TRANSLATED FROM THE BENGALI BY SUKTI SARKAR
The word, “Investigation” jumped from the dictionary out into the road and looked for a manhole. It wished to commit suicide. Through the manhole it would flow into the drainage line of the city and reach the river straightaway. With the river it would flow into the saline waters of the sea and its journey would end in a watery grave. But out on the road at midnight, guarding himself from dogs, nightguards and police, passing through the lanes and by-lanes, it couldn’t locate a manhole yet. Have the manholes too fled the city? As it walked, suddenly it met the word, “Fascism.” In a narrow lane of Burrabazar, at the point where the dead smell of day long wholesale business of onion-garlic-spices mingled with the stench of urine from a narrow drain, right at that place, someone called in a whispering tone, Hei…. e…iii! Arrey, that’s, Investigation!
Investigation turned his head around and found Fascism gesturing at him, with a finger on his lip so as not to utter a word, to come closer. The moment they were together they hugged each other and asked why they were on the road at the dead of night. Investigation said, Arrey, not to talk of it – damn! Whatever happens in this country, all the bastards appear on media in a pitiful or somber mood and state, “We are conducting an investigation…,” “more investigations will be conducted…” or “an investigation committee has been formed; measures will be taken once the report is available!” The last consolation for all the known conspiracies in the whole country is, “investigation.” But the public is now convinced that the word “investigation” simply means something worthless! It only indicates the market now identifies me as something utterly useless. The cumulative effect of years of frustration has led me to quit language altogether. So, I jumped out of the dictionary with an intention to find myself a grave in the waters. But from the very beginning of the journey, I failed to find a manhole. Fascism said, Get down into a drain. This poor city has not gone into a manhole mode yet. From the local drain to the big drain and then into the river.
Unless the river is half dead, your corpse would reach the sea. Otherwise, it would remain stuck in the clay and water. A worried Investigation asked, but why are you on the road? Fascism turned around to show its own butt. It was out on the streets with a scotch tape glued on his asshole! A nonplussed Investigation said, what does it mean? Fascism replied, the government has fucked the system of the country to such an extent that even before criticizing the government the masses mention my name at the drop of a hat, from the people in the ruling party to the street dogs. As they utter my name, their kicks and blows on my ass shatter me. In an attempt to hide myself from the pain and shame, I find this city of concrete has no caves, no jungles. To go missing, the last refuge was the security forces. Investigation grew restless and said, then let me run away first? In case you go missing successfully, the word “investigation” will be attacked again! An embarrassed Fascism turned speechless. Both of them disappeared in their respective roads to suicide.
Also, read She Weeps, written in Italian and translated into English by Prince Singh, and published in The Antonym.
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