Dhaka, Bangladesh || Tuesday, 3 December 2024 || 17 Ogrohayon 1431
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Fakir Group Managing Director Fakir Aktaruzzaman has filed a 
The anti-Sheikh Hasina brigade has been paid back fair 
Badruzzaman Badrul, the expatriate son of a brave martyr 
Minar-e Kabir is a minaret located in Sugandia village 
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I remember…..
S. Wasif Islam
Published : Monday, 25 March, 2024 at 6:10 PM, Update: 25.03.2024 6:33:44 PM, Count : 4059
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 I remember….. The hazy summer days, Warm monsoon nights, nothing to worry about, Life drifted on its carefree ways As the earth hurtled on its regulated orbit Drawn by the blazing sun And encircled by the shy moon I remember the night of March ‘71 When all hell broke loose on 70 million The army rolled out on the streets of Dhaka Morning found the dying and the dead The streets were littered with Bengali blood Innocent blood Once again was bled I remember, Khokon Bhais blood soaked, Bullet ridden body Perhaps not knowing why he died I remember, at the funeral The silent vow, that sprung deep inside me, “Khokon Bhai, you will not have died in vain”. I remember, the fear in my mothers eyes When I told her I must go, “Good bye” she said with hurt and tears Yet so brave, in lonely despair There was a glimmer of hope As our youth and armour Trudged across the border To return stronger, as warriors I remember the hectic training days The brilliant Khaled Musharaf, The businesslike Capt. Haider And the hundreds and thousands of nameless Faceless Comrades in arms I remember the brotherhood, As young and old, Man and woman The child, the sick, The villager and the city slick, All united together in an unwritten bond So strong so vibrant. I also remember the treachery, The hate, The plunder and the rape, The agony, the pain, The nagging fear of being picked up, The torture stories, I remember, the selfish Bengali, Unwilling to part with some money For the cause, I remember most, The failures, the hopelessness, the helplessness The abyss, I remember the hiding of arms underground At the back of our house, The army raid in the early hours of dawn The month long hiding at Moni’s house I remember how brave my mother and her friends were Cooking for hungry freedom fighters, organizing stitching of kathas, By the hundreds, as winter set in Making money available whenever we needed it, Encouraging us to go on, when all seemed lost. I remember being arrested With the route map to the border and beyond, Somewhere in my pockets, And being saved, only by the Help of the Almighty. I remember, the trip Atiq and I Made to Karachi , to forge alliance with the sympathetic Sindhis to study the possibilities of an hijack I remember how we rescued Khaled Musharaf’s daughter Badal, Shopon, while Chullu Bhai drove his car, The attack at the power stations of Dhaka Alam, Maya and the rest While I hurled the incendiary bomb, And the darkness lit up, a symbol of freedom I remember the planning of raids, Yes, the elimination of traitors, Arranging medicine and patriotic doctors For the sick and the wounded, Locating hideouts in the city As more and more groups moved in I remember, the 4th of December As the sky grew bright with flares, And the air Was pierced with air raid siren While the earth shook with bombs dropped by the Indians Who had joined the fray, Yet the bombs fell on friends and foe alike. I remember the morning of the 16th , We drove triumphantly to the Intercontinental Hotel The banner of Free Bangladesh unfurled in my hands People looked on, bewildered, incredulous Victory, joy bangla, It was victory day, Everywhere people greeted us with tearful, Thankful gaze I remember the tears rolling down From the cheeks of Pakistani Officers As they laid down their arms Before the Indian Army brass I remember the celebration, At our house in Dhanmandi, When Col. Khaled Musharaf came with so many muktis And freedom fighters, Also present were, friends and relatives, and of course children running around. The sun had come up Once again in Bangladesh Today, I remember the dead Who were with us during those nights and days, Ashfi,Rumi,Bodhi,Khokon Bhai, Azad, Col.Khaled, Moni, and so many more, We salute them, for what they have given us And pray for their departed souls I remember the living too Who may read this, And remember along with me. I remember on victory day, we were full of hope, Proud of our freedom, Proud of our people Goodbye, we thought To corruption, to greed, to petty politics, To injustice, to quarrels and strife. Yet after so many years hence, What have we gained? At the cost of blood and tears Of our friends and fellowmen? Perhaps we were naïve then We had not won a war We had only won a battle So the war goes on, Against the treachery and the hate, The corruption and injustice, Hypocrisy and vice.
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