Killing of intellectuals
I would like to share with your readers a poignant moment in my life, one that has left deep scars and now a deeper understanding of 1971. My story should leave no one in doubt (detractors please note) that the struggle in 1971 was indeed a struggle to liberate our soil from colonial forces bent on destroying our Bengali culture and heritage. I was an eyewitness to the horrific manifestations of an ideology, which was racist and violent in nature. It would stop at nothing to perpetuate the communal bias of the Pakistani ruling classes and its armed hordes. It didn't matter that the majority in East Pakistan were Muslims- what really mattered was that the Bengalis must never be allowed to be the managers of the state of Pakistan.
I was an eight grader in 1971 barely mature to comprehend the dynamics of 1971. We lived in Purana Paltan in an apartment complex that also housed several journalists. Our neighbours were Ladu Bhai (S.A.Mannan), Mohammed Akhter, Sayed Kamaluddin, Mr. Karim and Mufazzal Bhai. The fact that Purana Paltan was in close proximity to all the newspaper offices in Motijheel was a primary consideration for these journalists to live there. We had the good fortune to be exposed to foreign newspapers and my father enjoyed the complimentary access to local news, which some of these journalists provided.
I shall dwell upon my brief acquaintance with Ladu Bhai and Akhter Shaheb. He lived on the first floor and worked for a woman's weekly, no longer in circulation, and was called Lolona. He was a bachelor and hailed from Tangail. Ladu Bhai was originally from West Bengal and worked as sports editor for The Pakistan Observer. Since Ladu Bhai lived with his mother, sister, and two brothers, we met more often socially. He was unmarried.
Ladu Bhai was the quintessential gentleman and an avid soccer fan. Always dressed immaculately, Ladu Bhai never missed a smile whenever we crossed path. During winters he put on designed neck scarves and bright sports coats that essentially reflected his sports persona. He was extremely caring towards his mother, sister and the brothers. Ladu Bhai seemed apolitical and was really focused on sports. Akhter Shaheb, on the other hand, probably engaged in socio political discourse as his apartment had lots of visitors including feminists, poets and writers. He had a rich collection of foreign journals and books. As a young man with the urge to learn I was always welcome to enjoy this privilege, the afternoons were the best time to visit him.
Around 12 December, early morning, several masked men armed with small firearms asked the darwan to open the collapsible gates to our apartments. All the residents were ordered to report and assemble on the ground floor. It was like the Nazis herding up all the Jews. We stood quietly in the cramped corridor, can't remember how many of us were there but it certainly was crowded. The murderers came prepared reading out names from a list. Mufazzal Shaheb, Ladu Bhai, and Akhter Shaheb were asked to leave the premises and to wait outside. Tara Bhai and my uncle, Sayed Kamaluddin, sensing imminent danger had exit plans which they put to use a couple of days earlier. Mufazzal Shaheb somehow managed to convince the executioners that he wasn't a journalist and was merely a press operator. Akhter Shaheb was wearing a silver Burmese Lungi and I can't exactly remember Ladu Bhai's attire.
If memory serves me correctly sometime in early morning of 17th the entire city was abuzz with the findings in Rayer Bazar. We arranged a ride immediately in Saleem Bhai's car (a neighbor). Soon we reached Rayer Bazar and walked into a shameful and brutal legacy of the defeated army. The bloated bodies of several men and that of Ms. Selina (a journalist) were either in the knee-deep waters of the brickfield or on the surface. It was a ghastly scene, one etched in my mind forever.
As I was little, I needed help to negotiate my way to the bottom of the brickfield. Several people were busy trying to recover Dr. Fazle Rabbi's decomposed body from the bottom. He was our family physician and had a practice in Baitul Mukarram. I positioned myself on top of some bricks making sure not to step in to the water, a subconscious act not to disturb the sanctity of the open grave.
I didn't quite expect to find Ladu Bhai and Akhter Shaheb in Rayer Bazar and was hoping they would come home soon. Sadly it soon transpired that I was wrong. There they were in a far corner mercilessly bayoneted all over the body just as they had done to Ms. Selina. I had some difficulty trying to recognize Akhter Shaheb but the silver lungi gave him away. We gathered around them for sometime. It suddenly dawned on me that that there was a duty to inform. But honestly I don't remember what happened next as in most bad dreams. Unfortunately the passing of Ladu Bhai and Akhter Shaheb wasn't a bad dream. It was a tragedy, which unfolded on our soil in 1971, and the local perpetrators now seem to suffer from dementia.
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