by Anwar A. Khan
The month of August depresses me frightfully. I don’t even feel like talking. And when I don’t talk, that’s a sure sign of being stagnant; standing still; and without current or circulation. I am more depressed in August than in any of the other eleven months in the year. Something very bad happened to us in the country in August 1975 that brings up memories every time the cycle appears each year. August is certainly more depressing than any other month, and for us, it is because we lost Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the Father of our Nation. The odd uneven time!
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| Mass upsurge of 1969, land slide victory of Bangladesh Awami League, historic 7 March speech of Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman deeply influenced and inspired Bangalee members employed in Pakistan Air Force.[ Photo: Bangladesh Post] |
The month of August turns into a griddle where the days just lay there and seethe with deep anger or resentment. As I get close to the centre of the peach or lulu, there is an off-flavour of rot or buncombe. In my mind’s eye, I could see a darkened area close to the centre that would soon cause the peach to wither. I knew what that meant. I didn’t know whose life would be blighted, but these aureate days were few. They wouldn’t have much time together. August is the only month the name of which is an adjective. But is August venerable for us? There is nothing majestic or revered about it. It is sultry, asphyxiating, and fainéant. It is the height of the canicular days, over which the Sothis or Sirius.
Historically, August is the deadliest month in Bangladesh’s history. It is the messenger of misery, a hollow actor. Every year, it seems as if August lashes out in volcanic fury, rising with the din of morning traffic, its great metallic wings smashing against the ground, heating the air with ever-increasing intensity. This is the month of August. It is hot, steamy, and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip by Sylvia Plath: “After a heavy rainfall, poems titled ‘Rain’ pour in from across the nation.” But the airs that hover in the sky were all asleep to that night of 15 August in 1975.
I really trust people. I really think they know what they are doing. I really trust them. I think they have proven themselves over and over again and know what to do, and they have the big picture in mind. August used to be a sad month for me and for us all.
As the days go on, the thought of some evildoers starting weighed heavily upon my frame. Those, coupled with the oppressive heat and humidity of my country, only seem to heighten the misery. I am pitiful to have an opportunity to speak on August 15. I thought much about it myself, and I was faced with the shock and undeniable truth of our nation’s founding father’s brutal murder.
I don’t think anyone really thinks about tragedy until they are actually faced with shocking news. Until a horrible thing happened and everything changed, I was in one of the Dhaka University dormitory rooms when I heard of our people’s Bangabandhu Mujib yelling for his people. He was then lying motionless on the floor of his own house with gun bullets by some brutish military group. He was the greatest among the millions of martyrs and freedom fighters who sacrificed everything for the country’s independence, welfare, and progress. This was the biggest tragedy that the nation faced after we achieved our hard-won independence under his leadership. Thus this tragedy occurred. People came to know that a well-built, tall man fell on the ground.
The news of his assassination spread like a fire. We remained dumbfounded. Slowly, they signified that Mujib was dead. This was the worst and saddest happening in my life. I wept. Many people wept. There was darkness everywhere. That darkest night was not allowed to be published by those cruel goons. That day was the saddest day of my life; it was like the end of everything to me and it really broke my heart and spirit to live.
I tried to avoid crying, but the more I tried, the more I wanted to, and the more flashes of memories of him came towards me. It was really hard for me to let go, harder than I could imagine it would be during the time Bangabandhu encountered those thuggish criminals. How desolating to think that this man could have made such an impression on the world he left behind. How sad that no one thought enough of him to snatch away his life for good.
But we miss him tremendously, which at times is difficult. The truth finally comes out. They get publicly defamed. I can honestly say I am hard hit by a celebrity death quite like Bangabandhu’s death. The dark night he died, let that, along with his decades of classics of politics, inspire us all to go very far outside the box.
He just embodies everything he wanted to be as a man of his own people. I remember that day like it was yesterday. Ranking the comparative degree of sadness associated with deaths is a strange concept, yet this one stands out prominently due to the murder and in his middle age, especially when considered along with older people dying of natural causes. The reason that this is the saddest is simply because it was the most unexpected. Such a terrible loss of such a brilliant and kind-hearted person!
There have been some very sad losses, but given the human values Mujib stood for and the brutality of his death, I can’t put into words how tragic this is. His murder is the bloodiest day in Bangladesh’s history. I can’t say that a moment in history was worse than another, but many people felt that day. In August, the most horrible and tragic event was conspired to happen in the history of Bangladesh. When this happened, and the countrymen, let me tell you, I was crying like the world was going to end.
I don’t know how someone could hurt a country like that. They would have to be just… Depressed and evil! It is pathetic! Not only is it one of the biggest disasters in history, but it was a fortuitous incident that no one anticipated. But it is not the sunset. “Sunset is the saddest light there is,” as was pronounced by Sue Monk Kidd. I think we lost him, but we did not lose him as a model in our life. I would like to say that each one of us should endeavour to keep the spirit of Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman and the spirit of those who helped and worked along his vision forever alive. We should be really grateful to all of them.
Dear Father, you are brilliant and brave, and you are stronger than you know, even if you forget to believe in yourself sometimes. You have a wondrous soul and a beautiful heart that is able to give so much love to those around you. And people might be so happy to have been able to be on the receiving end of this outpouring of love on more than one occasion. You are a wonderful human.
Quite honestly, you are one of my favourite humans. My heart is filled with so much love and joy and excitement for you. But you have gone, and our hearts are broken. This horrible emptiness is never going to go away…. he is gone, nothing can fill that void. Not only was our innocence robbed by this tragedy, but now we have sadness in our lives that is just not right… and we lost you.
This was clearly the worst. I was so scared! I did not know why. Then I thought the world was going to end… I just hope no one should allow something like that to happen again… A single sunbeam is enough to drive away many shadows. The moon is at her full and riding high, flooding the calm fields with light. Ralph Adams Cram has said, “The pursuit of perfection always implies a definite aristocracy, which is as much a goal of effort as a noble philosophy, an august civil polity or a great art.” Hello August, please be good to me, and to us all.
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