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Rated: E · Novel · Friendship · #2246041
Story of boyhood
This is the story of my boyhood when I was a school going boy. Then I was living in daddy's home in the old part of the capital of my home country. Actually this was not the old. But after independence of my country started to develop. Then the other parts of the city rapidly started developing and at the ending of my school days my father transferred his family to the new part, kollayanpur, Mirpur and sold the old house or house of the old part of the city area named Gandaria.


All the memories of my childhood and boyhood is of that time. I must say this was the best part of my life. I was so happy on those days,all the people senior to me had affection and love. So much care....Those were the golden days.

In this story I want to tell about my three friends related to different three parts of my life.The events are very common and not dramatic. But today when I remind, I find they were the best friends.But I left them with the time on those places. I regrate a lot today for this.
(1)
As I can remind I was then the student of class six.In my country S.S.C(secondary school certificate) completed after passing board examination. And this examination we appear after finishing class ten.

In every class to control the students from creating anarchy and chaos, captains were elected by the votes of the students. And in class six I was elected first captain. I was very strict, very responsible to my duty. Everyone of the class had to remain silent, no one could make any sound. Without my permission no one could get out of the class room. Interesting!Isn't it? They had to silently wait for the arrival of the teacher and start of the next period . If anyone of the students broke the silence and got out of the class without my permission I must have listed his name and complained to the teacher.

One noon, I was on my duty.(as we were on the upper level of the primary class, we were in the day shift) A student, first, I did not know him, he was newly admitted in the class, was talking with the student beside him. I saw and listed his name in the complain book.

In those days every children had punished and beaten mercilessly by the parents, elder brother or sister or the class teacher if they did anything wrong or broke any rule.

I listed the name of the boy Safi. Here I must give this information that we were then a Muslim majority country. Naturally he was punished by the teacher. Other students too as I listed their name. I was a captain likes dictator ruler.

When the next election came I was thrown away from captaincy by the votes of the students. On that day when I was discharged, I cried....but Safi, the name of the student I mentioned earlier consoled me and from that day we became very close friend. The punishment he had for me, teacher whipped, he forgot so easily.

One day he took me to his home. A long way from the school and we had to walk. Because the roots were made of purely soil and had no transport system till that time.There I met his mother and Safi brought sweetmeat for me.I ate.
(2)
The story I'm going to tell here may be is of two years later of the previous story. Before the house sold and we left that area. This house was actually the " home, sweet home".

The boy, my friend, about whom I'm going to tell the story, named Tushar, was not of my school. But he lived with his parents near our home. He was very courageous and never dared to take risk of life. That was the speciality about him and he whenever became friend with anyone he had the friendship with heart.

One day I saw a deep slit on his left side of the chest. Right where human being had his heart. The wound was very old. There was stitches. I asked what was it? He said he had dive in the river but he did not know there was a sharp piece of wood pitched under the water. And it pierced....Oh!....horrible...! Not anywhere of the body, where his heart was....Oh!.....I should have died if I saw this.His age was then 14 to 15, but when he had the accident!!

One afternoon, we the friends of our area went to the field named I.G. gate. May be any inspector general of police was living there and had parade on that ground in the past. So the field's name became I.G. gate. May be before independence. On that time we were regularly playing football on that ground. There was a superstition related
to that ground that every year this field took away one life. And for this our parents did not have permission to play there. But we went there in hiding.

On that afternoon, we were playing. Suddenly the sky became clouded and wind started. All our friends started running towards home. Only one friend Tushar, me and my sibling brother, (who died recently in the covid-19.) did not. There was a little pond and wind threw the ball to the pond. That ball was brought from Denmark. My father had
indenting business with Denmark. So if we could not take the ball my father must had rebuked.Tushar went down on the pond and brought the ball swimming, it's water had depth of only chest height.

The wind suddenly turned into storm and my sibling brother fell down on the ground. I was busy to help him getting up. He did not and wanted to remain on the ground as he was. But I started pulling him. Finally, he got up. Then, Tushar holding the ball on his chest, and I with my brother started running toward home as fast as we could. There already reached the other friends who left us on the field. On that day we were really in danger, there was nobody within the range of our eyesight. Anything could happen! And there was nobody to help those kids!

I have told about Tushar that he was courageous and he was the friend in need. And also a friend indeed. Another story I want to tell about him. It was just before our house was sold.

On those days we the friends hired by-cycle and rode on it. I had not learn cycling. I was learning. One morning of holiday I rode on Tushar's cycle. He was paddling so fast, I became scared. He was overtaking Rickshaw, one after another.(Rickshaw is a human being paddling vehicle which have three wheels.) I asked to slow down,but he hadn't listen and finally we had the accident. Tushar lost control and our cycle gutted hard against the wall of library named, "simanto khelaghor". And after this I could not remind what happened. I became senseless.

When my sense came back I found I'm lying on my friends lap. People were all around me on the road. I saw tears in my friend's eye. He thought...

Tisha's sole of the feet went into chain and had cut seriously. It was the right leg. One curtain went up of the skin.It was looking horrible! He could not walk. He had to walk on ankle. He had to reach me to my home. And I don't know whether I could reach home without help.

He was holding the cycle with right hand and me with left hand. My right arm was on his neck. He reached me to the gate of my dad's house. He told me to lie down after entering the house.

After this accident, I did not saw him.I did not know where he went. After two or three month, we came in Bashabo, where we had to stay on rental house, leaving the possession of the old daddy''s home. The new town, where my father built new home, where I'm staying now and writing this story after almost 40yrs.

I had massive hit on my head and my left hand. It might had affected my brain. I visited Gandaria two or three times with my guardians but I had not the name Tushar in my mind and I did not try to find him. Like I forgot the name and the accident. For long time I did not have this in memory. But today it seems the accident was of yesterday.
(3)
After the Dell of the house of Handrails and before shifting to kollayanpur, where I'm staying now we had to stay one year time in Bashabo, another old part of the city. This story is of that time.

Me and my brother admitted there in new school and we both were in the class nine, commerce group. My age was fourteen. I was growing up to be adult. I had the changes in voice and others. I discovered my weakness for beauty. I fell in love with the little doll, a resident of our next house.

There we had our new friends. We mean me and my brother. From childhood he was always with me. Now he is not. There was girls too and for the first time we were playing with the girls. There was my doll too.

She had pink lips, cute eyes and Bob cut hair. She was slim and walked like a doll on her pink feet. She was just a doll, all that I can say.

On those days as I was not adult, I had no sense of physical affair. But mind had attraction to her beauty. I think I was in love, I became happy when I saw her. Every afternoon my eyes searched her, where she was.But it was not the time to be in relation, not at all.

At the beginning we played together. One day I held her hand, because it was necessary for the game. But in a few days the interaction was stopped. We were not playing together anymore. Because in Muslim country for societal restriction, boys and girls could not play together when they are growing up. But there was a very weak relation between me and the doll. There was not built any social relation between our family. And I never went to her daddy's home.

His name was Bulbul, the friend about whom I'm gonna tell the story here. Readers might think, "Oh! from where come this Bulbul in the middle of the story of doll ?" I want to say," Be patience".

He was my classmate. Very ugly looking, from very poor family. He was physically sick too. Suddenly, he felt acute headache in the classroom, when teacher delivering lecture. He became senseless, class stopped. Every one's eye on him, frightened. Question in everybody's mind, "What happened!?"

He was my friend and one day became enemy too. We had fight, can't remind what was the reason behind. We had no dialogue for few months. But before my family left Bashabo and had transferred to kollayanpur, we ended our enmity and friendship started again. He cared for this friendship a lot more than me. Every afternoon he came to me.

Bulbul saw my little doll and he knew that I liked her very much. I had deep feeling for her. He knew the date that I was going to leave Bashabo. He came to say "Goodbye". But my doll did not know. I was expecting from my heart to see her before I left the place. I told this to Bulbul. He felt and prayed to God that He fulfill my wish. And He did. She came out of her daddy's home. My friend became very happy and he started singing saying that God had fulfilled my wish.But I did not let her know that I was going to leave that area forever.

Anyway, it is not any love story that I'm writing. I wanted to remind three of friends of my boyhood. I had so many friends in my whole life. They were good too.But at present I miss these three friends very much. And today I feel that they were actually my friend indeed. God bless them wherever they are.

. ------------ The End. -------------
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