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Lest we forget....
IT has been exactly 34 years since the very unfortunate night of 29th August, 1971, when Rumi, like many other freedom fighters, was arrested by the Pakistani Military.
Rumi or Rumi Mama, as he had first been introduced to me. was rather a household name for us. When I was really young, my mum (like all mums) used to put me to sleep by reading out books to me. I could never construe what led her to recite Jahanara Imam's 'Ekatturer Dinguli* to her 3 or 4 years old daughter, but regardless of the reason behind it I thank my mum for having done so; for having introduced me to my beloved hero Rumi, at so early an age. I admit I understood nearly nothing of what my mum read out (except for imagining him as a guy clad in a cloak, like that of Batman and running and flying around with a gun). Mum's terming Rumi as my 'mama' and her relentless crying while reading the book, had made me firmly believe that Rumi really was someone somehow related to me. But though his name remained somewhere embedded in my heart, his valor faded away in the crowd of'Superman's & 'Batman's that I came across, as I grew up.
Last year, however, considering me old enough to at last be re-introduced to 'Ekatturer Dinguli' my father bought a copy of it, from the Ekushey Book Fair. Having indulged myself into 'Ekatturer Dinguli', I believe, a ride down the fiery months of 71 enabled me to look at Bangladesh from some very different viewpoints.
One may ask that leaving all other heroes, why am I talking about Rumi, who neither could come out of the war alive, nor was he able to acquire a place in our Bengali board textbooks as a 'Birsrestha'. It is solely because, Rumi had left for war at the very tender age of 19 or 20, the age I would be reaching, in two years, and somehow because of this I find it easier to relate and connect to him. He belonged to the same strata of society that I belong to; he read the same books I now read; he listened to music, as classy and catchy that we listen to, these days; he used to regularly hangout with his ultra-cool friends (most of them are now renowned freedom fighters), like us. Then, what was different about him? What made him ' ’ stand out amongst the crowd? The exclusive reason being that, what he did for this country, we would surely never be prepared to do. Tell me, how many of us would be eager to leave all our luxuries, our homely comfort, to take as life-threatening a risk as fighting for our homeland? I would without doubt never consent to it True, that there were a lot of such Rumis in 1971, but not all Rumis had mothers as bold as Jahanara Imam to jot down their deeds, to capture their love for their country and to keep
account of their enormous sacrifices that led to the creationof Bangladesh.
Rumi mama, to a child of 4 years, had appeared as a superhuman character, but having actually read the book at the age of 16, Rumi, to me, became the flesh-and-blood picture of spirit and gallantry. A true apostle of Mao-Tse-Tung, I wonder if Rumi had, in his very brief life, foreseen that, his deeds, his experiences as a freedom fighter, would be later on read and relived by us, in his absence.
The eldest son of a modem, well off family, Rumi, had planned to leave for America to pursue higher studies at the Illinois Institute of Technology that vety year, in September. A good student, an obedient and loving son, a trendsetting brother to his younger brother Jami, a friend to alt he knew.
and above all, a true patriot. Rumi had, seeing the events of March 1971, vowed to avenge the mass killing of innocent people by the Pakistapi armed forces..It was as if, the "crackdown" on the night of the 25 of March had changed him— the otherwise jovial Rumi, had become silent; his suppressed expressions and clenched fists, had told Jahanara Imam, of what was coming, beforehand. But after a lot of persuading and convincing, she finally let go of him, terming it as a 'Qurbani' for the country and thus Rumi soon set forth to look for war, and to become a 'Muktijodha'.
On two attempts, he finally reachea 'Melaghar1, or Sector-2, as it was called, and met, the inspiration of his very short lifetime, Major Khaled Mosharraf, the sector commander; Rumi, after
returning from training, quoted his sector commander to his mother, as saying "No country wants guerillas alive; countries are thirsty for bloodshed." I wonder if Rumi had taken this saying to his heart, and had thus, let himself be brutally killed by the Pakistani Military being accused of dissidence.
Forbidding his family to inquire about his whereabouts, Rumi would go on 'operations' with his fellow guerillas, and would return home to his mother, with loads of 'censored1 information and aftermaths to share with her. Nights after night when Rumi would fail to return from his 'operations', Jahanara Imam, would sit up all night, thinking and writing of how the war had changed her perfectionist young son to a compromising man. Melaghar would materialize in front of my
eyes as I read her descriptions— people of all ages and sizes sleeping under the open sky, with scorpions, leeches, creeping over their bodies; food would be served in the empty boxes of grenades cut from side to side; the trainees mostly lived off fruits collected from the neighboring farms or on only rice and pulse.
Most of these freedom fighters were missing from home (having escaped fearing their parents' reactions) and considered ’dead" by their parents, while they were in veracity fighting for their beloved motherland. It was, at such gruelling times that, these gallant heroes needed the support of their families, and Jahanara Imam had been a such mother who not only financially supported the freedom fighters, but also allowed arms to be
stored at her house at Elephant Road, just for the sake of her son.
The guerilla group that Rumi belonged to, had been specially sent from Sector-2, to enable 'psychological warfare' amongst Pakistanis-in Dhaka. Blowing up Siddhirganj PowerStation had been a part of their plan to disable Dhaka and Rumi had been one of the guerillas, first assigned to do the job. One night, while patrolling in boats, in the river next to the power station, they had their first narrow encounter with death, having unconsciously confronted a Military Police boat, but courtesy their fast reflex, been saved. Reckless as they were, it was this, and the killing of some Military Police in front of some Brigadier's house, in the then Dhanmondi Road # 18, that led to their arrest
29th August at midnight Rumi, his father, brother and cousin, along with innumerous other patriots, were collected from their homes, along with gathering the various ammunitions secretly stored there. Rumi's father, brother and cousin returned home a day or two later, but Rumi never returned.
Jahanara Imam and her husband, attempted innumerous times to at least know whether their son was alive, but to no avail. Neither could they file, a mercy petition for Rumi, if in case their freedom-fighter son came out of jail and questioned them on why they had dishonored his cause that way. Amidst all this, Rumi's parents came to know that, the night before, the then President of East Pakistan, Yahyah Khan announced a general mercy for all 'dissidents' as he termed them, the Military Police killed some hundreds of freedom fighters. Though they had never lost hope of Rumi's return, it was, from here onwards that, Rumi became a past tense to his family.
34 years have passed since. Jahanara Imam’s wait for her son continued with her death some ■ years back, following her long struggle with cancer. Her younger son, Jami, now resides abroad, and their house 'Konica' at Elephant Road, from what I have heard—remains no more. Several times I have thought of collecting a photograph of Rumi, but knew notwhere and whom to go.
See, the imprint of 1971. on a family? Are you now able to feel how much sacrifice lies behind the scenes of Bangladesh? Do you now acknowledge the sacrifice of this family and innumerous such families who still wait for their loved ones, who had each, contributed something to the war, but never : returned? Is such freedom really worth it I wonder- ■ - the amount of bloodshed involved does not in any way match the so-called 'freedom' we experience.
By Reesana Sifat Siraj