The Fallen Banyan: A Shadow That Still Shelters Our Souls

February. Whenever this month arrives, I feel a strange emptiness inside my chest. To the rest of the world, this might be the month of spring, the month of love, or the month of language. But for me? February and April are months of mourning! These two months on the calendar represent the two deepest wounds of my life. In April, I lost my mother, and in February, I lost my father.

Today is February 13, 2026. It has been exactly four years since that massive banyan tree moved away from over our heads—the tree whose shade allowed us to grow up safely, ignoring the scorching sun and the rain. My father, Jayanta Kumar Kundu, is not here today, but his absence surrounds us every single moment.

The Story of an Unequal Battle

My father’s body eventually gave up in the hospital bed, but his spirit had shattered ten months earlier—on April 1, 2021—the day our beloved mother, Kanika Rani Kundu, left us for the land of no return. My mother was half of his existence. After she passed away, it was as if he began to fade away from the inside.

Then came that cursed time. On February 1, 2022, my father underwent his second operation. Per the doctors’ decision, a portion of his left leg had to be amputated (Partial Amputation). Just think about it: a man who led as an organizer on the battlefields of 1971, who walked mile after mile his whole life to spread the light of education among students, suddenly learned he would never be able to walk normally again!

My father could not bear the combined weight of the grief from losing my mother and his own disability. For 12 straight days after the operation, he wrestled with life in the ICU. On one side was an unconquerable will to live, and on the other was the pull to go to his beloved wife—in this conflict, death ultimately won. On February 13, 2022, he cut his ties of affection with us and left.

A Timeline of Memories

A Teacher, A Revolutionary, and His Ideals

My father, Jayanta Kumar Kundu, was not just an individual; he was a living history. By profession, he was a teacher, but in spirit, he was a full-fledged revolutionary. He carried the blood of my grandfather, Ananta Mohan Kundu, who was an activist against the British and had the companionship of Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose. My father carried that torch forward to the battlefields of 1971.

His political philosophy was unmistakable—Left-Line Politics. However, his politics were not aimed at gaining power, but rather at serving the people. Throughout his life, he spoke in favor of free thinking and free speech. He never thought twice about protesting against injustice. His vow was to dispel the darkness of superstition in society and kindle the ‘Light of Progress.’

Father: At a Glance

The Leaf That Fell Before the Good Times

The biggest regret or tragedy of my father’s life is that he could not stay to enjoy the harvest of the “Good Times.” All their lives, he and my mother worked back-breakingly hard. They raised us while weathering family hardships and “waves of joylessness.” Bit by bit, they built our foundation.

Today, when we are self-sufficient, today when prosperity has come to the household, neither of them is here to see it. They planted the tree while burning in the sun, but they did not get the time to rest for even a moment in that tree’s shade. This guilt eats away at me.

Stay Well on the Other Side, Baba

Baba, today it has been four years since you have been gone. But in our every work, in every achievement, your shadow remains. You were that banyan tree for us, the one that took the storms upon itself to protect us.

I don’t know what happens to people after death. But I want to believe that you are with Mother now. Wherever you stay, both of you stay well. We are walking the path you showed us, and we will continue to walk it.

My humble respect goes to my beloved father.

An Open Letter to the Sky

Baba,

Four years have passed. The world has changed. I have changed too. But the empty space you left in the living room remains exactly the same today.

I hope you have found Mother! I hope that there, you are walking on two legs again—in a place where there is no pain, no operation, no grief. Maybe even there, you are arguing politics with your late comrade friends, teaching them what revolution is, what humanity is!

We are fine. We are fighting. We are living. Because that is how you taught us to live.

Sleep in peace, my superhero, the lighthouse of my inspiration. Perhaps we will meet again on some spring evening on your way back home…