Dear Kabiguru

That one night, if I had slept earlier like I do, everything would have been different. I might have lost a story of golden arc. I'd have no peace even in the next life. After ages, indeed after years of my birth, I still couldn't believe that a small drizzle from the sky woke me up from the trauma I was in for the past 20 years; that I have a bygone life. That night, no sooner had I closed my eyes to sleep, I could see a vintage paper with Bengali font written on it. No I wasn't in sleep, but I could sense all this when I was still awake and having my eyes closed. I got up and opened my eyes.

There's a line I heard, "Talk to yourself. Universe is listening." Life makes us believe it someday or the other. Not by our temporary hands or us, but some letters are sculptured by our souls. All that the words need is, time, to come out fighting all the stigmas within where after the fight, victory stands. Time creates an unstoppable flow of emotions appealing to be magical.

Moon light was passing through all the way overcoming the drops of rain apparently shining to be pearls and entering the window. I can promise that I never found such a lustrous light at midnight before. That too the time was 3:00 AM. Thinking it was a full moon, I peeped out. I wondered to look at the light of half-moon that too coming after piercing through the trees and rain. If a half moon was giving much light, imagine how a full moon would do. It's so intense, peaceful and felt like the edge of a heavenly land is nowhere else but within.

Two pigeons started to chirp looking at the portrait in my room through the window. Coming all the way from Rain, they weren't wet. They were shining as if they were dressed with pearls. They chirped for so long and flew away. I didn't know what began to happen. Ensuring myself to be brave and relaxed, I had opened the front door to breath peace.

From a distance, I could see a tall man with long beard and hairs was walking with a book in his hand and a heart full of pride but eyes aiming seriously at the moon. He was so stunning and magnificent. His hair resembled Lord Shiv who has Ganga within the thick knots of his long hair. I came in ignoring him and pretending like I saw none. I closed my eyes to sleep and now, I remembered that man for seven times after trying to sleep. When I looked at the portrait, my soul literally shouted in silence, screamed in shock. I remember exactly how his portrait was 3 minutes ago. It was with white hairs, beard and wrinkles, of his old age. But now, I could see his young face with dark black moustache and a fresh smile and charismatic aura. My imagination that the tall man may come and knock my door haunted me with fear. Fear is what that always haunts me, I wish hope does instead.

The mass sounded thunder made to peep out and what I saw was.. numerous thick clouds were colossal, forming five fingers in shape and moon becoming the jewel of a ring for the fore finger. My hands began to shiver. But some power is guiding me. Some external magic was letting me watch everything that's happening clearly. I thought inside me "Like every other time, I can't escape from reality and sleep like everything was fine. Because, this time is important and I may never get this again. Universe is trying to tell me something. I should listen to it despite all other noises." I felt like bowing down to all that was happening. I just trusted my breath and the tune of time.

I was nothing but a soul as a sink of mountainous hope. I was so lost yet elevated. My entire presence wasn't there but rushed ages ago. Some signs threw me to the confusion that I had a life before. Got to know slowly that, it's a Bengali poet who fascinated me within. All of sudden, he began to take over my emotions. My nerves went back to 1880's. My heart calmed down in silence of a history. An unknown voice began to flow through my blood. Who was that? We know him. We live him every time. We bow down to his imperishable creations. And with what he is, he took up the nation elevated beyond imagination in the arena literature and art. Behind every "Jai Hind" that we make, his ink moves deliberately. With name Bhanu Singha Thakur, with a lion like face, shine of a sun and the two vibrant eyes, we know him to be Rabindranath Tagore.