Within the forest the piles of gloom are like the darkness in the womb of the earth itself. Bird and beast are utterly and motionlessly still. What hundreds of thousands, what millions of birds, beasts, insects, flying things have their dwelling within that forest, but not one is giving forth a sound.
Rather the darkness is within the imagination, but inconceivable is that noiseless stillness of the ever-murmurous, ever noise-filled earth. After that sound the forest reaches sank again into stillness. Who would have said then that a human sound had been heard in those wilds?
Three times the wide sea of darkness was thus shaken. What more can I give? Bankim Chandra Chatterjee — was a Bengali writer, poet and journalist. His works were widely translated into other regional languages of India as well as in English. Chattopadhyay is widely regarded as a key figure in literary renaissance of Bengal as well as India. A wide interminable forest. Most of the trees are sals , but other kinds are not wanting.
Treetop mingling with treetop, foliage melting into foliage, the interminable lines progress; without crevice, without gap, without even a way for the light to enter, league after league and again league after league the boundless ocean of leaves advances, tossing wave upon wave in the wind. Underneath, thick darkness; even at midday the light is dim and uncertain; a seat of terrific gloom. There the foot of man never treads; there except the illimitable rustle of the leaves and the cry of wild beasts and birds, no sound is heard.
In this interminable, impenetrable wilderness of blind gloom, it is night. The hour is midnight and a very dark midnight; even outside the woodland it is dark and nothing can be seen. Within the forest the piles of gloom are like the darkness in the womb of the earth itself.
Bird and beast are utterly and motionlessly still. What hundreds of thousands, what millions of birds, beasts, insects, flying things have their dwelling within that forest, but not one is giving forth a sound. Rather the darkness is within the imagination, but inconceivable is that noiseless stillness of the ever-murmurous, ever noise-filled earth. After that sound the forest reaches sank again into stillness. Who would have said then that a human sound had been heard in those wilds?
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