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Feature

Under a different sky

Yamin Tauseef Jahangir

I let my hand out from the small tea stall in the Dhanmondi area and tried to feel the drizzles. Turning over I saw my cousin sipping onto his reddish brown licker and I too, couldn't resist the temptation. With the clock about to hit ten at night, and after some tiresome shopping for the upcoming Eid festival, I decided to let the warmth of the liquid to revitalize myself, which apparently didn't happen. We started to talk about the political situation of the country, how concerned we were and etcetera. Suddenly something just happened that made me absolutely flabbergasted.

“In such a democratic country, we only vote… and don't think about the future.” A husky voice spoke almost in a whispering tone. I focused hard in the luminous flame of the candle to get a clear vision on the person who said that. In the mist of thick grey smoke of his cigarette, he was none other than an ordinary rickshaw puller! I was dumbfounded and literally had an open mouth because this person just spoke in English. My cousin also shot the same expression through his astonished eyes and in no time we started talking with the rickshaw puller and tried to know him better.

His name was Rokon and he was being brought up in a regular poor family, where his father was a rickshaw puller and the mother worked as a servant in houses. Being the eldest of the four other younger brother and sisters, he got the privilege to study at a local school. Life was going smoothly with them, until one day their whole world had come crashing down on them when their house got burned along with others in the slum, the raging inferno turning all his dreams into ashes. Soon he started helping his parents in earning to provide some sort of support. But misery didn't let go of him, and his father died from tuberculosis. Being the eldest, the responsibility of the family came upon his young shoulders. From dawn till late night, doing a backbreaking job of pulling that three wheeler was not something that this person deserved, but he had to do it. When asked about his education, he said he regretted it at the beginning, but now with time, reality had damned all his emotions. But the only dream that he wanted to fulfill was to get his younger ones educated, and also to make a better home. Rokon had tears at the corner of his eyes, which he quickly managed to hide from us. We couldn't say anything to this man, speechless as you may say, but our silence spoke louder than words. Later that night he gave us a ride home and when we wanted to pay him a bit more he vehemently refused. He smiled and said if he takes that extra money it will be like begging and all that he told us will be meaningless and will show he wants to take some sort of advantage.

I then stared at his fatigued eyes, they had a different spark. I then realized, even though we all lead our lives under the same sky, this ragged rickshaw puller was under a different one. Above his head there's a thick black cloud, his mind a great cavern of sorrow. He did bend in his life, but didn't break. He still had conscience, self dignity and respect which he will never compromise with anything else in this world. He wanted his dreams to be fulfilled, and he will stretch beyond his limits to reach the other side. Honesty, a simple word with a lot of meaning behind it. The drizzles started to increase as the ringing of the rickshaw bells faded in a distance…

N.B. Based on a true experience of the writer.