In the heart of Padma
Rani dreamt she was back in Jessore* once again. The green fields, the white clouds, the clusters of Kaash* flowers, her school – she saw them vividly. The bell had just rung and the children were streaming out steadily. It was happy hours for her and her friends. They ran in the field plucking flowers, collecting fodder for the cattle and singing in unison, the joyful tunes of Agomoni*. It was autumn – almost time for Maa Durga’s arrival. All of a sudden thick, dark nimbus clouds gathered in the sky, blocking out the sun, plunging them into darkness. The siren sounded and they ran helter-skelter, taking refuge under the bamboo hammocks. She motioned her friends to hide and remain inert. Soon, they heard a pair of boots trudging around heavily. The man in the boot poked and prodded everything around, checking for signs of life. That was when, she felt a sharp nudge. The stick was now poking her. It hurt. She covered her mouth. But, it was in vain. The poking increased in frequency