Lajja (15 page)

Sudhamoy reminded himself that Niaz Hussain, Fojul Alam, Anwar Ahmed and their families had all left for London or America. They had distant relatives living in their village homes, they had employed caretakers, some had rented out their houses and managed to ensure that the rents were paid regularly. Their properties had not been marked out as enemy properties. Sudhamoy wanted to stand up. He broke out in a sweat. There was nobody there. Where were Maya and Kironmoyee?

Suronjon walked down the roads of old Dhaka and thought that although he had traversed the streets of the city ever so many times, he had never been able to put Mymensingh out of his mind. He was born there and had spent his childhood and adolescence in that little town. His thoughts tended to be with the Brahmaputra even when his feet were dangling in the waters of the Buriganga. People can perhaps forget the land of their birth and the river running by their birthplace only when they want to disown the circumstances of that birth. Goutom and his family were leaving Bangladesh. They had decided that this country was no longer safe for them. But why then were they crying so? Five years ago, his mama had come from Calcutta and had wept like a baby when he visited Brahmonbaria.

‘Suronjon, would you like to go with your mama to Calcutta?’ Kironmoyee had asked him. Suronjon had been disgusted by the question.

It was four years ago, or even six, that he had last been to Mymensingh on some work for his party. Sitting by the window in the train, he saw green rice fields, trees extending into the horizon, huts, bales of straw, naked children playing about in waterholes and using their
gamchha
to bring in a catch of tiny fish, and the expression on a peasant’s face as he turned to look at the train. As he looked upon these sights, Suronjon thought that he was seeing the face of Bengal. The poet Jibanananda had felt that he did not need to see anything else on earth because he had seen the face of Bengal. However, Suronjon’s feeling of bliss had been jolted when he saw that the Ramlokkhonpur station had been renamed Ahmedbari, and that Kalir Bazar was now Fatemanagar and Krishnonagar had become Auliyanagar. The process of Islamization that was going on across the country had also affected the little train stations of Mymensingh. People referred to Brahmonbaria as B Baria, Brojomohon College of Borishal was called BM College, Murari Chand College had become MC College—were these acronyms a way of keeping the Hindu names hidden? Suronjon feared that these acronyms too would soon be replaced with names like Muhammad Ali College and Siraj-ud-daula College. The Jinnah Hall in Dhaka University had been renamed Surjo Sen Hall, and twenty-one years after the Liberation, those who had been opposed to the Liberation said that Surjo Sen was a robber and how could a hall be named after such a person? Obviously, this kind of reasoning was a demand to change the name and there was no reason to think that the government would not at some time give in to this demand. After all, the BNP was in power with the support of fundamentalist powers and was always trying to protect the interests of the fundamentalists.

As Suronjon wandered the lanes and by-lanes of old Dhaka, he saw that the undamaged Hindu shops were closed. What was the guarantee that they could safely open their doors? However, they had opened again after the trouble in 1990 and so would perhaps open again after the trouble in 1992. Maybe the Hindus were thick-skinned like rhinos and that was the reason why they could keep rebuilding damaged homes and broken shops. Ravaged homes and shops could perhaps be put together with bricks and mortar. But was it possible to make their broken minds and hearts whole again?

In 1990, the Potuatuli Brahmo Samaj, the Sridhor Bigroho Mandir, the old monastery in Noya Bazar and the snake temple in Kayettuli had been damaged, plundered and set on fire. The famous M. Bhattacharya and Co. in Potuatuli, Hotel Raj, Dhakeshwari Jewellers, Evergreen Jewellers, New Ghosh Jewellers, Alpona Jewellers, Kashmiri Biriani House, Ruposree Jewellers, Manoshi Jewellers, Mitali Jewellers, Soma Store in Shakhari Bazar, Ananya Laundry, Krishna Hair Dresser, Tyre Tube Repairing, Saha Canteen, the floating Hotel Ujala at Sodorghat, as well as Panthonibas were robbed, ravaged and burnt. The Municipality Sweeper Colony in Noya Bazar was ransacked and burnt. The slum of the sweepers near the Dhaka District Court was also set on fire. The Horisobha Mandir of Chunkutia Purbopara in Keraniganj, the Kali temple, the temple in Mirbag, the Gosham Bazar Akhara, the Durga temple of Subhadhya Gosaibag, the temple in Chondranikara, the Kali temple in Poschimpara, the cremation grounds, the Ramkanai temple in Pubnodi in Teghoria, the Durga temple in Borishur Bazar in Kalindi, the Kali temple and the Monosa temple had all been pillaged and the images of gods broken. There were fifty houses in Shubhadhya that were set on fire including the house of Robi Misra, the son of Parrymohon Misra. Many houses, including the houses of Bhobotosh Ghosh and Poritosh Ghosh of Teghoria, those in the Hindu settlement of Mandail in Kalindi and 300 in Rishipara of Bongaon were ravaged and burnt. Suronjon had seen some of this and heard of the rest.

He was finding it hard to decide where to go. Who were his people in this city of Dhaka? Who should he go to for some company, just to pass the time of day? Even though she had said that she would not, Maya had ended up giving him a hundred takas. He had kept the money in his pocket and did not really want to spend it. Once or twice he had thought of buying a packet of cigarettes—Bangla Five—but then if he bought it he would have no money left. He had never been particularly attached to money but this was money that Maya had given him. Sudhamoy used to give Suronjon money to get shirts and trousers made but he would end up spending that money on friends. Someone may have wanted to run away and get married but had no money—Suronjon would give him money to get married. He once gave the money he had for his exam fees to a young man called Rahmat. The young man’s mother was in hospital and they did not have enough money to buy medicine. Suronjon did not delay even for a moment and simply handed over the money he had for his fees.

Should he go to Rotna? Rotna Mitra. Could it not be that he would not change Rotna’s surname after marriage? Why do women change their surnames with marriage? Before they are married they hang on to their father’s tail and after marriage it is their husband’s tail. Nonsense! Suronjon wanted to erase the Datta surname from his name. People were being destroyed by differences of religion and community. Bengalis ought to have Bengali names, irrespective of whether they were Hindu or Muslim. He had often felt that Nilanjona Maya would have been the best name for Maya. And he? What should he have been called? Maybe Nibir Suronjon? Or Suronjonsudha? Nikhil Suronjon? A name like that would have ensured that he would not have been tainted by the stigma of religion. He had seen that Bengali Muslims had this proclivity for Arabic names. Even very progressive young men who waxed eloquent about Bengali culture chose names like Faisal Rahman, Touhidul Islam or Faiaz Choudhury for their children. Why? Why would a Bengali person have an Arabic name? Suronjon would like to name his daughter Srotoshwini Bhalobasha which meant River of Love, or Othoi Neelima, that is, Endless Blue. Of course, Othoi Neelima matched Nilanjona Maya. Well, he would reserve the name Othoi Neelima for Maya’s daughter.

Suronjon kept walking. He walked aimlessly and yet, before he had left home, he had thought that he had so much to do. But these days, every time he left his house, he felt that he had nowhere to go. He felt that everyone was busy with their work and only he had nothing to do and nothing to be busy with. He just wanted to sit down and talk with someone in this terror-struck city. Should he go to Dulal’s house in Bongshal? Or to Mohadeb da’s house in Ajimpur? He could also go to Kajol Debnath’s house in Ispahani Colony. How come he was coming up with only Hindu names as he was trying to decide where to go? Belal had visited him yesterday. He could also think of going to Belal’s. Hyder had come the other day and not found him—he could go to Hyder’s to pass the time. Of course, there would be the same flurry of conversation in all their houses—Babri Masjid. They would talk about what was going on in India, how many people had died, what the BJP leaders said, which were the cities that had deployed the army, who had been arrested, how many political groups were banned, what would happen in the future and so on. He no longer liked listening to such stuff. The BJP there and the Jamaat here—they were the same. Both the groups wanted the same thing. They wanted to establish religious fundamentalism. If only the politics of religion could be forbidden in both the countries! It seemed like the hungry, meek, oppressed people of the third world could not be free of the unmoving rock of religion. He murmured Marx’s words to himself, words that he held dear: ‘Religious suffering is, at one and the same time, the expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.’

Suronjon walked around Wari, Nobabpur, Noya Bazar, Tanti Bazar, Court area, Rojoni Boshak lane, Gendaria and Begum Bazar and, finally, when it was past afternoon, he ended up at Kajol’s house. He was at home because all Hindus remained at home these days. Hindus were either hiding away from home or sitting holed up at home.

‘Good for the unemployed Suronjon who has nothing better to do except wander around and chat with his friends,’ Suronjon thought to himself when he found Kajol home.

There were some others there as well—Subhash Sinha, Taposh Pal, Dilip Dey, Nirmol Chatterjee, Onjon Majumdar, Jotin Chakrabarty, Saidur Rahman and Kobir Choudhury.

‘What’s up? Quite a gathering of Hindus, isn’t it?’

No one laughed at what Suronjon said. He was the only one who laughed.

‘What’s the matter? Why are you so sad? Is it because Hindus are being killed?’ asked Suronjon.

‘Is there any reason why we should feel good?’ asked Subhash.

Kajol Debnath was active in the Forum for the Unity of Hindus, Buddhists and Christians. Suronjon had never supported this forum. He had always thought that such a forum was a communal group and if one supported such a group the demand for doing away with religion-based politics would lose its steam. As far as this was concerned, Kajol always said that he had spent forty years waiting in hope but had finally been disillusioned and had brought together the forum for self-defence and self-help.

‘Has Khaleda admitted even once that there are communal attacks in the country? She hasn’t even been to see the places that have been devastated,’ said someone.

‘What is the Awami League doing?’ retorted Kajol. ‘They have made a statement. The Jamaat-e-Islami too had made a similar statement earlier. After the Awami League won the last election and was in power, there was a rumour that they would do away with “Bismillah” from the Constitution. Since they aren’t in power now they feel that they will lose popularity if they speak against the Eighth Amendment. Does the Awami League want to win elections or stay true to its policies? If they want to stay true then why aren’t they saying anything against this Bill?’

‘They’re thinking that they need to come to power so that they can make the changes needed,’ Saidur Rahman reasoned for the Awami League.

‘You can’t trust anyone. Everyone will come to power and sing songs of Islam and oppose India. People in this country eagerly swallow Islam and opposition to India,’ said Kajol, shaking his head.

‘Tell me, Kajol da,’ said Suronjon, sidestepping the discussion that was going on and returning to his earlier concern, ‘wouldn’t it have been better if you hadn’t made this communal group but had created a forum of non-communal people? Also, may I ask why Saidur Rahman isn’t a part of your group?’

‘Not being able to include Saidur Rahman isn’t our failure,’ said Jotin Chakrabarty in a heavy voice. ‘It is the failure of those people who have come up with a state religion. We had not created such a forum earlier but why have we done so now? Bangladesh was not created out of nothing. Hindus, Buddhists, Christians and Muslims had all contributed to the creation of Bangladesh. But if a particular religion is declared the state religion then you create a sense of separation. No one loves their own country any less than another. However, when people see that because they are not Muslims, and because the state views their paternal religion to be a second- or third-class religion, and they become second- or third-class citizens because of their religious affiliation, then their anger and disappointment is terrible. And so, if a communal consciousness develops amongst them instead of a nationalist feeling, can we blame them?’

‘But what is the logic of having such a sectarian organization in a modern state?’ asked Suronjon in a low tone because the explanation had been aimed at him.

‘But who is compelling those belonging to minority religions to form such sectarian organizations? They are the same people who are the proponents of the idea of a state religion, aren’t they? If the religion of a particular community is made the state religion then that state no longer remains a nationalist state. If a state has a state religion, then it may become a religious state at any time. This state is becoming a communal state and it is laughable to talk about communal harmony here. The Eighth Amendment is cocking a snook at Bengalis and the minorities have figured this out because they are bearing the brunt of it.’

‘Do you think that Muslims will gain if Islam is the state religion or if we have a religious state? I don’t think so.’

‘Certainly not. They will come to understand that finally, even if they don’t do so now.’

‘The Awami League could have played a good role in these times,’ said Onjon.

‘Yes, but the Awami League Bill too does not propose doing away with the Eighth Amendment,’ said Suronjon. ‘Every modern, democratic person knows that it is a given that a democracy must be impartial to religion. I can’t understand why Islam must be made the state religion in a country where 86 per cent of the population is Muslim. The Muslims of Bangladesh are religious anyway, they don’t need a state religion.’

‘One cannot compromise one’s principles,’ said Jotin babu, quite forcefully. ‘The Awami League is trying to counter the misinformation campaign against it by somewhat compromising its principles.’

‘Actually, instead of criticizing the Jamaatis and the BNP, we are going after the Awami League,’ said Subhash, who had been listening quietly all this time. ‘Are they doing any better than the Awami League?’