The Person Named Summer | Annwesha Ghosh Beyond the Panorama March 19, 2021

The Person Named Summer | Annwesha Ghosh

On one early morning of 1942 , I sit in my room reading the recent novel that dada bought me. Books have a way of moving me into a world of fantasy. 

My summer afternoon, was made from a glance around my big narrow attic room, a book in hand and a reflection of fantasy and horror from the movie posters on my wall. 

Mama thinks I am too spoiled for a young guy, missing the sporty environment boys should be in, just for the words written in pages. Very strikingly ignoring, how an imaginary life could give birth to a wider arena of experiences.

Because of my love for what’s beyond, I have a way of seeing the world from a philosopher’s perspective. 

Itโ€™s so soothing isnโ€™t it , seeing stories weaved in between nature in itself. Its rather enthralling to be a part of it as well. I wonder whether every place on this planet has the same greenery as my garden. Do the mango trees whisper to every one alike about the sad ghosts floating along? 

All I guess I want is an escape and a refuge in my mindful games and plays. Itโ€™s tiring you see at times living in pain and fear; forever waiting for a letter. 

I sometimes wonder how my little letterbox by the road handles such grave responsibilities and messages that decide the course of future. I have seen millions of people weeping by or else smiling holding a letter in hand. Just like me, and my unending wait for my big brotherโ€™s postal.

Yes, he is fighting in the war with big guns and bombs as dada says. I have heard them broadcasting on radio how the allies and axis are raging a war against each other. Ashes of smoke and sound of airplanes make up for the broken pieces of an uncertain fate .

I have heard mama sob when she goes up to Karl’s room; scavenging through his pictures trying to hold on to his innocent little self. I miss him too you know, when I go about swinging from the branches of my favourite tree, Karl had made that for me. He said on the morning of 17th March, 1939

โ€œLittle brother here take your swing of tires. Now go and ride it with glory.โ€

โ€œGlory Karl? Itโ€™s a dirty tire. My friends will laugh at me.โ€

โ€œOh stupid boy, look come here. Sit down and look up โ€œ

โ€œWhat ?โ€

โ€œHave you ever seen a more bluer sky ? Itโ€™s deep and bright. What does it remind you of my boy?โ€

โ€œThe seas brother! The seas !โ€

โ€œ And what did we make there ?โ€

โ€œOur first sand castle. Mine and yours. You said it might break but it will never vanish from its marks .โ€

โ€œYes my boy, yes ! Thatโ€™s our home ! Mine and yours ! So when you sit here on this tire, you will find us together at home always! Enjoying our summer as usual!โ€

โ€œOur summer Karl ! I have decided that from now on our pen names would be Summer , because that is ours! โ€œ

โ€œOkay, okay my brother, from now on we are each otherโ€™s summer !โ€

And just two years later you left for this unknown war in a strange new uniform promising me that now you will see the beauty of the world and tell me all about it . But you havenโ€™t written a letter yet.

Everyday I sit by my porch and wait for the postboy to arrive. His name is Walter. He was my senior in school and a good pal until he left it to help as a postboy for his father . The war has lead to a lot of exchanges through letters and fax; communication is the most important necessity second to food .

We went to the nearby street park few days back . 

” Stefan how is school going? 

“Okay Walter! How are you? “

(bang, screams) We both turn around and see a huge truck forcing some people in to it , beating them, thrashing them. 

Walter pushes and tells me to run home. He says not to worry but just to go home. I run home and cry in my study all day long unable to understand why some of my neighbours are taken away and why mama tells me they are no more our friends? 

Anyway this has happened a lot of times now, it seems normal. 

“Hey Stefan boy, waiting here again? “

“Walter any letter from him? ” 

“No boy I don’t think so. I am sorry, it will come don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

I sit back alienated for the rest of the day. It been months now and not a single post. Dada worries that something is wrong, he tells me brother might never come back. But I won’t believe them, Karl promised me! He can’t.. 

The evening lights glow up the street and I sit along on the porch waiting. My hope seemed lost for the day but yet I knew it will a better morning tomorrow. 

“Stefan, wait! “

“Walter? What? “

“I forgot this letter, it was just stuck underneath. Here take it’s from Karl . Be happy boy.”

My happiness had no bounds and I thanked Walter as if he was a angel who saved me. 

I ran up to my room and opened the letter. With tears in my eyes I could hear him read those words out for me :

๐˜‹๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ ๐˜š๐˜ถ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ, 

๐˜๐˜ฆ๐˜บ ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ, ๐˜ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ข๐˜ฃ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ถ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜บ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฌ๐˜ข๐˜บ! ๐˜ ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ณ๐˜บ ๐˜ง๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ. ๐˜๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ด ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜บ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ถ๐˜ด๐˜บ ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜บ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ฌ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ธ. 

๐˜ ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ท๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ข ๐˜จ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ต ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฉ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ๐˜ธ ๐˜ง๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ๐˜ด ๐˜ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ท๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜ฆ . ๐˜ž๐˜ฆ ๐˜จ๐˜ฐ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ง๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ฅ๐˜ด ๐˜ง๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฉ ๐˜จ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ๐˜ด ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜จ๐˜ถ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฎ. ๐˜๐˜ต ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฎ๐˜ด ๐˜ข๐˜ด ๐˜ช๐˜ง ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜”๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜•๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ถ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ’๐˜ด ๐˜จ๐˜ถ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ด ๐˜ซ๐˜ถ๐˜ด๐˜ต ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ฅ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ช๐˜ค๐˜ด! 

๐˜›๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ง๐˜ฐ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜จ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ต ๐˜ฃ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ, ๐˜ ๐˜ซ๐˜ถ๐˜ด๐˜ต ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฑ๐˜ฆ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ญ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ฆ ๐˜ช๐˜ต. ๐˜ž๐˜ฆ ๐˜จ๐˜ฆ๐˜ต ๐˜ฆ๐˜น๐˜ฒ๐˜ถ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ต๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜ง๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ ๐˜จ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ต ๐˜ค๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ง๐˜ด ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜ถ๐˜ด ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ถ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ง๐˜ถ๐˜ญ ๐˜ด๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฑ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ด! 

๐˜ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ’๐˜ต ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ถ๐˜ต๐˜บ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฑ๐˜ญ๐˜ข๐˜ค๐˜ฆ ๐˜ ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ ๐˜ด๐˜ต๐˜ข๐˜บ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ : ๐˜ฃ๐˜ญ๐˜ถ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ฌ๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ด, ๐˜ค๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ด.. ๐˜๐˜ต ๐˜ซ๐˜ถ๐˜ด๐˜ต ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ฌ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฅ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ต ๐˜ฐ๐˜ง ๐˜š๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ง๐˜ข๐˜ฏ, ๐˜ช๐˜ต’๐˜ด ๐˜ข๐˜ฃ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ถ๐˜ต๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜บ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ต! 

๐˜ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ด ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ ๐˜ฎ๐˜ถ๐˜ค๐˜ฉ ๐˜ฎ๐˜บ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฐ๐˜บ! ๐˜‰๐˜ถ๐˜ต ๐˜ฅ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ’๐˜ต ๐˜ธ๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ณ๐˜บ ๐˜ ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ค๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฐ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ, ๐˜ฎ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ๐˜ข ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฑ๐˜ข๐˜ฑ๐˜ข ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ! ๐˜ ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ ๐˜ฑ๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฆ! 

๐˜œ๐˜ฏ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ญ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ฌ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฐ๐˜ธ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ข๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜บ ๐˜ ๐˜ด๐˜ฆ๐˜ข ๐˜ต๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ค๐˜ญ๐˜ฆ๐˜ข๐˜ณ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ญ๐˜ถ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ฌ๐˜ช๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜ธ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ด๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ญ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ. ๐˜‰๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ฑ๐˜ฑ๐˜บ ๐˜ข๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ ๐˜จ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฅ ๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ธ๐˜ข๐˜บ๐˜ด. ๐˜ ๐˜ธ๐˜ช๐˜ญ๐˜ญ ๐˜ญ๐˜ฐ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ ๐˜บ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ ๐˜ง๐˜ฐ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ๐˜ท๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ!

๐˜๐˜ณ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ 

๐˜ ๐˜ฐ๐˜ถ๐˜ณ ๐˜š๐˜ถ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ 

                           

( Somewhere in a war stricken land) 

“Karl! Karl! “

” Get up the troop is attacking! We have to get ready! “

” Yes, ready sir! “

Karl gets up in his blood dripped clothes with cuts everywhere, a stale bread in hand as his final food before the war. He looks up to smoke filled skies and yet sees the dazzling blue one more time. 

” Oh my Summer, boy! I yet see the skies again to be a guardian one more time ( he smiles) “


Written by Annwesha Ghosh

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