Rajib’s hand reaches out!
Dhaka’s streets are like rivers, the blood stains are washed away in no time. On Tuesday, a student Rajib’s right hand was completely severed by a bus, but there is no mark of the accident on the spot now. The injured young man was taken to hospital where he writhed in pain, while his inert hand remained squeezed between the buses.
There’s an instrument to measure pain, the dolorimeter. But our brains are enough to measure the degree of pain we undergo. If the pain is too unbearable, the brain renders the body unconscious so the person doesn’t suffer. But no instrument has been invented so far to gauge the pain of the mind. However, when this boy Rajib unconsciously reaches out with his left hand to feel his right hand, the pain of his body and mind is all too clear. His brain thinks his right hand may still be there and sends out messages accordingly. But there is no response. His brain will continue to send messages to his non-existent right hand for days to come. That ghostly hand will feel pain, even itch. He may even want to reach out and hold someone close with that hand. But there will be no response.
When the accident took place, there were some persons who did more than just take pictures. They rushed the boy to hospital. But the hospital refused to treat the boy until his relatives came. His treatment only began when some distant relations turned up. So the boy lay there helplessly during the emergency after the accident. Then the physicians finally remembered that there was a severed hand!
People rushed to the spot again. The hand was recovered in a place in between Sonargaon Hotel and Bangla Motor. They rushed back to the hospital with the hand, but the hand had died by then. It could no longer be rejoined to the body. The next day the hospital came up with a bill of around Tk 150 thousand. Rajib didn’t have enough money to pay the total bill and so was released and sent to the government Dhaka Medical College Hospital, though only after signing a bond.
Let’s say the incident didn’t happen. He would have hung on to the bus door and reached his destination. He would return to his little mess room at night, wash his face and both hands, have dinner, put up his mosquito net or sleep through the night, intermittently squishing mosquitoes with his two hands. He would continue his life in this manner, edging towards his dreams. People have so many dreams. Some dream of becoming kings or queens, or marrying a prince or princess, or becoming a movie star. Some want to buy a sprawling mansion in Sicily, some aspire to be billionaires. These are dreams, colourful and vibrant, dreams have made one quiver in anticipation.
But persons like Rajib, afflicted by that thing called poverty, have humble dreams. They dream of a job, a modest income and a family. This is something which should come naturally in a civilised normal country. One needn’t have to break one’s back and struggle to achieve this. But in this country, this too is a big dream. Basic needs are ephemeral. It’s a vicious struggle all the way.
The boy lost his parents very early and is the eldest among three siblings. He would study at Titumir College in Dhaka, with help from his uncles, and also working as a private tutor. No matter how hard life is, he may have been able to grasp it with two hands and see it through. His two hands were his hope. The body is the main asset of a lower class person in this country. If the body is severed, so is one’s fortune. There is little hope, but more danger, for the Rajibs of this godforsaken city.
Rajib has been flung to one side. He must now climb the steep slope of life with one hand. He is not the only one. There is Siddiqur Rahman whose eyes were lost in a police tear gas shell explosion. There are the 20 persons who lost their eyesight because of wrong medical treatment in Sylhet. Then there is Limon who lost his legs in a RAB shootout. Their dreams of have been dashed to the ground.
But they are not defeated. They persevere more than ever to get back on the road of life, the very road that has crippled them! Limon is now a lawyer. But those airline passengers never returned, victims of blatant mismanagement.
Why did Rajib lose his right hand? Simply because two bus drivers were competing with each other. He was the victim of the contest between these two impervious drivers. Are only the drivers to be blamed? Like national life in general, the city streets reek with disturbing discrimination and conflict. The VIPs rule the roads. Then come the wealthy in their Prados and Pajeros, horns blaring down the streets. Bus passengers are on the lowest rung of this hierarchy. When the VIPs are out in large numbers on the streets, the bus passengers have nothing to do but remain trapped in their cages, staring at the passengers of the next bus. The vehicles remain static. Once the blocks are lifted, the trapped vehicles rush forward all together and accidents are inevitable.
Why is there this rat race on our streets? Why are bus drivers so careless, callous? Why do they not even consider the passengers to be human? The bus owners and drivers association, their minister-leader, and the government itself, are totally unconcerned. Why should the people of a mid-income country have to risk their lives when their take to the roads?
Life goes on, but the problems remain unresolved. Who is to blame? These cannot be called accidents. No one is responsible for accidents. The lost limbs and organs of Rajib, Siddiqur or Limon are the consequence of faults in the system. There is no use blaming fate. It is the inhuman and disintegrating system that must be held responsible. Simply writing that the ‘authorities are not responsible’ does not exonerate the authorities from blame.
It would be wrong if we shirk off responsibility too. We are victims of the propensity that has been forced upon us, to push and shove our way ahead, leaving others behind. ‘They’ have created a situation by holding back our rights, and ‘we’ precipitously rush headlong into a sick competition among ourselves. We arrogantly break rules, but at the end of the day, we are the ones who pay the price. If we could thwart this rat race between two drivers, or two passengers or two aspirants, we could be a citizenry. If we followed rules, if we displayed empathy towards the person by our side, we could share our sufferings and unite to attain our dues.
If one strikes a stone, it makes a noise, even a mountain has an echo. But our state is deaf, dumb and blind. It does not respond to any call. But those who still are human, must respond, must reach out. Rajib’s severed hand is reaching out!
* Faruk Wasif is a writer and journalist. He can be reached at [email protected] <mailto:[email protected]>. This column has been rewritten in English by Ayesha Kabir.