It is incredible, but it is true as daylight that today we are celebrating the 49th anniversary of the declaration of our independence. We had no idea that we would really achieve our freedom, fighting the marauding evil forces that were unleashed on us the night before.
March 26, 1971 was not a happy day for any of us.
The day did not bring us a flag and a country, but mayhem, mass killings, and wanton plunder. At a time when the majority of us in then East Pakistan were eagerly hoping for a political end to the saga of negotiations between our leader and the head of an immoral military junta, we were plunged into an abyss of a murderous future.
But here we are celebrating our Independence Day, a day that had seemed far away on that fateful morning.
For the millions, the declaration of independence could not have been more timely, even though Dhaka was burning and the country was headed toward a future unknown. For one, the call gave us all direction, a light after the tunnel. Two, it proved even to Pakistani loyalists among us at that time, that Pakistan as a country was not for Bengalis.
The conspiracy of the ruling elites of Pakistan and the hypocrisy with which they engaged in talks for a so-called political solution came unglued when Bengali-hating President Yahya abandoned the discussions and fled Dhaka under the cover of night giving orders to his troops to burn the city down. It is believed he watched the fireworks from the safety of the aircraft in the skies of Dhaka.
March 26, 1971 was not a happy day for Dhaka.
I was working as a sub-divisional officer at Munshiganj, then a sub-division of Dhaka. A couple of days before the genocide of March 26, I had returned to Munshiganj after a meeting with the Deputy Commissioner in Dhaka.
I came back, hopeful that a happy end was near, but only to be proven how naive my youthful optimism was. In his ominous broadcast, President Yahya told the whole nation that talks had failed, he blamed Bangabandhu squarely and announced to the captive Bengalis that he was asking his troops to take action against the recalcitrant Awami Leaguers. Little did we know at the time that by “Awami Leaguers” the rogue President was referring to the entire Bengali nation his army intended to destroy.
The first news of atrocities came to me in the early morning of March 26, that the Pakistan army in Dhaka had attacked Rajarbagh police line and killed scores of police constables. He did not have any details, but reports suggested that the army had come out of the barracks and had taken control of radio and TV stations (those familiar with the events of March will recall that Dhaka radio and TV had turned into virtual media centres for the Bangladesh movement, and had dissociated themselves from broadcasting network of Pakistan).
I switched on the radio and discovered that the radio had switched gear and was now back to being a loyal Pakistani radio station. Naturally, a loyal radio station would not cover any news of attacks. For news, we depended on rumours that started to pour in as the day progressed.
According to sources, the army had taken Bangabandhu and other top leaders under arrest. As the army came to take over the Rajarbagh police line, the police resisted and, in the ensuing exchange, hundreds of policemen either died or were wounded. There were also reports of army attacks on other areas of Dhaka, but the details of the mayhem had yet to reach us.
As the day progressed, rumours of every proportion reached our little town.
One rumour stated that the army was on the verge of entering Munshiganj. Another report stated that the whole of Narayanganj town was in blazes, and next was Munshiganj’s turn. We had only heard of what the army had done to Dhaka and Narayanganj but had not seen any of the havoc. But we had to wait only another day after Pakistan army lifted their curfew in Dhaka and thousands of people left for their village homes.
As Munshiganj that time was only accessible by water, the refugees crossed the river via Jinjira and trekked all the way. What they described sounded nothing short of havoc conceived in hell.
It seemed to them the army had launched a war on Dhaka, with tanks, armoured vehicles, and anti-personnel weapons. Witnesses described how people sleeping in the streets, rickshaw-pullers sleeping in their vehicles, were mowed down like birds in a killing spree.
As the day progressed, we would get more people fleeing from Dhaka, with numbers arriving from Narayanganj. In no time Munshiganj became a refugee town. I had to abandon any thought of leaving the town -- people seeking refuge would become my concern. Among them were also my own parents and siblings who escaped from our house in Narayanganj which was set on fire.
We could not escape the consequences of the havoc caused. And it would take another nine months for the country as a whole to defeat the army and claim our real independence. The people of Munshiganj, particularly its youth, had a great role in that freedom struggle.
The purpose of this personal narrative is to rekindle in our consciousness the great pain and ordeal that every Bangladeshi had to suffer for our independence. For the new generation, it may be a given -- but not for the generation that had gone through the ordeal, and the sacrifices made in earning that freedom.
As we celebrate our 49th anniversary we have to also celebrate the values and principles that we fought for. We did not fight for the independence of the country, but also fought for democracy, secularism, and our identity. The way we can respect our country is by adhering to these value and principles.
Ziauddin Choudhury has worked in the higher civil service of Bangladesh early in his career, and later for the World Bank in the US.
