Nemai knows that within boundaries, what he sees, thinks, perceives and imagines, will remain there – closeted and bound – forever. An unexpected surprise will never astound him ever. The palm tree in front of his house will forever remain a palm tree; it will never turn into a sandalwood tree all of a sudden. His neighbours would also continue to remain and live that way. Old and aged, Haren Babu, will continue to recount tales from his office, whenever they’d cross paths. Envious Bikoo Bose, just like a fly forever in search of wounds, will not only continue to enjoy and relish them by himself; but also induce others to do the same, with a dance of his eyebrows. The old lady of the Sanyal household, “Thandi” likewise, will go to bathe in the river Ganges, passing by the road in front of his own home. His cook, Maithil Bilt Jha, will also continue to dish up the same kind of food, as always. That rice may be a bit over-boiled on some days, half boiled on others; the lentils would be salt less on a day, with the smell of turmeric on another. He’d cook the same bland fish curries and float the fish pieces in a boat of curry water. Never would Bilt Jha become an Italian chef. All the things, which are there now, will remain so. His man servant ‘Dhonka’ {Bengali for ‘treachery’} would continue to hoodwink him. He won’t respond when called; will scratch his inner parts in front of respectable men. He will steal money allotted for the market, and will laugh like a fool when scolded, displaying all of his yellowed teeth. Despite these, he has to remain obliged to this manservant, just because of his being there for him. The Master of Nemai – yes the same famous and reputed Prinicipal Sahib – will also continue in his repeated attempts to deliver his ‘rather stupid’ boys by giving them higher marks and thereby making them eligible candidates in the job market, one by one. And he would also continue to recount, for the umpteenth time, how a professor from an overseas university, had patted his back and had exclaimed “You are wonderful” once upon a time. He would recount the same story repeatedly, staring into everyone’s faces. All these will continue forever. The confined world will continue to remain confined in its monochromatic colour, forever, in front of his eyes. The second will follow the first, Sunday after Saturday, night after day. These will continue to come all through his life. The cows, goats, crows, mynahs and sparrows of the locality have become familiar to Nemai. Even among them, there is no element of newness or surprise. Nemai teaches English Literature in a college. Is there any novelty there as well? No, not at all. The same repetitive act is being done year after year. The same notes, same criticisms, setting the same kind of questions for the examinations, the same error-ridden answer scripts, the same kind of flatteries to induce them to promote the boys who have failed. No, the confined life of Nemai is really and truly restricted. He travels to far off places during vacations. Sometimes it is Darjeeling, or at other times it is Ranchi or Deoghar. Even there, there are the same mountains, the same and boring cinema and the newspapers. In these places, whatever happens, are all expected, all restricted. Nemai silently waits. Will it never be that from the other side of the confines, something new, something special will come one day? Will he have to live his life in tandem with the sounds from the cow carts, forever and ever, in the same fixed, rigid roads? Outside the confines and peripheries of his life, surely there exist many things which are full of wonder; the advent of these things would appear as a revelation, which would heighten all his sensibilities. But where are they? They never come. In the thirty years of his life, romance or love also never arrived. Women had come; but love never came. He had immersed himself in damp marshes once or twice, but he has never encountered a great waterfall. No one has ever loved him; he also never loved anybody. His parents died when he was very young. The handful of relatives which he has, sometimes inquires about his whereabouts purely out of their own interests. His friends often arrive, that too to have tea and cigarettes free of cost. There do not exist, the chord of life, in any of these visits. He often felt himself to be like an anchorless boat, which perhaps is positioned within the waters of the sea itself, but unable to float towards an unknown horizon! The regular habits of a routine lifestyle have kept him anchored, perhaps. Will never an unexpected tide from the other side of the confines, arrive?

But it did come, one day. But he did not realize that it was the tide, at first. After returning from college, he saw that a little brown coloured bird was flying across his room. It had a terror-stricken, afraid look. He remembered that the window of his room was open. Most probably, through the open window, the bird had flown inside and after the window got fastened by the breeze outside, the poor fellow had got trapped inside. What kind of bird was it? The bird was heaving, perched upon the cornice of the almirah. What beautiful black eyes it had! How wonderfully it had matched against the brownish background! How small it was! It was a little bigger than a sparrow. But the bird’s expressions and movements surprised him. There was coyness in its expressive eyes; it appeared as though it was trying to hide something. He had never seen a bird like this before. He does not know the names of a majority of birds, but is familiar with their appearances. He can often say that he has seen a similar bird before. But he was sure that he’s never seen this bird previously! From where did it come? The bird started flying again. It began trying to hide itself within the corners of the almirah. It seemed it could no longer tolerate the curious looks from Nemai’s eyes. Will he set it free? If he opens the windows, it’d fly away immediately. But Nemai considered that if he releases the bird now, he’d enter into greater trouble. The bird was an unknown intruder in this part of the world; it doesn’t know the roadways. The crows may kill it by pecking. No, it’d not be wise to set it free now.

“Dhonka - Dhonka...”

As usual, Dhonka did not answer his call.

Nemai opened the window near the balcony a bit. Dhonka was sitting in a corner there, smoking on a ‘bidi’ {a kind of slender cigarette}.

“Listen, and come here, Dhonka. Take this ten-rupee note and run to the market immediately. Buy a good cage with the money. It should be made of fine wire or cane. A bird has come inside my room. I want to cage it. Go quickly....” Maybe because he’ll get the ten-rupee note on his hand, or hearing about the bird, Dhonka quickly got on to his feet. He went to the market soon afterwards.

It was not very difficult to cage the bird. After caging it, Nemai looked at the bird, more closely. No, he had never seen a bird of this kind before. Dhonka decided to act out the role of a middleman. He said, “Babu, it is a skylark. They are seen in open grounds. How did it get in here! Besides, who has put this around its feet?”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking. There is a number on the ring. Surely it was caught by someone –“

“This is the work of the local boys.”

“Anyway, give the bird something to eat. What will you give?”

“I’ll give it a mix of barley flour. There is some papaya also. Can give it some –“

“Give –“

But the bird did not eat anything. It sat, shrunken with fear, at one corner of the cage. Somehow it had a shy and frightened look.

After finishing his meal quickly, Nemai took the bird and ran to Biology Professor Ghosh’s residence. The latter had just returned from abroad. Besides, he had a vast knowledge about birds of various countries and lands.

Professor Ghosh was surprised to see the bird.

“From where did you get this bird? It is a nightingale! Lives in foreign shores. I see there is a ring around its feet. Surely someone must have caught it and then set it free from there. Ordinarily, these birds never travel this far. Most probably, it was brought down by a thunder squall. It has been blown here. Well, wait a bit –“

Professor Ghosh brought a few periodicals along with him. As well as a book.

“Please have a look at these. Those people who put rings around the feet of birds before setting them free, usually belong to several societies in those countries. Sometimes, the numbers in the rings of these birds are listed and published. What is the number of the ring here? Have you seen?”

“Yes. Number Nineteen.”

“Wait, let me see –“

He began turning the pages of the periodicals.

Then he said, “Yes, here there’s a list. Wait, let me have a look. Yes, here’s Nightingale Number Nineteen, set free from South England, by a girl named Miss Wildberth. There is her address also. I’ll advise that you send her a letter stating that you’ve found the nightingale. Then let the bird free –“

“I’ll set it free?”

“That’s the rule. You will not be able to save the bird here. It belongs to cold countries. But then, even if you set it free, it’ll not survive. How will it return to its own country, being so short-lived and frail? These birds never come in our lands. It’s a wonder how it arrived! I think the poor bird had come face-to-face with some thunder –“

“Can you tell me what I may give it to eat? I gave barley flour, papaya. But it refused –“

“They eat insects and worms. The worms of England. I don’t know whether it’ll eat the worms of our country. There is a kind of ready-made food fit for birds available in the markets. Yu can visit New Market and look for these in the areas selling birds of all kinds. Perhaps you may find foreign-made food stuff there. But whatever you do, you’ll never be able to save the bird!”

“I have to save it.”

“How’ll you save it? It is very difficult to save this bird in our land.”

Nemai did not say anything to Professor Ghosh then. But he was reminded of the incident which had occurred just a month ago. He did not give much importance to it then. He had considered it to be futile to pursue such things. The circle of his confinement would only get enlarged. But - Nemai made up his mind at that very instant. A few years ago, he had written a thesis relating to John Keats and had sent it to a local university. The officials there had again sent it to London University for further examination. The examiner had praised his thesis a lot and had said that if he ever goes there, then they’d provide him with opportunities for further research. The officials here have granted him a ‘study leave’. Passport has also been arranged. But suddenly Nemai felt that all these would not be worthwhile. What’ll be the use of wearing the livery of a degree? It would not raise his salary, nothing would happen. It’ll be just a waste of time. He considered that the way he was living was good enough. But he suddenly also felt that Keats who wrote “Ode To A Nightingale” perhaps had been the one to send this nightingale bird to him. Nemai is not a scientist, but a poet. He again perceived that the appearance of the nightingale had no other reason behind it at all.

The bird’s food was obtained from new Market.

The nightingale did not eat at first; then nibbled on the food later. With great enthusiasm, Nemai bought an expensive cage for it. At night, he slept keeping the bird in his room. And, what a surprise! The bird began to sing in the early morning. Nemai got up from the bed, with a start. He was reminded of those lines – “My heart aches and a drowsy numbness pains...!”

After touching foreign soil, he first went in search of Miss Wildberth. He had to return the bird back to her. With extreme care, and spending a lot of money, he had brought the bird, alive. But he was stunned after meeting Miss Wildberth! It seemed she was also a nightingale! After initial introduction, he came to know that her pet name was Fanny! Fanny! Keats’ Fanny!

After which, a tide enveloped his life.

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INTRODUCTION: Balai Chand Mukhopadhay ( 19 July 1899 – 9 February 1979) was an Indian Bengali-language novelist, short story writer, playwright, poet, and physician, who wrote under the pen name of Banaphul (meaning ‘wild flower’ in Bengali). He was a recipient of the civilian honour of the Padma Bhushan (third highest civilian award in the Indian Republic preceded by the Bharat Ratna and the Padma Vibhushan, and followed by the Padma Shri). On the 100th anniversary of his birth, the Govt. of India issued a postage stamp featuring his image. His stories have been made into films like Bhuvan Shome (directed by Mrinal Sen), Hatey Bazarey (directed by Tapan Sinha), and several others. 

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