Md. Kamal Uddin Nehru returned and saw that Baldeo was not there. It was raining heavily outside. Black clouds were moving across the sky, and the air smelled of cool incense. He became a little worried about where Baldeo had gone on such a disastrous night. After a while, the door opened and Baldeo entered. He was wet from head to toe in the rain. Water was dripping from his clothes.
—Where did you go? Baldeo smiled softly and said, “Nothing special. I went to get a sleeping suit from home thinking that I would spend the night here.” It was still raining outside. The lines of rain falling down the window panes seemed to be writing an unknown story in nature’s own language. Based on that story, I remembered the story of the monsoon, the story of monsoon literature. The relationship between nature and seasons is very close. In the land of six seasons, each season has a different form and beauty. However, the appeal of the monsoon is a little different. When people and nature get tired of the long summer heat, hot sun and scorching heat, the monsoon comes with a message of peace. The dried-up fields and ghats, rivers and canals, forests and plantations regain new life. As soon as the first drop of rain falls on the ground, an indescribable sweet smell spreads all around. That smell awakens memories and feelings. When clouds gather in the Ashadh sky, the white smile of the kadam flower comes into view. Flowers that cannot be found all year round, bloom in their glory in the bosom of nature when the monsoon arrives. The steps are like ornaments of the monsoon, the identity card of the monsoon. The impact of the monsoon is profound not only in nature, but also in the lives of animals. The peacock spreads its feathers and dances when it hears the roar of the clouds. The Chatak bird looks up at the sky and waits for raindrops. The call of the frog, the melody of the crickets, the murmur of the river – all of them combine to form a great musical arrangement. The monsoon means life. Just as a mother keeps her child alive by breastfeeding, so the nectar of the monsoon revives the thirsty earth. Smiles appear on the faces of farmers, waves of greenery appear in the paddy fields. The pulse of life returns to the roadsides, canals, rivers and fields of rural Bengal. So perhaps another name for the monsoon is love. Just as love moistens the heart, the monsoon also fills nature with softness. In Bengali literature, music and poetry, the monsoon has repeatedly returned as a symbol of love, separation and waiting. In Vaishnava foot verses, in Sri Krishna kirtan, a large part of the love story of Radha Krishna is permeated with the atmosphere of monsoon. On a heavy rainy night, Srimati Radha is sitting in a decorated pavilion. Her friends Lalita, Visakha, Chandrabali – everyone is by her side. Not just Krishna. That waiting, that separation, that pain of anxiety have been expressed by poets and lyricists with extraordinary sweetness. Kazi Nazrul Islam has given shape to this love and separation of monsoon in numerous songs. In his tunes, it is as if the tears of the clouds, the sighs of the rain and the yearning of the heart have become one. When monsoon comes, not only nature, but also the human mind gets soaked with memories and emotions. Rabindranath Tagore’s monsoon songs also occupy a unique place in the hearts of Bengalis. Starting from “Eso Shyamal Sundar”, he has highlighted the spiritual relationship between man and nature in numerous monsoon songs. For him, monsoon is sometimes a symbol of love, sometimes meditation, sometimes deep self-inquiry. Poets, lyricists and artists of later eras have also composed numerous songs and poems around Ashadh-Shravan. With the passage of time, many people today call those songs old songs, but their appeal has never faded. Rather, those songs become even more lively when sitting by the window on a rainy day and listening to the sound of rain. The monsoon awakens a strange nostalgia in the heart of man. Lost days, childhood memories, words of loved ones, old love or stories of imperfection – everything seems to float with the clouds. Unknowingly, the mind hums and resounds – “Ashadh-Shravan means no mind, the streams are flowing,I miss you…” The rain is pouring outside. Lightning streaks through the sky. And the eternal melody of love, memory, expectation and life awakens in people’s hearts. That melody is called Barsha. Barsha is not only an integral part of nature, but also of the life and culture of the people of Bengal. It seems that the true form of rural Bengal is revealed the most during the monsoon. Field after field, green rice seedlings, the gurgling water of canals and beels, boats rushing through the river, the muddy beauty of the roads of distant villages—all of this makes the monsoon the season of Bengal’s life. Once upon a time, the monsoon meant a boat festival. The people of river-based Bengal did not see the monsoon water only as a gift of nature, but as a support for life. Sailing boats floating on the river, the melodious songs in the voices of boatmen, the tune of flutes coming from afar—these were the familiar images of the monsoon in Bengal. Although that scene has largely been lost in today’s modern times, memories remain. The folds are still untidy.
Rainfall means the farmer’s joy. When he sees clouds in the sky, a smile of hope appears on the farmer’s face. Because he knows that this rain will sow dreams of golden crops in his land. A farmer whose soul is connected to the soil sees rain not just as a season, but as a life-giver. Again, rain means the restlessness of a lover’s heart. Sitting by the window watching the stream of rain, the raft of clouds floating in the distant sky, the mind becoming bored with the smell of kadam flowers – all these deepen the feeling of love. Therefore, in Bengali literature and music, rain has sometimes become a symbol of union, sometimes separation, and sometimes waiting. Rabindranath wrote that just as nature awakens to the melody of rain, so too does the human heart awaken to new feelings. In Nazrul’s voice, rain becomes a mixed melody of love and pain. In Jibanananda Das’s poetry, the nature of rain gives birth to a mysterious beauty. In Jasimuddin’s rural poetry, the monsoon is a living reflection of the happiness and sorrow of rural Bengal. In fact, the monsoon is not just a story of clouds, rain and rivers. The monsoon is also a story of the human mind. Sometimes it opens the door to memories, sometimes it reminds us of lost days, sometimes it shows us new dreams. Just like raindrops, stories of happiness and sorrow, reunion and separation, hope and despair, fall endlessly in human life. Even today, when raindrops make a thumping sound on the window glass, it feels as if nature is talking to humans. No dictionary is needed to understand the language of those words. The heart is its only translator. That is why poets, writers, songwriters and artists have written about the monsoon throughout the ages. Because the monsoon is not just the name of a season, the name of a feeling, the name of an emotion, the name of an eternal love.
To be continued…