Tajuddin’s journey during 1971 (Part-1)

One certain day in February of 1972, Tajuddin Ahmad, the former prime minister of the exile government of Bangladesh, was passing his leisure at the round terrace of his house. There were some chairs as usual. He called his wife Syeda Zohra Tajuddin and two daughters Sharmin Ahmad Ripi and Simeen Hossain Rimi. He gave them an excerpt of the Liberation War history–stories of the days between 25 March and 17 April–of 1971.

Abdul Aziz Bagmar was present at the place. He along with his family lived as tenant at Tajuddin’s two-storey building in Dhanmandi. Aziz jotted down Tajuddin’s oral narration. He requested Tajuddin to write down the history of the war. Tajuddin replied him saying he had preserved daily notes in his 1971 diary. He would write the history if there was any leisure. Tajuddin did not have the chance. His family members, however, had preserved his oral narration. Recently, Prothom Alo has collected the statements. On the occasion of Bangladesh’s golden jubilee of independence and the Mujibnagar day, Prothom Alo publishes 1st of the two parts of the statement.

751 Satmasjid Road, Dhanmandi residential area.

It was preplanned that I would reach Narayanganj before 11:00pm and start for the certain destination. But I couldn’t. Meanwhile, the woven bag with my necessary belongings went missing. A sheer excitement was jerking me. At once I burst out, saying, wasting long time by sitting idle in the house with zero life security is certainly indicating the last day of my life.

That time Abdul Aziz Bagmar, an active member and supporter of Awami League, also our tenant at the 1st floor, appeared and said, “We will defeat the military force.”

I replied, that might be the next step. For now on, a strong resistance to the military would be a good lesson for them.

Burdened with random thoughts, excitedly I denied going anywhere. But it was only my expression, not my decision. I had already made my mind that I have to step out of house to encounter the great misery of the Bengali nation and Bangladesh.

When I was about to step out, barrister Amir-ul Islam and Dr Kamal Hossain arrived. They briefed about the tumultuous condition of Dhaka. We three left my house quickly after a brief chatting. Only the moment of leaving, I told my wife, “I am going. The military have arrived. Flee wherever you can.”

I saw Awami League activists had blocked most of the streets and alleys by that time. Barricades were placed at every intersection. We could not go too far.

Repeated gun shots were heard. Kamal Hossain warned, staying together is not safe for three of us.

He would leave us here and go to one of his relative’s house and meet again later. Dropping Kamal at his relative house in Dhanmandi, Amir-ul Islam and I drove to Pilkhana–south end of the Satmashjid Road, took an U-turn and reached Lalmatia where we saw Pakistani army were approaching. It seemed impossible to drive further. We took shelter at a nearby house of one acquaintance. Engineer Abdul Gafur was the house owner.

The headquarters of Sangram Parishad was located just beside of the house. We summoned the keepers of the headquarters. When they came, I instructed them to close the office after lowering the flag. I said to them the approaching Pakistani military would destroy the office if they could identify the Sangram Parishad headquarters. We have no power to resist the military attack. Building resistance would take time. Until then, we have to work carefully. Awami League activists followed my instructions.

Given the noise of gunfire coming from the surrounding areas, I guessed the military would launch massacre at the river port and the rail station. Because people would try to leave Dhaka using the two routes. I apprehended the difficult journey ahead. Dawn of Bangladesh’s independence would witness a massive bloodshed. Because the sunrise spreads red luster in the sky.

Meanwhile, we felt there was no security of life in the area. Military convoy would use force on us anytime. To avert arrest, primarily we took fake names as a means of safety. Tajuddin became Mozaffar Hossian while Amir-ul Islam turned Rahmat Ali– both working in Chandpur and Lakshmipur respectively under a Kushtia-based contractor. If we encountered by military men, we would say that we had arrived in Dhaka for money, and still took shelter in the town as we could not return to Kushtia because of the war-like situation. For now, we remained firm on the plan. Hiding at Gafur’s house the whole night, we witnessed flames lighting up the night sky and series of gunfire.

There was a slum near to our shelter home. We presumed that the military would attack on the slum for sure. Because the slum and the dwellers would not be spared from the barbarians.

It’s morning. The tall water tank at Lalmatia was seen from our shelter home. A military team approached to the bottom of the tank. They beat up the tank keeper to start water supply. They snatched key from the keeper and started water supply by themselves. The whole day, we heard heavy gunfire. Gafur’s house seemed not secure anymore as it was surrounded by residences of non-Bengalis.

In the early morning, we stepped out of the house on foot, breaching the curfew imposed by the military-run government. I left my gun and cartridges at the house. We had to reach outskirts of Dhaka.

In our way, we found a roadside mosque, which we thought to take as a temporary shelter. But non-Bengalis frequented at the mosque.

Mosques, streets, slums and cantonment–all over the Dhaka turned into slaughter points of the Pakistani occupation army.

We took shelter at a nearby house instead of the mosque. One certain Ataul Haque was the house owner. Boundary walls of the house were merely 5-inch wide. A fired bullet easily can make a hole in the wall. Despite this, the house seemed a symbol of safety to us when shelter was unavailable. One street at the north side of the house stretched to Satmashjid Road.

There was a slum nearby. We saw some non-Bengalis, donning handkerchief on their face and turban on head, were igniting the shanties by pouring flammable liquid over them. Curfew was still in force.

Unable to withstand the heat of the fire, all the slum dwellers began to leave their huts. And then we witnessed a rare example of brutality. Machine-gun bullets were rained down targeting the innocent human beings. Instantly, scores of Bengali people lay down on the ground lifeless. Their offence was they had demanded an independent Bangladesh. The air seemed trembled with their howling.

I thought the atrocities in return would strike 70 million Bengalis and they would sacrifice their life to gain independence someday. At that time I only could murmur, “The attackers must be defeated”.

It was already half past 7. Staying at the shelter house, we heard a Dhaka Radio announcement that the authorities would postpone curfew between 7:30am and 9:00am. Without wasting a minute, I decided to leave Dhaka through Rayerbazar via Satmashjid Road.

Walking a little further, we saw a military convoy was approaching fast towards Mohammadpur. We hid out at a nearby courtyard. If encountered by the house owner, whatever the identity he belonged to, we would say that we were there in search of a telephone for emergency call. In the meantime, the military convoy speedily drove to Pilkhana. Carefully we crossed the Satmashjid Road in 30 seconds. The Satmashjid Road was a challenging escape route towards Rayerbazar. At the time, I wanted to visit my own house. At least I could see whether my beloved ones are alive or dead. But I changed my mind. Perhaps a weakness of mind might alter the course of history. I reached Rayerbazar via Shangkar without any delay.

The situation of Rayerbazar seemed strange to me. The locality still did not bear the pain that the others on its opposite side were doing. It was quite normal situation. But the Rayerbazar people in crowds were rushing to villages. Some local Awami League activists, meanwhile, welcomed us.

Nasrullah arranged breakfast for us at the union council office. Cobblers of Palbari presented us with pam shoes for our comfort in walking. This is noteworthy that I am still using the pam shoes.

We started walking again. We encountered a river and found crossing it very difficult. At that time, one Awami Leauge activist from Rayerbazar, Reza uncle helped us cross the river. We then reached Atir Bazar where we met many of our acquaintances. We, embracing people’s caring and admiration, approached further. Their hospitality often reminded us of the richness of Bangladesh’s own cultural heritage. Those who had not experienced such gestures by the Bengalis cannot realise how the Bengali people are used to stand by the suppressed ones.

We met Siraj at the very place. He gave us Tk 250, saying ‘Take it. You will need this in your journey.’ He also arranged a motorbike ride and dropped us at one Matiur Rahman’s house.

Meanwhile on the way, we met Rustam, a police constable at Babubazar outpost. Somehow he escaped military attack. He said the barbaric military armies indiscriminately murdered his colleagues when the police constables were asleep at the night. It was such a sudden attack that Rustam only could escape silently and survived. On 27 March night, I took a bath in the pond of Matiur Rahman’s house. I slept for some time inside a room fenced by jute sticks.

* This article appeared in the online and print editions of Prothom Alo, has been rewritten in English by Sadiqur Rahman