Issue:
July 2025 | Book extract
Following is an extract from A Time to Dream and a Time of Despair (Cosmos Books 2025) by former FCCJ president and longtime member Monzurul Huq. The book focuses Huq’s life during 1971, a crucial year in the history of Bangladesh.
Huq joined the liberation war of Bangladesh in his late teens as a guerilla fighter with the dream of liberating his motherland from the grip of military occupation by West Pakistan.
March 25, 1971, is the date that remains in the memories of all those belonging to our generation. It was the day when quick succession of events unfolding before our eyes were sending a mixed signal with contradictory predictions of victory as well as subjugation. People gathering in street corners of various locations were euphoric, despite contradictory gossips kept on circulating all around. However, those who occupied our homeland were not ready to give up easily and were well prepared to suppress the demand for independence with the full force of military might. They named the mission “Operation Searchlight”, and with the approach of darkness unleashed their brutal power against ordinary people. I was in the streets of Dhaka during second half of the day, so were some of my friends. We wanted to keep a watchful vigilance over everything happening around. Then it all started. We probably were over optimistic about the outcome of an important discussion that the political leadership was engage in with the administration, and as a result our anxiety and disappointment turned out to be fathomless. This episode of our misleading expectation followed by fear and carnage has been reflected in the memoir in following words:
People were shouting and cheering as the situation was yet to turn panic filled. Rather a festive mood was prevailing. However, with the passage of time, a sense of renewed tense gradually got hold of the public mood as news started reaching us about the start of military maneuver outside the cantonment. Yet, it cannot be said that panic was taking hold of our mind; it was rather a puzzling situation that prevailed as we were not sure about what we needed to do at that crucial moment.
It was right at that moment some of us, including myself, suddenly started realizing how helpless we had been in an uneven battle that was approaching us with a quick pace. And then we heard the first gun shot from a distance, followed by repeated cracking sound of automatic rifles piercing through the night and making us numb. An unforeseen and uneasy curtain of silence suddenly started falling over every individual who gathered if in deep sorrow and shame. Shame for not getting the time to prepare well enough to counter the enemy, and sorrow for the impending misfortune that many of us were sensing as something inevitable. The jubilant crowd of early evening had gone through a hurried metamorphosis as many started heading towards what they considered safety of their homes, not sensing that in a few hours’ time no place will be seen safe enough for protection against a mayhem of unparallel brutality.
I too hurried back home, and soon after the sounds of random shots of gunfire intensified. However, we still felt safe as our house was not situated on the main road and relative safety of the narrow lane allowed us to move without anxiety of falling easily into the sights of outsiders intruding the neighborhood. Some of our close relatives were also living in the same locality and I, along with some of my cousins of the same age group, decided that we should go to the rooftop of my aunt’s house, a two storied building which was the tallest in that area and have a better view of the city from a distance. We wanted to see from there what was going around in reality, and as we climbed the stairs, sounds of gunshots intensified further and soon after we could see the night sky illuminated by flame throwers that were periodically fired by the military with the purpose of watching over the surroundings. They made everything around visible for a brief spell. We could also hear very clearly the rolling sound of military tanks as they were passing through the main streets to their set destinations. We were not sure about the exact targets they were aiming for, though could guess student dormitories of the university were among the main spots the army was heading toward. It was already past midnight as we kept on watching, lying on the rooftop to avoid any chance of being seen from a distance. Visibility could instigate the army to start firing at random. We also could hear loud human cries coming from various localities of different corners of the city that was under attack. And from the rooftop, soon we could see Dhaka was in flame. Our beloved city was burning before our eyes, and nobody attempted to bring the fire under control. Flames were reaching sky high from different locations, making surrounding areas mostly visible even in the dead of that fearful night when total darkness was supposed to prevail.
How did I feel at that precise moment? I did not cry; I did not sob; but felt completely empty inside. A deep sorrow engulfed my feeling as I was thinking about the already lost battle that we had been waging for almost a month. Though we were at the preparatory stage of an uneven battle, a sense of pride kept our spirit high as we felt we were in the right side of history. However, it now seemed that all the hope and aspiration that we had carefully nurtured almost for a month melted in the void, leaving nothing behind but a deep sense of emptiness…
I decided to return home, which was only a couple of minutes walking distance from my aunt’s house. I can recall very clearly that lying on the bed, I could not sleep for very long and was just thinking about the battle that we had lost without even getting a chance to wage it properly. I tried to keep calm and in the silence of the night I realized that my elder brother sleeping in the same room too had been passing sleepless night. We did not talk as we felt there was nothing to talk about. Soldiers of a losing battle do not talk; they just march forward keeping their heads down and fixing their eyes firmly to the ground. My own feeling was precisely like that. And when at the long last sleep could have taken hold of my tired body, I slept removing from my mind the sounds of random gunshots and accompanying piercing cry of human souls running desperately in search of safety However, it was a short sleep and with the approach of dawn the carnage seemed to have continued, though keeping a slightly slower pace.
After the initial brutal crackdown came the announcement of strict order not to venture outside homes until a further announcement was made. Thus, the curfew continued for almost for 36 hour and then the army decided to give a short break for allowing people to buy essential items needed for sustaining their household life. People of our neighborhood rushed to the nearby market to grab whatever foot items they could get hold of, although a few and limited number of items were available. For us it provided a unique opportunity for going out and see with our own eyes results of the carnage and barbaric brutality.
I was not asked to go to the bazar. While I was thinking what I should do during the precious two-hour period, one of my school friends living in the same neighborhood came to see me riding his bicycle. I too had my own bike in those days, and we decided to go around to see the extent of damage and destruction. As we rode side by side, we encountered the first horror seen the moment we reached the main road. There in a corner across the road, a few dead bodies with bullet wounds were lying. Among those were two of the street children who we had seen running around enthusiastically in the late evening of March 25. I remembered the gathering of the mass dispersed right after hearing the first gunshot and we all went home. The poor street children, however, had nowhere to go and they probably did not imagine that the military would turn so wild to kill even poorest of the poor like homeless street urchins. But they were wrong and had to pay the price for the mistaken trust by their life. They were the first group of martyrs of our war of independence that I had the chance to see firsthand. Blood still had not dried up completely and the closed eyes of two streel children had somehow reflected a calm feeling, as if to remind us that no brutal power would be able to devoid us of the ultimate victory. The scene made both of us speechless and from then on, we just paddled forward riding our bicycles, hardly talking to each other.
The armed forces of Pakistan had always represented the ruling elites from the western part of the country and had a strong grievance against anything symbolizing the power and will of the people of East Pakistan. Shaheed Minar was precisely that symbol and it came under attack. As we reached the Minar, we saw the structure had already been demolished by artillery fire and only some of the broken pillars were still hanging, as if bowing the head to the ground in deep sorrow and pain. There we kept our bicycles by the side of the road, climbed the stairs littered with debris; and standing silently in front of the half-fallen pillars we had taken a firm vow. We vowed in silence to take revenge by joining the anticipated war of liberation and not to give up until the country was liberated, even if needed, at the cost of our own life. That was the silent oath the two of us had taken standing in front of the fallen monument of our pride and glory, and then we rushed back home.
The silent oath that I had taken on the day of mayhem had eventually driven me to India for turning the desired dream of joining the battle for independence into reality. There we had to wait in makeshift camps before undergoing a short training course on urban guerrilla warfare and were sent back to Bangladesh to fight the enemy. The moment I stepped inside the territory of Bangladesh was a moment of utmost joy. Here is the reflection of that moment as written in the memoir.
I do not precisely remember the date when we started marching towards the border and crossed over to Bangladesh territory. India and Pakistan were officially at war from December 3, 1971. Contrary to that reality of the time, in border areas of East Pakistan where Pakistan army deployed additional forces to counter any possible infiltration of what they termed as subversive elements, exchange of gunfire across the border became a routine incident since the closing days of March 1971. However, such regular border clashes took the form of an undeclared war from early November and fierce battle was fought along the bordering areas near Agartala. The Indian army, along with the regular forces of Bangladesh fought a deadly battle near the Bangladesh border town of Akhaura where the Pakistanis had built a strong defensive position with concrete bunkers and permanent trenches running across a long belt adjacent to the border. As a result, moving inside by crossing that highly secured zone was seen as a very risky task and we did not expect taking that route, which was also among the shortest that would lead us towards the neighboring rural settlements of Dhaka, which was set as our target destination.
We were hurriedly dispatched inside Bangladesh soon after it became clear that the official declaration of war was only a matter of time that might come anytime soon. I already have mentioned earlier that the planning of war strategy was in the hands of Indian army and they from time to time held close discussions with their Bangladeshi counterpart. Later we came to know that ours was among more than twenty something guerilla groups that were to gather around Dhaka and wait for the final instruction for moving inside the city. It was obviously part of a grand strategy. As Pakistan army started retreating towards the direction of Dhaka and other cities soon after the war was officially declared, it was a general perception that the final battle for liberating Bangladesh would most likely be what people already started calling as the battle of Dhaka. Hence it was decided to send small groups of freedom fighters to Dhaka from all sides of the city to help the regular army in encountering the enemy within the city.
Almost all the groups that gathered outside Dhaka by the second week of December were composed of fighters who had been living in the city and who were well versed with the localities within the city and its various locations. In urban warfare, knowing the place better is seen as an added advantage as heavy armored vehicles are unable to move freely due to urban structures. We were supposed to help the advancing joint forces of Bangladesh and India in the final battle for getting control of the city. It was a risky involvement as well, since the well trained and well-armed soldiers of Pakistan army was supposed to give a tough resistance. However, we hardly gave any serious consideration to that looming danger as we were earnestly looking forward to making our own contribution in liberating the country. Our eventual destination before entering Dhaka was set at Nawabgonj, a union council headquarters under the administrative authority of Dhaka South sub-division.
Before we started our journey to reach that destination, our initial plan was to bypass Akhaura and adjacent areas and move towards the south and find a suitable border crossing point. As we were planning for that journey, news of Pakistani forces’ retreat from Agartala reached our camp and the leadership had hurriedly decided to take that opportunity and send groups of guerrilla fighter inside Bangladesh through that once fortified region under the control of Pakistan army. Hence, we moved to the border areas of Akhaura region in an early morning in November and it did not take much longer for us to reach the dividing line along the border. Many of us felt a deep emotional jolt soon after the view of motherland coming to our sight. I never thought anything like that could have such a deep impact on me. As I stepped inside our captive homeland along with others, I was overwhelmed by a strong sense of emotional shock. It was as if an emotionally charged electric shock started running through my body, which was taking hold of my whole mindset right after the moment we crossed the border. I always get lost whenever I intend to give a description of what the feeling was like or how deep was the shock that I felt. However, I am sure it had a reinvigorating impact on my body and mind as I had a renewed sense of feeling the beauty of being alive to encounter something that I hardly expected to come across. Never in the past anything like that happened in my life, and most likely never in the future anything like that would probably happen again.
