REFUGEE

Photo: Star

From the golden jute of the fields to the waters of Padma and from the top of my head to the toes of my feet, I'm a true Bengali girl. My childhood was going as smoothly as the gentle breeze of spring, where my friends and family took the role of the flowers and my village, the garden. Unfortunately, my life changed and the situation was like the aftermath of an earthquake.
The political situation of our country was worsening day by day. Well, I didn't understand much about politics but I could see the tension in my father's face. My father was a teacher, a social and political activist in our village. He was often threatened by the political leaders of our village for speaking the truth.
A few days before the election, men threatened us at gunpoint so that all the villagers would vote for their candidate. If we didn't vote, they'd rape my elder sister, they barked. From that moment my father gave up his activism. He hastily decided to get my sister, who was a college student, married. My father knew that he was putting my sister's education at risk, perhaps even bringing an end to it, but marriage seemed to be the only option for her.
He told us to be mentally prepared for the worst, and I could see fear in his eyes. On the day of election, we all stayed home. My father didn't even go to vote.  When the results were out, we came to know that the other candidate had won the election. We suspected something awful would happen. We remained awake the whole night with a small candle lighting our house.
At about 3 PM, men attacked our village and burnt down all houses, the temple and shops. Our lives were spared but everything else was destroyed. I saw our house being reduced to ashes by fire. All my books and dolls were gone. The hibiscus shrub that I planted myself, which was about to burst into bloom, was no more. One of our relatives died in the flames and many more were injured severely. My beautiful village was as silent as a graveyard and the smell of blood lingered on.
My father knew very well that we couldn't stay here any longer. We fled to India with almost nothing. Our lives changed completely. My father, who used to be a teacher, became a labourer and my mother worked at peoples' homes. My parents earned just enough to provide us with two meals and couldn't afford to send me to school. I don't know where my sister is -- whether alive or not. This is my life now, and there are many like me.
Why did all these happen? Why did we have to leave our home? Why was fleeing to a country that can never be our home the only option? All my father's dreams, shattered; my mother's home built with love, decimated; my sister, gone; I, a refugee. Why? Whom do I ask? Can you give me answers?

Ritu Progga Saha is a student of Class X at S.F.X. Greenherald International School, Dhaka.