পারলে মন বেড়ী দিতাম পাখির পায়” [How does the unknown bird enter the cage and find a way out? If I could catch it, I would put its legs in chains]. Human body is a cage indeed in which the ‘bird’ i.e. ‘spirit’ comes in, stays for a while and goes away later forever. None can take hold of it. EVER!

While returning, the distance seems to be longer. The boat reaches the bank next to the home quite soon. Mahfuz cannot weep any longer. With the support of the boatman, he brings the dead body to the courtyard of the home. There he finds myriad people waiting already as if they were the flood victims waiting for the relief. So many curious eyes discern Mahfuz’s presence.

Mahfuz stands next to the corpse of his much-loved and esteemed brother. It is the same body in which life smiled even a few hours ago. Each person rushes towards the dead body like anything. All the people stand surrounding Sher Ali’s corpse and Mahfuz. Mahfuz feels like a hive and the people are the bees! The women start wailing so penetratingly. It appears that the crying sound is reaching the sky and returning as an echo. Mahfuz is still in the standing posture like a statue with the blood-spattered, speechless axe on his shoulder.