Shell-shattered Newspaper Office

This is from the translation project some of us are working on of the book 1971: Dreadful Experiences (১৯৭১: ভয়াবহ অভিজ্ঞতা). The book is a collection of witness accounts to 1971 Liberation War and the Independence of Bangladesh by the country's educationists, writers, professionals. The book is edited by Rashid Hayder and was first published on the Victory Day of 1989.
This is the personal account of Abed Khan, a journalist, from Dhaka.

Any suggestion regarding the translation will be appreciated by the translator in the comment section.
Thank you.

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Memories fade. Today, as I try to recollect, I am appreciating that fact. I cannot retell the story word for word, but there are some memories even time cannot erase. I want to share those memories.

March 25, 1971. I was the Associate Editor of the newsroom at The Daily Ittefaq. I used to work the night-shift. Although back then there were no definite schedule for shifts. We used to stay at all times in the Ittefaq office for collecting news. The Narinda-Doyaganj sect of the All-Party Resistance Alliance had organized since early March. I was the convener of that sect. It was the responsibility of the alliance to settle different disputes and arrange various programs for the movement. As such, collecting the news of the hour was very important.

When I came to office that evening, the situation of the capital was very disturbed and heated. Siraj bhai (Martyr Sirajuddin Hossain) and Reza bhai (Late Asof-ud-doula Reza) were already there. Syed Shahjahan from the Reporting dept. was there too. Ameer Hossain bhai, a Staff Reporter, came in a little later. Yahya Bakht, a co-worker, was also working night-shift. An artist for Ittefaq, Sarwar, also came in. As soon as I came to the office, I was asked to translate the directions from the Awami League high commands from the teleprinter. I was also documenting the news that we were getting over the telephone. On top of that, I had to attend the outsiders stopping by anxiously asking about the latest situation. The most annoying part was receiving eager and anxious phone calls. Most of them were asking about the talk between Mujib (Sheikh Mujibur Rahman) and Yahya (Yahya Khan). Let me share some of those conversations –

-- “Hey, what’s the news? Heard that the talk failed? Do you know anything?”

-- “Hello, Ittefaq? Is Yahya khan really gone? Do you have any latest information about this?”

-- “Hello, who’s this? Do you know if the army has been deployed?”

-- “Is this Ittefaq? There’s a lot of gunfire going on here. Is it true that tanks will be deployed? Have you got any news about this?”

-- “Is this the Ittefaq office? What’s the news about Sheikh Saheb (Sheikh Mujibur Rahman)? We heard Yahya-Bhutto (Zulfikar Ali Bhutto) are going to arrest him?”

-- “Brother, don’t need the details, just tell us – is the news good or bad?”

Numerous phone-calls like this were coming in. At one point, I asked, “Siraj Bhai, How am I supposed to work if I have to answer so many calls?” He told me that I have to multitask. So, ears on the phone, answers on my lips, and eyes on the news, I carried on.

We were politely telling the anxious callers that we don’t know anything yet. It was unbelievable to think at the time that the Pak army would be deployed on the streets to attack protesting civilians.

At around 10:45pm, Siraj bhai called out to me, “Hey, make a small report on the news we’re getting over the phone on all the gun-fires and bombings, reference it as a rumor.” So, I wrote the report. There was due reason behind the instruction from Siraj bhai. We were receiving all sorts of information, but neither from trustworthy sources. At around 10:35 pm, I received a phone call from the Radio Office (The radio transmission from the Dhaka Station had already ended at around 10:30 pm). The gentleman who called was scared, “I want to give you some information just in case...” he said. “A while ago, an army convoy came by and left some stuff against the inside wall of the radio office. They seemed to be up to no good. I think something bad is going to happen.” Then he hung up. Siraj Bhai asked me to write the report right after I told him about this phone call. We were believing, at that point, that everything was a rumor !

Meanwhile, we could hear some of the shootings. Probably some local hand-bombs or crackers going off. We also heard screams. We kept on working. It was getting quieter. It was sometime between half past eleven or quarter to twelve when all on a sudden, it sounded like there were fireworks going off. The sound of gunfire became louder and louder. We could hear automatic rifles. Machineguns and Chinese rifles were, as if, roaring in a contest. All of us in the newsroom then realized that the Pak army had been deployed on the streets of the capital. The destruction had began. Reza bhai and Siraj bhai both asked to me make a phone-call to Dhanmondi 32 Number (Sheikh Mujib’s residence). So I called. The phone kept on ringing, but no one was picking up. Reza bhai guessed that probably the line had been cut.

Meanwhile, another Assistant Editor Habibur Rahman Milon had arrived. He was out to inspect the city. As the situation deteriorated, he came to the office to inform us. He told us about all the army convoys running about in the city. Reporter Ameer Hossain quickly finished his write-up and started for home.

A little later, the phone rang. It was Ehtesham Haider Chowdhury from the Daily Purbodesh. I picked up the phone. Haider bhai inquired whether we were still working. I replied that we were. He said, “We can’t. We are surrounded by all these shootings. You guys, please, carry on so that The Ittefaq is published. So that the people get the latest orders from Bangabandhu tomorrow…” Then there was a small sound and we got disconnected from the Purbodesh.

The gunshots were getting louder. Siraj bhai decided that it wasn’t safe anymore to work upstairs. We had to publish the paper. It would be safer to work downstairs in the machine-room, with just a low-powered light kept on. At this point, Syeed Shahjahan and I went up to the newly constructed first floor roof of the Ittefaq office building. There were fires everywhere and sounds of gunshots. At times, there were phosphorus flares going up in the sky, lighting up the surroundings like daylight which were immediately followed by sound of machine guns and other automatic weapons being fired. We heard the wails of innocent civilians, the sounds of military convoys. A vehicle came by firing rounds. Shahjahan bhai scolded me as I tried to sneak a peek. We came down from the roof, straight to the machine-room downstairs. A dummy of the paper was completed. After finishing our work, we came back upstairs to the news room on the first floor stealthily. We started talking in the dark, discussing politics and the situation.

The night grew older towards dawn. Other than a few, most of the people from the Press section left for Gopibagh in groups in the darkness. About 16 or 17 people remained: mostly journalists, plus the canteen manager, two canteen boys, Peon Amzad Molla, two guards, and an outsider. Near dawn, Siraj bhai, Reza bhai and I went to a small wooden balcony on the wooden staircase of the first floor to look outside. The streets were empty, the lightposts standing as if they were stunned, dimly illuminating the roads. We could still hear shots being fired and heavy vehicles rolling. We saw an army convoy coming from the direction of Madhumita movie theatre, firing bullets at the buildings around. We immediately ducked for cover as there were shots coming at our direction, too. We crawled to get inside. We were lucky to hit the ground in time because the wall where we were standing was riddled with bullet-holes within minutes. All three of us would have been shot if we remained standing there. The convoy passed by and went towards Narayanganj. Suddenly, we heard someone moaning. We looked up to find one of the teenage canteen boys shot in the head and soaked in blood. The canteen manager and I tried to stop the blood-flow with pads of news-print paper. But it wasn’t working. Pads after pads were getting drenched in blood. We realized he will not live for long, he would die right there in the Ittefaq office. There was no chance we could find a doctor amidst all this. The canteen manager, two men from the press, a guard and I decided that we would leave the boy inside the Gopibagh mosque. The mawlana there would probably notice him during Azaan and might be able to manage some medical assistance somehow. But our colleagues did not agree, because going outside meant facing certain death. We still decided to go. Five of us carried him to the mosque. After putting him down on the floor, the others then left towards Gopibagh while I went back to the office hopping over the closed gate. Then I heard another military truck coming from the direction of Motijheel. On the other side, an unsuspecting peon was approaching on a bicycle from the direction of Tikatuli towards the gate of the Ittefaq office to collect the morning papers. As I entered the office and climbed the stairs to the newsroom, a round of bullets showered the Ittefaq office. We all ducked for cover either hitting the ground or hiding behind the steel cabinets. But that poor peon was shot dead.

We sat there, speechless. It seemed like we would never be able to get out of this place. Several more Pak army trucks came afterwards, fired weapons, and then went towards Tikatuli. It was morning by then. We looked outside through the back balcony, when we noticed this one truck stopping in front of ‘Abhishar’ (a movie theatre). One by one, those killers jumped out of the truck, and started shooting aimlessly. After a while, they went away. I told others that the office is not safe anymore because already there had been two killings inside the office.

But where would we go? I lived at Doyaganj. Siraj bhai lived at Chamelibagh, Reza bhai at Shahjahanpur, Milon bhai at Moghbazar, Shahjahan bhai at Gendaria and Bakht at Swamibagh. The Pak army was still heavily patrolling the main roads. At around 11 am, I became restless and went out. My pants and shirt were covered all over with the blood of that poor canteen boy. The bloodstains were troubling me very much. I went out through the back of the office somehow and finally reached Abhay Das Lane. From there I reached Dhaka-Narayanganj road through Swamibagh. As I tried to cross that, I saw three military trucks going towards Jatrabari while shooting aimlessly. There was a deep sewerage drain in front of the Swamibagh Community Center, I took shelter there. As soon as the trucks were away, I crossed the road and ran for home along the rail-tracks.

At around 3 pm, two tanks stopped in front of the Ittefaq office. Their cannons were aimed at the building. Several soldiers entered the office and spread something over the equipment inside. At that time, our coworkers were preparing for a humble meal of rice and lentil soup that was sent to them from a neighboring house. All on a sudden, there was a loud bang as the cannons fired. The machine-room downstairs caught fire. Everyone upstairs ran to the rooftop and climbed down the wall of the next building. Some of them had big, wet newsprints wrapped over their heads to protect themselves from the fire as they ran past the fire and toppled over the side walls to safety. The fire ablazed. I got the news around 4 pm. I remembered all my coworkers. I thought none of them were alive anymore. So I went back to office again following the same route through the rail-line and Swamibagh that I had taken home earlier. I saw that our Ittefaq office was on fire and there was no one to put it out.

I went back home. The thought that all my colleagues were burning in that fire haunted me. I came to know about the detailed story of the canons fired and their story of saving themselves a lot later. Afterwards when I crossed the border to India, I was the first one to describe the details of the mortars at the Ittefaq office through the Indian radio. Not only The Daily Ittefaq, The People and The Daily Sangbad offices were also burnt to ashes on that night of March 25. Talented poet and journalist, Shaheed Saber had burnt to his death inside the Sangbad office.