Adding new substance to historical discourse
Nurjahan Murshid was one of the more articulate political beings in Bangladesh. There was suavity about her, a readiness and an ability to be part of the wider world around her. If cosmopolitanism was the requirement in an era when Bengali politics gradually passed into the hands of the middle class, Murshid demonstrated it in plenty through her view of the issues, indeed of the social canvas which she observed before her and of which she was an integral part. The qualities that defined her in her career --- as a politician, as an editor, as an aesthete --- all come encompassed in these two commemorative volumes on her five years after her death.
In Nurjahan Murshid was symbolised an era of Bengali idealism that would in time graduate to Bengali nationalism. Brought into politics, with no little effort by her doting father-in-law, she saw herself stepping into the East Bengal provincial assembly in 1954 on the ticket of the Jugto Front. She had defeated Shamsunnahar Mahmud and quite logically seemed destined for greater glories. She was young, she was educated and intelligent and, of course, she was beautiful. Appointed a parliamentary secretary following what was a landmark election in this part of the world, she clearly demonstrated a flair for getting work done according to the standards she set for herself. But, then again, those standards marked the era she was part of. As she notes in an essay in Amar Kichhu Kotha, she came in touch with the legendary Dhirendranath Dutta, who was clearly impressed with her. And, again, those were times when she worked in the company of Sher-e-Bangla A.K. Fazlul Huq, Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy and all those stalwarts who had just set out on a mission to lead Bengalis into political sunshine.
In a bigger sense, though, Nurjahan Murshid, in that defining year when the Jugto Front unnerved the Pakistan establishment through its rout of the Muslim League at the provincial elections, was part of a generation of politicians beginning to come of age. She was young and with her there were other young politicians --- Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, Tajuddin Ahmed, Syed Nazrul Islam, et al --- who increasingly began to reflect the shape of things to come. And just how effectively that future would be shaped was to be spotted in the early 1960s, when this generation of Bengali politicians, led by the fire-breathing Mujib, would embark on a mission to revive the Awami League following the death of Suhrawardy in December 1963. That job done, there would come time for a greater show of courage. It came, through the Six Points. Murshid threw herself heart and soul into the campaign to popularise the points throughout what still used to be Pakistan's eastern province. The Six Points were a metaphor for Bengali demands within the state of Pakistan. But even Murshid must have known that beyond the points lay a wider world of freedom and democracy. The path to that world would of course lie through much bloodletting, in March 1971 and the months that would follow. It would be a world of darkness, one where uncertainty would reign, at least for a while.
The uncertainty came to an end with the formation of the government-in-exile in Mujibnagar in April 1971. Nurjahan Murshid, having made her way of out of enemy-infested Dhaka, saw a new role thrust upon her. As part of a team entrusted with the job of presenting Bangladesh's case to the international community, Murshid knew what needed to be done. She met Indira Gandhi, who made it a point to welcome her and her team at the gate of the prime ministerial residence in Delhi. Murshid acquitted herself well in 1971, dealing with relief and medical supplies and at the same time making an endless, consistent intellectual case for the country abroad. The coming of freedom saw her as part of the Bangladesh government. Idealism defined the spirit of the new country and secular politics promised a new dawn. That promised dawn did not quite arrive, or was nipped in the bud. August 15, 1975 left lives battered. Dreams lay scattered in pieces.
Amar Kichhu Kotha is an offering from Nurjahan Murshid that takes the reader back to a world of possibilities eventually hurled to the ground with brute force. Yet she never lost sight of the principles she had always held dear. In 1979, she spoke on Bangabandhu at a conference in London. Her poignant reflections on the rise and fall of her journal Edesh-Ekal are fundamentally a commentary on the perils faced by intellectually-oriented journalism in Bangladesh. Murshid's exposition of Plato, her world of poetry and her remembrances of the great and the good are part of this hugely readable work. And with that comes Sharok Grantha, a deserving collage of tributes to Murshid. And yet it is more than a commemoration of the achievements of an individual. It is a celebration of the age Murshid inhabited and the morality that underpinned Bengali aspirations in her era. Ajoy Roy, Atiur Rahman, Mohammad Anisur Rahman, Serajul Islam Choudhury and Syed Anwar Hossain reflect on the world as it used to be, as it yet might be. And with their views of the world of the Bengali come a wide-ranging discussion on culture, poetry, women. Waheedul Haque's tribute to Nurjahan Murshid is a touching piece of the poetic; and so is Hayat Mamud's. Add to this richness the thoughts that come on fundamentalism and feminism, women and parliament and, to be sure, women and partition, topped by a learned disquisition on violence-prone women in South Asia.
Amar Kichhu Kotha and Sharok Grantha are a substantive addition to the continuing discourse on Bangladesh's history. There is little question about that. And these works bring forth some more of the answers we have always sought through our many queries over the years.
Comments