A tribute by her mother - On This January

Mahi where are you? Should I come to lay flowers where you are? The way you appeared to everyone as a string of lights, you left your body just as publicly. Where did you get lost? I looked for you on the bed with whatever life force I had in me. Did you lose your way inside that big, heavy quilt? Mahi, the morning goes away, and the night follows behind it too. Where are you hiding? In that small dark room? In the land of sleep? Of course, you sleep a lot. What if I, too, silently go to that room? Would it be too cramped? Why did you go there then, before me?

You said, “roton e roton chene” (jewels recognise other jewels) and that is why I can still get your smell, and maybe you mine! You have understood by now that at this moment I do not dare as much as you, and what will not happen is what is most yearned—but my apparent discomfort does not bother you, does not worry you.

I need to accept that your intuition is acute. Listen, let me exaggerate a bit—don't you remember? We are used to somewhat supporting those who are powerful. So, you will not agree to the use of “we”? It is the rule of all rules. When have we ever accepted each other without debate? You say what you will and end it right there without forgiveness, so I will not take the risk of becoming your opponent in any way. I still plan to spend my last days with you—even if it is in some dark room.

Translated from Bengli by Zyma Islam