Can that moment of Moti's life be forgotten? According to the OC of the police station, Moti showed the way to what the police have been looking for for some time. .

But when it comes to Moti, we have to say something about other dogs. Things may happen to a lot of people, so even if they seem like small things, they stick in my mind. Once, while painting, a madam's house was contacted. As soon as she entered the drawing room, she first saw a big white dog. It looked like a long, fat, foreign dog. He came closer to me, looked at me with big eyes. I stood silently in awe.

Madame rebuked him and called out, "Come here, Christ." Christ heard the rebuke, looked at Madame once, and stood beside me again. Madam asked me to sit on the sofa. You sit down, he won't do anything. Huge large drawing room. Brass means all around, as many dockers as possible, many small and large statues and oil paintings on the walls. On the carpet, large sofa around, tea table in the middle. There are many other things to keep in mind, such as various trees, curtains, beautifully decorated with vases, the drawing room of the aristocratic family But as soon as I went to sit on the first sofa, according to Madame, Christ went before me and sat on the sofa. Again I went to sit on another sofa, Christ ran to that sofa again and sat down. I mean, why don't I sit on the sofa, Christ goes before me and grabs that sofa. And he looked at me with big eyes. I mean, maybe he wants to say, look how fun it is! Madam noticed that and smiled and said, you feed these biscuits, Christ will become your fan. In the end it was so. After feeding the biscuits, it was possible for me to sit on the sofa. And Christ sat quietly at my feet, with his face down, as if he knew nothing. I had occasional trips to this house. But I never got a chance to see that scene again. I had the opportunity to visit someone else's house. I am sitting in a chair. A light brown dog from the inner room, that is, a large dog with shiny fur, just like a little more cromiolo mixed with brown color. As soon as he came to me, he licked my shirt with his mouth and started pushing me with his feet. When I caressed her head with my left hand, it was very quiet.

Mrs. Doctor then chained the dog to the window, closed the door as usual, and went into the room. Then the dog first looked at me and started barking loudly. As if complaining, why was he tied up? Then, without getting any response from me, Mrs. Doctor went through the door, looked at the door, and started shouting loudly. There are no signs of stopping. And it seemed as if the chain would come to me. It was as if he was shouting at the door and trying to say, open me, open me.

After a while, disgusted by her call, Mrs. Doctor opened the door and untied the dog's chain. And immediately he came running to me. And I started to caress him as usual. Then the quiet, calm thought seemed to come back.

Let's talk about a streetdog. The main gate was always open so a dog would occasionally enter. We would feed a few families. Somehow it can be said to be a pet. He goes to the streets and then to the backyards. I used to live on the second floor. Most of the time I watched, lying in one corner of the wall next to my door. When a hawker or a stranger came up the stairs, he would shout.

Once we went out for seven or eight days. But the day I came back, as soon as I entered through the gate, the reception of that streetdog could not be described in words. Once he was running out of the gate, again he was running towards the stairs of the house. His repeated running, and running, and looking at our faces and making noises, as if he were trying to say over and over again, "Where have you been? Why haven't you been there for so long?" Can only be felt in real situations. And we could feel it.

The same feeling was in our native dog Moti. In the village, there are dogs in the yard or in front of the house. Eats while eating, again at this house and house, or road ghat, garden turns around independently, sits in front of the house door.

I will be ten or eleven years old then. The children of the village roam freely and play sports. One day I went for a walk, near B, S, F, Camp on the border of Bangladesh. Suddenly I saw small, black, brown, white puppies playing together. I was staring at it. I didn't understand when a B, S, F, standing next to me suddenly said, what baby, will you take a puppy or not! I'll go see if you're doing it. And found out my home address. I would bring the puppy home and tie it up first. Then when I let it go, I would see it jumping around behind me. That's how he grew up one day. But two of them, B, S, F, would come to our house, settle down, talk and leave, caressing the dog. In this way, from a young age, when you call it Moti, now it comes to Moti. Whatever he looked like, Alsatian would beat Doug. Pretty tall, shiny, look. But day or night, he would not let a stranger approach him. Thus, at seven or eight o'clock in the evening, the village became silent. One day, in the deep night of the silent night, I heard the monstrous and terrifying sound of Moti. This sound does not want to stop. Apart from me, one or two elders of the neighborhood woke up. Suddenly someone lit a big torch. Just then, I saw someone rushing towards the garden. And Moti also started chasing him and running away. At the noise of a couple of such voices, some more woke up. But as soon as two or four more people lit their torches, they saw a large sack full of something on the road. Then everyone came running and someone was startled as soon as he opened the sack. He saw a boy of seven or eight years. The boy is Sunil, the son of Baburam from our village. Sunil's face was covered with a cloth so that he could not make a sound, and his hands, feet and ropes were tied. As soon as he took off his clothes, he started crying. The rope was also untied. She cried and said she was sleeping with her father on the open porch. He did not understand how the sack was filled. We thought, maybe, made him unconscious with something. One of them took Sunil to his house. This time I thought of Moti. The bridge has not returned yet. The man fled towards the mango orchard. We also ran there. I was scared. I wouldn't have killed Moti! But the fear was really right. Moti is lying dead under a tree. When the light came on, Moti saw that Moti's stomach was still rising and falling. And a thick brass chapata bracelet stuck in his mouth with his teeth. Blood stains on the forehead. I took the balata out of my mouth. Everyone saw it. Some people said that the balata is very familiar. I put the ball in my pocket, took Moti home with them all together, watered her eyes, sat up slowly, and began to whimper in a relaxed manner. As usual we informed the police, after a while the police came in a jeep. I told the police all the incidents and handed over the balata to the OC. He saw the torch burning well and said, there is a name engraved on the bala. Jatu is written. But we know two Jatus. One is Jatu Mandal, he lives in Chai Para. Another Jatu Ghosh lives in Goyal Para. Now whatever Jatui is, when Moti grabs the bracelet from his hand with his teeth, then surely Jatui's hand has become bloody. Because Moti had to apply enough force while pulling the bracelet in his hand, then there must be blood stains from the scratched teeth. Because there were blood stains in the balata. Moreover, to save himself, Jatu also made Moti unconscious like Sunil, so he fell like a corpse. That night, Moti, me and two other elders of the neighborhood reached the Jatu Mandal neighborhood in Chai Para in a police jeep, because that neighborhood was the first to fall on the way to the police station. But the jeep in the neighborhood, some of them woke up, I asked them and found Jatu's house. And then Moti jumped up and sniffed the ground, knocked on the door of the very mud house and started knocking on the door. As soon as the police broke down the door and entered the room, Moti jumped on Jatu. Seeing the wound on Jatu's hand, everything became clear. The OC told me, Moti doesn't understand what has benefited us, you and everyone in this region. Moti did what we couldn't do. Few Photos taken from Google If you want to read this story in bengali then click this link https://shortestory.wordpress.com/