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Anisur Rahman has written the book ‘Mother of Bengal’ (Our Bangamata), an epic monologue of the exceptionally great woman of human history, with the help of his study-plan, imagination and history
Published : 14 Aug 2023, 04:34 AM
Mother of Bengal: an epic monologue (First Episode)
Mother of Bengal: an epic monologue (Second Episode)
Third Episode
1971
I can remember Hasina’s time of birth.
Hasina was born on Sept 28, 1947.
How happy everyone was!
Me too, when looking back.
That girl will be a mother now. Our situation is beyond description – no place to sit, food is uncertain, all of the family are scattered.
Parents in-law are in Tungipara.
Their misery will know no boundaries if the Hyenas attack them.
I don’t know where my husband is or how he is.
Will he be killed?
No, I don’t want to think such terrible thoughts.
Today I can remember very much that auspicious day.
The speech of 7th March; my husband was tense.
I asked, 'Why are you tense?’
He said, 'I am thinking about what I will tell the audience at today's rally.’
`Everybody is looking at me.
'They have to be given directions.’
I said, `Don’t be tense.
`Go there with a calm mind.
`Just tell them what you’re saying, there’s no point in thinking before.
`I know you’ll know exactly what to say.
`You will know what to say when you look at the people who are there.
`Beware, people are in front of you and bullets are behind you.
`Only you can do what your mind wants.’
[Sheikh Fazilatunnesa is entering into the room talking to herself; Sheikh Mujibur Rahman is sitting on the dining table]
Today is March 23; how many days has it been?
You have discussed for so many days, but told me nothing about the result.
But remember, if you compromise, people of the country will be angry with you.
On the other hand, the army of Yahiya Khan will kill you at any given time.
People want freedom.
The night of March 25; at 12.1 O-clock suddenly I saw some army men wearing helmets entering into the No. 32.
There was relentless firing.
We were all in Kamal’s room.
My husband stepped in front and said, `I am here. Shoot me.’
They said they had come to arrest Bangabandhu.
I packed his suitcase;
Inserted Duri in the pyjama;
A number of pipes for smoking, pot of tobacco.
We left the rented house of Malibagh Chowdhury Para.
What more could we do?
They are afraid of us; we are the family of Sheikh Mujib.
The army will burn our house down to ashes.
The army blazed after we had left the area.
Now Badrunnesa Ahmed gave us shelter on their ground floor.
We had nothing.
The neighbours have helped and given us many things.
Plate, cauldron – we got nothing with us.
We are not safe here either.
Even though this house is not visible from the main road, a devoted man of my husband gave away the address to the military.
The military came and took all of us.
Now our confinement starts at No. 26 of road No. 18 of Dhanmondi.
I am Renu.
Hasina
Rehana
Jamal
Russel
And uncle Khoka is with us.
We have a shelter which is in the grip of Pakistani Hyena soldiers.
And we have gone to many places for shelter to save our lives.
Who will give us shelter?
Everyone has anxiety.
Everyone is in danger.
The soldiers are looking for us, as frenzied as mad dogs.
All to whom we go just say no, no.
Nobody will give shelter to the family of Sheikh Mujib.
This is coercion; this is oppression.
This can’t go on.
I know someday it will end.
The country will be free of the enemy one day.
But, till that day we have to survive.
Hasina, Rehana and Russel are only with me.
Hasu went to hospital at the end of July.
When I was ready to leave, I couldn’t even go with her.
The soldiers stopped me from going there.
They said, 'Are you a doctor, since you have to go to the hospital?’
Hasina was taken to the hospital.
I was not permitted to go with her.
Being a mother, how can I remain calm?
Another one said in a threatening tone, 'Are you a doctor who has to go with her?’
How can a gang of hyenas possibly understand the importance of a mother's presence with her pregnant daughter?
I cried all night long; could not sleep.
`Barir pashe arshinagar’ is also a favourite of mine.
[This song will be playing]
Neighbours live there
I could not see him for once …
This song is also my husband's favourite.
I went to the hospital; for that reason the armed men misbehaved with the nurses.
They go too far.
One day I yelled at them.
`I will report to your officers.
`How dare you?
`What are you going to do?’
Oh! It’s unbelievable what we remember at times.
Rehana and Russel are with me.
They are children too?
Where will we go?
What will we do?
What will we eat?
Where will we sleep?
How much does Russel the child understand?
How long will the boy endure the pain of fasting?
Everything has become such a mess.
It was May 13.
My legs were shattered.
Got a blanket and an empty cauldron
We passed the day and night fasting.
Even little Russel
What pain it was for a mother!
How can I explain it?
A vehicle brought food to the soldiers on watch duty.
They ate with pleasure.
I saw it with my children.
Military blazed the house in Tungipara into ashes.
Preventing parents from leaving with us.
What to do?
I asked Doctor Nurul Islam to get them admitted to PG hospital.
He remembered what I asked him, which gave me many opportunities.
Every day I’m free to meet them.
I get the what-abouts of Kamal in jail.
Get the what-abouts of Moni.
Have an opportunity to meet others.
PG has become the main meeting point.
On August 5, the birthday of Kamal, Jamal was missing.
I was frantic about losing my son.
I said to the soldiers, 'You took my son to the cantonment.’
You have killed my son, bring him to me.
Rehana knew everything, out of fear she didn’t say anything.
Later, realising my situation, she spoke, told me that Jamal had gone to the Liberation War.
We heard the voice of Jamal – brothers, they are killing men, come on, we will kill the beasts.
Rehana made me hear the voice.
This is the voice of Jamal.
Okay, he has arrived, I see.
There is Kamal.
There is Moni.
Nothing to be worried about
I have bought five hundred cups to serve tea to the leaders and party workers.
All of those were beyond my disposal.
The house of No. 32 is in ruins today.
Today, in this time of war, the chief of Tehrik E Istiqlal Party of Pakistan Air Marshal Azgar Khan arrived in Dhaka, and went to PG hospital to see my sick father in law.
There I met him.
I said Azgar Khan, Pakistan army is committing genocide on the people of Bengal.
Raise your voice about this genocide to the people of the country.
Protest it.
I did not tell him about the release of the man [Mujib] deliberately.
The country will exist if the people of the country exist.
If the country exists, the people will set their Bangabandhu free – I believe this.
One day the household boy Abdul brought a basket of broken cup-plates.
A man was struggling with Abdul to get them, and started arguing.
Though those were broken, I was happy with my lost things.
After the genocide of March 25, our pet dog Tomy was in the house of No. 32.
How did he find house No. 26 of road No. 18?
Only God knows!
Tomy was pushing the gate with the claws, and the gatemen opened the gate.
You don’t open the door for me, but you open the gate twice a day for my dog.
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
How can people say such unbelievable things?
This will go on until the arrival of Hasina’s father in the country.
This is all disgusting!
Today, December 16, the commander of Pakistan invading force Niazi surrendered.
My children were very happy.
The invaders who keep us confined have to surrender too.
Hey Habilder, your Niazi has surrendered, now you surrender.
Today, December 17, the Indian Major Ashoke seized the house of road No. 18 with a company of soldiers.
I got this information earlier.
Now the time is ours.
`Habilder, Hatiar Dal Do.’
[The members of Pakistan army keep surrendering putting their arms one after another]
Now, it is our turn.
Now we will stampede the flag of Pakistan.
Will ablaze
Now see, who will come to protect.
Joy Bangla.
Kamal has come back.
Jamal has come back.
The Freedom Fighters are returning one after another.
Waiting for my husband Sheikh Mujibur Rahman to return
The last week of December of 1971
I went to the house of Professor Nilima Ibrahim at Fular Road, taking Russel with me.
Arrived there at 8 am
The maid of their house ran inside the house and said, `Amma [mother], Sheikh Mujib’s wife has come.’
I could hear the voice of Nilima Apa [elder sister] – how would she come here?
'Yes mother, she is standing at the door of your house.’
I don’t understand what you’re saying, how can you recognize her?
After their conversation, Nilma Apa came, took us inside the house and offered us a seat.
`Nilima Apa, so many journalists from around the world come and ask all sorts of questions.
Everyone answers as they wish, some which I can understand, some I can’t.
So, you have to be with us until morning when your brother comes back.
We went back home, taking Nilima Apa with us.
Mr Syed Nazrul Islam wants to bring a sofa set.
Let the man come first, and then all this will do.
Everyone who will come to my house, will sit on this Mora [a local sitting instrument made with bamboo stick or cane] and the chair.
When your brother is out of jail, the bricks of my veranda will fall down when the brothers of Mujib Bhai are strolling by.
And when he was in jail, in those bad days, Quazi Golam Mostafa and some other keen friends stood by our side with shopping bags.
Nilima Apa. I have frequently learned how to swim and drown.
Didn’t let the children be foppish.
Apa, come, see, what Moshtaq Bhai says today.
He says, Thajuddin Bhai has sold out the country.
I have to speak, communicate with leaders and journalists from home and abroad; perhaps I have to go on doing that until my husband returns.
To be continued …
[Translation: Debashish Deb; edited by Frank Bergsten]
