A day in the life of Bhushon

There was no human settlement. So many days he had traveled this route alone, but today he got scared. He would not be able to return from the market before the nightfall. Without Haridas, how would he return? Bhushon had not come across such a problem ever before.
Rowing up to the middle of the market, he tied up the raft against a stump behind Ratan's grocery and bought spinach, gourd and green bananas. Carrying them on his head, he reached the vegetable section of the market through a narrow slant. He twisted his leg a few times while climbing up the steep slope, encircled by a thorny bush. It was quite a struggle to proceed through. Bhushon started panting after making his way through to the entry point of the vegetable compound. He was already late. Meanwhile, the village market was brimming with buyers and sellers. The bustling market witnessed a capacity crowd as if all the able-bodied men from the neighboring area had thronged the market.
Bhushon wondered why the multitude of people was way too much today. The din and bustle caused a deep buzzing sound in his ears. Suddenly, he could see Haridas gossiping and laughing loudly with some people in front of a teashop. Bhushon started trembling in anger: his brownish eyes lit up in fury, and the shape of his mouth turned square. Certainly, like a tiger, Bhushon would have pounced on Haridas had he not carried the load of vegetables on his head. Moreover, his hands were engaged too. For some moments, he did not understand what he should do. Eventually, he took the load off his head in a hurry, and gritting his teeth, an enraged Bhushon foolishly chased Haridas. Standing on the stairs of the shop, he roared: "Come here. Haramzada, I'll sort things out today. It has to be either me or you, son of a bitch."
Haridas' face turned pale as Bhushon's yelp sent down a shudder down his spine. Haridas was descending the stairs tremulously. In close proximity, Bhushon was waiting; ready for action; it was as if he would behead him as soon as Haridas would come within his reach. Right at that moment, a resonance of a rattle floated in from across the canal. His experiences said that this was the sound from a motor launch; this sort of sound was common when a motor launch would anchor at the moorage. But never did any motor launch come to or pass through this canal!
By that time he found Haridas quite close to him, but Bhushon stood there stupefied. Right at that moment a bomb exploded shaking the entire market. He could see the whole tamarind tree trembling; some crows were resting on its branches; they flew off and began circling round the place crying harsh. He could hear the sound once again: firstly, it was a huge noise, almost ear-splitting, and then a sharp metallic echo emanating from a machine, made of iron. As the sound came through, Bhushon's loin-cloth got tangled with his legs, and it was as if his legs would get stuck in ground. In front was Haridas standing confounded. The clamor died down, and an uneasy calm gripped the market. The intensity of silence was indescribable: the growing dread and panic together made the silence even more sharp and its weight unbearable.
Intermittently, the terrible sound continued: initially, the sound was booming Guum, followed by a metallic echo, chaai. Thereafter, Bhushon could not hear anything like the noise of a motor-launch. He could only hear a new sound, frrr. It was like the sound of a small bird flapping its wings while flying speedily between the isles of cultivable lands. Soon after he had heard this sound, he could listen to a wave of loud wail screaming out of terror from one corner of the village market. Tracking the panic-stricken sight of Haridas, Bhushon looked back at the canal only to find a man coming towards them through the vertical incline. He was wearing brownish shirt and trousers; the forehead-covering cap was placed slanted on his head. Bhushon stared at the eyes of the fair, tall and mountain-like stout man. Immediately, he remembered the stern but sharp sight of the eyes of the Sundarban tiger that he saw during his youth. He could not figure out what the man was shouting for at the top of his voice. However, what he could retrieve were some words: liars, cheats, Satans, infidels, and he kept gazing at the short-sized black gun, made of iron. Instantaneously, he could see another person beside him; it was as if the first person became two in a flash. With their boots striking the ground, one after another was coming through the narrow undulating alley. Reaching the surface level, they spread themselves along the bank of the river, right away. Now Bhushon could clearly hear the jangle of bullets: khat...khat…khat…khat. It left a harsh deafening sound on his ears. Taken aback Haridas leapt some steps back. Listlessly, Bhushon kept staring at the teary-eyed April sky. The sun was still shinning brightly on the treetops. Again came the rattling sound: khat…khat…khat…khat, and Bhushon could see people falling on the ground like the felling a tree after being cut at its base.
Soon after, he could see blood gushing out of the heads, legs, shoulders, chests or stomachs of some people. He could only see the people falling like a pack of cards, but he could not hear the flowing sound of blood warbling through.
Transfixed Bhushon did not know what to do; so was the situation with the rest of the people of the village market. Stone-still they stood watching the drama unfolding. Suddenly, the imposing deadly silence came to an end, and then they ran amuck screaming and seeking shelter and safety. Many stumbled and fell on the ground while running for life. For a moment or two, some people looked back at the canal and then squatted on the ground clasping their stomachs, and blood started flowing relentlessly. The way the blood ran through the white smooth brick like path, it seemed to have left no traces excepting some foamy whiteness formed here and there. Somewhere, though, the grasses were wet, with discernable spots of blood on some tall leaves that keep dangling in air.
Khat…khat...khat…khat. The sound continued. Bodies after bodies kept piling up like sacks  someone violently moved his hands and legs, while the eyelid of another one quivered before coming to a standstill. In opaque eyes, either perturbed or afflicted people kept gazing at the April sky. The wind became heavy with people uttering the name of God  in chorus many people chanted the name of God, and during the period of intervening silence, people lay prostrate on the ground. Someone seemed to be lying on the ground, slightly slanted, with his legs folded and vegetables-filled bag slung across his chest. Defying the bullet-ridden chest, an eighty-year old woman was putting in her last-ditch effort to tighten her embroidered cloth bag around her waist.
Meanwhile, pulling Haridas' hand, Bhushon reached behind the tamarind tree for cover. Where else could he go?  He kept hearing the clatter of the gun shots; however, nobody could be spotted as far as his eyes could see. Uncountable number of people were falling  flat on the ground; some were still screaming and uttering the name of God while some others were demanding water and throwing hands and legs in utter helplessness. The small huts of the market were collapsing on the ground. Bullets were whizzing past in different directions. Bhushon saw a young woman, aged around 24-25, tying her black baby to her lap advancing towards the tamarind tree, and then a sound followed  Thash. The woman kept her hand on the head of the baby. Bhushon saw blood streaming down  her hand, and soon after the blood-soaked white brain came off from the head of the baby only to fill the hand of the mother. The woman turned back, looked at the face of her baby, frantically shook the babe for some times  and then with a blood-curling bawl,  she threw away the infant. Almost simultaneously, she tore off her dirty blouse in one go. Like a tennis-ball, the milk-filled swelled up breasts jumped out of her blouse; Showing the boobs to the attacker, she yelped: "Son of a bitch, shoot. Son of a whore, shoot me here." The very next moment, like a mature Shimul flower, one of her breasts fell apart splitting into four parts, and being shot, she was thrown off to the tamarind tree. And she died, casting a wrathful and fearful look at the perpetrator.
Despite being in the melee, Bhushon saw Haridas standing a little farther from him. While Bushon was rushing towards him, Haridas squatted down on the ground, and looking back, he found, right in front of him, almost within his handshaking distance, the man holding a short-sized gun-like thing in his hand. Bhushon's fair and big mouth got soaked in sweat, and rant and rave consumed him totally. From that close distance, Bhushon could see the titchy eyes of the assailant whose body was reeking off sweaty stench.
Then the enemy shouted at the top of his voice: "Are you a Satan?"
Bhushon could see no more. His steely tiger-like palm became stronger, and twice he looked at the swelled up throat pipe of the foe. Fixedly, he looked at him until he decided to reach Haridas with huge jump.
By that time Haridas was lying unmoved on the ground. His eyes were still bearing the signs of life. Bringing his mouth close to the mouth of Haridas, Bhushon affectionately called: "Haridas, my son. My sweet son…" Caressing Haridas' face and body with his hand, Bhushon murmured: "Haridas, my cute son!"
When there was another isolated clang of the gun, Bhushon's pillar-like square body was jolted twice to become stone still eventually, relieving him of all sorts of feelings and consciousness.
( This is the concluding part of the short story)

Translation: Haroonuzzaman, who teaches English at Independent University, Bangladesh (IUB).