Wednesday, April 25, 2018

It is Baishakh once again . . .

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It is Pahela Baishakh once again. It is that indelible part of life which reminds us of who we are and what our roots mean to us. It is the season of Bengali renewal once more. We celebrate today the advent of Baishakh. On this dawn, we receive in happiness that eternal reason for an upholding of heritage, for an annual recalling of tradition.

For all of us in across this land, Baishakh speaks of renewal, a renaissance of the spirit, a revival of the splendors of the rainbow transformed into music of the soul. In Bangladesh, a land of sublime poetry and profound faith, Baishakh is that time of year when we recreate the old joys and the ancient stirrings of the heart, those that once cast a spell of grandeur on the lives of our ancestors across the generations. In these images, it is that revival of heritage that we offer.

Timelessness is all
Moving, spreading out in waves of passionate excitement through the hamlets and towns of this land, Baishakh is that melody of colors, in the literal as also figurative sense of the meaning, which draws life to it, the better to inject it with a new life force. In the rural market, under the banyan tree, in the town square, in the familiarity of hearths and homes, the good cheer which breaks forth on the first dawn of Baishakh speaks of the sparkle of the stream of thought in the mind. It speaks of dreams, of the lyrics forging the songs which sustain us on the banks of the primeval river --- and beyond.

There is that certain music, that soft murmur of song flowing out of the night and into the brilliance of dawn cascading down and into the Bengali soul.  The sheer energy of living, that beautifully inexplicable desire to explore the heart, to plumb the depths of sensibilities, is the engine which drives the river in us into the wider sea of self-discovery in Baishakh. The river flows, the sea dances. And poetry gives meaning, that sure rhythm, to life.

At dawn today, it is the old song we sing in a new melody coursing through the crevices of the soul. It is that hallowed moment when we in this country look back at time, at heritage --- to remember the roots we have sprung from.

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