A chilly breeze woke me up. The window was open just a crack, and even that little crack let in a wind like that. Oh well, I sat up. I’d been ill for quite a few days. Today I felt a little better, which is why the sleep had felt so good. But the wind came by to remind me that good things don’t last, and then it was gone.
I got out of bed, and while I was brushing my teeth my eyes fell on the newspaper. In big letters in the corner of the page it said: Today is 28 Boishakh, 1429. (Boishakh is the first month of the Bangla year.) Didn’t Boishakh just start? Only the other day we were all having fun trying to name the Bangla months. Time flies so fast. Month after month just melts away. Thinking about that, I realised I hadn’t seen the outside of the house in ages. Somehow or other I had to get out.
Everyone told me not to, but I insisted and went out anyway. Ah, fresh air. It felt so good. If this breeze had come through the window in the morning, maybe I could have slept a while longer, but then I might never have come outside. It isn’t good for everything to go well. A little further on I saw clouds gathering in one corner of the sky, and it felt like even the weather was acting strangely. When we should be burning in the heat, a cold wind was giving me goosebumps. And how it rained last spring! I don’t think anyone has seen anything so odd before. Anyway, whatever the reason, walking along the mossy brick lane felt good.
Step by step I had come a long way, and I only noticed when I saw that old house. I played here so much when I was little, and now it’s a ruin. Remembering the house reminded me of the amla tree behind it. The moment I thought of the tree, my feet seemed to carry me there on their own. I just stood and stared. I didn’t even notice when the tears came. Maybe the tree was just as moved as I was.
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