Notwithstanding the fact that, in this part of the world, we are not much familiar with Siberia and its quivering cold weather, but are somehow aware that Siberian plains occupy 4,950,000 square miles of land with long bitterly cold winter temperature falling to about-670c are the coldest inhabited places in the world. We are also familiar with the savouring beauty of migratory birds and famous Siberian ducks who, in winter, spread their wings to take a long and enduring flight of few thousand miles and land on our marshy lands and water bodies on their sojourn to take cosy and sultry breath in relatively warm weather than that of theirs, in our land.
At the end of the 15th century Tatar tribes set up their rule on the low land east of the Urals. Siberia means sleeping land in Tatar. The sleeping land as the Tatars named it, bone-chilling cold waves and winds blow from Siberia and sweeps over Europe and North America in winter.
The severity of Siberian winds continue to blow towards south to reach the southern hemisphere of the earth, but being prevented by the Himalayan range standing as solid giant walls to the benefit of the people living in Indo-Pak-Bangla subcontinent with the winds' acceleration diminish towards advancing further south. Yet after touching the snow-capped Himalayan height, blasts of freezing Siberian winds in limited scale whisk out and sweeps India and Bangladesh in the winter time, generating bone-chilling cold waves with blankets of thick fogs and mists.
Winter days come and go in cyclical order at the change of seasons by the abiding law of nature. In Bangladesh, we have a short winter that we feel particularly in the month of December and January with few cold waves ranging from medium to low enveloping the land with thick fogs and mists. Severity of winter in Bangladesh is felt in the northern districts where mercury falls to quite low, while in the southern districts severity of winter is not felt that harsh.
Tetulia in Panchgarh district experienced last year a record low temperature of 2.60c in last sixty years time with other northern districts having experienced 4-60c in last winter. Winter in this season is not so thickly set-in and appears to be much deceiving with mercury falling down only to 6-70c in the northern districs for a couple of days only while other areas of Bangladesh remaining within the range of much higher temperature with virtually giving no feeling of severity of biting chill with cold waves throughout the season. Variations in temperature between northern and southern districts and between one winter and another do not of course, stop the people in relishing mouth watering tastes of various 'pitha-pulis' like 'bhapa pitha', 'pakon pitha', 'chitoi pitha' and lot more pithas of delicacies to name dipped in fresh date juice being collected from clay-pitchers hung on date trees, where the juices trickle down night long to make the pitcher in full brim with date juice in the early morning. Small birds too are not deprived of taking their due shares of juice from the pitcher before the pitchers are brought down by 'gachhi' (date tree climber) at the break of dawn.
Varieties of rice of different flavours and tastes produced in harvesting time in the month of November/December, inspires and tinkles Bengali psyche to be imbibed in 'pitha-puli-payesh utshav' in wintry chill no matter how thick is the blankets of wintry fogs and mists that the nature romantically wears for days.
In Chittagong, where the wintry chill accompanied by thick shroud of fogs is not that intense and severe to feel in comparison to the severity of winter in the northern districts of Bangladesh, yet for a couple of last few days, Chittagong experienced few wintry drizzles thus facilitating increase of cold in the receding winter with dawn breaking in embrace with the thick shroud of fogs eclipsing crisp wintry sun-shine for couple of hours of days.
Provoked by my approaching old-age craze drifting on the thread of paranoid senility, in one of these thick foggy mornings; at the break of dawn, I took the venture to take a rickshaw ride on the streets still sunk in thick fogs with only 5-10% visibility when nature was rising slowly from the deep slumber of lazy long wintry night.
Garbed in impoverished winter cloths with a funny Monkey Cap covering his face except a pair of bulging eyes peeping through the hazy pathways, the rickshaw-puller peddled hard to generate enough fuels within him to take me around with an open-hood rickshaw to give me a delightful feeling "Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh" that I had had the occasion to savour at Zakopane Skii Resort in Poland long time ago.
I asked the rickshaw puller to peddle still harder to take me round and round through streets and alleys to precipitate and stir my thoughts falling back upon a reverie of "dashing through the snow on a one horse open sleigh over the fields we go, laughing all the way. Bells on bob tail ring, making spirits bright/what fun it is to laugh and sing/ A sleighing song tonight."
After a few kilometres of ride traversing through lanes and alley of picturesque Khulsi hills and its adjacent hilly areas, I reached the eye-soothing Foy's Lake area where visibility was still in low ebb with nature still meditating in myriad silence. Visibility over the tranquil waters of Foy's Lake was almost zero. With rubbing their eyes and preening their feathers, chirpings of birds came in low and feeble proportions, while standing trees with mists-soaked leaves and foliages stands mute, like holy men in deep meditation, under the veil of pouring fogs. Crows were still in wait to disembark from the branches of trees to scavenge the dirt left here & there over the night, while few humans came out from the comforts of cocoon to offer morning prayers and some were preparing to get into their routine day to day struggle for earning livelihood.
Amid thick blankets of fogs and mists I continued to hang around on board the tri-wheeler rickshaw for more hours without any definite direction until such time I got my hunger pinch for my morning breakfast and rushed back to home apparently suspending my cruise through the blankets of fogs. At the breakfast table, with sardonic smiles, the house-lady expressed her feeling in loud silence for my 'adventure and bravery' being amid the vagary of nature in freezing cold of foggy wintry morning in this year's fast receding winter season to savour.
The ride on board a tri-wheeler rickshaw in foggy morning was soul purifying and rewarding as well. The rickshaw puller's overwhelming agility and passion to peddle the wheels in full gear with humming songs playing on his quivering lips in freezing morning haze facilitated me to witness, peeping through the windows of mind, the renewed jugglery of nature and rickshaw puller's unmitigated excitement in wintry morning is savouring in deed.
