Kill You, Sure (2)

            Kill You, Sure (2)

                                         Nidhu Bhusan Das

      

             Anis Chaudhury met Reba Kennedy at Harvard. He studied at Kennedy School of Harvard Master of Public Policy (MPP) and concentrated in International & Global Affairs (IGA). Reba’s in the PhD programme in Social Anthropology. When she’s born at Mount Auburn Hospital in Cambridge, Massachusetts the pediatrician and the obstetrician said, the baby’s royal, elegant, beautiful and awesome. So, they chose the acronym Reba for her name. Besides, Reba’s mother Salma Aga might have in mind the name of the river Reba, the other name of the 1300 km long Narmada which rises near the Amarkantak peak of Mahakal range in Madhya Pradesh-Chhattisgarh and flows between Vindhyan and Satpura ranges in a narrow rift valley. It meets the Gulf of Khambat near Bharuch (Broach). This river forms no delta.

          Salma’s from Sindh in Pakistan where they’re known as Mohajir, migrants from India after partition. George Kennedy’s from Ireland. They met at a Broadway Opera and came to love each other. The happy couple prospered in their grocery business and offered their only child the best possible education. The family doesn’t have any religious inhibitions and Reba grew up in an egalitarian and secular family atmosphere. Anis Chaudhury’s from Barisal where their family’s well-known as a cradle of liberal ideas and for philanthropy. They decided to come into wedlock with the consent of the Kennedy family. It’s decided Reba would retain her US citizenship and Anis would be a US citizen. They would practise the religion of humanism.Anis’s a visiting faculty at Harvard, and Reba runs a thinktank.Also they’ve established Dhaka Study Circle, a deemed university. It’s a research institute with special emphasis on South Asia. They stay in Dhaka five months a year.Bithi’s also a US citizen but likes the Bengali culture. She’s devoted to cross-cultural study and her area of interest also covers the folk ways of Ireland. She’s the mind to pursue doctoral study at Harvard.

         Bithi’s abed after lunch. The word “Kill” continues to haunt her mind   and stir the thought. Well, she’s an idea:” Why not search in the internet,” she decides and is now online on her laptop. Wikipedia says,” As a body of water, a Kill is a creek.  The word comes from the Middle Dutch ‘kille’, meaning "riverbed" or "water channel".The term is used in areas of Dutch influence in the Delaware and Hudson Valleys and other areas of the former New Netherland colony of Dutch America to describe a strait, river, or arm of the sea. Examples are Kill Van Kull and Arthur Kill , both separating Staten Island, New York from New Jersey , Dutch Kills and English Kills off Newtown Creek, Bronx Kill  between the Bronx and Randalls Island , and used as a composite name, Wallkill River  in New York and New Jersey and the Schuylkill River in Pennsylvania. Fresh Kills is the primary waterway that leads to the former Fresh Kills landfills which serviced the city of New York in the second half of the 20th Century and was once the largest landfill in the world.”

“Kill” began to be used to mean ‘a stroke, a blow’ in early 13^th century. Since 1814 it’s being used as a verb. In Boxing Jargon ‘The Kill’ is being used to mean ‘the knockout’ since 1950. But Anik doesn’t use the word in any of the senses, she understands.

“He smiles when he says - kill you, sure. Why the smile?” she’s perplexed.

“Is he a cool murderer? They say there’re killers who can kill, smiling.”

“But how can a studious and polite boy be like that?”

“I’m not his friend or friend-turned-enemy, right?”

“We say – Don’t kill time. Here it means waste time.”

“How will he waste me? Does he mean he’ll beat me academically?”

“May be. Well, let me see.”

             Back at JNU hostel, Anik knows what he means. He’s already infatuated to Bithi.Her look, her gait, the way she speaks, her aristocratic behaviour, and the sum total of these – her unique personality has stolen his heart. He hasn’t thought of her country, religion and language. He’s developed tenderness to her – the person and the personality per se.He hasn’t analyzed what constitutes the essence of her personality, he isn’t interested either. He feels a kind of loss in the absence of Bithi in the campus. Why should he? It isn’t long enough that he has come to see the girl like many others in the university.” Three months isn’t enough for understanding classmates, is it?” he thought. “Yet I feel I’m alone even when there are many around. Don’t know why,” a voice within murmurs.

             She’s again on her back in the bed with the head on a downy pillow.” I’m there to study, not to compete. So, no question of being beaten by anybody. Then how can one kill me? Not possible. I shouldn’t be scared. I’m there to learn, not to take fancy. If I learn, I’ll have an edge over others. “Kill you” is nonsense, absolutely,”Bithi concludes. Drowsiness grips her, the eyelids fall. She dreams of the Irish meadows and mango groves of Bangladesh. Mango is her favourite summer fruit. She sees the meadows adorned with lush green grass and beautiful flowers after the snow has melted away. The ripe mangoes, red and yellow, hanging from the trees in their small orchard invite her to pick them up.

           Before sundown, Anis Chaudhury goes into the room of the daughter and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. When you’re in dream, even the fall of a petal may induce you to open your eyes.”Papa, you’re again so naughty, I was dreaming, you know,” says Bithi like a child, lengthening her syllables.

“Dreaming of what, dear?”

“Meadows and mangoes.”

“Oh! That’s it. Very nice.”

“Not child, your mom, understand?”

“Well, let’s go into the cool of the garden to have tea. Your mom waits there.”

“That’s fine, after a long time,” says she, delighted and jumped off the bed to run out into the sylvan garden.

          The tea‘s ready and they begin to sip together the Darjeeling with delicacies prepared by Rabeya. Halfway through, she rises and goes to a mango tree. She hugs the tree and asks,” Won’t mind if I kill the tree sure, will you, papa?”

“Not at all, because I know you love it so much,” says the papa, affectionately.

“You’re right, my wise papa.”

“Finish the tea,” calls her mom.

        Bithi’s gone into a kind of reverie over the link the papa’s drawn between ‘kill and love’.(   continued on 9 July 2015)