[
attachment=3004]
The War of Liberation
The Bangladesh Liberation War that lasted for roughly nine months, from
26 March until
16 December 1971...The war resulted in Bangladesh's independence from Pakistan...
Reasons for war
Years before the war
During the Partition of India, Pakistan, as a country, gained independence on
14 August 1947 following the end of British rule over South Asian countries...The division was made based on religion... Pakistan was created out of huge Muslim majority territories in the West and East, and India was created out of the vast Hindu majority regions in the centre...The Western zone was popularly (and for a period of time, also officially) called West Pakistan and the Eastern zone (modern-day Bangladesh) was called East Bengal and later, East Pakistan...The capital of Pakistan was established in Karachi in West Pakistan and then moved to Islamabad in 1958...
Economic exploitation
West Pakistan (consisting of four provinces: Punjab, Sindh, Balochistan and North-West Frontier Province) dominated the divided country politically and received more money from the common budget than the more populous East...
Between 1948 and 1960,
East Pakistan produced 70% of all of Pakistan's exports, while it only received 25% of import earnings...In 1948 (shortly after independence from Britain), East Pakistan had 11 textile mills while the West had 9...In 1971, the number of textile mills in the West had grown to 150 while that in the East had only gone up to 26...Furthermore, 2.6 billion dollars' (in 1971 exchange rates) worth of resources were transferred over time from East Pakistan to West Pakistan...It was widely felt in East Pakistan that much of the income generated by the east was diverted towards fighting wars in Kashmir...
Political differences
Although East Pakistan was the majority province in terms of population, political power remained firmly in the hands of West Pakistanis, specifically the Punjabis...Since a straightforward system of representation based on population would have concentrated political power in East Pakistan, the West Pakistani establishment came up with the scheme of "One Unit", where all of West Pakistan was considered one province...This was solely to counterbalance the East wing's votes... Ironically, after the East broke away to form Bangladesh, the Punjab insisted that politics in the rump West Pakistan now be decided on the basis of a straightforward vote, since Punjabis were more numerous than the other groups, such as Sindhis, Pathans, or Balochs.
After the assassination of Liaquat Ali Khan, political power began to be concentrated in the President of Pakistan, and eventually, the military... The nominal elected chief executive, the Prime Minister, was frequently sacked by the establishment, acting through the President...
East Pakistanis noticed that whenever one of them, such as Khawaja Nazimuddin, Muhammad Ali Bogra, or Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy were elected Prime Minister of Pakistan, they were swiftly deposed by the largely West Pakistani establishment...The military dictatorships of Ayub Khan and Yahya Khan, both West Pakistanis, only heightened such feelings...
Finally, when
Sheikh Mujib's Awami League won a clear majority in the elections of 1970, the West Pakistan establishment
refused to allow Mujib to form a government...This finally convinced the East that they would never get their rightful political rights in a joint Pakistan and that independence was the only way out...
Language controversy
[
attachment=3007]
Close ties existed between East Pakistan and West Bengal, one of the Indian states bordering Bangladesh, as both were composed mostly of Bengalis...West Pakistan viewed East Pakistani links with India unfavourably as relations between India and Pakistan had been very poor since independence...
In 1948, Mohammad Ali Jinnah declared in Dhaka (then usually spelt Dacca in English) that
"Urdu, and only Urdu" would be the sole official language for all of Pakistan [3]...This proved highly controversial, since Urdu was a language that was only spoken in the West by Muhajir and in the East by Biharis...The majority groups in West Pakistan spoke Punjabi and Sindhi, while Bangla was spoken by the majority of East Pakistanis...The language controversy eventually reached a point where East Pakistan revolted...Several students and civilians lost their lives in a police crackdown on
February 21, 1952...The day is revered in Bangladesh and in West Bengal as the Language Martyrs' Day...Later, in memory of the 1952 killings,
UNESCO declared February 21 as the
International Mother Language Day. The deaths led to bitter feelings among East Pakistanis, and they were a major factor in the push for independence...
Impact of the tropical cyclone
[
attachment=3008]
The Bhola Cyclone Track
The already tense situation was further aggravated by a tropical cyclone that struck East Pakistan in 1970....It was the
most deadly and devastating cyclonic storm that caused the highest casualty in the history of Bangladesh—
the 1970 Bhola cyclone — struck Bangladesh claiming nearly
half a million lives.
Officially the death figure was put at
500,000 but it could be more...A total of
38,000 marine and
77,000 inland fishermen were affected by the cyclone...It was estimated that some 46,000 inland fishermen operating in the cyclone affected region lost their lives...More than
20,000 fishing boats were destroyed; the damage to property and crops was colossal...Over
one million cattlehead were reported lost... More than
400,000 houses and
3,500 educational institutions were damaged...The maximum recorded
wind speed of the 1970 cyclone was about
222 km/hr and the maximum storm surge height was about
10.6m and the cyclone occurred during high-tide...
The apathy of West Pakistan leadership and its failure in responding quickly was a further platform for the Awami League, that capitalised on this tragedy...The Pakistan Army failed to do relief work of any significance to alleviate the problem, which further antagonised the already estranged Bengali populace...
Political climax
The political prelude to the war included several factors...Due to the differences between the two states, a nascent separatist movement developed in East Pakistan...Any such movements were sharply limited, especially when martial law was in force between 1958 and 1962 (under General Ayub Khan) and between 1969 and 1972 (under General Yahya Khan)...These military rulers were of West Pakistani origin and continued to favour West Pakistan in terms of economic advantages...
Gen. Yahya's arrival in Dhaka in March, 1971
The situation reached a climax when in 1970 the Awami League, the largest East Pakistani political party, led by Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, won a landslide victory in the national elections
winning 160 of the 162 seats allotted for East Pakistan, and a majority of the 300 total seats in the National Assembly...This gave the Awami League the right to form a government...However, the leader of Pakistan People's Party,
Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, refused to allow Rahman to become the Prime Minister of Pakistan...Instead, he proposed a notion of two Prime Ministers...Bhutto also refused to accept
Rahman's Six Points...On 3 March 1971, the two leaders of the two wings along with the President General Yahya Khan met in Dhaka to decide the fate of the country...Talks failed...
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman called for a nation-wide strike...
Mujib's speech of 7 March
On March 7, 1971, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman gave a speech at the
Racecourse Ground (now called the
Suhrawardy Udyan)...In this speech he mentioned a further four-point condition to consider the National Assembly Meeting on March 25:
- 1. The immediate lifting of martial law.
2. Immediate withdrawal of all military personnel to their barracks.
3. An inquiry into the loss of life.
4. Immediate transfer of power to the elected representative of the people before the assembly meeting March 25...
He urged "his people" to turn every house into a fort of resistance...He closed his speech saying,
"The struggle this time is for our freedom...The struggle this time is for our independence." This speech is considered the main event that inspired the nation to fight for their independence....
[
attachment=3009]
click here for the audio
Military preparation in West Pakistan
General Tikka Khan was flown in to Dhaka to become Governor of East Bengal...East-Pakistani judges, including Justice Siddique, refused to swear him in...
MV Swat, a ship of the Pakistani Navy, carrying ammunition and soldiers, was harboured in Chittagong Port and the Bengali workers and sailors at the port refused to unload the ship...A unit of East Pakistan Rifles refused to obey commands to fire on Bengali demonstrators, beginning a mutiny of Bengali soldiers...
Between 10 and 13 March, Pakistan International Airlines cancelled all their international routes to urgently fly "
Government Passengers" to Dhaka...These so-called "Government Passengers" were almost all
Pakistani soldiers in civilian dress...
Violence of 25 March
On the night of 25 March, the Pakistani Army began a violent effort to suppress the Bengali opposition...Before this began, all foreign journalists were systematically deported from Bangladesh...Bengali members of military services were
disarmed...The operation was called
Operation Searchlight by the Pakistani Army and was carefully devised by several top army generals to "
crush" Bengalis...
[
attachment=3010] [
attachment=3011]
Although the violence focused on the provincial capital, Dhaka, the process of ethnic elimination was also carried out all around Bangladesh...Residential halls of University of Dhaka were particularly targeted...The only Hindu residential hall —
the Jagannath Hall — was destroyed by the Pakistani armed forces, and an estimated 600 to 700 of its residents were murdered...The Pakistani army denies any cold blooded killings at the university, though the
Hamood-ur-Rehman commission in Pakistan states that overwhelming force was used at the university...This fact and the massacre at Jagannath Hall and nearby student dormitories of Dhaka University are corroborated by a videotape secretly filmed by Prof. Nur Ullah of the East Pakistan Engineering University, whose residence was directly opposite the student dormitories...
Hindu areas all over Bangladesh suffered particularly heavy blows...By midnight, Dhaka was literally burning, especially the Hindu dominated eastern part of the city...Time magazine reported on August 2, 1971,
"The Hindus, who account for three-fourths of the refugees and a majority of the dead, have borne the brunt of the Muslim military hatred."
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was considered dangerous and, hence,
arrested by the Pakistani Army...The
Awami League was banned by General Yahya Khan...Other Awami League leaders were arrested as well, while a few fled Dhaka to avoid arrest..
Declaration of independence
On 26 March, the nation waged an armed struggle against the Pakistani occupation forces following the killings of the night of 25 March...The Pakistani forces arrested Sheikh Mujib, who, through a wireless message, had called upon the people to resist the occupation forces
[source: The Daily Star, March 26, 2005]...Mujib was arrested on the night of March 25-26, 1971 at about 1:30 a.m. (per Radio Pakistan’s news on March 29, 1971) which means effectively on March 26, 1971...
[
attachment=3012] [
attachment=3013]
On 26 March 1971,
M A Hannan, an Awami League leader from Chittagong, is said to have made the first announcement of the declaration of independence over radio,
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman signed an official declaration that read:
Today Bangladesh is a sovereign and independent country. On Thursday night West Pakistani armed forces suddenly attacked the police barracks at Razarbagh and the EPR headquarters at Pilkhana in Dhaka. Many innocent and unarmed have been killed in Dhaka city and other places of Bangladesh. Violent clashes between EPR and Police on the one hand and the armed forces of Pakistan on the other, are going on. The Bengalis are fighting the enemy with great courage for an independent Bangladesh. May God aid us in our fight for freedom. Joy Bangla.
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman
25 March 1971
(Source: "The History of the Liberation Movement in Bangladesh" by J. S. Gupta)
A telegram reached some students in
Chittagong...They realized the message could be broadcast from
Agrabad Station of Radio Pakistan...The message was translated to Bangla by Dr Manjula Anwar... They failed to secure permission from higher authorities to broadcast the message...They crossed
Kalurghat Bridge into an area
controlled by East Bengal Regiment under Major Ziaur Rahman... Bengali soldiers guarded the station as engineers prepared for transmission...At
19:45 on 26 March 1971, Major Ziaur Rahman broadcast another announcement of the declaration of independence on behalf of Sheikh Mujibur which is as follows.
26 March 1971 is hence considered the official Independence Day and according to all Bangladeshi sources, the name Bangladesh was in effect henceforth. Certain sources, especially of Indian and Pakistani origin, continued to use the name "East Pakistan" until the following 16 December.
Sources:
http://wikipedia.com
http://banglapedia.org
http://muktadhara.net
http://meltingpot.fortunecity.com/hastings/430/
http://www.mukto-mona.com
http://video.google.com
http://www.virtualbangladesh.com
http://kothon.org
http://www.drishtipat.org/1971/war.htm
http://www.majordalimbangla.com/books.html
http://www.ourbangla.com
http://www.liberationmuseum.org
http://www.bangladeshlive.net
***to be continued***
Here is a tale of one of better known survivors Ferdousi Proyobhasini.
courtesy: drishtipat.yahoogroup.com
Ferdousi Priyobhashinee in Tormenting 1971
Interviewed by Shahriar Kabir
I had seen many deaths, heard about many
incidents of women repression, but never
thought that I'd also have to become the
victim of such cruelty.
Ferdousi Priyobhashinee
Ferdousi Priyobhashinee, a renowned sculptor of Bangladesh,
was virtually imprisoned by the Pakistani occupation forces
and their collaborators at Khulna during the nine-month
Liberation War. She was on the secretarial staff of Crescent
Jute Mills. She witnessed the genocide, atrocities and
destruction of the occupation forces. While giving her
statement, she narrated how the Pakistani troops slaughtered
innocent Bangalees by guillotine with jute cutting machines of
the mill. She also became one of the victims of the barbaric
Pakistanis. She gave her testimony in seven installments
between September 25 and November 2, 1999.
I am Ferdousi Begum. In my early childhood, my grandfather
Abdul Hakim who was the Speaker of the then East Pakistan
Provincial Assembly, had given me an adorable name _
Priyobhashinee (girl with a sweet vocabulary). I'm one of the
quarter million Bengalee women who were raped by the
Pakistani forces in 1971.
I want to tell you about those horrible days and nights of 1971,
as the trial of those who killed three million Bangalees and
raped a quarter million women is yet to be held. The new
generation is completely ignorant about the frightful time we
spent during the war in 1971. I want to recall those terrible
times also because we know very little about the Pakistani
repression on women during our Liberation War. This is
because of our conservative society and family environment. I
hope that my statement will encourage other repressed women
to come forward with their own experiences and raise their
voice against the barbarism.
You may have read about the repression on women in 1971 in
the 8th volume of `Bangladesher Swadhinata Juddher
Dalilpatra' (Documents of Bangladesh Liberation War).
Professor Neelima Ibrahim in her book has also described
experiences of some rape victims without disclosing their
names. Three such victims had come from Kushtia to make
their statements when Jahanara Imam and others organised a
mock trial of Ghulam Azam in a public court held on 26th
March, 1992 in Dhaka. Later, I came to know how they were
humiliated after returning to their homes.
Neelima Ibrahim in her extraordinary book `Ami Beerangana
Bolchhi' has elaborated how Bangladesh society after
independence has denied the role of repressed women in the
war. Not only society, but many families had also refused to
accept them. She wrote that many of the heroic women were
not accepted by their fathers, husbands and other family
members. Although they knew their fate, some of these women
preferred to go to Pakistan along with the Pakistani soldiers
after the war was over.
The father of the newly-born state Sheikh Mujibur Rahman
wanted to rehabilitate the repressed women. He addressed them
as `Beerangana' (heroic women) showing due honour to them.
Even he could not succeed in securing their rightful place in
society with honour and dignity.
I have experienced the persecution by the Pakistani forces and
have also seen the same barbaric act among the local Bengalee
collaborators. Those who handed me over to Pakistani troops
were people of this land. We know about the courage of the
freedom fighters during the war, but I did not see the same
courage among them after the country was freed from the
occupation forces. They did not stand beside the rape victims.
When a woman of a family was being repressed during the war,
male members of the family were either in hideouts or had
already laid down their lives. Most of the women did not have
any means to flee, they had none to protect them. It was one of
the main reasons that they were the victims of repression.
Before presenting my testimony of 1971, I will say something
about myself.
I come from an aristocratic family. We had the inane pride of
aristocracy in our family, but our financial condition was
endurable. I was the eldest among eight children of my parents.
My father and mother were separated when I was only 15. This
compelled me to engage myself in a job just after I completed
high school education.
I got married with a student of engineering in 1962. I had to
bear the educational expenses of my husband, apart from my
younger brothers and sisters. I completed graduation but could
not continue my studies further.
I was divorced in 1968 when I was mother of three children.
Since then my children lived with their paternal grandmother at
Khulna. I was working at Crescent Jute Mills and residing with
my mother and younger brothers and sisters in the Khalishpur
area of the town.
In those depressing days, one of my senior colleagues, named
Ahsanullah, had extended his hands of sympathy to my helpless
family.
I was never involved in politics. But my family had a radical
cultural environment. My father was involved with the cultural
troupe of renowned dancer Bulbul Chowdhury and had made
many visits to Europe. My mother had learnt music from Ustad
Munshi Raisuddin. My uncle, Nazim Mahmud, who passed
away recently, was a leading cultural personality of the country.
Mainly because of him, I was associated with a cultural
organisation, Sandeepon. Music and dance were part of our
family heritage.
In the early 1971, Ahsanullah proposed to marry me when the
country's political situation was very uncertain. Ahsan's family
was very much against his decision to marry a divorcee with
three children. In fact, considering the future of my children and
bitter experience of my earlier marriage, I myself was not
interested in a second marriage. As Ahsanullah failed to
convince me, he sought help from my uncle Nazim Mahmud.
Though we were not married, Ahsanullah used to act like the
guardian of our family. Later, I agreed to marry him on advice
of my uncle.
Like all other places, Khulna's Khalishpur also became turbulent
with scattered clashes between Bengalees and Biharis during the
first half of March, 1971. As the situation was deteriorating, we
were paid off our salaries on March 20. Salary day was always
pleasing to me as I had to bear almost all the expenses of my
family. I used to wait for that day throughout the month.
I went to my office on March 24, but returned hurriedly
following a riot between Bengalees and Biharis in Khalishpur.
The Biharis set fire to many houses of Bengalees in the area. It
was the time of non-cooperation movement throughout the
country called by Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the leader of Awami
League, the party which won majority seats in the
parliamentary elections of 1970. The Pakistan army junta was
reluctant to hand over power to the elected representatives.
Like other government and semi government officials, the
members of East Pakistan Rifles (EPR) also joined the
non-cooperation movement against the military government.
The political situation was very uncertain.
Everything was dependent on the ongoing meeting between
Sheikh Mujib and Yahya Khan, the then President of Pakistan.
Failing to apprehend the consequences of the political situation,
I could not decide what to do. Earlier, we had seen political
unrest and series of strikes for a certain period which became
normal eventually. So I thought everything would be normal
again. I was optimistic that the legitimate demands of Sheikh
Mujib would be accepted. Even then I was tense as I watched
the anxiety among my colleagues. I was more concerned about
my job because if the jute mill went on strike and the office
remained closed for a long time, what would be the fate of my
family? If there was any irregularity in receiving my salary, we
would have to starve.
On 25th March, I did not go to office. I saw EPR personnel
were deployed on the streets. Some EPR personnel came to our
house and asked for drinking water. They also wanted to know
whether we were Biharis or Bengalee. We hesitated for a while.
Later, we informed them about our Bengalee identity. After
knowing our identity, they wanted to have some food. They
also cautioned us saying: "The situation is not good. We don't
think the negotiations will be effective. Don't leave the place."
The riot between Bengalees and Biharis spread throughout the
town on March 26. It turned more serious in the next two days.
Everywhere there was fire. The army came entered the town
on 29th March. Ahsanullah used to visit our house regularly and
everytime he insisted that we leave the troublesome area.
He was a labour officer of Jessore Jute Industries. As we were
not married at that time, he could not stay with us and was not
in a position to give us protection. However, he tried his best as
a family friend.
On March 30, he came with a jeep amidst a horrifying situation.
He parked the jeep near a graveyard close to our house and told
us to get ready to leave the place. I asked him, "Where shall we
go with such a big family? Who will give us shelter?"
"Don't argue. We shall have to leave the house immediately,"
he said and proceeded towards the main road. He returned
shortly and said, "The army and Biharis are coming."
Without delaying further, we came out of the house. The
Bengalee houses around the area were on fire. People were
running for safety. We could not board the jeep because it was
on the main road. We had to make a short cut through the
graveyard moving towards Jessore-Khulna highway. When we
were crossing the graveyard, I felt something abnormal under
my feet. I saw scores of corpes scattered on the ground. Those
were the bodies of Bengalee people killed by the Biharis.
After running for sometime, we reached the house of a village
leader, who was known to us. But he refused to give us shelter
saying that he could not provide shelter to supporters of the
Awami League. The man was involved in Muslim League
politics. So we had to look for another shelter and we decided
to go to my mother's house in Khulna. We took rickshaws from
Goalkhali gate. We found some Pakistan army men had set fire
to a bus and a rickshaw at Noornagar. We were afraid and
started walking, apprehending that the army might open fire if
the burning wheels of rickshaws blasted.
Late in the evening we reached the house of my maternal
grandfather at Muslimpara in Khulna town on foot. But we
were not feeling comfortable in the house. We felt that we had
become a burden on the family. The house had become too
crowded because many people had already taken shelter there.
It was quite embarrassing for us to stay there, but there was no
choice. Though we came to that house for security reasons, the
area was not free from army movement. The army used to
come quite often and we had to leave the house and take shelter
in a nearby paddy field or somewhere else.
I remember an interesting incident that happened during our
stay there. One day as the army came, we were rushing to hide.
An elderly woman of a neighbouring Hindu family asked me,
"Why are you fleeing?" I said, "The army is coming." I told her
to flee also. The old woman had never heard the word "army"
before this. She asked me whether the army was good or bad. I
told her, "It's not the time to discuss. Move at once." Then the
elderly lady said, "If I flee what will happen to my cattle?" Most
of the innocent people in the countryside were like that woman.
They were totally ignorant about the holocaust of the Pakistan
Army, and that is the reason the Pakistani forces could kill so
many innocent Bengalees during the war.
The entire day we had to take shelter in the cowshed of a
house, because firing was going on like hailstorm all around us.
After some days, the situation became apparently calm. I told
my mother, "Let's go back to Khalishpur. We're not even safe
here. If we have to die, it's better to be at our own place."
We came back to Khalishpur. The house was ransacked and
everything was looted. We were totally helpless. One day my
mother washed our clothes and hung those on the rooftop for
drying. Ahsanullah somehow saw the clothes and came to our
house. He was quite worried, and asked me, "Why have you
come back? Killings are taking place everyday, everywhere. I'm
leaving the place today. Because the army is looking for me."
He also asked my mother, why we had returned. My mother
told him, "What else shall we do? Is there any place to go?"
Suddenly I saw an army patrol on the street. We closed the
door immediately. Hearing the noise of massive firing, we
looked through a hole in the window and saw the killing of
15/16 people of Munshibari, a neighbouring house.
Ahsanullah left the house saying that he was not safe because
the army was looking for him. "If I stay here, the army will kill
you."
Along with my mother, brothers and sisters, I came out of the
house. Mother asked me to hire rickshaws for them. She
planned to go to Jessore to one of my brother's house. I gave
her my last hundred taka and said, "I'll join office as soon as it
opens. Then I'll send you money regularly."
Mother said, "Don't be upset. If we survive, we'll meet again."
Thus I became alone as my family and Ahsanullah left the
town. I went to many houses which were previously known to
me. Everybody was busy looking after their own safety.
Nobody gave me shelter. I stayed in the house of an engineer
for some days, but here too there was also a problem. His wife
did not want me to stay there. The engineer wanted to help me
which created a family problem. The engineer pleaded with his
wife, "How could I drive away a helpless girl in this situation?"
But his wife was adamant and I had to leave the place.
I felt very bad finding myself totally helpless. Standing on the
road, I was thinking what should I do? Where shall I go? All of
a sudden I found my non-Bengalee colleague Jahangir Kerala,
an accountant of our office. And that was the beginning of my
miseries and nightmares.
Jahangir asked me in a sympathetic voice, "Hi sister, what
you're doing here?"
I said, "I'm in a very bad situation." On finding the accountant,
I was thinking of getting some advance. I wanted to know
whether the office was open or not.
He said, "Yes, do you want to join?" Then he proposed to give
me a lift on his motorbike to reach the office. I told him that I
could not board the bike. I took a rickshaw and followed him.
He led me to a beautiful olive-coloured house in the Wireless
Colony area of the town. It was `Muscat House', residence of a
rich non-Bengalee. While going to office, I used to see the
house many times and wondered who lived in that beautiful
place. As he took me inside the house, I asked him, "Why have
you brought me here?" He did not reply.
After taking me to a room, he started behaving in an indecent
way. The man who never dared to talk to me before, pushed
me hard and said, "Don't move from this place. Some army
officers will come in the evening. You will be given a job."
Then he left the house.
I decided to leave the house at any cost. I saw two guards of
the house, through a hole in a window, who were discussing
something, pointing to the room where I was staying. I went to
them and said, "Could I have a cup of tea?" The younger one
replied, "Yes. But it will be cold." I told him it was fine. As he
went to bring tea, the other guard made a gesture to leave the
place. He seemed to be an angel to me.
The guy who had gone to bring tea returned to the gate when I
came down to the street. He shouted, "Where you are going?
You're not allowed to leave this house." Riding on a rickshaw
hastily, I replied, "I'm going to bring my clothes. I'll come back
soon."
Then I went to my office. The first man I found was the elderly
general manager Mr. Fidai, who was smoking a pipe casually.
He asked me, "Where have you come from?" To get his
sympathy I told him, "Sir, everyone has left me. I'm completely
alone. I don't know what to do."
He asked me, "Do you want to join the office?"
I said, "Yes sir, but I've no shoes, even my clothes are not
adequate. How can I attend office?"
He gave me a chit and asked me to meet the chief accountant.
The chief accountant gave me three hundred taka and said,
"Take a car and go shopping now. The car will also go to your
place tomorrow morning.Where do you stay?"By that time, I
had decided to stay at the house of a police inspector at Pabla,
instead of Khalishpur because it was dominated by the Biharis.
I knew the family of this police officer. Two young boys of this
family, who could sing very well, used to visit us quite often. As
I did not want to let the accountant know my address, I said,
"It's a very remote area. The car can't go up to my house."
"Okay, no problem. Tell the driver where to wait. The car will
go at 7:30 in the morning," he said.
The car came the following day. I attended the office. Within
half-an-hour, an accountant named Sultan Panjwani, a
non-Bengalee who had never dared to talk to me earlier, said
me in an intimate voice, "How are you? You're looking very
nice." He also made an indecent gesture. I gave him a hard
look.
After some time, Mr. Fidai phoned me and asked, "Where
you're going to have your lunch today?"
I replied, "In the office, sir." Then he said, "Why don't you take
lunch with me?"
To keep the general manager in a good humour, I agreed.
While having lunch he told me casually that, Captain Ishtiaque
would come in the evening to take me to the cinema.
I was afraid and said, "I don't watch films."
"Don't argue. There are many allegations against you. You have
to go with him," he ordered me in a commanding voice.
Before 1971, the man was like a saint to us. I worked with him
for a long time, and had never once thought that he could do
any misdeed or something bad to others. But, as soon as the
Liberation War started he emerged as a devil. He told me, "Go
upstairs and chat with Captain Ishtiaque."
As I went upstairs, Captain Ishtiaque asked me whether I
watched films and TV. I replied, "No, I don't watch films."
"Let's enjoy a movie today," he proposed.
Fidai ordered me to give Ishtiaque company. He came in the
afternoon to take me to cinema, but I told him that I was sick
and I would go some other day.
However, Fidai would not give up. When office was over, he
came to me and said, "Let's go out. I've some important things
to talk with you."
All the employees of the office were afraid of Fidai. They did
not have the courage to disregard his order. He made me more
afraid by saying, "Your brothers have joined the Liberation
War, so the army will not spare you. You'll have to
compensate."
Finding no other way, I sought mercy from Fidai, and requested
him saying, "You're like my father. I joined office on your
assurance. So please rescue me."
"I can help you if you cooperate with me," he said and tried to
embrace me. I burst into tears in fear. I felt humiliated. Then he
said, "Don't shout. It'll be no good. The army people will tear
and grab you."
The fact was that Fidai himself tried to tear me that night before
the army people grabbed me. I tried my best to protect myself
before I lost my sense. After I regained sense, Fidai shouted,
"You didn't cooperate with me. You shall have to face
consequences."
I said, "I want to go home."
"Go," he said.
It was around 8 or 9 p.m. One rickshaw was waiting in front of
the house in the dark of the night. It took me to my house. I
cried for the whole night recalling the threat by Fidai that the
`army will tear and grab you.' I could not sleep all the night.
Once I thought of committing suicide. I also thought of fleeing,
but could not. The faces of my children as well as my brothers
and sisters, who were dependent on my income for the last nine
years, kept me from killing myself.
I felt some anger at Ahsanullah. In my heart I considered him to
be my husband. He was like the guardian of our family. Why
had he left, leaving me all alone?
When one of my brothers joined the Liberation War, I had felt
very proud, but later I felt that he was the cause of my
humiliation. I also felt that nobody in the world was more
helpless than me. I had seen many deaths, heard about many
incidents of women repression, but I never thought that I would
also have to become the victim of such cruelty.
As the sleepless night was over, another day began. I took a
long shower and got ready to go to office. I felt like a prisoner
kept in a condemned cell. I thought that I would not get
freedom until the country is liberated. I realised the fear of the
army was a perennial matter for me, but at the same time I
would have to work to feed my children and family.
Fidai did not say anything to me for the next few days. I
thought he might be repentant, but I was wrong. Calling me to
his room again, he said, "Naval Commander Guljarin has called
for you. You were on the spot when Professor Bhuiyan was
killed. You are charged with murder."
I smelt of a fresh conspiracy.
Professor Bhuiyan was a colleague of my father at Doulatpur
College. He was a leader of the Peace Committee. The day I
had gone to the house of Afiluddin at Pabla, the naxalites killed
him in front of me.
I heard that Guljarin was a very ferocious person. He was
infamous for torturing women. I requested Fidai to protect me
saying, "You asked me to join the office. Now you're doing all
this against me. Then who will protect me?"
However, all my efforts to convince him went in vain. He
ordered me, "You'll have to reside in the bungalow of the mills
from today."
"According to my position, I am not entitled such a big
bungalow," I said, but he pressed me to go to the bungalow and
threatened to bring murder charges against me if I did not agree.
Finally I said, "I'll be afraid to live alone in such a big bungalow.
So please allot me a flat in the junior officers' colony."
At last Fidai compelled me to go to Naval Commander.
Commander Guljarin, an elderly man who looked very
dreadful, but spoke gently. As I entered the room, he told me to
sit down.
With a devilish smile on his face, Guljarin looked at me and
asked, "What do you want to be _ a friend, daughter or
anything else?"
Very nervously and in broken English I said, "Please behave
with me like a gentleman."
He said, "I'll make some proposals. You can accept or refuse.
Stay with me for one month. However, I'll not be able to give
you something special. But I'll be happy." Then he pawed my
back and shook me holding my neck.
Shivering in fear, I said, "How is it possible, sir ? How could I
stay here?"
Guljarin said, "Why not? I'll give you a lot of money. I'll send
money for your family."
After a pause, he said in a firm voice, "Your brothers have
joined the Liberation War. You need security. Stay with me. I
selected you as my secretary. You're the right person."
I started crying and pleaded with him to let me go.
He became restless and said, "Haven't you heard that women
who come to Commander Guljarin cannot go back ? Perhaps
you don't know
that. But don't worry, you'll be able to go back."
At that time two officers entered the room. When they saw me
crying helplessly, they started mocking me. One of them told
Guljarin jeeringly, "Sir, hand her over to us. We'll take her out
for a while."Guljarin refused, but they continued to scoff at
me.I was still crying. As they wanted to misbehave with me, I
pleaded with Guljarin: "I'll come to you later. Please let me go
now. I've a big family who are totally dependent on me. So it's
impossible for me to escape.", but Guljarin did not allow me to
go. He gradually become more terrible and tortured me like a
beast.
In the afternoon, he made me promise that I would have to
come to him whenever he called, and then only could I leave.
The next noon, two officers came to my office. They were
Naval Captain Aslam and Captain Ghani. Aslam was younger.
Ghani was older as he was promoted from non-commissioned
rank. They brought along an elderly jute inspector Fazlur
Rahman whose house was taken away by the Biharis and
turned it into a slaughter house. Mr. Rahman was looking very
pale. Ghani took him outside. As Mr. Rahman was leaving my
room, he gave me a blank look.
Captain Aslam wanted a glass of water from me. As I was busy
with my work, I asked the peon to give him the glass of water.
After a couple of minutes, Ghani came back. He handed over
Fazlur Rahman to the Biharis. Some time later the Biharis killed
him and played `hulia' (game with human blood). Some Biharis,
besmeared with the blood of Mr. Rahman, came to Captain
Aslam to confirm his death. I felt doomed watching the Biharis
whose hands were blood-stained.
The river Bhairab flows beside the Crescent Jute Mills. The jute
godown of the mill was on the bank of the river. It was only
200 yards from my quarter. One night I watched another
terrible incident near the godown.
One of my younger sisters was with me in the quarter. I kept
her as I was panic-stricken all the time. One night she told me,
"Sister, while I was sleeping last night I heard people shouting
`Save me, save me.' I'm afraid of living here."
I had assured her saying, "Okay, now please go to sleep, I'll
look after that." In those days I was so tired it was almost
impossible to remain awake all night. but I did not sleep that
night.
It was about 3:00 a.m. I heard someone shouting from a
distance "Save me, save me."
I sat on the bed and peeped through the window. There was a
truck parked in front of the godown. Some people, their faces
covered with black cloth, were walking around the area.
Suddenly the lights went dim. One person was brought down
from the truck. He was taken to a jute-cutting machine, which
looks like a guillotine. Then I saw the terrible incident. The men
with black cloth on their faces, put the man under the sharp
blade of the machine and within a couple of seconds, he was
beheaded. This barbaric act continued one after another.
After watching four killings in that way, I closed the window. I
could not sleep that night. I still cannot get rid of that nightmare.
Quite often I see in my dreams the images of the killers, faces
covered with black cloth ; through a hole in a window, the
beheaded dead bodies of those Bengalees ; the truck ; and the
cry _ `Save me, save me'.
Since then, I never stayed in that room. I could not tell my
sister about the blood-chilling incident, because it would make
her more frightened and she might have left my apartment
One night my sister told me, "Sister, the army has cordoned-off
our house." I noticed it too and asked her to hide. One army
man came forward and told me that Major Altaf Karim was
calling me downstairs.
I wanted to know who Altaf Karim was, but didn't reply and
asked me again, "Who is Ferdousi here?"
I told him, "She's not here. She has gone to Jessore. I'm her
maid."
He said, "You must be Ferdousi. We've come to take you with
us."
"No gentleman comes to anyone's residence in the middle of the
night. Please go away," I told the army personnel.
I recognised Lieutenant Korban, Captain Khaleq and Captain
Sultan among the group. That night they came to me after
attending a dinner in the house of Fidai, the general manager.
When the dinner was over, Fidai showed them my house. They
had also told me that Mamtaz, a niece of the then minister Mr.
Amjad was in the car.
My sister told me that she would commit suicide if they take me
away. I pressed clothes into her mouth to keep her from
speaking. If they come to know her presence, they would have
definitely taken away both of us.
I told the army men, "Don't take me now. My younger sister is
here. I'll send her to my mother. After that you can take me."
Then I asked them why they were so desperate to take me with
them. One of them replied that there was murder charge against
me.
I said, "Whatever it is, I'm not going now. I'll go in the
morning."It was almost dawn and they left my house.
I decided to send my sister to my mother as I realised that it
was not safe for her to stay with me any longer.
After going to the office, I phoned the general manager and
described the incident that had taken place that night. He told
me that he knew everything. "Didn't you entertain them? You
have been kept here for that purpose. Don't try to escape. If
you try to flee, you'll be killed."
I said, "How I can stay here in this situation? This is tantamount
to killing me."
At this stage, he got angry and said, "Colonel Khatak will talk to
you. You'll have to go to Jessore. His people will come to take
you. If you disagree, you'll be sent to a concentration camp.
You'll never be able to return from there."
Captain Sultan, Lieutenant Korban and a non-Bengalee
businessman Malik Yusuf came to me at night with a letter
from Fidai. They took me to Jessore. On the way they raped
me in the car.
I was raped again by them in the billiard room at Jessore
Cantonment, before I was handed over to Colonel Khatak.
I have no language to express my mental condition of that time.
I saw the dumping of dead bodies of Bengalees killed by Biharis
and the Pakistani army, in the graveyard. Their burial was not
held. I felt that my body was not mine, and it seemed to be
decomposed. Several times, I lost my senses following
continued torture. Once I remained unconscious continuosly for
28 hours. I cannot remember when the doctors visited me, or
what treatment I was given.
Colonel Khatak and Colonel Abed interrogated me over
Professor Bhuiyan's killing. They accused me of having contact
with my brothers who had joined the Liberation War.
There was no dearth of excuses for unleashing torture on me.
However, I know they tortured and killed millions of people
without any cause. I knew my answers would not make them
happy and they would not release me. At one stage, I stopped
replying to any of their questions. I told them, "Please kill me.
Don't torture me in this way, but unfortunately it was not my
fate to be killed by the Pakistanis. I was brutally tortured by
both Colonel Khatak and Colonel Abed. Colonel Abdullah and
Colonel Zafar also tortured me at Jessore Cantonment in the
name of interrogation. My request, my tears, my resistance, my
hate - nothing could stop the Pakistani army officers who held
high ranks. I read many stories of repression by the Nazi
soldiers, I also watched many films on the second World War,
but all those incidents of repression faded in front of the
brutality of the Pakistani forces I witnessed everyday in 1971.
During the horrifying days of my nine-month long captive life, I
found only one Pakistani army officer who seemed to be
comparatively gentle. He came to Jessore Cantonment one
night. Watching my condition, he became astonished. He said,
"Could you remember me? I met you at Crescent Jute Mills.
I'm Major Altaf Karim. I liked you. I think you're a woman
with self-respect. I still like you. Whatever it is, I want to tell
you something. My father is the principal of a college. I did not
want to come here. But I've been compelled to do so. I've been
asked to take you to the concentration camp. Would you please
go there to have a glimpse?"
Today I know what a concentration camp is, but in those days,
I had no idea. I asked him, "Where's the camp? Would I be
able to return to my home from there?"
Altaf said, "I've been asked to take you to the camp for a visit.
As you have denied every allegation brought against you, you're
being taken to see the camp. I can't help you to go back home.
Anyway, how do you want to go to the camp? By rickshaw or
jeep?"
I said, "I can't walk. It will be better to go by jeep."
The concentration camp was like a small barrack. There were
so many rooms. I heard the sound of beating and the groaning
of people who were tortured there. Altaf informed me that the
sound carries the message of torture. He also asked me whether
I wanted to see more.
The scenes made me frightened and I lost my strength. I was
unable to remain standing. I told Altaf, "I don't want to see
anything more. Please let me free."
"You have a pact with Guljarin. I can't do anything. However, I
can submit a report that you were kept here for two days."
Later I saw Altaf hurling abuses on me in front of others.
One day he took me to Brigadier Hayat on a jeep. Hayat gave
me a letter, and said, "You'll be staying at the place where you
have been told to stay so that we can get you whenever we
need. The interrogation is not yet complete."
That day, Major Ekram took me to the jute mill at Khalishpur
at the request of Major Altaf, who was his friend. I came to
know more about Major Ekram later through some important
works.
One day an officer from Khulna Army Headquarters phoned
me and asked whether I knew anyone named Farid of Pabla.
"Yes, I know him," I said. I had met Farid at the residence of
the police inspector, where I had taken shelter.
The officer said, "He has been caught. He requested that you
be contacted."
At first I thought it was a trap. Later I figured that if it was true,
I would have to do something for Farid. At the same time I also
knew I would have to return the favour to the army people if I
asked for any favour for Farid. Gripped in shock and
frustration, I told the phone caller that I would do something the
next day.
The officer informed that Farid had been sent to Jessore the
previous day.
I knew that Major Altaf was in Jessore. Immediately, I made a
phone call to him and giving a description of Farid I told Altaf
that army had arrested an innocent boy. Altaf said, "Your case
was an exception. I tried my best for you. But I can't do
anything for that boy. Major Korban is at this moment beating
him up."
Later Major Altaf inquired about Farid and told me that he
would not be released, because, the army had recovered a letter
of the Muktibahini from his possession. Altaf also advised me to
come to Jessore and contact Major Ekram.
Accordingly, I went to Jessore and rang up Major Altaf, who
helped me meet Major Ekram. Farid was then under Ekram's
supervision.
Ekram asked me how I got to know Farid. He also told me that
they had found a letter of the Muktibahini on him. I said, "It's a
conspiracy. In fact, one of his step-brothers conspired against
him and kept the letter in his pocket."
"Well, come three days later to take Farid," Major Ekram
assured me. Later he made arrangement for me to meet Farid.
As soon as I entered the room, Farid touched my legs and said,
"Sister, rescue me please."
I tried to console him saying, "Don't worry. Nothing will happen
to you."
After three days, I went to Jessore to bring Farid. Major Ekram
behaved very politely with me. Perhaps, Major Altaf had told
him something about me.
Meanwhile, my brother Shibli met up me. He told me, "Sister,
you know Major Ekram. He has some maps of important
places of Jessore.Besides, I need to visit their conference room.
Could you take me to him?"
At first, I hesitated out of fear, because I knew it was very easy
for the army to know that Shibli was a freedom fighter. Later I
thought I could take Shibli keeping his identity secret. He was
19 at that time, but looked only 16. His face was very innocent
looking.
I phoned Major Ekram and told him, "You did a lot for me. I
like to see you just to express my gratitude."
Ekram asked me to come the next day.
It was a holiday. Along with Shibli, I went to see Major Ekram.
I introduced him as Syed Hasan, my younger brother.
Shibli had the ability to gain a person's confidence within a very
short time. He started talking with Major Ekram on various
subjects. Ekram was also very cordial. He tried to convince
Shibli to his point of view, saying that if the country is divided,
the economic condition would further worsen. Shibli agreed
with him. Ekram invited us to the lunch. I said, " I have to do
overtime in the office. So I have to leave now. I'll come another
day."
Shibli asked Ekram, "Do you play cards?"
"Why not? Will your sister also play?"
"She can't play," Shibli said, adding, "I'll show you some
tricks."
Later Ekram took us to the adjoining room where he used to
take rest. Although Ekram was entrusted with some important
responsibilities, things in his room used to remain at sixes and
sevens. Many important documents were on the table.
Ekram went to the toilet before the game started. Shibli
searched the room for some papers he needed. He found them
under the mattress and kept them in his pocket. Shibli looked
very nervous at that time.
Then they started playing cards. After some time I said, "Now I
have to go. Otherwise, it will be difficult to get a bus to return."
Before seeing us off, Ekram said, "Please let me know if you
face any trouble."
Later, Shibli and his comrades blew up some important
installations in Jessore with the help of the maps he had taken
from Ekram's room.
There was some trouble when we're returning from Jessore in
that afternoon. The local Razakar (militias collaborating with the
Pakistani army) commander Sabdar Ali followed us and
boarded the bus. He pushed at me with his gun and asked,
"What's your name?"
I replied confidently "Why are you asking my name?"
He said, "You'll be taken into custody. You are a naxalite."
In an angry tone, I said, "What will you do?'
"I will arrest you," the Razakar said.
He again hit me with his gun and said, "Come on. I'll teach you
a good lesson." He also pointed the gun at me and threatened to
shoot, but could not do so due to protests by the bus
passengers.
After sometime, he disembarked from the bus as it reached near
Avoynagar police station. Before getting down he said, "I have
already hung two heads (of Bengalees) at the Shaheed Minar.
I'll hang more heads."
Later I was shocked to see two heads hanging on the Shaheed
Minar beside the road. The two ill-fated Bengalees were killed
and beheaded by the Razakars.
After some days, I received a phone call while working at my
office. "I'm Captain Zafar from the Naval headquarters. I heard
a lot of good words about you. I would like to see you," the
caller said. I refused to meet him, but he used to visit me
frequently. Captain Jalil, who came from West Pakistan, also
used to disturb me.
I was not spared by any of the junior officers.
In late September, I became pregnant after being raped
repeatedly by Pakistanis. I was bewildered. I could not sleep at
all. I used to feel the unholy touch of the Pakistanis on my body
each and every moment. There was nobody to console me. I
could not share my pain and agony with anyone. At last I
decided to remove the stigma of the Pakistanis from my body
through abortion.
I knew Dr. Kader of Khulna. When I went to him and told him
about my decision, he said, "Arrange for the money required.
I'll manage everything." He wanted 250 Taka, but I could not
collect more than 200 despite frantic effort for seven days.
Dr. Kader said, "I don't take less than 250 taka."
"It is impossible for me to collect any more," I said, requesting
him to perform the operation.
Then Dr. Kader said, "I need the permission of your husband."
In those days, the process of abortion was not as modern and
easy as these days. It was compulsory for a doctor to have the
consent of the husband of the patient. I pleaded Dr. Kader
saying, "My husband is not available here at this moment. So I
am my own guardian." At last he agreed to do the abortion and
I was freed from the filth.
In the month of December, the Pakistani army started retreating
in the face of strong resistance by the freedom fighters. But the
scenario inside the Crescent Jute Mills and Khalishpur area was
different.
Since late November Biharis had started killing Bengalees living
in the area. Killings were also taking place inside and outside of
the jute mill. Everyday hundreds of Benglaees went missing.
The general manager of the mill, Fidai, made frequent visits to
Pakistan at that time.
Meanwhile, another untoward incident occurred on December
2. One Bihari driver named Rashid used to drive me to my
house everyday. That day he was drunk and forcibly took me
to a dark street near Newsprint Mills instead of my house. He
was driving like a mad men. I protested and he shouted abuses
in Urdu and also made indecent gestures. I screamed and hit his
neck, and then got down from the car by breaking the lock. At
that time my left hand was badly injured. I still carry the marks
of that injury.
The next day Khawaja Mohammad Ali, a senior officer of the
mill, asked me about the previous day's incident. He also asked
me why I did not tell him about the incident earlier.
I said, "Sir, these days it is very difficult for me to decide on to
whom I should lodge any complaint. I don't know who can help
me."
On December 4, I received a telephone call from Ahsanullah.
He informed me that a conspiracy had been hatched to kill me.
He advised me to rush to another jute mill, Jessore Jute
Industries. He also said that all the four gates of our mill were
already closed.
After a few minutes I had another phone call from Major Altaf
Karim who was in Jessore. "The situation here is very bad.
We're battling with Mukti Bahini face to face. I don't know
whether I'll survive," he said. He apologised to me and said, "If
you come to know that I'm no more, please inform my father
and brother." He gave me his home address. Finally he said, "I
know our fight is unjust. But I'm a soldier. I have nothing to
do."
Once Altaf had proposed marriage. He also wanted to carry the
responsibilities of my children. He told me, "The non-Bengalees
here know that I love you. They will kill you in my absence. In
Pakistan you'll get the honour of being my wife. If your
husband comes back, I'm sure that he will not accept you."
I refused his proposal promptly and told him, "I don't bother if
my husband accepts me or not. You're a good human being.
But I can't think of marrying a Pakistani. You know the reason.
The hate for Pakistanis in my mind will remain forever."
Altaf didn't proceed further. I saw him for the last time on
December 4. It was very difficult to recognise him as his face
was pale. We did not talk that day. He gave me a salute before
leaving the place.
During the war, Altaf was the only Pakistani I met who had
some conscience. He knew the Pakistanis were doing wrong.
Except Altaf, all the Pakistanis - from soldiers to high ranking
officers -were sadists. They used to enjoy killing innocent
people.
After receiving the phone calls, I went to my house. I tried to
come out after packing my clothes in a wooden box, but the
Biharis intercepted me at the gate. I could not leave the place.
I got another phone call from Khawaja Mohamad Ali the next
noon. He said, "Major Belayet Shah is coming to my office
today. If you want, you could go out with him."
In fact, I told Mohammad Ali earlier that I wanted to leave the
area. At first I hesitated to go with Major Belayet Shah. He was
crazy for women, but I had no alternative. That day he made
an indecent proposal. He wanted to take the car to a dark place
on the highway to Khulna. To save myself, I told him, "Mukti
Bahinis are guarding the area. They will kill you."
Whatever the reason, Major Shah did not proceed further. I got
down from the car in front of Jessore Jute Industries to meet
my husband. As soon as I saw Ahsanullah, I became very
emotional and angry with him, for having left me in a helpless
situation. I was shouting and crying as if I had gone insane. I do
not know what happened to me. In anger, shock and pain, I
came out from Jessore Jute Industries and returned to Crescent
Jute Mills in the evening.
On December 6 at noon, Aktar, a Bihari clerk of my office,
phoned me and said, "I always liked you, but couldn't express
myself. Now I'm giving you an important news. Just now I got
a message that you'll be killed shortly. So leave the place
without delaying any moment."
I came out. The main gate was a quarter mile away from my
office. I was apprehending an attack on the way, but I was
lucky and got a rickshaw. I asked the puller to drive the
rickshaw speedily.
On the way I found Anwar, another clerk of my office, who
lived on the third floor of my building. He was going to office.
When I reached the main gate, the gatekeeper said, `Just now
Anwar was killed.'
I got a baby-taxi in front of the gate. The driver demanded a
fare three times higher than the normal rate, but I was not in a
position to bargain. I quickly boarded the taxi and went to
Jessore Jute Industries.
Ahsanullah was waiting, and as soon as I reached there, he
received me with a hearty embrace.
I told him everything. He said, "You're a great freedom fighter.
Don't worry thinking about how Pakistanis treated you."
The general manager of Jessore Jute Industries Mr. Idris was a
non-Bengalee. However, he was not like our general manager
Fidai. Mr. Idris protected the Bengalee staff of the mill from the
attack of the Pakistanis. Ahsanullah had joined work in
November on his assurance.
On December 6, Mr. Idris was ordered by the military authority
in Jessore Cantonment to leave the mill along with all
non-Bengalees and go to Khulna.
The order was given because the army had planned to kill all
the Bangalee staff of the mill. But Mr. Idris was committed to
protecting each and every staff member of his mill. He took all
his staff, along with us, to Khulna. We took shelter at Hotel
Selim. The mill authorities bore all the expenses and Mr. Idris
made the arrangements. He was the only non-Bengalee who
was duly honoured by his Bengalee staff after independence.
Finally Bangladesh came into being as the occupation forces
surrendered on December 16.
The next day Ahsanullah said, "Let me take you to a particular
place."
We boarded a car. He took me to Gallamari mass grave in
Khulna were we found thousands of dead bodies lying on the
ground. We saw many corpses also on the cultivated lands _
jute fields, paddy fields. Those were the dead bodies of
innocent Bengalees who were killed by the Pakistanis and their
collaborators only three or four days back.
It was a horrible scene. But there was a strange feeling inside
me. Standing in front of scores of human bodies, I was thinking
about the terrible experience I had undergone during the nine
months of the Liberation War. I thought, though I am alive,
there is no difference between my body and the corpses lying
on the ground before me.
Today, whenever I recall the dreadful days and nights of 1971,
I feel that for the last 32 years I have been carrying a body,
which is fatigued and decomposed.
