Category: Short Fiction

BATHUNDA

Every day Bathunda rose from bed before the sunrise. But today he lay asleep even after the glowing sun kissed his yard. He had no

BURYING JUTE PLANTS

“My boy, where do I bury my dying jute plants? The canals, the ditches and the rivers are dry as a bone. There was not

আলু

সবে সন্ধ্যা নেমেছে।আকশের গা বেয়ে তারাদের ফুল ফোটেনি এখনও।আর ফুটলেও দেখার উপায় নেই। ট্রাকের অনবরত যাতায়াতে চারিদিক ধূলাময়।অবশ্য কৃষকরা ওসব গায়ে মাখে না। মাখলে  কি

আজাদ ভাই

“কেমন আছো?” “ভালোরে ভাই।” মুখে হাসি নেই, চোখের সেই ঝিলিক নেই, শরীরের সেই ভাষা নেই। “কোথায় থাকিস?” “বনে জঙ্গলে।” আমাকে আজাদ ভাই এবং উনার মতো

MR SAPUTA

“Tut, tut!  Come quick, help my hair,” a well-built, bald man, aged fifty, hitched up the dirty curtain and stormed into the lean-to, and sat

RENDEZVOUS WITH A LEADER

its a tale of a over-enthusiastic village party worker who goes to meet his leader in a city gathering. It narrates his hopes, harassments, crude realisation, and so.

SUKRA ORAON

In an early morning in late September I made a visit to Kunjnagar haat. The street from Falakata to Kunjnagar was almost deserted. A few

HOSSEIN, THE RHINO FIGHTER

One winter afternoon I went to Galakata haat. It was on the western side of Jaldapara forest. On a clear noon one could eye the

A MOTHER OF MOIRADANGA

In a late winter afternoon I sauntered around Moiradanga village. The day was one of the coldest of the year. People were happy as such

A POET OF RAMPUR

“Hey poet! Why do you look so sad? Searching seven heavens you bring home a queen at last. Be happy, and enjoy forever life of

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Top Comments

Subhash Chandra
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"A gifted writer"

A gifted versetile writer who writes excellent stories and poems on the invisibles, pariahs, margins, aged, weaklings of our society. A rising star on the literary firmament.
Santosh Bakaya
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Praise for my writing

“Your story Undersell left me with a lump in my throat, so did your poem, He also lights candles.”
Louis Kasatkin
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Praise for my poem "Elderly Men Two"

"A finely honed observational piece recording the minutiae of everyday life. Rendered with the author’s customary poetic aplomb suffused with a Borges like quality of the mythic."