Hasna Khan Rani was just a school-going girl during the Liberation War. A keen, active child with a wandering spirit, Rani was born in rural Faridpur in 1959. Her father, Abdur Rashid Khan, was a school teacher and a patriot. They lived a humble yet happy life, but little did the 12-year-old know it would suddenly take such a turn. As the Liberation War unfolded, the chirping of birds in Pangsha were soon replaced by the sound of rifles and mortars.
“The military had set fire to many of our neighbouring houses. The simple homes of these villagers were charred and riddled with bullet holes,” Rani says. “We were anticipating an attack on our family the whole time since my father was well known as a patriot and activist. The war struck me the hardest when my elder brother went missing following a massacre in a neighbouring village by the Pakistani military.”
Speculations were rife that Abu Sayeed Khan, Rani’s elder brother, had actually left the village to take part in the war. After months of his disappearance, Sayeed managed to communicate with his family and confirm that he had fled to India for military training to join the Mukti Bahini and would only return home when his homeland was free.
A joint family effort
Meanwhile, Rani’s father Abdur Rashid Khan joined hands with Abul Kalam Azad, a Dhaka University Professor, to build a clandestine freedom fighters’ force in the village. Rani’s house eventually served as a secret den for a six member commando team.
“I used to help the freedom fighters in different ways. From delivering messages as well as different supplies between Mukti Bahini hideouts to snooping around known Razakars, I did everything upon the orders of my father and his comrades,” Rani says. Perhaps, the most audacious role she played for the Liberation War took place in mid October.
To dismantle a nearby strong Pakistani military camp, the commando team needed to ferry a boat full of arms and explosives to an islet on the Padma river, twenty miles away from Rani’s home. It was considered to be impossible since both the water and land routes in between were heavily guarded by the military as well as Razakars, with check-posts at regular intervals.
“It was my father who came up with the idea of putting me and my grandmother in charge of the carriage. We waited for days, looking for a safe opportunity to transport the explosives. There was no sign of the military but we were more worried about Razakars, since they knew my father was up to something,” says Rani.
Rani eventually took the lead. The arms and explosives were put under the plank of a river-boat, while Rani and her grandmother sat on the upper cabin. Describing the boat-journey as the longest, most blood-curdling experience of her life, Rani said that she managed to remain calm and relaxed during the questionings.
“We had to stop at every check-post on our way to the delivery point. My father and the other freedom fighters also came with us, but they would get down from the boat before the checkposts, and the boatman continued with only my grandmother and I.”
Outsmarted by a child
According to Rani, it was mostly the Razakars who stopped them, but with the help of the commando team, she had scripted some answers beforehand.
“As the Razakars were fond of prominent Muslim families, we decided to use their addresses as our destination,” Rani says. “Every time they asked me about our stop, I confidently dropped the name of a famous Razakar accomplice, saying that he was my uncle and we are going over for a vacation,” she added.
Rani believes that her innocent child’s face and utter confidence helped her fool the Razakars, and says that the moment they managed to pass the last of some twenty checkposts was the happiest moment of her life. “I felt so proud when my father told me that we had passed the last one, although I didn’t fully comprehend the gravity of what I did until later.”
Rani was an integral part of the six member commando team from her village. Nevertheless, to date, her bravery and contribution to the war remain unacknowledged. She has been living in independent Bangladesh for almost half a century now without any formal recognition.
“I don’t even have a freedom fighter certificate, because I didn’t risk my life for a mere piece of paper. I risked it for my country,” Rani says with pride.
But reality hit her hard when her husband died in a road accident, leaving her with two children. She finally decided to apply for a government issued certificate as a freedom fighter with the hope of getting her son a government job. Unfortunately, the system has slapped her with repeated rejections due to her early age.
“Most of the freedom fighters I fought alongside died without any recognition. It will certainly hurt if the same happens with me. But I believe that the country I stood strong for will serve me right.”
