As the night ceased to linger anymore, old Prometheus woke up with a start. It is the season of rain. It is that time of the year when all the trees in the forest bathe, drink and freshen up to brace themselves for the rest of the year when rainfall becomes a thing of dreams and the sun blazes above, all the day. It wasn’t always like this. There was a time when they never had to wait for the rain to fall, it happened throughout the year. The gradual change in climate happened with the increasing advent of machine, and men, who mercilessly uprooted several of Prometheus’ fellow pines, thinning the forest in the process.
As the torrential rain soaked its branches, Prometheus looked around. He is the tallest and the most ancient wood around. The rest of the forest calls him ‘The Warlock’- a name he has earned for deceiving death for so long. As he looked, he found that the rest of the forest is waking up too. The dark nimbus above made it hard to discern whether it was day or night. But there they are, stoic as ever, sinking in the gift of the heaven as long as it lasted.
Amidst the downpour, Prometheus heard a juvenile cry not far from where he stood. He squinted and looked down. There on the ground, right beside the remains of a freshly uprooted pine, stood a young sapling. By the look of it, Prometheus wondered, it might have been only days that the little thing was born. A tinge of affection ran through his veins.
-“Ki hoyechhe?” , he called out.
-“Amar khub bhoy korchhey. Jobe theke bairey eshechhi tobey thekei khali brishti. Charidikey shudhu ondhokar. “
-“Borshakal e brishti na porle, amara baanchbo ki kore bolo?”
-“Kintu amay je bhetorey bolechhilo, je baire sharadin jokhon jege thakbo tokhon amar shathey shurjo boley ekjon thakbey. Shey naki sharakkhon haanshey, gaanchheder alo dey, shokti dey.”
Prometheus didn’t know what to say. The weakling had chosen a wrong time to come out. With so much rainfall and scarce sunshine, it hardly had the power to survive long. Yet as he looked down, it pained him to break its heart. But he knew that only the strong survives, there was no other way. With a heavy heart, Prometheus looked away, trying to distract himself from the pathetic cry below.
Then something funny happened. His mind lurched and lifted him upwards. Although his body remained on the ground, he soared upwards. Right through the clouds he went, many a mile away from the forest…
After floating against the sky for a while he began to descend. It was near the outskirts of a city. Here the sky was a magnificent blue. The sun shone right across it and white cumulus clouds were spread around like giant bags of cotton. The weather was festive.
Prometheus descended upon the porch of simple two-storeyed house. There was old couple sitting inside. The man was reading a newspaper and the woman was watching the television.
A young boy, about 10, arrived from school. He looked rather sad. The old man noticed this and asked him ,
”ki hoyechhe dadubhai? Tomar mukh bhar keno?”
-“Dekhona dadu, baba ajkeo Shuktarar pujo shonkha ta kiney dilo na. Khali boley amar naki ar boyish nei shuktara porar.”
Saying this he went inside. The man looked at the woman and smiled. The boy returned after a while and sat on the old man’s bed, still looking visibly sad. His grandfather now looked at him and said,
”Dekho toh dadu, amar balisher tolay tomar jonnno ki rakha achey.”
The boy turned the pillow over …then jumped right into his smiling grandfather’s lap and smothered his face with kisses.
As Prometheus watched this, it pained him. He wondered whether he was that hard a person to deny a young bud that unprecedented look of joy which he witnessed just. Was he not powerful enough to afford that? Was he called ‘The Warlock’ for nothing?
He left immediately. The journey back home was short. Upon his arrival, he found that the rain hadn’t stopped. It was darker than ever.
Prometheus descended upon his trunk. There, spreading out all his branches and looking up, he called out at his oldest companion around.
-“Oi? Shuntey pachhish?”
-“Hm. Bol. Ki dorkar ei oshomoy?’ , a lazy voice replied.
-“Toke ekbar berotey hobey boss. Khub dorkar.”
-“Berobo berobo, dudin dara. Shara bochhor ta toh porei achhey toder khisti khawar jonne.”
-“Na bhai, ekhhuni dorkar!”
-“Keno? Hothat?”
Prometheus told him everything.
-“Thik achhey. Tui jokhon bolchhis.”
The whole forest suddenly noticed the sun, for some inexplicable reason, peep out of the darkness, smiling like a young child caught in the act of a mischief. It still rained hard, yet a bright stream of gold trickled down old Prometheus and lit up the pristine green face of the young plant. As Prometheus looked down, in the light, he saw that the sapling didn’t look weak anymore. He understood that this bud is here to live, probably, longer than he did. As he watched, an unprecedented sense of pleasure engulfed him. He understood that his time has come.
With the sun playing with the cloud above, he summoned the rest of the forest and said,
“bhaira, amar jawar shomoy hoye eshechhe. Ami chollam.”
Then he looked down at the sapling and said,
”Amar jayga dekhbe ekdin oi nebe. Tomra dekho, o baanchbe, haanshbe, jhor, jol, shomoy shob upekkha kore tomader agley bechhe thakbe. Or naam holo Methuselah.”
Saying this, the ancient pine breathed his last. A few days later, a team of lumberjacks uprooted his remains and sped off. Methuselah lived and continues to live, forever
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As Prometheus leaved his body for the last time, amidst the tranquility, a cry of endless joy lingered in his mind…
….”Sharodia Shuktara! YAY!”.
