The Dark has wings.
The Dark has its Music.
The Dark has its pain.
The Dark is in the vein.
The Dark has its own bright, flickering smells, its own phantom whims.
The dark has its own ghosts which haunt it from Dusk to Dawn and back to Dusk again.
So I was told by a Old man long ago.
That man has since been swallowed up by the dark. But I still remember the night he told me that if one really tried, one could actually hear the sound of the earth go round and round on its axis. It was difficult, but not that impossible. It was easier during his times, he said, for there was less noise. But, if I listen, really really listen at late night, I would be able able to hear the sound too. It would begin as the slightest hint of a muffled "ghrr-ghrr", and as you concentrate and shut out the rest of the world - the faint strains of the FM radio from some distant shack, the happy cicadas, even the sound of your own breathing - it would gradually build up to a crescendo until you would be scared that you might be thrown off the earth, it was moving so violently.
"It's just like the sound of a bullock cart. But you wouldn't know what that sound like being a city boy.", he said with a laugh.
That summer holiday, I did discover what the sound was like. As one night I lay on the roof of my three storeyed house and looked up at the onyx sky, the dark came and held my hand and became my friend. And I heard the earth moving on its rusty wheels.
It's been long time since then, and I have stopped listening for that sound. But there are other songs, other smells and other secrets that Dark whispers me today.
When there's a power cut in your neighborhood next time, don't grumble; don't even fumble about for the candles. Wander on to the roof of your building - peer into the dark. The festive song of the cricket will be punctuated by an occasional flutter somewhere in the lamp post as Mamma crow tries to convince the babies that the gooey monsters are the part of its nightmare.
There will be flicker somewhere above you; it will vanish before your eyes register it. It'll slip away like memory of long lost Love. You'll only feel the warmth of a glowing cigarette butt as it swings and sways its way to the oblivion. And then even that will disappear, leaving a widowed bald darkness behind.
You'll think you hear the creak of a old door-hinge somewhere around you, and you'll hear something landing with a soft thud into the unkempt bushes below you. And you'll swear you hear a creaky groan as the white-washed walls ooze fatigued and tired building settle ever so slightly deeper into the sheltering earth.
The cool breeze will bring along the snatches of a few whispered words of love - disjointed, disembodied like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Perhaps they were the urgent words of love uttered on a rickety bench in some corner of the park, perhaps they were lazy , caressing words of love , savoring a moment of togetherness that wouldn't last, trying to make sure the moment wouldn't be forgotten when the day dawned. Perhaps they were well rehearsed words of love, uttered once more into the trusting dark. Or perhaps they weren't words of love at all - perhaps it was just the day's last tram, that took the life of poet Jibanananda Das a long ago, moving on its aluminum tracks somewhere in the distance.You can't be sure - there are more secrets Dark don't want to share with you. Which make dark more interesting.
Suddenly a rude, loud voice will break into your thoughts, showering abuse on a name tooslurred to be identified. The pungent smell of betrayal will hang heavy in the air. The wounded, shredded dark, split wide open, will cry for justice.The sobs will die down only when the frogs comfort the dark with their unstinting ancient lullaby.
Just about now, you may hear a sweet voice halfway through "Ogo Dukhojaganiya, tomay Gaan shonabo, Taito amay jagie rakho...." - she'll fumble over a word here, drift out of tune there, but she'll go ahead, singing just for the pleasure to singing to the dark, crooning for the pleasure of serenading the dark, without worrying about who's listening and mistakes she's making.
There are more secrets Dark has to share with you - More than you can imagine, Much more than I can tell you about. Go ahead and give it a listen - I bet you won't regret it.
