Who or what is Himu? It’s a fictional character created by Humayun Ahmed. And now if you ask who Humayun Ahmed was, well, he was an unprecedented phenomenon in Bengali literature. Of course, there had been many kings in Bangla literature. But He was like no other.
What follows is the translation of “Dorjar Opashe”: possibly the second book in Humayun Ahmed’s Himu series.
know more about Badshah Humayun
About Himu :
People call him Himu. On official papers, it’s written Himalaya. Father gave him that name. The Father had a vision. One day this boy would grow up to be A Great Man. His greatness would similar to the Mountains of Himalayan. An immense entity. But still not out-of-reach for the mortals.
He could have named his son “Samudra”.( Meaning the sea). You can touch the sea. Moreover, it reflects the sky. But the Father didn’t. He chose the Himalayas. The strict, silent mountains. They don’t reflect the sky. Instead, they long for it.
Himu’s father wanted his son to be a great man in the sense of a “Prophet”. A man above all worldly politics. Someone who knows the ultimate truth about the universe. But what about Himu? What did he want?
We, the people who bring you this writing, know what the Father wanted. But when it comes to Himu, well, we are at a loss.
Himu might be searching for something, some truth about the universe. Or, he might not care about it at all.
The novel “ Dorjar Opashe” - “on the other side” was written to deal with this dilemma. I have written this novel with utmost seriousness. Still, I would request all to not take this writing too seriously.
Some of the more serious readers are aware of another character who appears in my other texts - Misir Ali. Misir Ali practise logic. Himu’s practice is antilogic. In this practical world of ours, antilogic or magic doesn’t hold a place.
Humayun Ahmed
5th of May, 1992
1.
Deep asleep. From the depths, a voice calling,
“Himu, ei Himu.”
The voice is strange. I think I know it. And then again, I didn't. The person behind the voice feels like someone I had known a long time ago. Now he's lost to me. But the voice stayed. It transformed into a mysterious memory.
The voice is manly. A bit croaky. Like he caught a cold.
From my sleep, I call out half-knowingly, “Who’s there?”
No one answers. Just a horrible silence. I call again,
‘Who’s there? What’s going on?’
Someone let out a soft sigh. So strange! I can even recognize the sound of this sigh. Two small knocks on the door. The man on the other side calls me. “ Himu ei, Himu.”
This is peculiar. A lingering discomfort in the air. Something weird's going on. The room’s dark. Deep engulfing darkness. T’was raining last night. I had shut the doors and windows before going to bed. It should be impossible to see anything. Only the radium dial of the table clock has some chance. But I have clear sight.
I can even read the calendar on the wall. How can this be? Is this a dream? Is the whole thing happening inside a dream? Maybe there’s no one behind that door. No one is calling me with an equally recognizable and unrecognizable voice.
Is that it? I am just sleeping. And in the sleep, I’m dreaming. Simultaneously, I am aware this is a dream. I don’t want to continue. I have no interest in opening the door.
Don’t want to see who’s waiting for me on the other side. Whoever’s the man calling me, I got nothing to do with him. There’s no point in knowing who he is.
I try to wake up. I can’t. It feels like air’s running out. Someone has different plans. They want me to see through the end. I was fighting. And the fight woke me up.
The air inside is hot. The whole room had been sealed shut. Totally cut from the outside world. I can see nothing. I switched on the lights. In the dream, there was a calendar. There’s no calendar in this room from reality. A mild knocking sound is coming from under the bed. That happens. It’s not something rodent. I know rodents. They don’t make that sound. Bewildered, I reach for the door.
Outside, it’s dawn. Light all around. The darkness in the room was just a result of detachment from the real world.
I step into the verandah. And saw that Bayezid guy.
He probably lives in the room next to me.
Bayezid is standing on the porch. He's busy. He has his toothbrush in his hand. His eyes are bloody red. This isn't new. His eyes are always like this. He looks at me directly,
“ Good morning Mr. Himu. You’re up early. Is everything all right?”
“ Everything’s Fine. Just lost my sleep.”
“ This is nice. What a wonderful hour to wake up. The Lord opens the widows of Heaven at this time of the day. The Breeze of Heaven flows into the earth. People who are touched by this wind would become the future dwellers of the paradise.”
“Wow! Who told you that?”
Bayezid looks uncomfortable. “ Well, I heard it from someone.”
“Is that why you are up every morning so early. To get blessed by the heavenly breeze?”
Bayezid blushes. Then he laughs.
The light of early dawn is mysterious. It de-ages Bayezid a bit. He is looking young. He’s around fifty, maybe. Every time I look at the guy, I get this feeling that someone had squeezed him like a lemon, and took all the life out of him. He walks hunched down. Doesn’t make eye contact. If I pass him, I say ‘how are you Mr. Bayezid.’ He gets very uneasy at this question. Somehow he manages to say, ‘Fine’.
On weekends and holidays, his room would be locked from the inside.
On weekends, there is an improved meal at the hostel. Everyone sits together. Bayezid is never seen around. Maybe, when everyone’s finished he emerges from somewhere. Sits down, head hung low, finishing his meal as quickly as possible. As if, it’s a sin to eat. The faster you can get done with it, the better.
I come closer. And say,
“ If opening the windows of the Heavens is a thing, there must be something about opening the windows of Hell, right? Do you know, when they open those ?”
( to be cont.)
