Journey to River
My journey towards the river was a long overdue. And for this, I have traveled a hundred miles to South of Bengal, and crossed three rivers, reached a distant village of Sundarban near India Bangladesh border. I have crossed RayMangal (রায়মঙ্গল), a prime river in Sundarban region, infamous for her annual flood. Then the river Matla (মাতলা), and another one.
Have you ever dream of a river? I hope so, you have dreamt of. At least you have dreamt about the flow of the river. You probably had seen a river many years ago. That time, it was flowing as the young girl. You will see a river after all your dreams are forgotten, with memories faded away. As you travel through one house after another without a root, a river will guide you towards home.
The river resurrects after the sun crosses its midpoint. The east wind will flow and brings the smell of your home you left in another country. Have you noticed the middle-aged man sitting beside the river? He is smelling the east wind. He is smelling his home. He crossed this river during the dark hours of mayhem and annihilation of Bengal. Only the river could take him home. The river flows like an ageless tree.