যাযাবর ব্যাকপ্যাকার's blog

The Days of Slavery

- Nazim Mahmud

Theater artist and cultural organizer; Deputy Registrar, University of Rajshahi, Rajshahi

“Ask them to shoot you right in the middle of your forehead”, I looked up into the eyes of the speaker who prescribed such an advice. “That’ll be a painless death, absolutely painless”, said Dr. Syed Sajjad Hussain, my professor in the University of Dhaka. Incidentally, he was the Vice Chancellor of the University of Rajshahi at that time and I was simply a staff member there. So, he could crack a joke in front of me, even if it was about as serious a matter as life and death.

Face to Face With Death

-Maqid Haider
Poet; Public Relations Officer, Bangladesh Small and Cottage Industries Corporation (BSCIC), Dhaka

If only they had looked up, it would have been certain death for my mother and me.

April 10, I still cannot clearly grasp everything from that afternoon on that fateful day in ’71. I cannot say for certain how long the two of us had waited facing death that day. The realization that we had escaped death took some time to sink in.

The Uncertain Journey

- Tahmina Zaman
Educator; Story writer; Assistant Professor, Home Economics College, Dhaka
Current Location: Syracuse, New York, USA

It was well past sunset, but we hadn't realized it, since all the doors and windows were shut tight. A bunch of us were confined under a bed since earlier in the day. This was the beginning of April, 1971, we were surrounded by death.

The sunny, beautiful afternoon turned into a horrific evening as several Sabre Jets were flying over us. Till then we had no idea what was about to happen. I was just about to feed my 8 month old baby. After feeding him a few teaspoons of milk, I was about to give him some more, and then…my hand shook fiercely and the spoon dropped. A terrible noise broke out that shook the entire house. The tin walls of the house rattled loudly. All of us in that room were stunned. No one made a peep of a sound, there was only fear and anxiety in our eyes. What was about to happen? The scared little baby in my arms buried his face in my chest.

Right Before My Eyes

-Ahmed Bashir
Novelist, Dhaka

On the 7th of April, we came from Moghbazar to Puran Dhaka (Old Dhaka). There was an eerie silence in Moghbazar area by then. It felt like a ghost town - desolate and deserted. From time to time we could hear the sound of Azaan from the mosque next to our house. It felt as if the sound melted itself with the smell of gunpowder.

In Front of the Loved Ones

- Nazma Begum
Housewife, Dhaka

26 March 1971, Bangladesh Water Development Board, O&M Circle, Sylhet. We used to live in the Superintendent Engineer’s house. I had sent Tajul Islam, our servant, to bring some eggs for breakfast that morning. He returned with the news that a curfew had been declared and a rickshaw-puller and a local betel-leaf seller had been shot to death by the Pakistani soldiers. A little later we observed from our balcony that many people gathered at a place called Maniratila. I wondered what the gathering was about. How many were being shot to death by the barbaric aggressor army? We were panic-stricken and remained at home. Curfew was being enforced in Sylhet from dawn to dusk almost everyday. Hence, people had much difficulty with their everyday lives. My husband, shaheed Altaf Hossain would do some grocery for our daily meals every evening after the curfew was lifted. Our lives carried on like this.

An incident near the end of the liberation war agitates me even today, it paralyses me. I do not recall the date clearly but it was around the third week of November, 1971. I used to live in the first house on Road. 32, Dhanmondi, Dhaka. It was near 4 or 4:30 in the afternoon. I had gone to Azimpur Colony with my own plans. Two of my friends used to live there, Naser Chowdhury, who was a student of the Engineering University back then and a famous goalkeeper in those days; and Santu from the Mohammedan Football Club. We were talking about a lot of things for quite some time - the ongoing liberation war, the freedom of our country, the activities of the freedom fighters, the atrocities of the Pak army and their Bengali collaborators- the Razakars, etc.

It was how it usually looked like, all quiet from the outside. Although the windows and doors of the Doulatpur Brajalal College were all shut tight, there was a peacefulness in that silence. Looking at the tall grass that had grown into a waist-high jungle, and the cattle sitting in the shades of the trees under the winter sun, one could hardly realize that the country was flooding in a blood-bath. If you listened carefully in all this silence, you could even hear the echo of the warmth of life going on from the nearby bazaar. It wasn't impossible to hear the strangely grave sounds of the rising tide inside the people, like that of the long dried up river, The Bhairab.

I used to live in the ‘Maneesha’ building of the Science Laboratories back then, with Mirpur Road on one side and Elephant Road on the other. I could hear slogans from the streets till 11PM on 25th March. At midnight I opened my doors and went outside.

I went to sleep early on the night of 25th March. Had read in the newspapers that very day that an understanding between Bangabandhu and Yahya Khan would follow soon. So everyone was rather relaxed. We woke up in the middle of the night at the sound of a huge explosion.

The continuous firing and mortar noises began just after a short break. We took shelter in the passage between the bedroom and washroom to save ourselves from stray bullets. I couldn’t resist my curiosity and a while later crawled near the window to peek at what was happening outside.

Another unique dream last night...
One every few months...
Woke me up so Early in the morning... and couldn't go back to sleep..
I shivered in the cold.. and closed my eyes trying to picture what it was all about ...

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Premonition

A city somewhere out of Asia...