Either we wail and cry over death, or thank the heavens for someone’s departure. History is replete with instances of valorous deaths and hangings of villains, or death in humiliation. Nations recall with the highest regards those valiant sons and daughters of the soil.
They light candles with fondness, and shed a few tears even hundreds of years later. For some, death cannot erase them from memories and the pages of history. How should we define the death of Ghulam Azam?
I can try to look into the world of Ghulam Azam, who lived beyond the age of 90. After his endeavours for a united Pakistan was lost, what did he think of the freedom fighters, a free Bangladesh, the green and red flag that adorns our sky? What were his thoughts about the home and land to which he originally belonged, and the freedom which he so strongly opposed?
He could have been the opposite of what he actually became. Even as a member of the Jamaat-e-Islami, he could have played a favourable role. He could have tried to engage himself as a positive character for Bengalis and have favoured the legitimate demands of the people of East Pakistan.
His role in the 1952 language movement has reportedly been an inspiration for many. He was involved in active student politics. He occupied important positions. His intention was clear. He would climb the ladder of prominence and power, which he did. His religious beliefs should have guided him to be more virtuous in understanding things. Rather, his dogma turned out to be a carbon copy of that of the Pakistanis.
During the late 60s, things began to turn around for him, or he had undergone a deep metamorphosis. His thoughts went wild and he suddenly turned to play the religion card on the Bengalis of East Pakistan.
I still wonder what led Ghulam Azam to think the opposite about the autonomy and rights issues key to the people and leaders of East Pakistan. Instead of teaming up with the majority and losing the opportunity of a leadership role, he sided with the so-called saviours of Islam.
The notoriety of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Yahya Khan did not move him. The political and constitutional heist committed in broad daylight by the Pakistan junta of military rulers and immoral politicians of Sindh and Punjab brought all the Bengali leaders under one roof. The line was actually drawn in the beginning of 1971.
While the drama (January-March, 1971) enacted by Bhutto, Yahya, and their henchmen went on, there were the dark forces at work who would later take up the killing mission along with the Pakistan occupation forces. Being a hardcore Jamaati and follower of its bizarre beliefs, Ghulam Azam decided to uphold what he thought would be right for him and his party.
The stand he took was not on the principles of politics, the constitution, or rights. He took on the role of a leader who would plan and work to save Pakistan. For the West Pakistani rulers, the sovereignty of Pakistan was at stake. Mujib and his party men were planning to break up the country – an act of sedition.
Ghulam Azam played the lead role in stopping the rot. He thought he could come to Pakistan’s rescue, and took no time in organising the onslaught on the innocent Bengalis. The freedom fighters were culprits for him. He created auxiliary forces – the infamous al-Badr, al-Shams, and razakars – who went ahead in committing the most heinous acts of killing.
Millions were brutally murdered. The genocide committed by the Pakistani forces and their hordes shook the world. Innocent blood flowed down the Ganges and its many tributaries. Wails of sisters and mothers came from dark dungeons, who were repeatedly violated by the hyenas.
At last, he and his cohorts had to flee their homes with humiliation. The defeat of his mighty forces led him to be more shrewd and crazy. He went on trying to undo Bangladesh. He lifted all stones to rewind history and bring back Pakistan. History had something else in store.
Leaders in Pakistan deserted him. Rawalpindi or Karachi couldn’t be his home. He fought for a cause that was not there. The Pakistani citizens had to come back, or rather be allowed to return in 1978, to the land he so deliberately betrayed.
There were the beliefs that Ghulam Azam might realise his mistake and apologise to the nation for his role that is unparallelled in the history of genocide and violation of human rights. He did not. He lived in his world of Pakistan. He was a proud loner. His soul and spirit was never in Bangladesh; rather, he went on preaching the “right things” that he did in 1971.
He lived proudly in the midst of those people upon whom he committed the worst war crimes. He led a party that opposed the liberation of this land and people. But he also lived in the midst of intense hatred. The land he died on despised him. Somehow, he escaped the gallows, but he will never escape the people’s hatred.
