On the banks of Birishiri and Someshwari
Birishiri is a small village in Susang Durgapur upazila of Netrokona
On the banks of Someshwari, dry sand dunes and kashaban
Nothing but. That side of the border
Not arranged rows of clouds, layered
Garo mountain range, in this arid desert:
The name Birishiri is as beautiful as my mustache
Not-seeing-not-knowing so much in the fascination of name
I came here and read here maybe ba
Tatara Rabuga wished, so
The revenge of the ancestors was on my forehead
So this deportation:
Now I think, Birishiri I never went! But the diary says, in the last 10-11 years, I have landed in Mandipalli of Birishiri several times. Why do I think so? After wandering around the Netrokona area a few times over the decades, I see the mattress or tin houses constantly being transformed into brick buildings; And every time I go and see them and I think, have I come to this Birishiri before?
Birishiri is a small village in Susang Durgapur upazila of Netrokona. The home of the Mandi people is in Birishiri, which flows close to Someshwari's lap. I first came to know about this region from the source of poet Rafiq Azad. He has been the director of Birishiri Cultural Academy for five years since 1998. At that time he also wrote a book of poems called Birishiri Parb. It was through the vocabulary of that book that I became acquainted with the name Birishiri and seeing him through the eyes of imagination made me feel the same way. Later, when I came to study in the Department of Drama and Drama Theory at Jahangirnagar University, I first saw the need to write a play about the culture of the Mandi community, Birishiri.
Then I went to Birishiri through Netrokona, a little detour. Leaving Netrokona, Bayankhali, Deidukun, Gudalikanda and Jaria left behind the rugged soils and reached Birishiri Bazaar only after crossing Jhanjail, Laxmipur Krishnar Char and Utrail. Speaking of which, the condition of the road to Birishiri was terrible at that time, when you think of that journey, the bones of your waist seem to be tingling even today! Later, with the touch of development in the health of the road suffering from this malnutrition, there has been enough benefit except for a long time.
There is another way to go to Birishiri. Reaching Shyamganj of Netrokona from Mymensingh, one can easily reach Birishiri village by taking the road to Purbadhala on the left. At one time this path was also difficult. But now there is also the spark of development. As a result, you will get on the bus from Dhaka and leave in a hurry this is how one can reach Birishiri, the shoreline of Someshwari. Three years ago, when I was sitting on the bus from Dhaka's Mohakhali bus stand with the intention of visiting this place for the last time, a friend of mine told me to go to Birishiri by this time.
Next to Birishiri is Vijaypur porcelain hill
We stumbled upon a tea shop in Birishiri Bazaar 10 years ago. As he sipped his hot cup of tea, someone asked, "Where did it come from?
: Dhaka.
: Where to go?
The man was talking in a low voice, a little scared. Seeing his appearance, shape and demeanor, I understood that he is a man of Mandi community. Later in the conversation I learned that his name was Peter. Works in a local NGO. Peter shrugged his shoulders and asked the question. Every now and then tourists come here. Their motives are also different. So when they see Naya Manishi in the market, they want to know the reason for his arrival and be sure. The kind of racial distrust that works behind it, I also learned the story from Peter's face, after gaining his faith. I also learned that these people do not hesitate to cut their own hearts for those whom they trust.
So I told Peter about our intention to go to Birishiri Cultural Academy. I will listen to Mandi language songs. And after the poet Rafiq Azad became the director of that academy, he changed his name to the people of this region who became Rafiq Marak; How he has spent here, it is necessary to see with his own eyes, or!
Rafiq Azad: The Telesmati incident took place as soon as Rafiq Marak's name was mentioned. The young man named Peter, who had just looked at us with a little disbelief, smiled instantly at his thick lips. "Come on, let's go," he said as our guide. And we followed him as if he were holding my hand, friend, I don't know the way. We had a good time with Peter. I noticed that this young man spoke in proverbs instead of speaking directly. For example, when he asked us, "Where did you come from?" He did not say where he came from. Later I realized that most of the people in the Mandi community talk in idioms while speaking, do not pay much attention to the pronoun position and break the whole sentence without saying it all at once.
At Khardupur we left the shadow of the big raintree tree on our heads and reached the expected place. Showing the raintree along the way, Peter said a funny thing, "Rain tree, he is also our god."
Rain tree! Rain tree! Looking at the trees, it seemed that if you translate the raintree, it is a rain tree! This mandi people have given so many magical names to this tall tree! It was as if the hard lights of noon had softened in my mind.
Fate helped us that day. When we arrived at the Cultural Academy, there was music playing. A fair skinned woman with a chubby face is playing the harmonium, Beautiful golden youthful beauty / Unique in beautiful beauty / My two-eyed dream / O country, for you. As we stood back, the singer looked at us once, at Peter again. Peter looked us in the eye and said, "Shantanadi's throat is very tender...
Shantanadi means Shantana Rangsa. Cultural Academy song teacher. We wanted to listen to him, a song in Mandi language. This time he sang, Chinga Bangla Asangni / Fan Thi Methrarang / Gichcham Biding Gisopo .... Continuously confused - singing in all words Seeing that we could not find anything, he again translated the lyrics of the song into Bengali. At the end of the song, he said,
From the old, primitive world religions and cultures, the temples are standing on the deck of the new culture, the old and the new world religions and Christ the two religions and cultures standing together, even much of the Bengali culture that the members of this community have now assimilated. Got it.
That afternoon we went to Shantana Ranga's house at one end of Birishiri Bazar. Binnamin Areng, the husband of Shantana Rangsa, greeted us. As soon as you enter the house, the manure is buried. It turned out that these are their ancestors. In the matriarchal mandi society, girls used to be the masters of the world. Now, of course, they do not have the same authority as before. However, the dominance of culture and lineage has not disappeared yet. In this society children still grow up with mother's surname. Therefore, the name of the daughter of Shantana Rangsa is Krishti Charya Rangsa. When I talked to the girl, she was a student in the upper class of the school. We also heard songs in his throat. But in that song there was more banging of Bengali music than the original Mandi melody. Later, I met Krishti Charya twice more, each time seeing the cross of the Lord Jesus on her necklace.
How did Tatara Rabuga, the god of creation of the Mandi people, once create the world? Krishti Charya Rangsa was the central character of my play.
As I said before, I first went to Birishiri to write a play. The nights in the bungalow of the Youth Men's Christian Association or YMCA were very secluded. Next time I went and stayed in the bungalow of the district council. And now a number of privately owned bungalows have good arrangements for accommodation.
We also went to the porcelain hills of Vijaypur near Birishiri. Later I went there several more times. According to many, this is the main attraction of Birishiri. Blue and green lakes flow through the bottom of the porcelain hills. But standing here is a little less a chance to relax alone, this man is coming by motorbike or van, that man is going, as if people are eating people's heads. Occasionally someone would lean on a hill or stand or sit.
Monkey Shuye is also taking one photo after another. In the age of mobile phones with cameras, it doesn't take much money to take pictures now.
Similarly, Peter took us across the Someshwari River to the village of Ranikhong to see a Catholic church founded in 1912. The shrine, known as Ranikhong Church, was built by cutting a hill and building a staircase. It is also called the Dharmapalli of Saint Joseph. As we stood on the highest floor of the church, we saw an unearthly devotion in Peter's eyes. The sadness that I saw in this young man walking with us on the shores of Someshwari before, where did that time go!
The river Someshwari flows through the chests of Birishiri and Bhabanipur. We did not miss the young man Peter for the convenience of getting around Birishiri. The young man who crossed the secondary boundary with us had a very good tuning.
Sand glistening in the waters of Someshwari, Garo hills can be seen in the distance, faint aura of Meghalaya. Standing on the bank of that Someshwari, Peter continued to tell the story of the pain of the Mandi society. To put it bluntly, ‘We came here from the land of Kirat after crossing Meghalaya. It was our state. The king was Baisha Garo. One day a man named Someshwar Pathak became his guest. After that, the Someshwar Pathak took possession of this area by forgetting Baisha Garo. And our misfortune also started from there.
Why Mandirs don't trust strangers, it was revealed this time while listening to Peter. And then I saw rows of dead wood floating down the hill slope with Someshwari named after Someshwari Pathak. And like the still current of the river, the waveless Peter is looking at the distant sky at that time. Was he calling on the god of Mandi, Tatara Rabuga, or was he praying to Jesus Christ in his heart?