History's troubadour
BANGABANDHU Sheikh Mujibur Rahman would be ninety four today, a venerable statesman, avuncular to the generation that went to war in 1971 and a grandfather figure to the children of the war generation.
In Bangabandhu there was an abundance of humour. Asked by newsmen in January 1972, on the day he took over as prime minister of a newly free Bangladesh, why he had not given portfolios to some of the new ministers about to take the oath of office, he advised them to wait. But he did mention that the health and family planning office was going to a leading politician who had an emaciated appearance. How so? The minister's poor state of health would convince donors about the need for aid in the health sector. Besides, who but he would understand the great need for planned families since he had two wives and fourteen children between them?
On a visit to the United Arab Emirates in 1974, Bangabandhu was welcomed by Sheikh Zayed bin Sultan al Nahiyan. The UAE ruler was happy that he and the Bangladesh prime minister were both sheikhs, to which Bangabandhu replied: “But, Excellency, there is a difference. I am a very poor sheikh.” The two men burst into laughter. His fury was aroused by the misplaced attitudes of others. When Nigeria's Yakubu Gowon wondered, at a meeting with him on the sidelines of a Commonwealth summit, if an undivided Pakistan could not have been a symbol of Muslim strength in the world, Mujib retorted: “Mr. President, you are right. Now, if India had not been partitioned, it would be one strong country. Similarly, if Asia was one whole or the world had not been segmented into different nations, we would all be strong as members of one human race. But, Excellency, do we always get what we want out of life?”
In 1975, Saudi King Faisal grumbled that Pakistan's break-up had weakened Muslims in South Asia. Bangabandhu simply asked him where all that concern for Muslims was when Pakistan's Muslim soldiers were killing Bangladesh's Muslim men and raping their women. Faisal was silent. In 1954, as Pakistan's central government prepared to dismiss the United Front government in East Bengal, Chief Minister Fazlul Huq and Sheikh Mujibur Rahman flew to Karachi to reason with Prime Minister Mohammad Ali Bogra that such a disastrous step ought not to be taken. Bogra, at one point, told Mujib that the government had a big file on him. Mujib shot back: “So what? Our government has a file on you. Remember the time when, upset that you had not been taken into the central cabinet, you secretly contributed money to opposition funds?” You can imagine the loud silence that rang around the room.
There was supreme confidence in Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. At the height of the non-cooperation movement in March 1971, Bangabandhu was asked about his defiance of the Pakistan government. “What government?” He retorted. “I am the government.” Asked by a foreign journalist about the way he felt being on trial in the Agartala conspiracy case, he answered: “You know, they can't keep me here for more than six months.” He was freed seven months into the trial. On day one of the trial, he noticed the journalist Faiz Ahmed among the mediapersons covering the proceedings. Faiz Ahmed had his back to the accused. Bangabandhu softly called out his name. Faiz would not respond. Bangabandhu tried a second time. Faiz Ahmed, aware of Pakistani intelligence in the courtroom, whispered: “Mujib bhai, we can't talk here.” The Bengali politician exploded: “Anyone who wants to live in Bangladesh will have to talk to Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.” Even the judges were shaken by the outburst.
Bangabandhu was a good reader. His collection of books remains testimony to his interest in ideas. An admirer of Bertrand Russell, he was also drawn to George Bernard Shaw. Hours before he was assassinated along with his family, he was reportedly reading the Irish writer's Man and Superman.
Bangladesh's founding father laughed uproariously, in spontaneity. He hummed Tagore in his moments of contentment. He never forgot faces even three decades after he had last seen them. And he remembered names.
Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was our troubadour, trekking through the villages and hamlets of this land, spreading the message that liberty was all. In his eventual days of glory, he clearly remembered the muddy paths and the monsoon storms that had shaped his politics.
Bangabandhu decreed on December 5, 1969 that this land would not be East Bengal, would not be East Pakistan. Henceforth it would be Bangladesh. And Joi Bangla would be our song.
The writer is Executive Editor, The Daily Star. E-mail: [email protected]
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