Shame: A Novel Page 9
Dust had accumulated on the bookshelves. Sudhamay tried to blow away the dust. But the attempt seemed futile. As he started to remove the dust with the loose end of his punjabi, the title of one book arrested his attention: Yearbook of Bangladesh Statistical Bureau. It gave the figures of 1986. There were details on 1974 and 1981. In '74, the total population of Chittagong Hill Tracts was five hundred and eight thousand, which increased to five hundred and eighty thousand in 1981. The number of Muslims within this time period rose from ninety-six thousand to one hundred and eighty-eight thousand. The number of Hindus rose during the same period from fifty-three thousand to sixty-six thousand. The growth rate of Muslims was 95.83 percent, while that of Hindus was 24.53 percent. In Comilla, the Muslim population showed a growth rate of 20.13 percent, rising from five million, two hundred fifty thousand to six million, six hundred thousand, contrasting with the meager 0.18 percent for the slender one-thousand increase in the Hindu population from 5,064,000 in 1974 to 5,065,000 in 1981. The population in Faridpur went up by 17.34 percent. Meanwhile, Muslims went from 3,100,000 to over 3,852,000, recording a 24.26 percent growth rate. On the other hand, the number of Hindus dropped from a little more than nine hundred thousand to a bit less than that, which meant a decline of 5.30 percent. In Pabna the population had increased by 21.13 percent between 1974 and 1981. There were 2,546,000 Muslims in 1974, and in 1981 the figure had gone up to 3,167,000. The rate of increase among Muslims was 24.39 percent. On the other hand, there were 2,060,000 Hindus in 1974 and in 1981 their number had decreased to 2,051,000. The rate of increase was -3.46 percent. The same decline in Hindus persisted in Rajsahi, where their population had increased 23.78 percent, while the Muslims had increased by 27.20 percent. In 1974 Hindus numbered 5,058,000 and in 1981 they numbered 5,003,000. The rate of increase among Hindus was -9.68 percent. On page 112 of the book, Sudhamay noticed the following fact: In 1974, the Hindus constituted 13.5 percent of the country's total population, while it was 12.1 percent in 1981. Where were the Hindus going? Sudhamay cleaned the lenses of his spectacles on the sleeve of his punjabi. Are they going away? Why? Did real freedom he in this sort of escape? Shouldn't they have offered resistance by staying in the country? Sudhamay again felt the urge to call the fleeing Hindus cowards.
He was not feeling well. After taking down the statistical yearbook, he felt weakness in his right arm. In his effort to replace the book, he felt the same weakness. He called Kiranmayee, but noticed that his tongue, too, felt heavy. Terror, hard and unyielding, enveloped him. He tried to walk, but his right leg appeared to have very little strength. Still, he called: "Kiran, Kiran."
Kiranmayee had just put a vessel full of lentil soup on the stove. Silently she stood in front of him. Sudhamay wanted to offer his right arm to her, but he couldn't raise it. "Kiran, please put me to bed," he said haltingly.
Kiranmayee, too, was at a loss to understand what had happened. Why was he shaking like this? Why was his speech again slurred? Somehow, she put Sudhamay to bed and asked, "What has happened to you?"
"Where is Suranjan?"
"He just went out. Didn't listen to my warning."
"I'm not feeling well, Kiran. Just do something."
"Why is your speech becoming slurred? What has happened?"
"I'm feeling no strength in my right arm and leg. Am I becoming paralyzed, Kiranmayee?"
Kiranmayee grasped Sudhamay's two arms with hers and said, "Let no evil touch you. It's all because of weakness. You can't sleep during the night, you're not eating well either. Perhaps that's why."
Sudhamay was restless. Uneasiness was creeping in all over his body. He said, "Kiran, do you think that I am dying? I feel that I am."
"Whom shall I call? Will Haripadababu do?"
Sudhamay clasped Kiranmayee with his left arm. He said, "Please don't leave me. Where's Maya?"
"You know she's gone to Parul's house. Hasn't returned from there."
"Where is my son, Kiran, where is my son?"
"Are you all right?"
"Kiran, please open the doors and windows."
"Let me call Haripadababu. You please keep still for a while."
"Those Hindus have escaped from their homes. You won't find them. Better can Maya."
"Who will I give the message to? There's no one in the house."
"Don't move even a bit from here, Kiran. Please call Suranjan."
Sudhamay then mumbled something which couldn't be understood. Kiranmayee shivered. Should she cry out for help from the people of the neighborhood? Or some neighbor with whom they had been living for many years? Her heart sank at the thought that there was hardly anyone who would come to her rescue. Should she call someone from the houses of Hyder, Gautam or Shafique Sahab? Kiranmayee felt quite helpless. The smell and smoke of burned lentils filled the room.
Suranjan had no particular plans to go anywhere even today. Once he thought of going to Belal's place. After crossing Kakrail, he found the ransacked remains of a sweetmeat shop. The shop chairs and tables had been brought out to the road for a bonfire. Burned wood and ashes lay in heaps. Suranjan stared at this scene of destruction as long as he could. Pulak, too, lived in nearby Chamelibag. But he suddenly changed his mind. He decided to go to Pulak's house, instructing the rickshaw puller to turn on a lane at the left. He hadn't seen him for a long time. Pulak lived in a rented flat. He worked in a nongovernment organization. Suranjan had gone to Belal's house quite often just for idle talk. Yet he never felt any urge to meet his college friend Pulak.
He pressed the bell. But no sound came from inside. He went on pressing the bell. A very feeble voice asked from inside, "Who's that-"
"This is Suranjan."
"Which Suranjan?"
"Suranjan Dutta."
The sound of the lock could be heard. Pulak himself opened the door. He said in a hushed voice, "Get inside, quick.,,
"What's the matter, why such an arrangement for protection? You could have easily installed a peephole."
Pulak relocked the door. Then he pulled the lock to check if it had been properly fastened. Pulak again asked in an undertone, "Strange, you've come out quite casually."
"Feeling like that."
"What do you mean? Don't you have any fear? Are you hell-bent to die just to display your courage? Or is it just an adventure for you?"
Reclining on the sofa, Suranjan said, "Whatever you think."
Fear shone in Pulak's eyes. He sat by Suranjan's side on the sofa. Heaving up a long sigh, he said, "Are you aware of what is happening around?"
"Nope."
"The situation at Bhola is extremely alarming. About fifty thousand Hindus belonging to ten thousand families in places like Tajmuddin, Golokpur in Borhanuddin police station, Chhoto Dauri, Shambhupur, Daser Haat, Dari- rampur, Padmaman and Maniram villages have been robbed of all their possessions and turned into paupers. Everything they could call their own has been plundered and later set on fire. The extent of losses would be to the tune of five hundred million takas. The people have neither any clothes to cover themselves nor any food to eat. They didn't leave a single house untouched by fire. Hundreds of shops have been looted. Not a single Hindu shop in Daser Haat market has survived this orgy of violence. These shelterless people are spending their winter nights under the open sky. In Bhola town, Madanmohan Thakurbari temple, Lakshmi-Govinda Thakurbari, its temple, the akhra of Mahaprabhu, all of them have been looted first and then burned down. Not a single temple or akhra stands now in the areas of Daultkhan, Charfashion, Tajmuddin and Lalmohan police station. All the Hindu houses in a two-mile stretch at a place called Ghuinyar Haat have been set ablaze. On the seventh night, the large akhra in Daulatkhan police station area was burned down. The akhra at Borhanuddin Bazar has gone the same way. Fifty houses in Qutuba village met with the same fate. All the Hindu houses in the Charfashion police station area have been looted. A Hindu called Arabinda Dey has been stabbed." Pulak's chronology of violence came to an end.
"Where is Neela?"
Suranjan relaxed comfortably on the sofa, closing his eyes. He was wondering why, instead of going to Belal's place, which was just next door, he sauntered into Pulak's flat. Had he turned a communal in his heart or had the situation made him so?
"I'm alive, this much I can say."
Pulak's six-year-old son was crying and rolling on the floor. Rather, he was sobbing in fits. Pulak explained the reason for his crying: his next-door playmates were not allowing him to take part in games with them. They said he wouldn't be accepted in their circles, as the huzoor had forbidden them to keep contact with the Hindus.
"Who is this huzoor?"
"Huzoor is that maulavi who comes in the morning to teach them Arabic."
"Isn't Anis Ahmed, who is a member of the Communist party, your neighbor in the next flat? He, too, allows his children to be taught Arabic by this blessed huzoor?"
"Yes," affirmed Pulak.
Suranjan again closed his eyes. He tried to fathom Pulak's feelings. He could feel the wails of Pulak's little son as if he, too, had been forcibly kept out of the playground. The people with whom he had played so long or whom he thought of playing with, were not accepting him in their circle. The huzoors had issued a religious order. The Hindus must not be accepted as playmates. He remembered Maya once returning from school crying. She said the teacher had turned her out of the class. The reality was that religion was a compulsory subject in her class curriculum. And she was invariably forced out of the Is- lamiaat class. She was the lone Hindu girl in the school. That was why no Hindu teacher was provided specially for her. Standing alone close to the verandah railing, she would feel companionless, utterly isolated.
Sudhamay asked, "Why were you turned out of the class?"
"Everyone joins the class. They leave me out for being a Hindu, that's the reason."
Sudhamay held Maya close to his chest. Humiliation, pain kept him speechless for a long time. The same day, he visited the house of the religion teacher and requested that he not keep her out of class so that she wouldn't feel she was someone different. Maya became much happier, but she came under the spell of her newly learned alphabet: Alif, Be, Te and so on. While playing at home alone, she would blurt out suddenly, "Alhaamdulillah he rabbil al amin, ar rahmanir rahim." Hearing this outlandish expression, Kiranmayee would ask Sudhamay, "What is all this she is doing? Will she be able to pursue her school studies only by giving up her own religion and communal identity?" Sudhamay, too, was worried. If the girl became an addict to Islam in an effort to maintain her peace of mind, a new problem would then arise. Within a week, he wrote to the school headmaster, pointing out that religion was a matter of individual conviction, hence not a requirement to be included in the academic curriculum. Besides, if he didn't feel the need for his daughter to be taught a particular-religion, then the school authorities couldn't take that same responsibility upon themselves. And the teaching of religion could be replaced by inclusion in the syllabus teaching about outstanding people, great men's lives. This would benefit the students of all communities alike and not give the minorities an inferiority complex. The school authorities didn't pay any heed to Sudhamay's pleading. What was going on was allowed to continue.
Meanwhile Neela came into the sitting room. She was a beautiful, slim woman, who was usually well turned out. But today her dress was grossly unkempt. There were dark patches under her anxious eyes. She asked as she entered, "Suranjanda, how long has it been since you've visited us? You don't care to know if we are alive or not. Yet we hear you visit the house next door." She burst into tears as she said this.
But why should Neela cry over his not coming around? Was it her concern for the helplessness of her community since she had to bear its pain, or her awareness of the same agony and lack of security that affected Suranjan as well? Perhaps this made her realize that Pulak, Alak and Suranjan were co-sharers of her own helplessness. The family appeared to be very close to Suranjan. He never felt the urge to visit them, even when he had taken part in animated discussion in Belal's next-door residence even four or five days ago. This awareness of the closeness of this family was a new experience for him.
"Why are you getting so nervous? They won't be able to cause much harm in Dhaka. There are strong police guards at Shankharibazar, Islampur, Tantibazar," Suranjan said as he sought to allay her fear.
"The police were there during the last riots. They just idly watched as the mischief-makers plundered and set fire to Dhakeshwari temple. Did they lift even a finger?" countered Neela.
"Hum," Suranjan replied, unable to add anything more.
"Why did you take the risk of coming out on the streets? The Muslims can't be trusted. Someone you consider to be a friend can easily slit your throat without any compunction."
Suranjan again closed his eyes. Could he reduce the agony within by keeping his eyes closed? The noise of some argument was coming from outside, perhaps a shop belonging to some Hindu was being set on fire. If he closed his eyes, he could inhale the smell of burning; he could also visualize the fundamentalists armed with long choppers, axes and shovels dancing wildly. He went to see the injured Gautam last night. He found him lying with nasty livid bruises under his eyes and all over his body. Suranjan sat by the bedside, keeping his hand on Gautam's chest. He didn't ask him anything; rather, his touch spoke for him. Gautam said on his own, "Dada, I did nothing. They were returning after offering noon prayers at the mosque. I was asked by my mother to buy some eggs, as we had nothing to eat at home. I thought there was hardly any risk in buying from the local shop since I wasn't going anywhere far. After buying the eggs, as I was taking the change, suddenly someone kicked me heavily on my back. What could I do on my own, as the attackers were six or seven in number? The egg-seller, other passersby just watched them beat me with amused detachment, never trying to interrupt. For no reason, they assaulted me and continued to hit me even when I fell to the ground. Please believe me, I never said anything to them. They were shouting, "You bloody Hindu, son of an infidel, well finish you off. You think you can get away after smashing our mosque? We'll hound you out of the country."
Suranjan just listened, he had nothing to say. He could feel the furious thumping of Gautam's heart. Had he ever heard his own heart beat so hard? Maybe once or twice he had had such an experience.
Neela brought tea. Conversation over the tea touched on Maya.
"I'm very worried about Maya," said Suranjan. "Who knows if she will marry Jehangir on a sudden impulse?"
"What are you saying, Suranjanda? Try to make her see reason. In bad times, anyone is prone to make sudden decisions."
"Let me see. I'll try to pick her up from Parul's house on my way back. Maya is getting spoiled. Just for the tremendous craze for keeping alive, she might become a Farida Begum or something like that. Selfish!" Suranjan concluded.
Neela's eyes were restless with anxiety. Alak, her son, fell asleep as his cries trailed off, leaving tear marks on his cheeks. Pulak kept on pacing to and fro, with his fretfulness working its way into Suranjan. The tea was left unsipped and turned cold. Suranjan craved a cup, but his desire had somehow disappeared. Closing his eyes, he tried to think that this country belonged to him, to his father, grandfather, great-grandfather and so on. Still, he was feeling isolated. Why could he have no rights in this land?
He had no right to move freely, to speak out about whatever he liked, to put on clothing of his choice and to think freely. He would have to cringe in fear, hide himself, he wouldn't be able to go where he liked or talk. Suranjan felt suffocated like a man being strangled. He suddenly held his throat firmly with his hands. Unconcerned about his loss of breath, Suranjan impulsively blurted out, "Pulak, I'm finding no interest in anything."
Beads of sweat were gathering on Pulak's forehead. Why was he perspiring during the winter? Suranjan touched his own forehead. He was surprised to find it sticky. Was it fear? But no one was beating them up. Or killing them. Why, the
n, did they feel scared with their hearts beating rapidly?
Suranjan dialed the telephone. Dilip Dey, a spirited student leader of the past, suddenly came to his mind. Dilip Dey was at home.
"How are you, Dada? Are you suffering any inconvenience? I hope nothing untoward has happened."
"There's no problem except not having peace of mind. And why should it happen to me only? The entire country is going this way."
"That's true."
"How are you? Must have heard of the situation at Chittagong."
"Three temples at Bauria at Sandeep police station, two at Kalapania, three at Magdhara, three at Teuria, one at Harishpur, one at Rahmatpur, one at West Sarikai, and one more at Mitebhanga have been destroyed. At West Sarikai, a man called Sucharu Das was beaten up and then robbed of fifteen thousand takas. Two houses at Tokatuli have been looted and two men stabbed. One house at Kachua in Patia police station area, one temple at Bhatikain ..."
"Where did you get such precise, accurate reports?"
"You are forgetting that I am from Chittagong. Even if I don't go looking, reports reach me anyway." Then he resumed his bizarre litany of looting, arson, and destruction of Hindu houses and temples in numerous places that induded Bailchari, East Chumbul, Sarafbhita, Paira union, Shills union, Badamtoli, Joava, Boalgao, and Tegota of Bashkholi, Rangunia, Chandnaish, and Anwara, making a total of thirty-five houses, seven temples and one hermitage.
Suranjan added his token to this grisly list: ten Kali temples including those at Kaibalyadham, Tulshidham hermitage, Abhay Mitra cremation ground, and Panchanandham.
Dilip Dey was irrepressible about pouring out the gory details of destruction and continued to rattle out names of places and numbers of houses, shops, temples, and cremation grounds as well as other religious places put to sack and fire: Sadarghat Kalibari, Golpahar cremation ground temple, shops on Jamalkhan Road and Sirajuddaula Road, Enayet bazar, K. C. Dey Road, Kaibalyadham Malipara, Sadarghat fishermen's colony, the same in Idgaon Agrabad, Manager colony at Bahaddarghat, Meerer Sarai, Seetakunda, Saberia, Masdia, Hadinagar, Besharat, Odeyapur, Khujuria, Jafarabad, Muradpur union, Mahalanka, Ba- harpur, Baraipara, Bansbaria, Barabkunda, Farhadpur, which brought the total number of affected and uprooted families to several hundred, not to mention other places of religious importance.