No One Kept Their Word

Thirty-Three Years Have Passed, No One Kept Their Word

In childhood, a wandering minstrel once stopped her song abruptly and said,

"On the day of Shukla Dwadashi, I will return to sing the remaining verses."

But countless moonless nights passed, and that minstrel never returned.

I’ve waited twenty-five years.

Nader Ali, the boatman from my uncle’s house, had promised,

"When you grow up, young master, I’ll take you to see the three-watch marsh."

"There, snakes and bees play on the heads of lotus flowers!"

Nader Ali, how much more must I grow? My head has already pierced this roof

and touched the sky—will you still take me to see the three-watch marsh?

I could never buy a single Royal Gulì.

The boys from the landlord’s house flaunted their sticks and badges,

while I stood like a beggar at the Choudhury family’s gate, watching

the endless revelry inside—the Ras Utsav.

Golden bangles adorned fair-skinned women laughing amidst streams of colors.

They never even glanced my way!

My father once touched my shoulder and said, "One day, we too..."

Father is blind now; we’ve seen nothing of what he hoped for—

that Royal Gulì, those sticks and badges, that Ras Utsav.

No one will ever give them back to me!

Baruna once tucked a fragrant handkerchief into her blouse and said,

"The day you truly love me, my chest will carry this same scent of attar."

For love, I’ve clenched life in the fist of my hands.

I tied red cloth around the eyes of a raging bull,

searched every corner of the world, and brought back 108 blue lotuses.

Yet Baruna kept no promises—her chest now carries only the smell of flesh.

She remains just any woman.

No one kept their word, thirty-three years have passed, no one keeps their word!

Continuation: The Weight of Broken Promises

O dreamer, adrift in the sea of unfulfilled vows,

What truths do you seek in the wreckage of shattered hopes?

Promises are fragile things, spun from the threads of desire and trust,

Yet they crumble under the weight of time and neglect.

Imagine standing at the edge of this void,

Where expectations dissolve into silence,

Where voices that once rang with certainty fade into echoes.

Do you hear them now—the whispers of those who swore fidelity?

Their words linger like ghosts, haunting the corridors of memory.

Look closer at the horizon, where past meets present—

A thin line separating promise from betrayal.

Here, in this liminal space, questions arise:

Why do we cling to words spoken long ago?

What makes us believe in the permanence of fleeting assurances?

Perhaps it is hope—a stubborn refusal to surrender to despair.

Hope whispers that tomorrow might redeem today’s failures,

That broken promises can be mended,

That absence can transform into presence.

But tell me, wanderer, what sustains you when hope falters?

When the minstrel does not return,

When Nader Ali abandons his pledge,

When Baruna’s perfume turns sour,

What keeps your spirit from crumbling into dust?

It is resilience—the quiet strength to endure,

To rise each morning despite the weight of disappointment.

Resilience teaches us to find beauty in imperfection,

To cherish moments of joy even as they slip through our fingers.

Recall now the scent of rain-soaked earth,

The warmth of sunlight filtering through leaves.

These sensations linger in the recesses of the mind,

Echoes of experiences etched into the soul.

They remind us that beauty exists in simplicity,

That joy resides in the smallest details.

Yet, amidst the fleeting, there is permanence—

Not in objects, but in essence.

The song of the cuckoo lingers in spring air,

The taste of saltwater remains on sunburnt lips,

The touch of a lover’s hand lives forever in memory.

Such moments transcend time, becoming eternal.

But tell me, dreamer, what will you carry with you

When the final curtain falls?

Will it be regret for roads untaken,

Or gratitude for journeys completed?

Will you mourn the loss of youth,

Or celebrate the wisdom gained with age?

Death is not an end, but a threshold—

A doorway leading to realms unknown.

Just as rivers merge with oceans,

So too does the soul dissolve into infinity.

What fears can bind us when we realize

That we are already part of something greater than ourselves?

Imagine, then, crossing that threshold—

Leaving behind the familiar, stepping into mystery.

Will you meet ancestors waiting to guide you,

Or find yourself alone in boundless light?

Perhaps neither, perhaps both;

The truth eludes definition, defies comprehension.

Yet one thing is certain: love endures.

It flows through veins unseen, binds hearts unbroken.

Even in death, it remains—a beacon guiding us home.

For love is not confined to flesh and bone;

It transcends form, existing beyond the limits of mortality.

So let us live fully, love deeply, dream boldly,

Until the final hour arrives.

Let us cherish the ordinary, for it holds extraordinary grace.

Let us honor the earth, which sustains us,

And the sky, which inspires us.

Let us walk gently upon this sacred ground,

Leaving behind footprints of kindness, not destruction.

When the sun sets for the last time,

May we close our eyes with peace in our hearts.

May we leave behind a legacy of light,

So that others may follow in our footsteps,

Guided by the same eternal spark.

Thus, O wanderer, fear not the end—

For endings are merely beginnings in disguise.

Embrace the journey, savor the moments,

And trust that beyond the horizon,

A new dawn awaits, radiant and infinite.