A Dream for the Mother Soil

Copyright © 2014 by Md. Gias Uddin Miah.

Library of Congress Control Number:          2014914003

ISBN:          Hardcover          978-1-4990-1666-6

                    Softcover           978-1-4990-1651-2

                    eBook                 978-1-4990-1645-1

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Rev. date: 09/27/2014

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Contents

A Dream for the Mother Soil

River Excavation

Creation of New Water-Flows

Digging Water Reservoir

Land Development

Improving Transportation

Improvement of Agriculture

Hydroelectric Plants

Fish Breeding

Allocation of Necessary Funds

Land Management

Dedicated

To Freedom fighters and Organisers

The best children of the mother soil

With

Shaheed Bangataj Taj Uddin Ahmed

The Architect of Liberation War

In Bangladesh.

A Dream for the Mother Soil

Prelude

A prelude to a booklet should well be called thirteen-metre seed in a bean twelve metre long. If accumulation, co-ordination and equation of plain thoughts can grind intelligence more penetrating to ensure little bit interest for some on earth, let me stack yet a handful leafy vegetable on the heavy load.

As is heaven aspired after most, so it is done for a motherland, always and everywhere. Well, all Bengalis know their graceful native land is a river full delta to the Ganges. Anyone is gone too much disturbed quite naturally to note the known things anew, as well as to pay heed to all-heard before, over and again. Besides, accent and intonation preferred most often to reflect on some common cause might let many readers down. Of course, if this introspection at all enjoys a good luck of being published. A simple recollection has every chance to reverberate boring, if the spade is called merely a spade, even likely to concede defeat, before keeping feet on the ground.

Confession is far better. There’s no use of excusing in any artifice. I’ve had little education, again my acquaintance with things and beings is so little that 90 percent places instanced by the way, hasn’t yet come across sight. And professional life I passed through out involved in the least with many issues poking noses here and there, let alone running a specialist on the main stream, and personal life replaces just an eddy of conflict and crisis. As well it moves fitfully as a piece of straw twists often round and round a whirlpool. Only drive egging best on me for engaging in this mêlée is, the natural map of the dear homeland has had sight engrossed off and on most astonishingly.

Condition of reflex ever leaves passion alone. River-eroding pangs too bite at the back relentlessly, beyond any telling. Once more emotion forces passion and perception ardently. Beyond counting relation between life flows and water flows, and the mystic solidarity is something strong will power can alone entertain precision in, a weakling like me hurl just all asunder.

Quite often I’ve sung ‘Shib’ songs too while husking rice, and cared a fig for who’d give an ear to, and who won’t. Maybe love for the God Shiba insinuate on, or simply an intension chase behind of going scatty for thrusting the ‘dheki’, a heavy wooden device used in this part of the world to have rice peeled off paddy, at least ten times a minute. The wearer knows better where his or her shoe pinches more.

Tooth-ache twinge, the stomach sores utterly. What pinches on exposing and what really got into! A farmer who loses his bulls to pull the plough breathlessly turns for hither and thither searching, and the aberration of the frenzied mind, well Bengali proverb echoes. Occasionally, the bewildered man asks even his wife, Bring me some water mom, and let me have the jug swallowed. Anyone from a country where commercial jingle like, ‘Ensure better future for your family chattering only words’ is advertised freely, can utter anything after pleasure that helps him or her breathing in an illusory sigh of relief from the press and stress of the shattered nerves.

The context compromises water resources in Bangladesh, with some observations that might aid all flows flow free and fair, the whole year, and the reflections aim at looking for bit of proper uses of possibilities and probabilities in the field. The American way dominates counting and estimating, when the content prefers British expressions, in most cases. For in-acquaintance with real forms, I’ve rewritten several distinguishing remarks some learned personalities enlighten for the mankind.

I include hereby most humbly an earnest request all beg pardons for my ignorance and intrusion, with a strong appeal for pitiful justification. Anything ironical with all that might sound impolite for some pleads for the same, too. Audio visual aids that belong to aren’t at all strong enough listen to and witness dry rivers here cry. Or sort an attempt might merit sight at large, let alone enough if this swaggering can only remind some mighty lament the elegy, bemoaning to the word.

Scientists and specialists all over are passing their time quite anxiously, the animal planet has been pacing along most recklessly, towards facing an awful crisis of drinking water, within three or four decades. Good management of sweet water, on the surface and underground in Bangladesh, will surely be a lot useful for the animals that are really tracking through a way certainly to lead them take in a perilous state soon, beyond doubt.

With best wishes

Mohammad Gias uddin Miah

Land Ever Dreamt

Dear our motherland all the best

Tall parallel to the Mount Everest,

Elated heart up pulsate ample love

For everyone, man over and above.

Sweet chant along thousand singers

Metre and measure river murmurs,

The vast green wraps along dancing,

Waves swing euphoric ever rippling

Down below to ocean’s heart always

Tipping love winks off the Himalayas.

Fisher men are busy net squire round

Delight of boating knows no bound.

Weal and woe together each share

Dream year round the farmers care.

Dear son, an affluent gift of heaven

Our Father Sheikh Mujibur Rahman;

Loving all daredevil freedom fighter

Nation ever remembers with pleasure

Invincible valiant spars combat battles

Away driven devils, motherland giggles.

Ready children sacrifice joy for you

A call all are only eager to listen to,

A titanic sea of blood we do pledge

And ready to bold high rich heritage.

Golden my Bengal glows, I love you.

My motherland is a daughter of the sea and runs a love yard for the Himalayas and the Indian Ocean, to care affection for each other. And her heart is high up parallel to the Everest, as liberal as vast as deep and endless the bay along her illustrates infinitely. The fountains ever stream purling life-long quiet empathy of the mountain down to ocean heart, the latter too backs the former with love through clouds fermenting warmth all ways, brooks and rivers murmur soft nothing, leaping and dancing.

Men plying boats sing enthrallingly. An endless stream of elegance is Sufis and Bauls meet in fairs under shade of clouds all across that breeding, gentle breeze always fans. Melodies that cowboys play on flutes shake bucolic hearts. Farmers all around dream of unhindered cultivation while fishermen fish under sun and rain, and here everyone is fond of rice and fish.

Rabi Tagore’s ‘Golden Bengal’ shines with Nazrul’s revolt, Jibanandha delights in singing about its endless beauty. Sages and hermits get together regularly in the holy place of Lalon, Aotish Dhipankar, Swami Bibekanandha and Hason’s pilgrimage. No more wealth I do want, Mom; I’ve had birth in your lap, the best fortune for me on earth. Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the greatest son to you in a millennium, is a kind gift from the Almighty.

My golden Bengal, I love you.

Ages after ages, riches and wealth have lured robbers and thieves as cunning traders such as the English, the Portuguese, and Pakistanis invaded her one after the other. All fraudster licked everything away lustily, and it is religion too, the last one traded on to go picking. Children of the mother soil have also fought bravely over and again; hundreds and thousands sacrificed their lives, but helped her hold the dignity high every time.

Ever remember worthy Khudiram, a valiant son of her, pledging to do his best for the motherland? He served decently although stepped only into his youth. The last independent nawab, Sirajuddhulah, led the room all gems in adorn. In 1971 too, people fought invincibly, after the sharp call of the father’s voice rising high up. He inspired his countrymen to be always ready to fight against fraudsters and impostors with whatever they had in possession and whenever the necessity arose for serving unsurpassable. The brave people too cared in time and got motherland free from the brute occupying force, for millions of lives.

Worthy of ever recalling is Bangataj Tajuddin Ahmed, the architect of the freedom war, along with other liberation fighters and organizers. People freed their dear homeland from the evil grip sacrificing countless lives, chastity beyond worth and what not. Now the nation possesses a flag, a rising red sun encircled by a vast green tract. We won’t ever forget you who’ve won this freedom, in return for a sea of blood.

In the struggle of life, everyone must wrestle all the while; scuffle for relief never comes to a halt. Most passionately, thunder voices roared, declaring the moment in time for liberation struggle; people too fought right away to become free off the chains on the legs and hearts. Now if we should be free of illusions, must run progressive a nation, and well-to-do, too. There is no way left but get out of the bitter hardships bothering us on the way of advancement and control ill feelings.

Poverty leads to adversity and adversity to prosperity; we can’t help but kick nonsensical curses away to taste and merit intellectual liberty. Sons and daughters of the mother soil have struggled a lot, and agreed to battle furthermore, but they must ensure their native land is well in all ways, at any cost. Knowledge and wisdom should enlighten each and every one brightly without fail; let bewitching ignorance go to blazes!

Alas! All those who fought invincibly to win, yet failed to retain the gain. On the way shameful disrepute marked nation’s forehead forever. All-together had the aspiration for liberation real in two decades, but again has been on down in the mouth, for long four decades. The fruits of freedom move away and away for all common enjoy a thing really real; indeed it is a bad luck.

Disorder reigned everywhere and victories almost slipped out of grip several times. The difference between pains and gains and losing and winning amounted to too much impracticality; every bit only evil opportunist licks up; the innocent all around just suck the toes, standing apart. Whatever is on with all that trails behind this nation can please none who are seeking liberty of their heart and