Economy and education are two major factors that segregate people in a society. 'Mr. Moti' is a story by a Bangladeshi writer Rahad Abir. Read the two sections of the story and try to understand the identity of people belonging to different social classes. Also, think about how the human world and animals/birds are inter-related.
āĻ āϰā§āĻĨāύā§āϤāĻŋ āĻāĻŦāĻ āĻļāĻŋāĻā§āώāĻž āĻšāϞ⧠āĻĻā§āĻāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāϧāĻžāύ āĻāĻĒāĻžāĻĻāĻžāύ āϝāĻž āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āϏāĻŽāĻžāĻā§āϰ āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώāĻā§ āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻā§āϤ āĻāϰā§āĨ¤ 'āĻŽāĻŋāϏā§āĻāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤāĻŋ' āĻŦāĻžāĻāϞāĻžāĻĻā§āĻļāĻŋ āϞā§āĻāĻ āϰāĻžāĻšāĻžāĻĻ āĻāĻŦāĻŋāϰā§āϰ āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āĻāϞā§āĻĒāĨ¤ āĻāϞā§āĻĒā§āϰ āĻĻā§āĻāĻŋ āĻ āĻāĻļ āĻĒā§ā§ āĻāĻŦāĻ āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻŋāύā§āύ āϏāĻžāĻŽāĻžāĻāĻŋāĻ āĻļā§āϰā§āĻŖā§āϰ āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώā§āϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻā§ āĻŦā§āĻāĻžāϰ āĻā§āώā§āĻāĻž āĻāϰā§āĨ¤ āĻāĻāĻžā§āĻž, āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώā§āϰ āĻāĻāϤ āĻāĻŦāĻ āĻĒāĻļā§-āĻĒāĻžāĻāĻŋāϰāĻž āĻā§āĻāĻžāĻŦā§ āĻāĻā§ āĻ āĻĒāϰā§āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāϰā§āĻāĻŋāϤ āϤāĻž āύāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāĻŋāύā§āϤāĻž āĻāϰā§āĨ¤
Ameen is seventeen when the war breaks out. One Monday, after supper, he announces he will go to war. Sonabhan shrieks in surprise, "You want to leave me alone?"
āϝāĻāύ āϝā§āĻĻā§āϧ āĻļā§āϰ⧠āĻšā§ āϤāĻāύ āĻāĻŽāĻŋāύā§āϰ āĻŦā§āϏ āϏāϤā§āϰā§āĨ¤ āĻāĻ āϏā§āĻŽāĻŦāĻžāϰ, āϰāĻžāϤā§āϰ āĻāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰā§āϰ āĻĒāϰ āϏ⧠āĻā§āώāĻŖāĻž āĻĻā§ā§ āϝ⧠āϏ⧠āϝā§āĻĻā§āϧ⧠āϝāĻžāĻŦā§āĨ¤ āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āĻāĻŽāĻā§ āĻāĻŋā§āĻāĻžāϰ āĻāϰ⧠āĻāĻ ā§, "āϤā§āĻ āĻāĻŽāĻžāĻā§ āĻāĻāĻž āĻĢā§āϞ⧠āĻāϞ⧠āϝāĻžāĻŦāĻŋ?"
"It won't take long Ma," he assures her. âI'll be back soon after the training.â That night Sonabhan cannot sleep.
"āĻŦā§āĻļāĻŋ āϏāĻŽā§ āϞāĻžāĻāĻŦā§ āύāĻž āĻŽāĻž," āϏ⧠āϤāĻžāĻā§ āĻāĻļā§āĻŦāϏā§āϤ āĻāϰā§āĨ¤ "āĻā§āϰā§āύāĻŋāĻ āĻļā§āώ āĻāϰā§āĻ āĻāĻŽāĻŋ āĻļā§āĻā§āϰāĻ āĻĢāĻŋāϰ⧠āĻāϏāĻŦāĨ¤" āϏā§āĻ āϰāĻžāϤ⧠āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āĻā§āĻŽāĻžāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āύāĻžāĨ¤
After sun-up, she opens the duck coop. The flock streams out, stretches and quacks around her for their morning meal. She takes longer than usual. She mixes water with rice husks in an earthen bowl and puts it down. They gobble it up in five minutes and head for the pond.
āϏā§āϰā§āϝ āĻāĻ āĻžāϰ āĻĒāϰ āϏ⧠āĻšāĻžāĻāϏā§āϰ āĻā§ā§āĻžā§ āĻā§āϞ⧠āĻĻā§ā§āĨ¤ āĻšāĻžāĻāϏā§āϰ āĻĻāϞ āϏā§āϰā§āϤā§āϰ āĻŽāϤ⧠āĻŦā§āϰāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāϏā§, āĻĄāĻžāύāĻž āĻāĻžāĻĒāĻāĻžā§ āĻāĻŦāĻ āϏāĻāĻžāϞā§āϰ āĻāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰā§āϰ āĻāύā§āϝ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāϰāĻĒāĻžāĻļā§ āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāĻāĻĒā§āϝāĻžāĻ āĻļāĻŦā§āĻĻ āĻāϰā§āĨ¤ āϏ⧠āĻāĻ āϏā§āĻŦāĻžāĻāĻžāĻŦāĻŋāĻā§āϰ āĻā§ā§ā§ āĻŦā§āĻļāĻŋ āϏāĻŽā§ āύā§ā§āĨ¤ āϏ⧠āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āĻŽāĻžāĻāĻŋāϰ āĻāĻžāĻŽāϞāĻžā§ āĻāĻžāϞā§āϰ āĻā§āĻā§ā§āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āĻĒāĻžāύāĻŋ āĻŽāĻŋāĻļāĻŋā§ā§ āĻā§āϤ⧠āĻĻā§ā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻĒāĻžāĻāĻ āĻŽāĻŋāύāĻŋāĻā§āĻ āϏāĻŦ āĻāĻŋāϞ⧠āĻĢā§āϞ⧠āĻĒā§āĻā§āϰā§āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āϰāĻāύāĻž āĻšā§āĨ¤
Ameen has let out the chickens by then. He lifts his 12-week-old cockerel, Moti, and sits on the veranda. During his breakfast he doesn't strike up any conversation. Having noticed Sonabhan's puffy eyes, he knows not to mention last night's subject. He casts his glance to the side, down at the cockerel eating rice in silence.
āĻāĻŽāĻŋāύ āϤāϤāĻā§āώāĻŖā§ āĻŽā§āϰāĻāĻŋāĻā§āϞ⧠āĻā§ā§ā§ āĻĻāĻŋā§ā§āĻā§āĨ¤ āϏ⧠āϤāĻžāϰ ⧧⧍ āϏāĻĒā§āϤāĻžāĻšā§āϰ āĻŽā§āϰāĻ, āĻŽāϤāĻŋāĻā§ āϤā§āϞ⧠āύāĻŋā§ā§ āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻžāύā§āĻĻāĻžā§ āĻŦāϏā§āĨ¤ āύāĻžāϏā§āϤāĻž āĻāϰāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽā§ āϏ⧠āĻā§āύ⧠āĻāĻĨāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰā§āϤāĻž āĻļā§āϰ⧠āĻāϰ⧠āύāĻžāĨ¤ āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύā§āϰ āĻĢā§āϞāĻž āĻā§āĻ āĻĻā§āĻā§ āϏ⧠āĻŦā§āĻāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āĻāϤāϰāĻžāϤā§āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāώā§āĻāĻŋ āύāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāĻĨāĻž āύāĻž āĻŦāϞāĻžāĻ āĻāĻžāϞā§āĨ¤ āϏ⧠āĻā§āĻā§āĻā§ āĻĒāĻžāĻļā§ āϤāĻžāĻāĻŋā§ā§ āĻĨāĻžāĻā§, āύāĻŋāĻā§ āĻŽā§āϰāĻāĻāĻŋ āύā§āϰāĻŦā§ āĻāĻžāϞ āĻāĻžāĻā§āĻā§āĨ¤
Today is haat bar, market day. Sonabhan has arranged the things Ameen will take to the bazaar to sell. Two dozen eggs, a sheaf of areca nuts, a bottle gourd. The bazaar is about a mile away.
āĻāĻ āĻšāĻžāĻāĻŦāĻžāϰāĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāĻŋāύ āĻŦāĻžāĻāĻžāϰ⧠āĻŦāĻŋāĻā§āϰāĻŋāϰ āĻāύā§āϝ āϝ⧠āĻāĻŋāύāĻŋāϏāĻā§āϞ⧠āύā§āĻŦā§, āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āϏā§āĻā§āϞ⧠āĻā§āĻāĻŋā§ā§ āϰā§āĻā§āĻā§āĨ¤ āĻĻā§āĻ āĻĄāĻāύ āĻĄāĻŋāĻŽ, āĻāĻ āĻā§āĻž āϏā§āĻĒāĻžāϰāĻŋ, āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āĻāĻĻā§āĨ¤ āĻŦāĻžāĻāĻžāϰāĻāĻŋ āĻĒā§āϰāĻžā§ āĻāĻ āĻŽāĻžāĻāϞ āĻĻā§āϰā§āĨ¤
Ameen wears his short-sleeved floral shirt over his lungi. He whistles as he looks into the cloudy mirror to comb his hair. Placing the rattan basket on his head before setting off, he hollers: "I'm off, Ma.â
āĻāĻŽāĻŋāύ āϤāĻžāϰ āϞā§āĻā§āĻāĻŋāϰ āĻāĻĒāϰ āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āĻā§āĻ āĻšāĻžāϤāĻžāϰ āĻĢā§āϞāϤā§āϞāĻž āĻļāĻžāϰā§āĻ āĻĒāϰā§āĨ¤ āĻāĻžāĻĒāϏāĻž āĻā§āύāĻžā§ āϤāĻžāĻāĻŋā§ā§ āĻā§āϞ āĻāĻāĻā§āĻžāϤ⧠āĻāĻāĻā§āĻžāϤ⧠āϏ⧠āĻļāĻŋāϏ āĻĻā§ā§āĨ¤ āϰāĻāύāĻž āĻšāĻā§āĻžāϰ āĻāĻā§ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻžā§ āĻŦā§āϤā§āϰ āĻā§ā§āĻŋ āϤā§āϞ⧠āύāĻŋā§ā§ āϏ⧠āĻšāĻžāĻāĻ āĻĻā§ā§: "āĻŽāĻž, āĻāĻŽāĻŋ āĻā§āϞāĻžāĻŽāĨ¤"
Sonabhan watches him go along the bank of the little river. For the first time it occurs to her that Ameen has grown up. He has reached the height of his dead father, has his long neck and straight shoulders.
āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āϤāĻžāĻā§ āĻā§āĻ āύāĻĻā§āϰ āĻĒāĻžā§ āĻĻāĻŋā§ā§ āϝā§āϤ⧠āĻĻā§āĻā§āĨ¤ āĻāĻ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāύ⧠āĻšāϞ⧠āϝ⧠āĻāĻŽāĻŋāύ āĻŦā§ āĻšā§ā§ āĻā§āĻā§āĨ¤ āϏ⧠āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§āϤ āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϏāĻŽāĻžāύ āϞāĻŽā§āĻŦāĻž āĻšā§ā§āĻā§, āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧠āϞāĻŽā§āĻŦāĻž āĻāĻžā§ āĻāĻŦāĻ āϏā§āĻāĻž āĻāĻžāĻāϧ āĻĒā§ā§ā§āĻā§āĨ¤
In that moment, Sonabhan realizes it's not the war, it's the fighting that Ameen is fascinated with. Like his dead father, he is crazy about bullfighting, cockfighting and boat racing. The same stubbornness flows in his blood. Once he decides on something, nothing can stop him.
āϏā§āĻ āĻŽā§āĻšā§āϰā§āϤ⧠āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āĻŦā§āĻāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āϝ⧠āĻāĻāĻž āϝā§āĻĻā§āϧ āύā§, āĻŦāϰāĻ āϞā§āĻžāĻā§ā§āϰ āĻŦāĻŋāώā§āĻāĻŋāĻ āĻāĻŽāĻŋāύāĻā§ āĻŽā§āĻā§āϧ āĻāϰā§āĻā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§āϤ āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧠āϏā§āĻ āώāĻžāĻā§ā§āϰ āϞā§āĻžāĻ, āĻŽā§āϰāĻ āϞā§āĻžāĻ āĻāĻŦāĻ āύā§āĻāĻž āĻŦāĻžāĻāĻā§āϰ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋ āĻĒāĻžāĻāϞāĨ¤ āĻāĻāĻ āĻā§āĻĻ āϤāĻžāϰ āϰāĻā§āϤ⧠āĻŦāĻāĻā§āĨ¤ āĻāĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϏ⧠āĻā§āύ⧠āĻāĻŋāĻā§āϰ āϏāĻŋāĻĻā§āϧāĻžāύā§āϤ āύāĻŋāϞ⧠āϤāĻžāĻā§ āĻā§āĻ āĻĨāĻžāĻŽāĻžāϤ⧠āĻĒāĻžāϰ⧠āύāĻžāĨ¤
Her little son! Now a man. Even up to his fifteenth birthday barely a day passed without neighbours appearing with a slew of complaints. Sometimes one or two turned up from other villages. They peeked into the house and asked, "Does Ameen live here?"
āϤāĻžāϰ āĻā§āĻ āĻā§āϞā§! āĻāĻāύ āϏ⧠āĻāĻāĻāύ āĻŽāĻžāύā§āώāĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāύāĻāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāύā§āϰā§āϤāĻŽ āĻāύā§āĻŽāĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻĒāϰā§āϝāύā§āϤ āĻāĻŽāύ āĻā§āύ⧠āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāĻžāĻā§āύāĻŋ āϝā§āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻĒā§āϰāϤāĻŋāĻŦā§āĻļā§āϰāĻž āĻāĻāĻāĻžāĻĻāĻž āĻ āĻāĻŋāϝā§āĻ āύāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāϏā§āύāĻŋāĨ¤ āĻāĻāύāĻ āĻāĻāύāĻ āĻ āύā§āϝ āĻā§āϰāĻžāĻŽ āĻĨā§āĻā§āĻ āĻĻā§-āĻāĻāĻāύ āĻāϏāϤāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻŦāĻžā§āĻŋāϰ āĻā§āϤāϰ āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāĻŋāĻā§āĻāĻžāϏāĻž āĻāϰāϤ, "āĻāĻŽāĻŋāύ āĻāĻŋ āĻāĻāĻžāύ⧠āĻĨāĻžāĻā§?"
Sonabhan would sigh, What did he do?"
āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āĻĻā§āϰā§āĻāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĢā§āϞ⧠āĻŦāϞāϤā§āύ, "āĻ āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻā§ āĻāϰāϞ?"
"Your son stole my date juice! Emptied the juice pots hanging on the date trees!" Sonabhan would sigh again. Then ask the visitor to pardon him. She hated saying that she'd raised her son alone. If she could spare them, she would bring half a dozen eggs and hand them to the visitor: âPlease take these for your children".
"āĻāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻā§āϞ⧠āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻā§āĻā§āϰā§āϰ āϰāϏ āĻā§āϰāĻŋ āĻāϰā§āĻā§! āĻāĻžāĻā§ āĻā§āϞāĻŋā§ā§ āϰāĻžāĻāĻž āϰāϏā§āϰ āĻšāĻžāĻā§āĻŋ āϏāĻŦ āĻāĻžāϞāĻŋ āĻāϰ⧠āĻĻāĻŋā§ā§āĻā§!" āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻĻā§āϰā§āĻāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĢā§āϞāϤā§āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻĒāϰ āĻāĻāύā§āϤā§āĻā§āϰ āĻāĻžāĻā§ āĻŽāĻžāĻĢ āĻāĻžāĻāϤā§āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻāĻāĻž āĻŦāϞāϤ⧠āĻā§āĻŖāĻž āĻāϰāϤā§āύ āϝ⧠āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻāĻāĻž āϤāĻžāϰ āĻā§āϞā§āĻā§ āĻŦā§ āĻāϰā§āĻā§āύāĨ¤ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āϏāĻŽā§āĻāĻŦ āĻšāϤā§, āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻāϧ āĻĄāĻāύ āĻĄāĻŋāĻŽ āĻāύ⧠āĻāĻāύā§āϤā§āĻā§āϰ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧠āĻĻāĻŋāϤā§āύ: "āĻĻā§āĻž āĻāϰ⧠āĻāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻā§āĻāĻžāĻĻā§āϰ āĻāύā§āϝ āĻāĻā§āϞ⧠āύāĻŋā§ā§ āϝāĻžāύāĨ¤"
At night, Sonabhan climbs out of her bed, clutches the hurricane lamp and tiptoes into Ameen's room. She stands by his bed, looks at her sleeping son. He snores like his father. He has her light skin and button nose. She touches his cheek. His broad forehead. She suppresses a desire to lie beside him. Like the old days, when she slept cuddling her baby.
āϰāĻžāϤ⧠āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻžāύāĻž āĻĨā§āĻā§ āĻāĻ ā§ āĻšāĻžāϰāĻŋāĻā§āύ āĻšāĻžāϤ⧠āύāĻŋā§ā§ āĻāĻŋāĻĒ āĻāĻŋāĻĒ āĻĒāĻžā§ā§ āĻāĻŽāĻŋāύā§āϰ āĻāϰ⧠āĻĸā§āĻā§āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻžāύāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļā§ āĻĻāĻžāĻā§āĻžāύ, āϤāĻžāϰ āĻā§āĻŽāύā§āϤ āĻā§āϞā§āϰ āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āϤāĻžāĻāĻžāύāĨ¤ āϏ⧠āϤāĻžāϰ āĻŦāĻžāĻŦāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤ⧠āύāĻžāĻ āĻĄāĻžāĻā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžā§ā§āϰ āϰāĻ āĻĢāϰā§āϏāĻž āĻāĻŦāĻ āύāĻžāĻāĻāĻž āĻŦā§āϤāĻžāĻŽā§āϰ āĻŽāϤā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāϞ⧠āĻšāĻžāϤ āĻĻā§āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻāĻā§āĻž āĻāĻĒāĻžāϞ āϏā§āĻĒāϰā§āĻļ āĻāϰā§āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļā§ āĻļā§ā§ā§ āĻĒā§āĻžāϰ āĻāĻā§āĻāĻžāĻāĻž āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻĻāĻŽāύ āĻāϰā§āύāĨ¤ āĻĒā§āϰāύ⧠āĻĻāĻŋāύā§āϰ āĻŽāϤā§, āϝāĻāύ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻļāĻŋāĻļā§āĻā§ āĻā§āĻŋā§ā§ āϧāϰ⧠āĻā§āĻŽāĻžāϤā§āύāĨ¤
*****
A warning comes from old Chowkidar's young wife. "Watch your rooster," she threatens. "I don't want him in my house again.â
āĻŦā§ā§ā§ āĻā§āĻāĻŋāĻĻāĻžāϰā§āϰ āϝā§āĻŦāϤ⧠āϏā§āϤā§āϰā§āϰ āĻāĻžāĻ āĻĨā§āĻā§ āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āϏāϤāϰā§āĻāϤāĻž āĻāϏā§āĨ¤ āϏ⧠āĻšā§āĻŽāĻāĻŋ āĻĻā§ā§, "āĻāĻĒāύāĻžāϰ āĻŽā§āϰāĻ āϏāĻžāĻŽāϞāĻžāύāĨ¤ āĻāĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻā§ āĻāϰ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāϰ⧠āĻĻā§āĻāϤ⧠āĻāĻžāĻ āύāĻžāĨ¤"
If someone touches my boy, Sonabhan responds, "They'll see the consequences." She grounds Moti for an entire day. It makes him sad. His forlorn captivity crucifies her. She sets him loose the following morning.
"āĻā§āĻ āϝāĻĻāĻŋ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻā§āϞā§āĻā§ āϏā§āĻĒāϰā§āĻļ āĻāϰā§," āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āĻāϤā§āϤāϰ āĻĻā§ā§, "āϤāĻŦā§ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻāϰ āĻĒāϰāĻŋāĻŖāĻžāĻŽ āĻĻā§āĻāĻŦā§āĨ¤" āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāĻā§ āϏāĻžāϰāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāύ āĻāĻāĻā§ āϰāĻžāĻā§āύāĨ¤ āĻāϤ⧠āĻŽāϤāĻŋāϰ āĻŽāύ āĻāĻžāϰāĻžāĻĒ āĻšā§āĨ¤ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāϰ āĻāĻ āύāĻŋāĻāϏāĻā§āĻ āĻŦāύā§āĻĻāĻŋāĻĻāĻļāĻž āϤāĻžāĻā§ āĻĻāĻžāϰā§āĻŖ āĻāώā§āĻ āĻĻā§ā§āĨ¤ āĻĒāϰāĻĻāĻŋāύ āϏāĻāĻžāϞ⧠āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϤāĻžāĻā§ āĻā§ā§ā§ āĻĻā§āύāĨ¤
Some boys come and ask Sonabhan to lend them Moti for cockfighting at a fair. They are happy to pay.
āĻāĻŋāĻā§ āĻā§āϞ⧠āĻāϏ⧠āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύāĻā§ āĻŽā§āϞāĻžā§ āĻŽā§āϰāĻ āϞā§āĻžāĻā§ā§āϰ āĻāύā§āϝ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāĻā§ āϧāĻžāϰ āĻĻāĻŋāϤ⧠āĻŦāϞā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰāĻž āĻāϰ āĻāύā§āϝ āĻāĻžāĻāĻž āĻĻāĻŋāϤā§āĻ āϰāĻžāĻāĻŋāĨ¤
"Never," she tells them. "He is my son."
"āĻāĻāύāĻ āύāĻž," āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āϤāĻžāĻĻā§āϰ āĻŦāϞā§āύāĨ¤ "āĻ āĻāĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻā§āϞā§āĨ¤"
Monday dawns without Moti's crowing. His cold body is resting on its right side. Lying against the basket. Eyes closed. His kingly head down.
āĻŽāϤāĻŋāϰ āĻĄāĻžāĻ āĻāĻžā§āĻžāĻ āϏā§āĻŽāĻŦāĻžāϰā§āϰ āĻā§āϰ āĻšāϞā§āĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āĻ āĻžāύā§āĻĄāĻž āĻļāϰā§āϰ āĻĄāĻžāύ āĻĻāĻŋāĻā§ āĻāĻžāϤ āĻšā§ā§ āĻĒā§ā§ āĻāĻā§āĨ¤ āĻā§ā§āĻŋāϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āϞā§āĻā§ āĻļā§ā§ā§ āĻāĻā§āĨ¤ āĻā§āĻ āĻŦāύā§āϧāĨ¤ āϤāĻžāϰ āϰāĻžāĻāĻā§āϝāĻŧ āĻŽāĻžāĻĨāĻžāĻāĻž āύāĻŋāĻā§ āĻšā§ā§ āĻāĻā§āĨ¤
With Moti's basket in her lap, Sonabhan is motionless.
āĻā§āϞ⧠āĻŽāϤāĻŋāϰ āĻā§ā§āĻŋ āύāĻŋā§ā§ āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύ āύāĻŋāĻĨāϰ āĻšā§ā§ āĻŦāϏ⧠āĻāĻā§āύāĨ¤
She puts Moti to rest beside her husband's grave. She sighs, plods across the empty yard, steps onto an empty veranda, crawls into an empty home and sits on the edge of an empty bed.
āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻŽāϤāĻŋāĻā§ āϤāĻžāϰ āϏā§āĻŦāĻžāĻŽā§āϰ āĻāĻŦāϰā§āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻļā§ āĻĻāĻžāĻĢāύ āĻāϰā§āύāĨ¤ āϤāĻŋāύāĻŋ āĻĻā§āϰā§āĻāĻļā§āĻŦāĻžāϏ āĻĢā§āϞā§āύ, āĻļā§āύā§āϝ āĻāĻ ā§āύ āĻĒāĻžāϰ āĻšāύ, āĻļā§āύā§āϝ āĻŦāĻžāϰāĻžāύā§āĻĻāĻžā§ āĻĒāĻž āϰāĻžāĻā§āύ, āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āĻļā§āύā§āϝ āĻāϰ⧠āĻĸā§āĻā§āύ āĻāĻŦāĻ āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āĻļā§āύā§āϝ āĻŦāĻŋāĻāĻžāύāĻžāϰ āĻā§āĻŖāĻžāϝāĻŧ āĻŦāϏā§āύāĨ¤
Another morning breaks.... Noon and afternoon come and go.... The birds in the coops quack and crow....No one lets them out. For the first time, Sonabhan's doors do not open.
āĻāĻŦāĻžāϰ āϏāĻāĻžāϞ āĻšā§... āĻĻā§āĻĒā§āϰ āĻ āĻŦāĻŋāĻā§āϞ āĻāϏ⧠āĻāĻŦāĻ āϝāĻžā§... āĻā§ā§āĻžā§ā§āϰ āĻĒāĻžāĻāĻŋāϰāĻž āĻĒā§āϝāĻžāĻāĻĒā§āϝāĻžāĻ āĻāϰ⧠āĻāĻŦāĻ āĻĄāĻžāĻā§... āĻāĻŋāύā§āϤ⧠āĻā§āĻ āϤāĻžāĻĻā§āϰ āĻŦā§āϰ āĻāϰ⧠āĻĻā§ā§ āύāĻžāĨ¤ āĻāĻ āĻĒā§āϰāĻĨāĻŽ āϏā§āύāĻāĻžāύā§āϰ āĻĻāϰāĻāĻž āĻā§āϞ⧠āύāĻžāĨ¤
Note: The excerpts of "Mr. Moti are selected from the complete story included in When the Mango Tree Blossomed: Fifty Short Stories from Bangladesh edited by Niaz Zaman.
A. Answer the following questions:
Why is the rooster called Mr. Moti? (āĻŽā§āϰāĻāĻāĻŋāĻā§ āĻā§āύ āĻŽāĻŋāϏā§āĻāĻžāϰ āĻŽāϤāĻŋ āĻŦāϞāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧā§āĻā§?)
Is the writer trying to compare the son with the rooster? What are the reasons for doing so? (āϞā§āĻāĻ āĻāĻŋ āĻā§āϞā§āϰ āϏāĻžāĻĨā§ āĻŽā§āϰāĻā§āϰ āϤā§āϞāύāĻž āĻāϰāĻžāϰ āĻā§āώā§āĻāĻž āĻāϰāĻā§āύ? āĻāϰ āĻāĻžāϰāĻŖāĻā§āϞ⧠āĻā§ āĻā§?)
Why is the story a Bangladeshi story? Which war is referred to in the story? (āĻāϞā§āĻĒāĻāĻŋ āĻā§āύ āĻāĻāĻāĻŋ āĻŦāĻžāĻāϞāĻžāĻĻā§āĻļāĻŋ āĻāϞā§āĻĒ? āĻāϞā§āĻĒāĻāĻŋāϤ⧠āĻā§āύ āϝā§āĻĻā§āϧā§āϰ āĻāĻĨāĻž āĻāϞā§āϞā§āĻ āĻāϰāĻž āĻšāϝāĻŧā§āĻā§?)
Do you know what cockfighting is? (āϤā§āĻŽāĻŋ āĻāĻŋ āĻāĻžāύ⧠āĻŽā§āϰāĻ āϞā§āĻžāĻ āĻā§?)
What do you think about the mother-son relationship? (āĻŽāĻž-āĻā§āϞā§āϰ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāϰā§āĻ āϏāĻŽā§āĻĒāϰā§āĻā§ āϤā§āĻŽāĻžāϰ āĻāĻžāĻŦāύāĻž āĻā§?)
B. Make a list of words from the story that have cultural connotations. Make use of them in a conversation between two friends in your class.
C. In our culture, sons are believed to follow their father's ways and daughters are found similar with their mothers. Do you see that kind of belief in the story? Discuss it with your friends and bring examples from your own life if you are compared with your father or mother.
D. Arrange a debate on the motion: "Man is known by his work, not by his looks."