My grandfather’s brother thought it judicious to stay back in East Pakistan (presently Bangladesh) even while all his brothers and relatives were shifting to India in 1949. The migrants faced a tough time. Families spent hungry days at rail stations before they could board trains for Kolkata. The refugees toiled hard to strike roots in a new country. While my grandfather struggled with his family in India, his brother spent a fairly luxurious life in East Pakistan. Being trained in Ayurveda, he had established himself as a good doctor. The practice fetched good money.
Everything changed for the worse in just two decades. The Pakistanis based in West Pakistan had begun to mete out step-brotherly treatment to their own countrymen in East Pakistan. The atrocities of the Pakistani military grew beyond endurance. Massive protests broke out in the eastern flank. The liberation army, especially the Mukti Vahini, drew the support of the common folk.
The Pakistani military based in West Pakistan launched massive military operations to suppress civil disobedience in East Pakistan. Students, intelligentsia and members of the liberation force began to be butchered in cold blood. Rebellion was in the air. The situation was tense and it made sense to the doctor to flee East Pakistan.
Dressing himself in his finest Dacca (Dhaka) muslin kurta and adorning himself with gold buttons and a gold watch, the doctor decided to leave for Kolkata. He would return to his home and hearth when normalcy returned. His wife set about to do what she had planned for weeks. She would carry the commodity that could fetch money anywhere – gold. She set about to pack the tall aluminium tiffin carrier that she had deliberately decided to leave unclean. She packed her gold at the bottom of each of the five boxes and carefully covered it with finely cut betel nuts, betel leaves and paan masala. There was no time to lose. She left clutching the grimy tiffin career clad in a saree variously coloured with turmeric, oil and masala stains. She thanked her stars that they were still alive to catch the train bound for the border.
But the world is a jungle. As the lions wait patiently for the herds of migrating wildebeests in the African savannah, marauders waited for their hapless victim as they fled their homes with their dearest possessions. Armed with crude revolvers and machetes, they swooped down on the prey. As fate would have it, they entered the same compartment of the train where sat the gentleman with his gold watch and gold buttons. Needless to say, he was their first victim. They did not spare a glance at the lady demurely clad in a soiled saree who sat clutching an equally grimy tiffin career. For her part, she did not dare see her husband being robbed and looted. They made it to India at midnight. The relatives were relieved to see them. Indeed they had feared the worst.
The doctor and his wife spent restless days in Kolkata. Each day, they scoured the newspaper for news of their country. India helped win the war that liberated East Pakistan from West Pakistan and a new nation Bangladesh was born in 1971. Fair weather had returned and the doctor couple decided to make the long and tedious journey home. The couple turned a deaf ear to all suggestions of the relatives to stay back in India. How could they leave their hearth and home? Everyone bade them a teary farewell at the same time warning them to expect the worst. As they made their way to the village, all the warnings came back to them afresh. Yes, the Pakistani army had been there. The villagers talked of large-scale plundering. There was destruction all around. Houses and standing crops were destroyed and acquaintances slaughtered. Strangely, their house stood intact. The first room was stacked high with looted bicycles and sewing machines and the second with priceless, indescribable booty — antiques! They stood there bewildered and shocked to see that their cherished house no more belonged to them.
sucharitalahiri5@gmail.com