The Dot on the Top of the Bay

Written in 2022 in Bangladesh

(For Tuli, my little neighbor and playmate.)

“Long ago, before you or I or anyone else you know was born, a great Artist looked at an empty canvas and thought that it needed to be filled with something beautiful. First, He picked up a thick marker. With this, He drew the borders to the land and sea. He drew mountains and lakes and rivers. He drew the place where the sky touches the water and the Bay meets the sand.

“But what good would a painting be with no color? He laid out his brushes. There was no limit to what He could paint or what color He could paint it. He chose blue for the oceans. He chose greens and browns for the land. He painted the mountains in their majestic grandeur and the deserts in their mysterious silence.

“He painted India and Pakistan and My Country, and all the other countries you read about in your books. When He was nearly finished, He noticed a little dot at the top of the Bay. Had it been overlooked? No, not overlooked, just saved until the very last.

“Finally, He painted our Bangladesh. He looked at His paint cans and saw that He had so much green left. He hadn’t used much when He’d painted the oceans or the rugged hills of the Middle East or the deserts of Africa. So, He decided this last bit- this little Dot on the top of the Bay- would be covered all in green.

“He picked up his brushes and covered the land, but not all the same shade of green, oh no. He used ten, twenty, thirty, maybe even a hundred different shades of green, all carefully and thoughtfully placed. He painted trees and trees and trees, and between the trees and trees, He painted rice paddies, laid out like carpets beneath the never-ending sky. Between the rice paddies, He painted ponds and rivers to reflect the green that lay all around them.

“Once He had covered the land in green, He looked down at the other colors in His collection. He still had purples, blues, reds, oranges, pinks… every color you can imagine, and more. He looked at His array and got an idea.

“He took His finest brush and found the can of magenta. It was almost empty, but there was still just enough at the very bottom. He dipped his brush and touched it to the canvas. Carefully, He painted a blooming bougainvillea. He liked it so much that He painted another, and another, and another.

“He dipped His brush in red and painted hibiscus flowers on the bushes. He saw the lily pads and thought of how they needed a pink flower. He crowned the Krishnachura with flaming orange petals. He painted golden dates on the date tree to look like splendid fireworks. He took His time, don’t you see? He painted even more flowers, so many flowers that I can’t name them all; flowers of yellow, blue, purple, and even white.

“He didn’t stop there. He thought of how some little boys and girls would need puppies to play with. Some puppies He left black and white, like yours and mine, and to some He gave a deep red, orange, or brown, like Roki and Jontu.

“He thought of cows and goats, and used the same colors to paint them as He had used for the dogs and cats. But when it came time to paint the birds, He used the same paint He had used for His flowers: icy blue, bright yellow, warm orange. He even brushed some of the birds with the same green He’d used to when He’d painted the trees.

“He painted you and me, too. He painted your little red dress with the polka dots. He chose the perfect shade of brown to paint your little hands: the color of coffee with just the right amount of cream. He looked and looked until He found the deepest and richest shade of black for your hair. He painted your dark brown eyes, even the one that trails off on its own. To your eyes He gave something special. In your eyes, Tuli, He painted an extra sparkle only few others have.

“He made sure He put you in a place that had golden dates, because He knew you would like to eat them. He made sure He gave you a home in the coconut palms, because He knew you would like to swing from them. And He made sure that, at some point, our paths would cross, because He knew I would need a little friend like you.

“When He felt He was done with His final piece, He stepped back to take a look at His little Dot on the top of the Bay. Green, green, green, with splashes of color everywhere. Sometimes, I think He must have used the same colors when He painted His Heaven.

“He saw His people with their rich, black hair and sparkling brown eyes. He smiled and thought of how He loved this little Dot in the masterpiece, just like He loved all the others. ‘Someday,’ He thought, ‘somebody else will love this little place too.’ ”