The New Nation - Internet Edition

Abu Bakar Siddiquee

The poet stood in silence with a puzzled look; his usual sarcastic smile, with lips curving upwards, has disappeared long ago.

Almost all big cities of Europe possess impressive shopping center namely Harold in London, Galleria Lafayette Alley in Paris, and Kadewi in Berlin, so on and so forth. These grandeur shops furnished with remarkable collections, highly priced but genuine and branded articles with their plentiful varieties, charm the customers. One's yearning for buying the luxuries nursed through the years and repressed for luck off opportunity waited to be satisfied at these shops. The most pleasant feature is an array of superfluities of goods that are not available in the common markets; these immense accumulations of mentionable articles are worth seeing and well remembered for the whole life and gives exotic pleasure in buying them.

Mr. Habibur Rahman is waiting in front of such a Shopping Center for his colleague Mr. Azimuddin. Both are in government service. They have come to this city in an official visit for two weeks. All their expenses will be borne by the state; moreover they are paid daily allowances, which made their stay comfortable. Usually when one gets the opportune of such trip doesn't miss it, rather likes to avail the tour of nearby countries; this is another added profit. Mr. Habibur Rahman and Mr. Azimuddin saved some money from the daily allowances and have come to this grand shopping center to buy something worth mentioned and to soothe their eyes going through the varieties of articles.

At the entrance of the gate all of a sudden, a middle-aged gentleman addressed Habibur Rahman in a clear Bangla pronunciation,

'Perhaps you have come very recently from Dhaka?'

Before he could guess who is speaking a spontaneous reply came out of Mr. Habibur Rahman's lip, 'Yes, but how could you know? With an amazing surprise he asked the gentleman.

'Oh, I can very much assume, replied the gentleman with an irony-mixed tone, 'I'm residing in this town for so many years; How is that I won't be able to recognize a Bangladeshi? From the walking style I can say whether he is a new comer or not; even I can say the purpose of the visit also in some cases.'

Before Habibur Rahman could utter any word he said, 'you must have come to the Embassy for audit work? Isn't it?'

Habibur Rahman became more puzzled, he said, 'how could you know?'

'You climbed down from the black limousine of Bangladesh Embassy, so it is easily understood.' The witty, sarcastic smile is playing over the gentleman's face, 'otherwise why would the Embassy entertain you cordially like a son-in-law of Bengal! Why would they permit their limousine to drop you at the shop?

Habibur Rahman no more remained silent, it's his turn now, he asked,

'May I know your acquaintance?'

The aged gentleman answered enigmatically

'I stay in this country, work in this city, because my homeland never owned me.

Now it become clear to Habibur Rahman that this man is having no respect for his own country or it's Embassy, and also he is disturbed.

'What do you mean by "country never owned you"?' Habibur Rahman asked.

The gentleman startled, he didn't expect this sort of question. But very quickly he resumed his own composure, said,

'The country has resented me, yet the people wants me, the soil of my land is my soul; but the leaders and the bureaucrats of the country has evicted me.'

Mr. Habibur Rahman's inquisitiveness waned. He thought, 'how it can be that one can't return to his own land? How could a man turn to be an unwanted person in his own abode?'

By this time the gentleman changed the topic. Conversationally he said,

"Wow, you are wearing a sparkling white trouser and a bright blue colored shirt, but in your own country you won't be able to wear these, in a moment the dust and mud would make them dirty, also the bright color of the shirt fade out by the scorch sun ray.'

Habibur Rahman made no mistake to recognize the character of this gentleman; he is one of those who always love to revile his own country.

'How long have you not being to your motherland?' Habibur Rahman asked.

'I have not gone to my homeland since I left it; I have to quit my country after two years of liberation. In abroad I have roamed about here and there and tried to do something befitting, finally I have settled down here, in this city. I got the citizenship on political ground.'

Habibur Rahman, the audit officer, found the exact modus operandi of his computation.

'This gentleman is absconding or driven out of the country for some illegal or unethical performance. There must have been, there certainly was, a more fundamental cause, a more elemental one, for which he can't return to his homeland,' Habibur Rahman was analyzing.

The gentleman uttered, 'I have done a lot for liberation war, passed sleepless night in writing patriotic songs and poems, on daybreak hurled to the radio station to put them on air;' there is a tinge of despair in his voice, 'I have done all these for the sake of my country, to encourage the people, to excite and motivate them for joining the war. It's not an easy job to inspire the whole nation day after day through the radio-frequency media, to stir the spirits of people; to keep them free of frustration; to induce conscientious dedication for the country. That was a great job. I worked with all my loyalty, encouraged my co-workers, inspired the whole nation, enkindled the activities of liberation war.'

He paused for a while, then begun,

'The country was liberated; the people got liberation, but what about me? What have I achieved? Leaving the soil of my golden country I have to be landed somewhere elsetbut why?

Habibur Rahman failed to understand for whom the question is thrown. Is it a self-talk or a question? Pique or repining? Whatever may be, Habibur Rahman could not accept his arguments by heart for two reasons: first, his expressions lack modesty, and secondly, the narration may not be true. The gentleman continued,

'Regularly I'm in touch of my country though I live far away; I get all the news - political, cultural, economical, and also about the morality of the leaders and all happenings.'

He said, 'this year there was untimely flood in my country, whole city of the capital became water logged, the government had to announce holiday for the flood affected situation. Is this the way of management? Have you ever heard of such thing in any developed country of the world?'

He did not bother to get an answer from Habibur Rahman. In the same drawl he continued,

'How it's possible to drain away the rainwater? All the drainage system is blocked by the wastage. Municipality doesn't care for all those, only knows how to make money. The drains, lakes, canals, beels all have vanished; I have heard that some land-grabbers acquired those, filled up with earth to made sky-tower and some places were turn to a ideal suburban town. In my childhood I saw the washer men washing clothes in the Dholai canal; now-a days not a single canal comes into view, all being filled up to a road. Now it's a question how in such an unplanned management a town can survive? It must have turn to a slum; actually now the city of Dhaka is nothing but a bustee.'

The gentleman has stopped his talk. Suddenly a man walks past Habibur Rahman. Habibur Rahman checked his pockets and handbag whether the valuable belongings are safe. The gentleman advised,

'Be careful, pick pocketing is a regular affair here now-a-day, you have to be alert.'

'How comes that? Habibur Rahman tried to be jocular, 'in such a highly developed cultured civilized country how can we expect the regular incidents of Gulistan of Dhaka?'

The gentleman makes an excuse,

'Oh, no, the local people won't do that; they aren't to blame for it. Actually the foreign resident like Algiers, Albanians, Czechs do all these. They are so swift in their performance that you only feel a wave of wind and by that time your things have gone and before you could realize that you have lost your wallet the picketer has vanished.'

He laughed out, came back to the reference of his homeland,

'I have heard that in Dhaka the traffic jam is terrific, it takes two to three hours to travel from Farm gate to Motijheel. How you attend the office in time? Or isn't that you don't have to be in the office at all?' There is some sort of maliciousness in his tone.

Habibur Rahman resists himself answering hard; he controlled his voice and very coolly said,

'There is a proverb, " where there is a will, there is a way," so if one wish, in that jam one can reach the office in time by a simple calculation, starting for the office a bit earlier.'

Though subdued by Habibur Rahman's answer the gentleman didn't stopped his conversation,

'It's a pity that the young and adolescent village girls are swarming in the Dhaka city to get a job in the garment factory in lieu of a meager amount of pay. They live in an unhygienic environment and do unsocial activities and becoming indecent detestable element of the society. But the government is not paying any heed to these sorts of problem, rather remained indifferent and patronizing the so-called Industrialist. Will that bring any good for the country?'

Habibur Rahman got an excellent opportune, he spoke out,

'Hear, Mr. Poet, our country is small but its population density is highest in the world, half of which consists of fair sex. The garment industry has created a job opportunity for them; brightened up their economic condition to give them standard living facilities. The woman folk have become independent in their earning from this field, why are you considering it in negative point? And also, the government has to patronize the industrialist of the country for its own reason.

It's not in my knowledge how many female workers of garments factory have been stooped down to plunge the society in immodesty. But it's a fact that garment industry is the source of highest export index of the country; won't this carry any value to you?'

The gentleman tried to say something; he was hesitant. Habibur Rahman resumed,

'Perhaps you don't know that at present our peasants grow more food grains, almost double in comparison to the past years, their is improvement in cultivation; the fisherman are not restricted to the river only, they use trawler to fish in the deep sea; the hand loomed industry has flourished a lot, they are engaged not only in weaving gamcha or lungi but making dresses of modern design having a great demand for export; new designs of Jamdani mingled with the western taste brought a great change in the sari culture; in Mirpur area a locality named Benarasi palli is groomed up; the world renowned Muslin of Mughal period is again revived; can you ignore all these constructive elements.'

The poet couldn't answer. At the same moment Mr. Azimuddin, friend of Habibur Rahman appeared there. Habibur Rahman made them introduced, 'he is my colleague Azimuddin and here is a ex-citizen of our country, who has composed poems and songs during liberation war; at present a citizen of this city under political asylum.'

The gentleman didn't seem to be satisfied with the adjunct applied for him. He said, 'I am a Bangladeshi in heart and soul. For political reason I can't enter my country. Any country is limited to a particular region, got a boundary line, but my poems have no bounds, it's infinite. Till now my songs and poems are published in almost all dailies and magazines of my country.'

In a firm tone Habibur Rahman replied,

'Yes, may be your poems and songs are infinite but you alone won't be able to start a campaign or agitation for attaining a special object with your poems and songs. You won't be able to bring any change in the flow of country's progress; it requires will power and efforts of group of peoples. Rather, we the people who are still residing in that country and amongst all corruption, poverty, indigence and inefficient administration going ahead with self integrity under the banner of our hard earned independence, will be able to bring the changes in the system; the country will thrive though slow; it will definitely advance towards prosperity.

It's true that we are living panting; but our red green flag is flying all over the world to prove that we are a free nation, we are independent; despite that our living standard is low, despite that we are emerged in corruption, yet we are a sovereign nation; despite the fact that our country is under-developed none can reject our presence nor any force can efface our existence from the heart of the world. The country is poor but we are a free nation. He is lucky who enjoys the freedom.'

Black shadow shrouded the face of the poet. Habibur Rahman became defendant, he said,

' Listen Mr. Poet, I am an auditor, it's my job to work out factual numerals after summation and deduction of the accounts, so long whatever conversation I have made with you I have audited very carefully. The pith is that after liberation of the country a group of our fellows were busy in making fortune, and I think you were one of those opportunists. At that time you were smarter than your companions to loot wealth by anyhow with an incredible rapidity. That was the time you did something objectionable, wrote unsanctified poem and song, uttered immodest words, which have hurt the sentiment and integrity of the newly liberated country and that was taken as unpardonable offence; as such the country has to crack down on you and you are thrown out. At the moment you realize it very well that the country will never own you and this is a hard truth.

As you realize the hard truth, you feel to make sarcastic, ridicule, and taunt remark towards your place of nurture and its occupants; thus you get satisfaction of revenge to some extent.

But you know very well that you are residing in this foreign land with your head lowering, like a parasite, and you have to reside like this forever, till death. Whereas we, the citizen of the corrupt and disaster stricken, but of independent nation, will live happily expanding our chest, raising our head. We won't be deprived of prosperity; happiness won't leave us. The restlessness of the time will tranquil, because all calamities are short lasting. We shall live in good environment; our next genera will progress and competing the world's reform will lead the country further ahead. And they shall remain better off.

Today, standing on the soil of a highly developed city of Europe, you are casting reflection, defaming your native land; may be some other day, in this same spot, the great intellectuals of the world will assemble to hold a conference on the glory and fame of our country, have this thought ever crossed your mind?'

No reply came from the poet; there is no expression in his face. Habibur Rahman and Azimuddin stepped inside the shopping center.

The poet stood in silence, there is sudden emptying of his eyes, and his thought had run out of words.

Really, the fox had placed its tail in the crab hole to hold the crab and to uplift the tail quickly to bring the crab out of hole to engulf; but had never thought off to be cramped by the ten footed, short bodied, short-tailed crustacean.