The creator

The tigers had become a terrible nuisance. People grew desperate. Cows, calves, and, eventually, even human beings began to fall prey to the tigers. So, everyone brought out their sticks, spears, torches, and guns and killed the beast. One tiger was killed, but another appeared. At last, the people went to the Creator and pleaded —
“Lord, save us from the tigers!”
The Creator said, “All right.”
But no sooner had the people finished their complaint than the tigers appeared before the Creator with a grievance.
“We are being driven mad by human beings! We have fled from the forests and are wandering from place to place, but the hunters do not let us live in peace. Do something about this!”
The Creator said, “All right.”
Just then, the mother of a young man named Nera came to the Creator with a request.
“Father (Lord), please find my Nera a lovely, pretty wife.”— a lovely little wife for him. For heaven’s sake, Lord, I shall offer you five paisa worth of shinni.”
The Creator said, “All right.”
Harish Bhattacharya was on his way to file a lawsuit. Addressing the Creator, he said,
“I have worshipped you all my life. I have weakened my body through fasting (Upobash). I want to teach my damn nephew a lesson. Please lend me your help.”
The Creator said, “All right.”
Sushil was going to sit for his examination. Every day he prayed to the Creator,
“Lord, please let me pass.” Then he added, “And, Lord, if you can somehow help me get the scholarship, I shall spend five rupees and arrange a hariloot for you.”
The Creator said, “All right.”
Haren Purakayastha wanted to become the chairman of the District Board. Through the priest Kali, he approached the Creator and said, “I need just eleven votes!”
The priest Kali, having pocketed his fee, recited some badly mangled Sanskrit and so tormented the Creator that he cried out, “Give me votes! Give me votes!”
The Creator said, “All right, all right.”
A farmer raised both hands and cried, “O God, give us water!”
The Creator said, “All right.”
The mother of a sick child prayed to the Creator, “I have only this one child, Lord. Please do not take him away!”
The Creator said, “All right.”
The Khenti Pishi (paternal aunt) from the neighbouring house complained about her wealthy neighbour:
“Lord, that woman is terribly conceited. She wears new jewellery every day and thinks she owns the whole world. O God, You did well throttling her son. Please teach that wretched woman a little lesson.”
The Creator said, “All right.”
Finally, a philosopher came and said,
“O Creator, I want to understand you.” 
The Creator said, “All right.”
A cry came from China: “O Lord, save us from the hands of the Japanese!”
The Creator said, “All right.”
A young man from Bangladesh came and said, “No editor publishes my writing. I want to have my writing published in Prabasi. Please tell Ramananda Babu to be kind to me.”
The Creator said, “All right.”
During a brief pause in the stream of complaints, the Creator suddenly asked Brahma, “Do you happen to have any mustard oil at your place?”
Brahma said, “Yes. Why do you ask?”
The Creator: “I need it. Will you give me some?”
Brahma, with his five faces, said, “Certainly, certainly.” 
Good mustard oil was brought from Brahma’s house. The Creator immediately applied it to His body and, overcome by drowsiness, fell into a deep sleep.
He has not yet awakened.  
Translated from Bangla by Mohin Uddin Mizan.
Balai Chand Mukhopadhyay (1899–1979), widely known by his pen name Banaphul, was a Bengali writer, physician, poet, playwright, and novelist. 
Mohin Uddin Mizan is a publication and communication professional at the Bangladesh Institute of Development Studies (BIDS), Ministry of Planning. A translator and former journalist at national dailies, he has written short stories, poems, op-eds, and book reviews for English-language newspapers and online platforms in Bangladesh and abroad. His interests include Bengali literature, literary translation, and cross-cultural literary exchange. He is an avid reader and traveller and can be reached at [email protected].