When comrade Hena das died, I was an activist of Students Union of Bangladesh at University of Dhaka. Listening the news of her death, we leader and activist so students union immediately started to go Bangbandhu Medical University Hospital to see her corpse. Where her corpse would be restored in refrigeration for seven or more days. Her relatives would come to see her for the last time from abroad, so the corpse needed refrigeration. After reaching the hospital, we saw some leader of Bangladesh’s Communist Party around her corpse in a circle, might be they were singing International (The theme song of communism) in a chorus. Firstly, I looked at her face through the crowd, and I was tremendously startled. I had never seen such kind corpse in my life. Only the body was pulseless, but everything in her was like a fully living militant human. She was physically dead, but not in mentally. If I had believed in the soul, then I would have said: the soul was remained still now into her body, only the throbbing of her heart had come to an end. The consciousness, her political cause, her lifelong struggle in the favor of proletarians, underprivileged people and her war against injustice, all kinds of discrimination presence in our society and mark of wisdom and many more emotion that I couldn’t note, was spread over her lively face.
Some days later (now I can’t remember precisely) was the funeral procession. As usual, we activist of Bangladesh Students Union joined the procession. It was the ever-long funeral procession I had joined, and the given day was very hot. We went from Dhaka to Narayanganj some distance by foot and some by bus. We had to stop many places on the way because many people from many places wanted to show their last respect to her. Now let tell about me, I was bored enough with the procession. I was thinking, why did the people very about a woman who was only belonged to us, they had no work their own to do. I was so much disturbed about the people because they stopped our procession. But, later, by listening the life story of Hena Das, I had the answer, why many people came to her that day, why they were crying from their heart. Hena Das had been not only belonged to us, but rather belonged to them whom she had cared much.
At last, we people, very tired by the long tiresome journey reached at Narayanganj. Party office at Narayanganj was the side of Shitalakkha River. Reaching the party office, immediately we dived into the river, the cold water of this river comforted our body and mind. Then everybody was given a lunch box by the Narayanganj Party Office, we eat with heart content because we were very hungry.
Then, started the second part of the procession and the party comrade, student’s union activist and many people from every strata of Narayanganj joined with us. The procession begun moving with the corpse middle of it to the cremation. Everybody, who has come from Dhaka, was, on the whole, relaxed by bathing in the river and having lunch. I was moving with the procession slowly. Then, suddenly, I saw two girls walking side by side, with one of them I had fallen in love at first sight. The girls were naturally very beautiful, the faded light of the afternoon and the shadow of mourning askew over their face added more beauty. At first, I saw mourns could make girl more beautiful. However, let me quit it because I am here not for telling the love story, and there is nothing more about it to tell because, later on, I haven’t seen those girls ever and now a days can’t remember their face clearly.
After reaching at cremation, the corpse of Hena Das was staged at center with the fire-wood by the man of the place. I saw there, some middle aged women dressed in black dress in European style glittering tears on their eyes. They are seemed to me close relatives of Hena Das, perhaps the daughters, who had been living in abroad. Unlike Hena Das there were no struggle spread over their face, and it was very soft, I could feel that in spite of not touching. They were not inherited from their mother. I feel sorrow for them.
Well, we got standing up around the corpse in a circle holding the hand each other, when they fired the body. At first, we sang the International song then robindro sangeet. When we sang this line (he, aguner poroshmoni choyao prane, e jibon purn koro, ejibon purno koro). I felt, the two girl, I had seen before in the procession, touching my heart from the two direction with the parashmani of fire holding with their delicate hands. And for this line (amar e deho khani tule dhor, tomaroi debaloye prodip koro, nishidin alok shikha joluk gane---) I felt, someone invisible was holding up my body that was almost weightless like a feather, flying, wandering on the fresh air of ocean as if I was in the place where the gravitational force were zero and something like was firing incessantly into my heart very slowly with coldness. At the same time, how the first flame of the fire was touching the lively corps. It’s beyond my verbal ability to describe the fillings of my mind that time fully. I can say only, if I am a time traveler even for one time, I will only go to the day of funeral procession of comrade Hena Das repeatedly.
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