Coming home

No sooner was I out of the aircraft, I hurriedly took off my coat. End of December, but so hot! Even the rays of the sun, that in winter seem to give a soothing feeling, were scorching me. I recalled the night before, at Karachi airport, where the whole night we were on our feet, either standing on the same spot for hours at a stretch or walking up and down, for that was the best arrangement awaiting us!  What a night it was! Besides the chilling effect of the cold outside, some security people were being a nuisance by coming every now and then, fidgeting with people's  belongings, even opening up the snack boxes, running a stick through the contents of the box, making it all unfit to be eaten! The day dawned and we were led to a place where snacks and tea were served. Three long hours of waiting and still no sign of the plane. It was delayed, so we were treated to another round of snacks and tea. It was soon after that that we were led to the plane. Some seemed to have gone to the washroom and were seen rushing back, panting and out of breath, as soon as they heard that announcement.  It was an Afghan chartered plane. The cabin crew were far from friendly. Maybe they thought they were dealing with prisoners so they didn't need to be polite. Even the Pakistanis had been more cordial in their approach, the ones in position, so to speak!  Seeing a crew member, a male, being rough with a young boy just because he was not able to fasten the seat belt quickly, I couldn't check myself, and intervened, “Excuse me! If the boy can't do it, aren't you supposed to help? That's part of your job, I know, and demeanour is important for you!”
He looked at me and, all of a sudden, he was a different person, all smiles, and looked humble too.  
“Sorry, I'm a bit stressed today. Didn't realize,” he smiled.
My folks didn't seem too happy with my intrusion, but that is the way I am, a bit bold at times and too straightforward, but I am trying to keep it in check now.  All's well that ends well, and at last we landed at Dhaka airport!  From the airport, we were whisked away to the B.A.F. Officers Mess in no time.
“So this is my beautiful Bangladesh!”  I exclaimed.  “Ah! What bliss! Freedom, you smell so sweet!” I could not contain my joy.
Was this real? I recalled how we had pined for this moment during our days of confinement that stretched into months and then years. Our hopes, gradually, had started dwindling, and uncertainty had settled in.
” Will we ever see our motherland?” That was the question we would ask time and     again, and only uncertainty greeted us.
More than the physical hardships we were passing through, anxiety seemed to be killing us. We were almost spiritually dead at the fag-end of our tenure in concentration. How I longed to be on the other side of those barbed wires! Every time I took a stroll out for a change, I saw the security guards with their guns, which was surely not a very comfortable feeling. As if this was not bad enough to demoralize me, I was given a word of caution from my parents that considering the fact that the situation was far from normal, the less we were seen outside, the better. Blow after blow! All sorts of rumours were reaching our ears. The fathers were the ones to be used for the POW Exchange Program. For some reason, it was not working out as smoothly as was expected.
'We are not giving back the prisoners. No exchange whatsoever!'
How were we expected to feel then as rumours (they had to be rumours!) of this nature reached   us  to morally crush the spirit that was being held high against all odds?  My father had opted for Bangladesh, like all the others who had been confined in Warsak until the POWs were returned.  It seemed that a controversy had arisen among the leaders of the time on the issue of whether they wanted the Bengali officers in confinement to be exchanged with the POWs.  How far those rumors were true, or whether they had any basis at all, is another matter. But at that moment it seemed to the confined officers and their families that verdict had been declared and they were outcasts in their own land! Far from pleasing, it did hurt! Demeanour, displayed so well, for almost two years, collapsed all of a sudden. The high spirits had taken a nosedive!  Anyway, we were told after we came to Bangladesh that if Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman had not spoken in our favour, perhaps we would not  have lived to see ourselves in Bangladesh, perhaps would have met another fate.
I remember a day when all the officers were called for an emergency meeting. Probably, someone from Air Headquarters was visiting. After my father returned, he seemed very upset. His eyes told us something was wrong. Everyone in the house noticed the difference. My mother, alarmed, asked him what was wrong, and why he looked so pale.
“All the officers, we are hearing, not final yet, will be shifted to the Fort minus their families!” He blurted out and slumped down on a chair, as if drained of all energy.
As for me, ever since a very dear friend died in camp from diarrhoea, I could feel a pain      in my chest, as if there was a hole inside there, and that pain never seemed to leave me, would get faint or severe, but stayed on, a constant companion. All of a sudden, in broad daylight, I felt scared, an uncanny fear, signs of mild nervous disorders were     sprouting slowly!  At night, the atmosphere grew sinister as the night got deeper.  Attached bathroom, yet I had to make one of my sisters stand at the door while I was inside, wouldn't lock the door fearing it would not open, an uncertain fear worked within, hard to explain. At night, I would lie awake, thinking of the miserable conditions we were in, our dream to go to our motherland…would that dream go to the grave with us? Morbid thoughts had made home in my carefree, innocent mind. In the middle of the night, the sound of firing now alarmed me, whereas before, I would be interested in conjuring up a picture of the two warring tribes, not far from there, pitted against each other.  In the Frontier Province, it was a usual happening, feuding tribes forever at each other. 'Blood for blood!' was the principle they upheld, and for generations, it continued, that never-ending rivalry!
'Oh, please stop killing each other!' My innocent heart would cry and utter in a faint whisper.
I would stare at the ceiling above and think of my friend who had died.
“O, why did she have to end like this? She deserved better!”
To be continued