Nestled on the fringes of Bahirgachi village, beside the gentle flow of the Nagari river, lies the ashram of Khamradas Baul. Amidst the verdant expanse of the ashram, where fruit-laden trees intermingle with ornamental flora, Khamradas tends to a patch of land. His very name, bestowed by his Guru, bears testament to this connection, as "Khamra" echoes with the essence of the field in Bengali.
Unlike the allure that urban existence holds for many, Baul's spirit remains untamed by the city's charm. Embracing a rustic ethos, his ashram stands devoid of electric currents or concrete edifices. When queried about his affinity for the countryside over the bustling urban life, Khamradas shared his wisdom with a hearty laugh, as though gently unfolding the city's enigma.
"Brother," he began, his eyes dancing with a knowing glint, "it is the very air of the city that beguiles us. In the city, man is ensnared by illusions spun from thin air."
Perplexed, I inquired further, inviting him to elaborate on his cryptic words. Khamradas obliged, recounting an incident from three years past, when he accompanied a fellow soul to Malda, a journey prompted by a fair. The sun-drenched month of Baisakh had enveloped them in sweltering heat, propelling them to seek solace within the confines of a Sherbat shop nestled in the Nawabganj area.
As they lingered within, contemplating the refreshing delights that awaited them, the scene unfolded before his eyes. "We chose two glasses of rose sorbet," he recounted, his voice suffused with a reminiscing tone.
In the heart of the bustling crowd, a congregation of individuals waited in anticipation of their sweet concoctions. Khamradas's gaze traversed the tableau, and there, beneath the sweltering sun, he noticed a phenomenon that struck him as both curious and illuminating.
A pervasive shadow cast by a canopy played host to an array of vibrant sherbets, each distinct flavor encased within its own vessel. Vimto, rose, lemon — a symphony of colors and flavors awaited the eager patrons. The very shopkeeper, laboring to serve the clamoring throng, was at odds with time itself. In his haste, he was able to fill the glasses only partially, leaving them uncapped.
Yet, it wasn't the incomplete sealing that caught Khamradas's attention; it was the ethereal dance of nature that unfolded at the rim of each glass. An ensemble of bees, once far removed from his rural existence, flitted about the scene with an astonishing freedom. A chorus of wings, once resonating in the tranquil countryside, found a new harmony amidst the urban clamor.
The image before him resonated with profound clarity. The industrious bee, an emblem of diligence, would typically alight upon a solitary flower, extracting a meager two drops of nectar by day's end. Yet here, in the heart of the city, it roamed with an unparalleled sense of ease, its flight unrestricted among the crowd. Khamradas mused that it was as though the city had taken on the role of a mentor, imparting lessons of indulgence and leisure to the diligent bee. The very essence of hard work seemed replaced with the siren call of syrupy leisure.
With a contemplative gaze and a smile gracing his lips, Khamradas concluded his tale, the subtext of his narrative as clear as a tranquil stream. "From such a place," he shared, "we too may inherit the inertia of the bee, forsaking the pursuit of true sustenance for the easy allure of sugared gratification."
In that exchange of words and stories, it became evident that Baul's smile, that serene curve of his lips, encapsulated not just the tale of a bee, but the reflections of a sage.
~ Dr Intaj Malek
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