The man sitting in the boat is Chanchal Khan, from Talbaria village in the small district of Narail. When he closes his eyes, the days of his childhood still come back to him. He is the son of an ordinary farming family. Riding to the fields on the shoulders of his father and grandfather, planting rice seedlings with his feet in the mud, and watching the sunset from the edge of the beel: that was his childhood.

Having finished his studies, he now has a government job, posted in the city of Khulna. Amid tall buildings, paved roads, big restaurants and crowds of foreign food, local dishes are disappearing. But when he sits alone at night, he feels an ache inside. His mind runs back to the green fields of the village and the brimming waters of the beel, especially in this month of Asharh, when the sky opens, the fields flood, and his beloved Notdanga beel in Talbaria seems to come alive again.

The beel lies between Talbaria and Bogura villages. People from many neighbouring villages come here to fish and gather water lilies (shapla). The water has now risen so high that it stretches in every direction. Getting into a boat in the morning is a feast for the eyes. The water lilies float on the surface, white, pink and sometimes reddish. Flocks of birds fly and call without pause. A little further on is the lotus beel, where lotuses are in bloom. It is so beautiful that it feels as if the gates of heaven have opened.

That day, as soon as he got home on leave, Chanchal grew restless. He hugged his mother and said, "Ma, I'll go to the beel today." Holding back tears, she smiled and said, "Go, son, be careful." He took the boat to Notdanga alone. As he rowed, tears came to his eyes. He remembered his father and grandfather, how they gathered water lilies and caught puti fish while he and his brothers and sisters sat beside them and watched. Those memories still burn in his heart.

In the middle of the beel, Chanchal picked water lily stems and leaves. He cast a net and caught a few fresh puti fish. As he dipped his hands in the water to gather the lilies, it felt as if the village soil and the water of the beel were embracing him. He seemed to hear a call: "Come back, son, this is your home."

When Chanchal got home, his mother went straight into the kitchen. She ground the spices by hand, onion, garlic, green chilli and coriander leaves all together, and added the fresh water lilies and puti fish from the beel. As it cooked over the fire, the aroma filled the whole house. Chanchal sat quietly and watched; his mother's touch seemed to hold magic. At the first spoonful his eyes closed. What a taste! No expensive hotel in the world could match it. It is not just a curry; it is a mother's love, the memory of his father and grandfather, the smell of village soil and the blessing of the beel's fresh water.

When he goes back to the city, the ache will return. But for now, at least for a few days, his heart is full. Brothers and sisters who have left the village for the city: make time to go home once. Float a boat on Notdanga beel, gather water lilies, and eat the shapla and puti curry made by your mother's hands. You will see where the real happiness in life is hidden.

Source: Jagonews24. First published in Bengali on The Agro News.