Bali's Letter

Bhai Bali,

Eto dine ai prothom toke chithi likchi gorar dike proyojon hoyeni, ostoprohor shate chilam
jokhon alada holam tokhon proyojon hoito chilo kintu lekhar kichu chilona,
…mone pore tui bar bar jigesh kortish, desh ki, pishimar desher bari ar mukuler desher bari alda kano, bihari babu je desher kaj koren she kon desh

Tor shonge charachari hobar pore shei chinta amai boror bhabiyeche re,tor ar amar modhe baire onek omil chilo tobuyo amra shoi patiye chillum, besh chillum dorjee para streeter antarpure shetai chilo amader rojkar jogoth

… jodi desh bolte chash tayo bolte parish…..omon bairer amon miliye mild mishe niye thaka ei desher itihashe notun na, tai amra notun kichu korini bali, tBole ontorer mile bole ki shatiye ki kichu chilo na ,…..chilo , sonsar korar shad, oije bollum oi dorjee para streeter antarpurer baire amra are kichu dekhini,tai amder dekha ekta manush ke niye dujonai se shadh metate cheyechi, tate shadho meteni are amader chotto desho bhenge tukro tukro hoye gechi

Curzon shaheber ain jodi phole , tahole ekhon theke ami are tui dui alada deshe thakbo, shei dui deshe boshe jodi amra jodi eto diner nijer apoman, dukkho are bonchonar kothai shudhu bhabi tahole toe amra age thekei har mene nilum

ashole desh toe moner modhye bali, antorer jug konodin amader modhe jodi theke thake, jodi sheta ekbarer jonnneyo mone rane bishash kore thake, tahole curzon shaheb amader ki jobdo korbe..

jedin oi dorji parar street theke kashite gahte giye daralum she din janlum shottikarer deshe kake bole…shekhane heshel uthon , khorkhori er baire birat jogot….she shudhu boiye porechi re are bhebechi golpo kotha….

mahabharate ache Abhimanyu mayer pete theke mostto beer hoyechilo, tor paytay je shontan she roj tor shate ganga snan koreche, dohai bali she chelei hok are meyei hoke t..take kabol oi dorjee para streeter do talar badi te , atke rakhish na, dekhish shatyikarer desh kake bole shei toke ekdin bujhiye debe..….

iti, tor,

Chokher Bali

Rabindranath Tagore

Dearest Bali,

This is my first letter to you because we spent our lives within the same space all the time, so there was no cause, and when we were estranged maybe there was the cause, but there was nothing to say.

Do you remember asking me, constantly yearning to unmask the identity of what a country was? Why Pishima and Mukul were separated within the same land, the one country? What was this idea that Bihari Babu loved and fought for?

After you left me, I struggled to unearth the mystery of this state of being. We had such conflict in our desires from life, but we somehow managed to create this sense of camaraderie and satisfied indulgence, in that house on Dorjeepara Street, hidden away in our universe. You could say that was our nation. An all encompassing existence with people of conflicting ideas is not a unique facet in our heritage, and we didn’t change history with our relationship. But, looking back, I refuse to believe that our connection didn’t transcend culture and phenomena.

This sense of understanding was our own as was the desire to experience the fulfillment with our love, but we didn’t, we couldn’t see past the walls of the sanctum on Dorjeepara Street. We were blind to the world beyond our own. Thus, our dreams were built within the only man we saw, we knew. And so they fell apart, fragmenting to our self absorbed renderings of what was real, what was possible.

If Lord Curzon has his way then our lives will unfold in separate nations from now. However, while belonging to these disparate lands, if we live with our unfulfilled pasts, feel maligned and wander insulted and lost in each others memory, then we’ve lost everything to begin with.

The real nation lives within us Bali. If we ever belonged to that connection of wonder that is love and if ever our relationship was beyond our bodies and words, then Lord Curzon’s actions will break against us.

I unraveled the idea of a true country the day I wandered past the walls of Dorjeepara street and entered Kashi. It was a world beyond the possibilities of our mundane and static womb, one that loomed beyond the rise of the doorstep, past the stairs, down the street. A place of wonder, I had only read of in epics and thought of as an unreal fantasy.

In the Mahabharata, Abhimanyu became the greatest warrior while still within his mother’s body. The life that has breathed in you, bathed in the Ganga with you will be your guide on this journey. My only request to you is, let that child – man or woman, explore this universe, past our chains, our boundaries and our reality of Dorjeepara Street. I promise you, one day this child, will open your eyes to what a nation really is and can become.

Yours,

Chokher Bali

Me