“Look, birds are circling in the sky before returning to their abode - the Sunderbans," Habib said.
Sheikh looked at the sky. It was autumn. The evening sky looked marvellous as it wore numerous spectra of colour. In the setting, Sheikh saw hundreds of birds flying above his head.
An incident happened long before in Sheikh's life sprang to his mind: Once during his childhood, Sheikh had gone to a mango tree in the backyard of their house in his village.
The backyard was full of trees, bushes and grasses. The dove would make nests on a branch of a custard-apple tree, the bulbul (nightingale) on a branch of a mango tree and the tailor-bird in a bush. That day Sheikh was crying as he was refused an extra piece of cake made of rice flour and bananas. They - he and his brothers and sisters - called the cake 'Kalapitha'.
Sheikh's mother used to bake it, and it was his favourite. He demanded an extra piece before finishing his provisions. His mother had to keep Sheikh's other brothers and sisters in mind. But, a child never has such a mental get-up.
So, tears were running down his cheeks. Nevertheless, Sheikh saw a bulbul sitting on a branch of the mango tree. It looked melancholic and hapless. He wiped his tears with his left forearm and extended his both hands towards the bird.
On the palm of his right hand was the piece of cake. Initially, the bird showed indifference to Sheikh's invitation. But, all of a sudden, to his amazement, the bird dived off the branch into his extended hands and settled on his right forearm.
"Yea, it's their bedtime," Sheikh said visualising branches of the trees calling birds home.
Habib and Sheikh were enjoying a leisurely stroll on a muddy road of village Banishanta where they reached in the morning to stay two nights to see the Sunderbans.
The cottage where they were staying was beside the road and on a bank of a canal connected with the Posur River. The Sunderbans begins on the other side of the tidal canal. They had already had a tour to the mangrove forest on a boat after their arrival in the village that day.
"What's the tour operator's plan for tomorrow?' Sheikh asked.
Habib was listening to the birds' sound he had captured with his mobile phone. Outside the mobile, there was no chirping of birds any more as they had already settled in their nests after their evening manoeuvres in the sky.
"We will set out from the cottage for the forest at dawn," Habib said.
"The birds looked happy," Sheikh said.
Looking at the sky, Sheikh continued, "We can't have a life of Magpie Robin, as Jibanananda puts it, but we can crave for such a life."
Habib smiled.
Next day, they set out early in the morning on a small boat from the cottage for the Sunderbans. They were exploring the forest through connected tidal streams.
The forest was spellbinding. Sheikh saw tour member Asma taking a long breath and releasing it slowly before she sat on a brief meditation. It seemed to him that Asma released in the air not only her pains but also those of the other tour members.
Tour guide Farzana suddenly said, "Silence is the key. We have to be very quiet to hear the tweeting of birds and to see different birds and animals in the forest."
They all fell silent. Boatman Sripati stopped rowing the boat. There were only sounds of birds, insects and rippling of high-tide water.
But, the tranquillity of the forest had a profound impact on Sheikh. He began to feel the breathing of the forest. He thought the canal water and the boat were feeling the breathing too and becoming part of it.
Some times after the evening that day, a local artiste with his group came to the cottage to sing for the tourists. He began with a song on the Sunderbans.
"If the forest is ruined, what will happen to us?" Sheikh wondered.
The night set in. There was a superb moon in the sky. It was showering down from the sky rays of mystic light on all mobile and immobile objects on the face of the earth.
Young boatman Diman, who accompanied the eight-member group on the first day of their tour in the forest, was listening to the song looking at the Sunderbans.
Sheikh remembered the melancholic and hapless nightingale he saw in his childhood.
