Translated from the Bengali into English by Tasnim Sultana Daizy
On the silver jubilee of Bangladesh Independence a stone dropped on water. A group of researchers scattered like hyacinth in search of women freedom fighters and found one who knew diverse uses of chilli powder. In 1971 she defeated many Pakistani soldiers hurling chilli powder at them. But the problem is, her name is not included in the list of freedom fighters, and her identity is also puzzling. During inception of Bangladesh War of Independence, Mohakhali thana commander included her name in the list of collaborators. However, the interviewer of women rehabilitation centre filled the form by addressing her as a war heroine because during medical examination the damage that was detected in her sex organ can only be identified among the raped victims. Moreover, an Irish doctor diagnosed her as a patient of mental illness because of the way she narrated the same event in different ways. Despite having all this information the interviewer of the rehabilitation centre was dubious about her identity. This is why on top of the document she is described in capital letters as ‘One Who Knew Use of Chilli Powder’. For this reason she also managed a job in the spice grinding department of the rehabilitation centre. After a few days, she eloped from the centre at night throwing chilli powder in the eyes of the uniformed guard.
The researcher team came to know from the former director of the centre that she could target like an experienced archer. As a result, the guard lost his eyesight although he was alive. The authority did not make an effort to find out and rehabilitate a dangerous woman like her. Her identity as a war heroine was burnt to ashes when the rehabilitation centre was closed and thousands of forms were burnt with kerosene. The file of the collaborators was also lost before that. After 25 years of Bangladesh Liberation War, the researcher team interviewed her again and titled the report in the same way the document of the women rehabilitation centre was named, although they found the story of chilli powder unreliable. They reflected on this and concluded that keeping aside the story of chilli powder she cannot even be called a collaborator, let alone a freedom fighter. If they call her a war heroine, it would be a dishonor for the whole war heroine community. Who is she then? In trying to observe everything objectively after 25 years of the Liberation War, her identity is getting more perplexing. The researchers found it risky and meaningless to publish the interview in this situation. The following story is based on this unreliable interview and is mentioned exactly as the interview with the headline. In the story the writer had no will or responsibility to ascribe her with fixed identity. He just wanted to suspend the limits of humans’ belief in this story.
This could be a dream
After two months of 25 March my husband decided to go to the Liberation War. I was so foolish that I requested him, weeping, “Please take me with you.” He disappeared, saying, “I will.” I had been staying at an abandoned house for two days. The people at that house were whispering and did not call me for meal after my husband had left me taking me for a prostitute. No husband would abandon his wife at an unknown place even though it is war time. The man at that house woke me up in the morning and asked me, “Where has your husband disappeared?” I answered, “Who knows!” He opened the door facing the street and asked me, “Do you have any other place to go?”
I came down the street barefoot as I lost everything in the last two months moving from one place to another. I was walking aimlessly along the street as I did not know where I could go and stay. I was starving as I did not have my dinner last night. Suddenly a Bihari boy appeared before me and asked, “Here you are! Would you like to do a job?” I did not even know whether anyone seeks a job during war time. I had been moving places with my husband in the last two months and now he abandoned me. I told him “Of course, I would like to get a job; otherwise I would starve and become homeless. But how would I find a job? No one can go there; everyone is getting murdered.” By ‘there’ I meant the town around Mohakhali that we left and where I worked at a private company till 25 March. The boy said looking at the lawn that was charred and nearly deserted, “Come with me. No worries!”
Without having a single penny, I was going to Mohakhali with him by a rickshaw. I was too shy to ask for food before going to the workplace. As I was suffering and stared at my bare feet, he reassured me saying, “Don’t worry, everything will be alright.”
Leaving me at a deserted house, the Bihari boy went out to look for a job. There was none but some guards around the house. As I was strolling around the dining room, I saw empty jars of marmalade and jelly. There were also jars of clumped coffee and horlicks that hardened like rock. There were some whisky bottles on the empty refrigerator and a huge piano near the window above which there was a family group picture. The people in that picture seemed non Bengali.
I was shivering in fear and drank half a bottle of whiskey. Suddenly I noticed a guard. Although those guards were scattered, they were guarding circling around me. It was almost afternoon and I did not know what to do. I had to escape before it was evening. Finding a guard alone, I asked him, “Who lives at this house” and the guard left pretending to not hear me. I was walking across the front lawn and was planning to escape while I was suffering a heartburn. There was no point of shouting though there were some rickshaws along with some passengers on the other side of the opened gate as no one would dare confront armed guards. Now they started moving in circle around me and the circle was getting smaller. I told them, “Look, I have been starving the whole day as I did not have any food to eat.” Finding me hilarious, they sneered at me. Yet I was steadfast and asked looking at everyone “Can you tell me where I can find some food?” I was actually planning to break their circle while talking with them.
One guard answered, “You will get everything after evening” and told another guard to bring some tea. As he moved, I ran towards the street and five of them were running after me howling like pirates. I was running for my life.
I was running but couldn’t move as if it were a dream and then they circled around me again. I looked at the sky. Oh, I forgot to say, I had many packets of chilli powder. I started to open those packets and threw them once, twice, thrice… The sky of Mohakhali looked as red as Karbala as if it were raining down blood from the sky. As if angels in the sky were blowing trumpets. I continued to step back as I was throwing those packets of chilli powder one after another. Where? I don’t know. It seems a dream to me now that I think of it.
I wanted to die or live
Leaving me alone my husband was taking the dog named Pinky with him. I felt so upset and humiliated that I could not make any sound. I was staring as he was putting chain on the dog and was pacing across the room. Pinky was given a hot bath with dettol after many days. As he was looking at his watch over and again, Pinky was wagging its tail. If the horn rang down the hall, they would go to the liberation war leaving the house. I couldn’t tolerate anymore and started shaking my husband grabbing his collar and tie. Chattering my teeth, I asked him, “Why did you marry me if you don’t want to take me with you? Is Pinky your wife or beloved? Tell me – wife or beloved?” Loosening my grip from his collar and tie, he told me, “You are only concerned about yourself, here I am…” and started strolling again. He pushed me on the floor and left with Pinky as I ran towards him to shake him again. In the middle of chaos, I couldn’t hear the horn. I looked at them as they left with the green jeep scattering dust. Go if you want but you can’t fight a liberation war or guerilla war with a dog. I know they are not going to the liberation war; it’s nothing but a sham.
“That man married by tricking me on March 71. Trust me, I did not want to. My family asked- how many days will you stay alone? It’s not safe to live alone these days. Who knows what happens! Can one trust a man so easily? I married a cruel man on my family’s request.”
Along with Pinky my husband left for hell, not liberation war. Spending the night at the abandoned house, I came down the street when it was still dark. I wanted to die or live at that moment. When I reached my office around 10 in the morning, the non-Bengali sahib jumped out of his chair and asked, “Do you need anything, lady?”
Others started clamouring as if I was a prey that got trapped. “Sir, I need some money. It would be so kind if you could pay my salary of March. “Calling the peon, the sahib wrote a cheque for me. I snatched the cheque from the peon and started running. The Bengali and non- Bengali employees were running after me. I started coming down the stairs like a snake. There was only one step ahead and as I was about to open a packet of chilli powder, the Bihari boy was on my way from whom I escaped the deserted house yesterday by means of deception.
As soon as the peon entered the room, I stood up out of honour as he was a non-Bengali. The Sahib insisted, “You can start working from today. You can’t go anywhere now. You will have lunch with me and stay at my quarter tonight.” I was shaking and sat on the chair with the cheque in my hand. My head was spinning as I had been starving for two days. Hissing like a snake, the sahib whispered to me, “You must know I am lonely and a bachelor. I need you…”
One thousand and one Arabian nights
I was numb and stared blankly as there was no work at the office. I kept thinking what I would have thought or done if there had been no war. Where were the people at the house? Where did they live? I lived with the sahib now. Sometimes he called me to his AC room to insert papers in the typewriter. As I put carbon paper in the typewriter, the Sahib unbuttoned my blouse and whimpered like a puppy burying his face into my chest as if his stomach was hurting. Sometimes he would put 5-10 tk in my cleavage. He would deduct expenses of living from my salary that I earned at night. When I got back at my chair, I saw packets of chilli powder not money.
One day when the office closed, the Sahib told me, “Naval Commander Selim is waiting for you in his car.” Naval Commander Selim! No girl returns from this man, no matter how beautiful or ugly she is. He murders and throws the girl into the river at night. I am sent to this Emperor of Arabian Nights! I requested the sahib, “Sir, I don’t want to go. I want to stay with you. I will never be disobedient to you, sir. Please, save me.” The sahib did not listen to me as his family was coming from Pakistan. He wanted to raise his holy family by getting rid of me. I was the scapegoat of this holiness. That middle aged commander opened the door of the car and told me, “Please, come in, memsahib”.
The car was rushing towards the naval jetty. This is my last day; whether I live or die will be decided today. Seeing the signal flashing before the level crossings, Commander Selim stopped the car. The light was flickering. A train was crawling for eternity and at one point the light turned off completely. As the barricade of the level crossing was lifted up, I jumped out of the car. The car of the naval commander was getting lost under the red chilli powder. I was throwing packets of red chilli powder as I was escaping. As soon as the packet was empty, I was relieved and flew bravely and freely like a plane departing the runway.
There was non-stop sound of chopping coming from the slaughtering house of the port’s jetty. In the morning I was feeling drowsy. There were many army vehicles around my quarter. It was still dark outside and the house was surrounded by soldiers. On the stairway there was no light; no one dared to come up fearing that there might be some freedom fighters waiting in ambush. Standing on the stairway of the third floor, I challenged them to come up. I was fully armed with ammunition pouch full of chilli powder. This is my weapon; whoever comes up I will throw it on them. Someone was calling from down the hall “Come down, bitch. You killed Commander Selim. You have to go to the Cantonment.” “You come up,” I responded from the upstairs. A brave soldier was coming up putting his hands on his head. When he came to the second floor, he started sniffing like a dog. I threw packets of chilli powder on him the way one throws dynamite, hand grenades. He collapsed and fell on the garage gliding through the stairs. I threw another packet when another one came up. They could not tolerate the chilli powder burn and jumped into the river where dead bodies of the slaughtering house were thrown in the darkness of the night.
No one on Earth would believe this
The country was free now. First few days there was interrogation after interrogation; one team left, the other arrived. Every time they would say the same thing, “You were Commander Selim’s mistress; you are a collaborator.” I would answer in the same way, “One needs money to buy packets of chilli powder. Who would give me money if I were not with him?”
“Your husband could have paid for you.”
“He was in the Bangladesh Forces. “
“No, he was not. We have investigated.” “Maybe, he could not go because each time he tried to cross the border, Pinky would howl.”
“Pinky? Her name is not included in the list of collaborators.”
“It’s a not there because Pinky is a bitch.”
They look at each other taking me for an insane person. I am not crazy! I said how I defeated Pakistanis by throwing chilli powder like dynamite. They were bewildered to the extent that they could not decide whether they should believe me or not. Whoever asked me these questions in 25 years, I have responded to them properly although I could not express freely. Now I am fifty. I heard from elders that even a prostitute becomes innocent from religious point of view when she turns sixty and gets accepted in the society. If I live another ten years, I would be able to talk freely. Anyways, I was free; they released me. They had to do that because they were partners with the Indian army of Allied Forces that rescued me from the cantonment.
They arrested me and took me to cantonment the day when some cars of Pakistani army surrounded the quarter. They complained that I killed the commander who was my father’s age. While I was playing card with him one day, I persisted, “Teach me how to shoot. Let me see whether I can do that or not!” Suddenly, he stopped while shuffling the cards and his eyes became fixed. I got scared and told him, “No-no darling, I was just joking, don’t get mad at me, please! It’s your turn now.” I shook him to get everything back to normal. I couldn’t play card that day anymore. Taking me to Chandmari he taught me how to shoot with a pistol the entire afternoon. Actually, he wanted to die as he was old and couldn’t sleep at night because of the countless murders he had committed in the last few months. We were getting back to the naval camp from Chandmari during twilight.
Commander Selim was driving while I was sitting next to him. I was playing with the pistol that seemed like a toy. The commander stopped the car before the level crossing. The night train was entering the town and it was my chance to escape. I jumped out of the car. I still remember how Commander Selim had extended his hand blindly to dodge the bullet before I jumped out of the car.
Shaheen Akhtar : Fictionist in Bangla Literature
Tasnim Sultana Daizy has completed her MA in the Department of English, Shahjalal University of Science and Technology, Sylhet.
Illustration : Rajib Dotto
