Series Novel : The Afternoon of the Seventh of March : Selina Hossain
Translated from Bangla by Mohammad Shafiqul Islam
Serial : 29
It’s the afternoon of the seventh of March in the independent country.
At 3 pm, Ashraf and Sabiha arrives in the Ramna Racecourse ground. A few days ago, Niazi and his gong surrendered, but they couldn’t come here that day.
Both Sabiha and Ashraf stand near the place where Bangabandhu delivered the historic speech. Standing face to face, they also look around. One of them has lost the half of his hand, while the other being pregnant for six months is also enraptured in a wonderful afternoon. The sun is descending on the western sky. Today is the first anniversary of the historic and glorious afternoon of the seventh of March. They notice some people are coming towards them. Clutching the barbed wires of the Racecourse ground, the old woman, whom they met before the war, is standing—she lives by begging alms. She doesn’t have anyone on earth, but she has come here recalling the historic seventh of March.
Indeed no one can forget the afternoon of the seventh of March. Sabiha emits, “Coming to this field, I feel I’m proud of my life. From here, we have to speak of history, recall our own rich tradition. And then, all the proud achievements of the Bengali nation will resurface before my eyes. But I can’t bring the child I’m going to give birth to here in this field.”
“Why?” frowns Ashraf.
“I’ll give the child for adoption so he can grow up in a distant country.”
“No, we’ll raise the child, and he’ll be our child—he’ll disseminate the worth of freedom fighters of 1971.”
“Ashraf, what are you saying?”
“Don’t be astounded, Sabiha, he’ll be born as a human child—he isn’t responsible for his birth. Either male or female, the name of the child will be Swadhin, independent.”
“Ashraf, you’ve thought so many things! But you haven’t told me anything.”
“Intentionally I haven’t discussed this with you, because I wanted you to overcome the catastrophic challenge and prepare yourself to face reality. Our love will never diminish a bit even amidst any disastrous situation. For this state, you don’t have any liability, it’s because of the war. Besides, it was our liberation war through which we’ve earned an independent country.”
“Won’t you be ashamed?”
“Why? Why should I be ashamed?”
“People around will insinuate you.”
“Yes, they will, but I’m ready for that. All the people of the world don’t think the same way—who knows this better than you?”
“Okay, stop now. I’ve got it—with the child in my womb, we’ll face the society together.”
“Of course, we’ll certainly do. My love for you isn’t so frail, Sabiha. For my deep love towards you, even my family won’t say anything. Many people are loitering around, or else I’d now fill you with deep kisses.”
Sabiha’s face glows with a shy smile. Holding her hand, Ashraf says, “For independence, one has to sacrifice everything in life, no stone to be unturned. We’ve done our best for our independence. We didn’t hesitate to sacrifice whatever we had in our life.”
“Realizing everything deeply, you fought in the war. I’m fascinated by your words. Although you lost a half of your hand, you don’t feel sad a bit.”
“It’s okay, Sabiha, keep it aside. Look, that peanut vendor is coming to us.”
“Many of the familiar people are present here today—the peanut vendor, the rickshaw-puller, and many more.”
“Like us, the afternoon of the seventh of March is inscribed in their hearts.”
“Please, let me hold your hand.”
Sabiha stretches her right hand. When Ashraf grabs her hand into his fist, the peanut vendor stands before them.
“How are you?”
“We’re well. We fought in Sector Nine. How are you?”
“I’m well too. I fought in Sector Two. Bubu, how are you?”
“I also fought in the war, joined a few operations and killed many of the enemies, but bad luck that I was caught in one. They incarcerated me in their camp.”
All the people around salute her and say, “You’re our country, our motherland.”
In a distinct sense of delight, Sabiha wipes tears. Her love, Ashraf, extends support to her, holding her hand. And these freedom fighters are giving her courage to face the situation and overcome challenges. Some more people come to them, shouting slogans “Joy to Bengal.”
“How are you all?” Ashraf asks.
“Well, we’re well.”
“Where did you fight?”
“Sector Two. We went to Agartala too.”
“I was a guerrilla fighter in Dhaka, was in the team to destroy Siddhirganj Power Plant.”
“I was also a guerrilla, took part in attacking Intercontinental.”
“Bravo! For this reason, we’ve earned independence.”
“We know everyone has something to say about their experience in the war. Now let’s listen to what our Burima—grandma—did in the war.”
“Yes, that’s right. Apu, did you also participate in the war?”
“Yes, I did. After receiving training, I took part in the war.”
“Bravo! Everyone shouts a slogan Heroic Bengalis took up arms/ they freed Bangladesh.”
Everyone begins to walk on, when Ashraf stands before them and reveals, “Swadhin, Swadhin will come in our life.”
The peanut vendor says, “We’ve already achieved it.”
“No, not that. He’s here.” Ashraf brings Sabiha before them and declares, “Here’s a war child, a witness to our independence. Like freedom fighters, these children are also witnesses. Looking at their faces, we’ll recall our war.”
“Joy to Bengal,” everyone shouts out.
“Victory to the seventh of March! Victory to independence!”
Shouting slogans, they walk up to the fence of barbed-wires. Raising hands in the motion of seeking blessings, Burima is waiting close by. Sabiha hugs her.
“How are you?”
“I’m good, Ma. Did you all fight in the war?”
“Yes, we did,” everyone confirms in unison.
“I did too,” Burima tries to stand straight, a ray of happiness in her face.
“Did you take part in the war? Where and how?”
“A house in Dhaka was chosen for freedom fighters who used to take rest there. I cooked food for them, and keeping awake at night, I watched over them too. This was also participation in the war, right?”
“You’re right, Burima,” everyone pipes in.
Ashraf along with others takes Burima in from the other side of the fence. He tells her, “We’ll take you to a procession, shout slogans—Victory to the afternoon of the seventh of March/ Victory to the leader of fiery speeches. We’ve fought/ we’ve earned independence/ upon our leader’s call, we’ve achieved a map/ we’ve placed ours on the world map. Won’t you be able to shout slogans?”
“I’ll be able to do, hearing you all. I took part in the war, why can’t I do this simple thing, then?”
“Bravo, Burima, bravo! Let’s go.”
“Wait. All of you, wait a bit.”
“Everyone stops. Burima brings Sabiha before all, saying, “I’ll bow down my head on her feet; from now on she’s our country, our motherland. She fought, she conceived, so she struggled more than all of us. All of you, bow down before her.”
As Burima places her head on Sabiha’s feet, everyone follows her. Ashraf says, shouting, “O soil of motherland, I bow my head down to you in deep homage.”
Sabiha stands before a wonderful afternoon, when daylight is gradually getting dense. Instantly, she decides she’ll go to Dhanmondi House 32 this afternoon to see the mother who likes to listen to her song. I’ll also offer my obeisance to her.”
At the end of the song, Burima says, “I’ll be there when her child is born. Let me know when it happens. If the doctor denies to help, I’ll be right there for her.”
Everyone shouts out together, “Joy to Burima! Victory to you!”
At some point, everyone leaves, while Sabiha and Ashraf are still standing in the field. Holding hands, they get to the stage from which Bangabandhu delivered the speech. “We have to accomplish the wedding,” Ashraf emits.
“To fix the date, I want to talk to my mother.”
“I also want that. Let’s go to the House 32 together, then. If Ma is home, I’ll tell her, “Ma, pray for us. We’ll get the wedding done on the day you’ll choose.”
“Right, let’s go now. Call a rickshaw.”
They reach the gate of the House 32 at Dhanmondi.
“Will you sing a song for Ma?”
“If she wants to hear, I’ll certainly sing one. She isn’t on the verandah, but I am not permitted to go inside.”
Just this moment, Renu comes to the verandah. The new afternoon of the seventh of March is disseminating light throughout the sky. She has just come to the verandah to see the afternoon light above the lake, above trees, on birds’ wings, and throughout the frames of the people ambling along streets. First, she notices Russel standing by the lake with Rama—he’s also jumping, running to and fro. It seems to Renu that the whole afternoon has had an impact on Russel. An unparalleled moment is created with a mix of his glowing appearance and the afternoon light. Suddenly, she can see Sabiha and Ashraf. Instantly, Sabiha begins to sing—Salam, thousands of salam in remembrance of all martyrs.
Engrossed, Renu listens to the song with rapt attention, standing on the verandah. When Sabiha finishes singing, Renu calls them, gesturing. The guard opens the gate and tells them to get to the second floor.
Renu is standing at the top of the stairs. Both Sabiha and Ashraf touch her feet, showing deep obeisance.
“Come inside,” Renus tells them.
“Ma, we’ve come to seek your blessings,” Ashraf says. “Choose a date for our marriage.”
Seeing Sabiha, Renu can realize what happened to her. Renu is pleased for Ashraf’s courageous decision. She says, “Come inside, take tea and snacks. Then we’ll select the wedding date.”
As they sit inside the room, they are served halwa-payesh, sweetmeats, that they finish eating with relish. Ashraf murmurs shyly, “Ma, I’ve eaten much.”
“Yes, you should. I’m happy seeing you eat. By the way, when you were eating, I fixed a date for your wedding. You’ll be married today—here and now—just in front of me. I’ve already called a kazi, the registrar of marriage.”
“Ma,” Sabiha is astounded.
“Come to me.”
As Sabiha sits close to her, Renu takes out her own chain and puts it on her neck, saying, “May you both be happy in life! You are our gems.”
Selina Hossain : Fictionist in Bangla Literature
Mohammad Shafiqul Islam : poet, translator and academic, teaches English as Associate Professor in the Department of English at Shahjalal University of Science and Technology, Sylhet 3114, Bangladesh
Illustration : Najib Tareque
