On the eve of 21 February, to be in Dhaka (originally written as Dacca) was certainly a lifetime experience. It started in 1952, when the arrogant rulers of Pakistan declared that Urdu and Urdu alone would be the state language of Pakistan.
The Bhasa Andolan, which signified the movement against the Pakistani government for continuation of Bengali as state language, reached its climax on 21 February 1952 when the police killed student protestors demonstrating for the cause. Every 21 Feb, Bangladesh now honours the Bangla Language Movement and its martyrs.
To commemorate the movement and the martyrs, the first makeshift monument was erected on 25 Feb 1952 which was demolished a day later by the Pakistan police force. The second monument, inaugurated on 21 Feb 1963 was severely damaged during the Bangladesh Liberation War in 1971.
The present Shaheed Minar, designed and built by Hamidur Rahman, is the place of reverence where a tribute ceremony starts a minute past midnight of 20 Feb and continues till a minute past midnight of 21 Feb. The President, the Prime Minister, the cabinet ministers, the diplomats, the freedom fighters, the political and socio cultural organizations, academicians, intellectuals, foreigners walked in queues and stood in solemn silence.
Being present on the midnight of 20 Feb 2010 and watching thousands of barefoot people from all walks of life coming, some with wreaths, bouquets, garlands, while others with a single rose, all wearing black badges, national flag head bands, children holding their mothers’ hands or riding on their fathers’ shoulders left me speechless.
The sound of thousands of people singing Amar bhaiyer rakte rangano ekushey February ami ki bhulite pari? (Can I forget the 21st of February darkened with the blood of my brothers?) is still ringing in my ears...
The next day, a Sunday, I was there to watch a mesmerizing replication of the Language Movement of 21 Feb 1952 ‘Duniya Kapano Tirish Minute’ (30 minutes that shook the world) staged at the historic Amtala site beside Dacca Medical College which used to be Dacca University.
Even the timing was significant. The performance started at 3:20 in the afternoon, the precise moment when the police forces of then Chief Minister of East Pakistan Khwaza Nazimuddin opened fire on a procession of students, and ended at 3:50pm just like it had, 58 years ago.
Later, the language veterans and the crowd led a procession from Amtala to the Shaheed Minar. Through the recreated drama, in 30minutes, I made my journey through the historic movement of 1952.
Still treading in the footsteps of history, I reached Banga Bandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rehman’s residence in the posh locality of Dhanmandi. Now a museum, this was the ill-fated house where he was assassinated on 15 August 1975 along with most of his family members.
All the artefacts – clothing, beds, chairs, tables, bookcases, books, ornaments, toys, showpieces – have been kept as they were on that day. Even the blood stained staircase remains just so, and the bullets here and there are covered with glass plates.
Among the other places I visited was the Jatiyo Sangshad Bhawan (National Parliament ) at Sher-e-Bangla Nagar, a colossal complex of geometrical proportions conceived by the famous American architect Louis Kahn, which is now one of the largest legislative complexes in the world.
I also saw the Jatiyo Smriti Soudho (National Independence Monument) at Savar, a tribute to the martyrs of the Bangladesh Liberation War of 1971, the Bahadur Shah Park, a striking war memorial dedicated to those who died in the First War of Independence against Britain and Zia Uddyan which has the grave of President Ziaur Rahman.
But there’s more to Bangladesh than Dhaka, so I decided on a day trip to Tangail. I went by car, and it took me almost 3 hours to reach there. Like Fulia in West Bengal, it is the village famed as the traditional abode of the weavers of Bengal’s cotton saris.
Some weavers migrated to India after Partition in 1947 but the shop of Haridas Basak, a leading sari merchant in Tangail who helped the weavers to settle down at Fulia, is still in there. I had heard that Dhaka was famous for rickshaws and transport congestion — 400,000 cycle rickshaws run each day on the streets apparently.
Spending hours inside a car made me believe that we the Calcuttans are actually on the better side of a story. I hardly saw any small cars on the road, and the driver told me that in a family almost every member has a car, if not more. No wonder a half an hour’s journey sometimes takes two hours or more once the clock strikes 9am.
Within the city the main public transports are cycle rickshaws and auto-rickshaws. Auto-rickshaws, also known as ‘green taxis’ looked like prison vans to me as both the sides were covered with iron nets for the security of the passengers. Imagine being cooped up inside that in this humid climate!
But, yes, all the vehicles – auto rickshaws, buses, cars – were running either on petrol or on CNG. So it’s a pollution free country — as far as traffic goes, that is.
One factor that made me realise rather sharply that Dhaka is not very far from Calcutta, were the mosquitoes! They seemed to be the privileged customers in Bangladesh as they moved from one city to another by plane, no less! I came across the bizarre spectacle of passengers busily swatting mosquitoes flying on the Dhaka-Chittagong-Dhaka route!.
Chittagong, the second largest city of Bangladesh, is truly an ideal vacationing spot because of its scenic beauty. The city is replete with green hills as well as sandy beaches. The major points of interest were the Chattagram (chitagong) University, the tomb of Sultan Bayazid Bostami, the World War II Cemetery, the shrine of Shah Amanat, the court building Museum, Foy's Lake and Kaptai Lake.
As I did not have much time, I visited only the beautiful tomb of Sultan Bayazid Bostami. It is a dargah associated with the famous saint Sultan-ul Arefin, also known as Bayazid Bostami, built on a hillock at Nasirabad. In front of the tomb there is a large tank with more than hundred tortoises.
According to the legend, the tortoises are regarded as the descendants of the evil spirits or genie who were entrapped into the shape because they incurred the wrath of the great saints who visited the place about 1100 years ago.
From Chittagong we went to Cox’s Bazar by road. It is famous for the world’s longest stretch of beach — approximately 120km. A hypnotic conglomeration of soft golden sand beneath my feet, the cool breeze of the Bay of Bengal, the verdant greenery at the backdrop captivated me. The beach has something or other for everyone – sunbathing, swim, water sports, and last but not the least, collecting conch shells...
And my account of this trip into the land of my forefathers would not be complete without recounting their attempt to stop white pollution. There isn’t a single plastic shopping bag in the country — shopkeepers dole out paper bags instead! Of course, this being the fount of jute products, those are a good alternative too!
No comments:
Post a Comment