Abdul Matin was an angel in human form

BENJAMIN Franklin cryptically said that many people die at twenty-five but aren't buried until they're seventy-five. Neither proved true in the life of Abdul Matin, who lived it until his last breath. He was 88 when he died on October 8 and his mortal remains went to a medical college instead of being lowered in a grave. The body was donated so that aspiring doctors will get to enrich their knowledge of medical science. Matin made sure nothing of God's gifts was ever wasted in him.

Let's spare him the sentimental cliché that his death is an irreparable loss. Everybody dies and life goes on. The fact nonetheless is that we've lost more than an iconic man, a milestone who was a measure of history within himself. His stubbled face, shriveled physique and doleful eyes conjured the image of a man thrilled to bits by the ecstasy of suffering for others.

Will the medical students, who have or will cut him open on the dissection table, find the scars of that suffering inside the corpse? Will they capture the thrill of a selfless life as they pry his organs with knives and forceps? Will they recognise the phenomenon, which, not long ago, breathed inside this discarded shell?

By all means Abdul Matin's death has been more than the cessation of life. Gone with him is a benchmark of this nation in this day and age. He was its alter ego, sort of an anti-climax who embraced hardship and spurned hedonism. An island of restraint in a sea of excesses, his frail body cut a forceful swathe of antiquity through the inexorable clutter of modern chaos. He was a contrast to the glitter and greed that have turned this nation into a crowded casino. His death as if marked the closing of a museum that showcased an endangered species, unfazed even on the verge of extinction.

Defiance was a genetic condition in Abdul Matin. He was the first person to protest when Mohammad Ali Jinnah arrogated that Urdu should be the state language of Pakistan. He spearheaded the Language Movement, besides being involved in other seminal events shaping the history of this nation. Once he joined the 4th class clerks at one of their processions and was thrown in jail. He refused to sign a bond after his release, which got him ousted from Dhaka University for three years.

These events made him a hero, who never used charm, fame or popularity for personal gains. His pecuniary struggle was plastered on his stricken face, but he never compromised his cause. He isn't known to have negotiated his soul for material goal or attempted to convert his reputation into cash. He was a one-man crusade against material quest, his modesty working like speed breakers on our highway to hubris.

Matin was a counterculture by himself and he paid the price. There was nothing that he couldn't have had if he asked for it. He could have had power, position, bank loans, plots of land, contracts, conferrals and referrals. He could have been a minister of something, ambassador to somewhere, a party boss of some stature and a worldly man of some means.

Instead, he clung to his ideals at the cost of everything else. Many of his comrades abandoned him, throwing away their ideologies more frequently than snakes shed skins. Reggae singer Bob Marley once claimed that he was a revolutionary who wouldn't want help from anyone, because he was ready to fight singlehandedly with his music. Matin maintained that steadfast stance throughout his life, going it alone when the familiar world collapsed around him. By God, it takes a great deal of courage, character and conviction to walk on a road shunned by others!

Albert Camus writes in The Rebel: An Essay on Man in Revolt that in default of inexhaustible happiness, eternal suffering would at least give us a destiny. Matin had the making of a messiah in him, who had found his destiny in the perpetual denial of temptations. An activist, a rebel and an idealist, he was an indefatigable warrior whose aging body couldn't break his spirit.

He was different things to different people: firebrand, non-conformist, hermit, humanist, and communist. But if one strips these labels, the basic man embodied humanity in all its glory. Demonstration of dedication, symbol of sacrifice, poster boy of purity, incarnation of integrity and hieroglyph of honesty, he was an angel who walked amongst us in human form.

We have mourned the loss of many worthy sons in this country. But Abdul Matin's death has taken the exorcist from us. He has left behind a haunted house and the vampires are fierce and thirsty. The last lingering sliver of sunshine gone, where shall we find the dignity and courage to fight this horror?

The writer is Editor, First News and an opinion writer for The Daily Star.
Email: badrul151@yahoo.com