On the eve of Bengali New Year, 1417, (বাংলা নববর্ষ ১৪১৭), our neighbouring district, Uttar Dinajpur, received blows from a cyclone - regarded to be this century's fiercest dance of Nemesis. The cyclone licked away everything it found on its way. I looked agape at the all-surfaced district, after the natural blitzkrieg, and visualized the horrors of getting drawn to a fatal end, the end of all battles for life.
The cry of millions crossed the political boundaries, when the greatest of all hunters, i.e. Man, became a hunt or victim himself.
The year 2004 of the megathrust oceanic earthquake, Tsunami, is still fresh in our mind. Nature wrote satanic verses in such a way that it seems a strange city has appeared on the surface of soil with its ancient relics uncovered.
Still, the Bengali New Year will be observed tomorrow, as the dragon of horrorific breathing has gone asleep.
I thought to e-cast a new blog, which will bear the signature of my mother tongue Bengali, but I have planned to offer it a one-day delay. It's due to utmost respect for those who have nothing left to suffer from and who have only to build up a stronghold of futile reminiscences and traumatic future.
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