By Dr Lokman Khan
The scent of sweetmeats and celebratory firecrackers hung heavy in the air as Rohan entered his childhood village. Eid had painted the streets with vibrant colors and joyous chatter. But amidst the festivities, his heart thumped a different rhythm – a rhythm he hadn’t felt since he left for Dhaka seven or eight years ago.
As the electric rickshaw hummed along the dusty path, cool air, thick with the scent of damp earth and jasmine, washed over Rohan. He has come to celebrate Eid with his only living relatives, his Chaha-Chachi. The village, nestled amidst green paddy fields, was a picture of vibrant life. A snake-like canal, its surface reflecting the turquoise sky, snaked its way through the heart of the village. Towering mango and banyan trees, their ancient branches heavy with secrets, lined the canal banks, casting coloured shadows on the path.
With each bump of the rickshaw, a memory flickered to life. He saw himself, a skinny kid, racing along the bank with Aisha, their laughter echoing through the trees. He remembered climbing those very branches, their skin rough against his bare feet, the world sprawling beneath them like a green carpet. A sharp ache settled in his chest – a bittersweet blend of nostalgia for a simpler time and the nervous anticipation of what awaited him in this familiar yet changed place.
The familiar scent of jasmine still lingered, but something felt off in Rohan’s gut. As the rickshaw rounded a bend, the lush green landscape he remembered gave way to a sight that jolted him. The towering trees that once lined the canal were gone, replaced by a row of tall, imposing flats. Their pastel facades seemed flashy against the fading light. Gone was the tranquil quietness of his childhood. In its place, a cacophony of sounds assaulted him – honking rickshaws, loud music blaring from shops, and the animated chatter of people gathered at brightly lit tea stalls.
Rohan’s heart sank. This wasn’t the village he remembered. Where were the sprawling fields, the whispering trees, the sense of endless summer? The once zigzag canal, now choked with plastic waste, seemed to mirror his own churning emotions. Grocery shops, their shelves overflowing with mass-produced goods, had sprung up like weeds, replacing the exotic little stores that used to sell local produce.
A sadness twisted in his stomach. Progress, he supposed, but at what cost? He glanced at the driver, a young man with a bored expression glued to his phone. “Has it changed a lot here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The driver, barely looking up, shrugged. “Fast, sir. Too fast. Everyone wants a piece of the city life now.”
Rohan nodded, a hollow feeling settling in his chest. He had come back hoping to reconnect with his past, with Aisha, but this bustling, impersonal place felt alien. Yet, amidst the chaos, a little hope remained. Perhaps, somewhere under this veneer of progress, the essence of his village, the warmth of his childhood memories, still lingered. Perhaps, in seeing Aisha again, he could find a piece of that old magic, a reminder of the green haven that once was.
Aisha, his childhood best friend, stood by the old well, her vibrant green dupatta catching the moonlight. Time had etched a quiet grace on her face, her eyes still holding the same mischief and warmth he remembered.
“Rohan?” Her voice, a melody he hadn’t forgotten, held a tremor of surprise.
A grin stretched across his face. “Who else would be walking around like a lovesick fool under the Eid moon?”
Aisha chuckled, a sound like wind chimes. Their easy banter, a language only they understood, felt as natural as breathing. Hours melted away as they remember, the past shimmering like the moonlight on the old well water.
The cool evening breeze ruffled the translucent green dupatta covering Aisha’s hair as she stood by the tube well. Unlike the other girls her age, adorned in their finest clothes and giggling over gossip, Aisha exuded a quiet grace. Her beauty wasn’t about flashy jewelry or layers of makeup, but in the intelligence that sparkled in her dark eyes and the gentle curve of her lips that hinted at a hidden smile.
Aisha’s family was one of the most respected in the village. Her father, a successful farmer known for his honesty and fair dealings, held a position of quiet authority. Her mother, a woman of unwavering faith, instilled in Aisha a deep sense of tradition and a strong moral compass. Yet, within the confines of her upbringing, Aisha possessed a spirit that yearned for exploration.
Rohan, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of energy. With his unruly mop of black hair and perpetually scraped knees, he was a constant source of amusement and sometimes, exasperation, for Aisha. They were inseparable since childhood. They’d spent their days climbing the ancient banyan trees by the canal, their laughter echoing through the leaves. They’d raced along the bank, their bare feet splashing in the cool water, their dreams as vast as the endless green fields that stretched before them.
As they grew older, their bond deepened. Rohan, with his insatiable curiosity, would pepper Aisha with questions about the constellations that glittered in the night sky, stories from their village’s rich history, or the scientific marvels he read about in borrowed books. Aisha, in turn, would patiently explain the folklore woven around the stars, the significance of village customs, and temper his scientific zeal with the wisdom of their ancestors.
Their differences, instead of dividing them, strengthened their connection. They were two halves of a whole, their childhood an intricate tapestry woven with shared laughter, whispered secrets, and a silent understanding that transcended words.
One starlit night, under the watchful eye of the Eid moon, Rohan confessed his love. “Aisha,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I want to spend every Eid with you, not just this one.”
Aisha’s smile faltered. “But Rohan,” she whispered, “my parents would never agree. You know how they are about tradition, about family status.” Rohan came from a modest background, a stark contrast to Aisha’s well-respected family.
His heart sank. He’d been foolish to think their love could defy tradition. Just then, a noise erupted from Aisha’s house. Her brother stormed out, his face ashen. “Aisha,” he spat, “father’s been arrested. Apparently, there’s been a scandal at the business.”
The world tilted on its axis. Aisha’s world, built on tradition and family honor, was crumbling. Rohan, witnessing her despair, made a decision fueled by love and a touch of recklessness.
“Aisha,” he declared, his voice firm, “let’s run away. We’ll build a new life, one where love matters more than anything else.”
Aisha’s eyes widened. Her heart pounded in her chest, a war raging between duty and love.
Few days later. The Eid moon, a perfect silver disc hanging low in the sky, cast its silvery light on a future filled with uncertainty. Would Aisha take his hand, or would the weight of tradition hold her back?
Suddenly, a melodic sound filled the air – the humming strains of a familiar song. It was their song, a silly little tune they’d made up as children, tapping out the rhythm on the ancient banyan tree with sticks. A tear slipped down Aisha’s cheek, a single, shimmering counterpoint to the moonlight.
“Rohan,” she whispered, her voice trembling, “that song… remember?”
Mango tree high, reaching for the sky,
Our secret place, whispers never die.
Eid moon so bright, shining down all night,
Friendship forever, bathed in silver light.
A grin, as familiar and comforting as the Eid moon itself, spread across his face. “How could I forget? We used to drive everyone crazy with it.”
Aisha took a deep breath. “My father… he’s been released. The accusations were false, a misunderstanding. But it’s made him realize… life is too short for regrets.”
Hope, like a spark in the moonlight, ignited in Rohan’s chest. “So…?”
Aisha’s smile bloomed, brighter than the string lights adorning the houses around them. “So, pack your bags. We’re going to Dhaka. Together.”
Rohan blinked, speechless. Dhaka, the bustling city that had both frightened and fascinated him, now held the promise of a future he could never have dared to dream of. A future where his love for Aisha could blossom, free from the constraints of tradition, yet enriched by the values she held dear.
As the strains of their childhood song continued to drift through the air, a new melody began to weave itself into the fabric of their lives. The melody of Eid, a celebration of new beginnings, of forgiveness, and most importantly, of love that transcended all boundaries. The future remained unwritten, but under the watchful eye of the Eid moon, Rohan and Aisha knew, hand in hand, that they would write it together.
17 June 2024
LK INNOVATE 
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