I can only remember one thing very clearly—I was sprawled out on a cold floor screaming for water. The screaming had stopped the punishment for the moment. Water was brought in a pot used in the toilets. I gulped it all down from the big pot of water, but my thirst was not satisfied. Rather it multiplied by a thousand times. My memory of imprisonment is a memory of extreme thirst. I don’t know the explanation behind this thirst. I cannot remember anything.Within a few days, the military lost interest in killing people by shooting. They tried to make the manslaughters amusing. They came up with several new ways of killing, like tying up their hands and legs and throwing them into the water or by hanging them from trees. Then there were even incidents of people being skinned alive. Terror seized us. We had nowhere to go. Villages were being burnt down one after another. The Hindu population had taken refuge in the deep forests. Words fail to express their distress. The skies were pouring overhead. Snakes and animals in the forests made it very dangerous to hide there, while on the outside awaited the Pakistani forces and their collaborator razakars. Countless corpses floated downstream on the river Baleshwar. In a situation like this, I was tipped off that the Pakistani forces were looking for me and my younger brother. We were both university students at that time and according to the Pakistani forces, our father was an “enemy of the country.” They had already killed him and now they were looking for us. The person who had given us shelter in his home came up with an idea to save the two of us. He suggested we get admitted at the madrasah run by the Peer* of Sharshina. The plan was that we would stay in the dormitory of the madrasah and study there. Hence, wearing pajama-panjabi and caps, we started for Swarupkathi with the gentleman who had provided refuge for us. We reached the courtyard of the Peer. Upon arriving, we learned that the Pakistan army had come to exchange greetings with the Peer on May 6 and returned after taking his blessings. On their way back, they destroyed everything that had come across their path. It came to my knowledge that the Peer of Sharshina had very good contacts with the army. They accepted the hospitality of the Peer whenever they visited Swarupkathi. The Peer did not agree to keep us in the madrasah. We did not want to stay either. We were thinking of escaping from the place as soon as possible. I felt that the farther we were from the place, the safer it would be for us. (I’ve heard that the Peer of Sharshina was later awarded the Shadhinota Padak*, a special recognition for contribution to our war of independence! I still cannot believe this is true. Newspapers, radio, television, the media are known to publish fake and untruthful scoops -- I think this must be something of that sort.) I will bring an end to this article describing a scene that I saw while we were coming back from Sharshina by boat. We were sitting on an open boat under a cloudy sky. There was high tide in the river and it was drizzling. Suddenly the boatman cried for our attention, “Look, look at that!” We saw two dead bodies floating downstream. It was not a scene to observe with shock because it was a pretty common sight by that time. Every day, numerous dead bodies would float downstream in the river. Vultures rested on the bodies in groups and drowsed. But that day, there were no vultures sitting on those two bodies. Perhaps overabundance had made them lose their appetite for human flesh. I kept gazing at the sight! I could not take my eyes off. It was the body of a man around thirty years old, wearing a green shirt. A young girl, maybe seven or eight years old, was clinging onto him by his neck. The girl was wearing red bangles on her wrist. The girl had been embracing her father till the moment of her death. I cannot even imagine how scared this little girl was at that moment. I do not even want to know. I want to forget everything. Later (probably around the month of August), I was captured by the army. I was kept in their prison. I tried to write about that experience several times, but in vain. Everything becomes a blur whenever I try to put it in words. I cannot piece the images together. Whatever incident I decide to write down, I suddenly find myself at a loss. It seems like I have lost only that part of my memory. I don’t understand why it happens, probably a psychologist could explain. I can only remember one thing very clearly—I was sprawled out on a cold floor screaming for water. The screaming had stopped the punishment for the moment. Water was brought in a pot used in the toilets. I gulped it all down from the big pot of water, but my thirst was not satisfied. Rather it multiplied by a thousand times. My memory of imprisonment is a memory of extreme thirst. I don’t know the explanation behind this thirst. I cannot remember anything. (Slightly truncated)* Peer A term used to indicate a religious leader in the Indian sub-continental region. Usually an Islamic spiritual leader, with many followers over a wider geographical area. The full name of the Peer is Abu Zafar Mohammad Saleh. * Shadhinota Padak Independence Day Award or Independence Award is the highest state award given by the government of Bangladesh.
[Excerpted with permission from Bangladesh 1971: Dreadful Experiences, Published by Shahitya Prakash (February 2017), edited by Munawar Hafiz, Salwa Mostofa, Ashfaqur Rahman and Farhana Binte Sufi. The original Bangla version was edited by Rashid Haider, 1989] Humayun Ahmed is a prolific writer, one of the most popular writers of contemporary Bangla literature. His first novel was published in 1972. He wrote over 200 books till his death in 2012. His father Faizur Rahman Ahmed, a police officer and writer, was killed by the Pakistani army during the Liberation War of Bangladesh in 1971. His younger brother is the famous writer and scientist Muhammad Zafar Iqbal, a professor of Computer Science and Engineering in the Shahjalal University of Science and Technology, Sylhet.
