There’s something peculiar about time and events – for a long period nothing consequential ever happens, leaving life predictable and banal, but then, an event swiftly morphs into a massive movement, leading to seismic changes.
Aug 5, 2024 was such a day when an edifice, thought to be unassailable, came down crashing, its hubristic proponents, who appeared beyond the reach of the common person, fleeing, hiding and becoming, insignificant.
As we step into the second year of the nation-wide uprising, aptly termed the people’s revolution, the day when the AL regime imploded, remains etched in mind.
Actually, it’s one of those events in life which one wants to remember till the end.
By morning of Aug 5, the air over Dhaka was heavy.
The smell of grenades, tear gas mixed with the deaths of so many hung heavily over a nation, a government had turned savage and with the clock ticking, the world’s eyes were on Bangladesh.
Then came the moment when tyranny could not maintain its position, and the masses emerged victorious, triggering unbridled celebrations across the country.
All throughout July-Aug, I went to the Dhaka University campus regularly, using the road into the campus via Chankharpool, using the Dhaka Medical College Hospital entry point.
That road had police barricades with the massive university field on the right side and, one could enter the campus, employing some clever ruse.
My sole purpose of going to the campus was to gather pictures, videos to send to my office so the real information from the roads would be received since fabricated news, aired by crony media houses, was influencing opinion and obfuscating the reality.
Naturally, with the fall of the government came the jubilation.
We need a special treat, said one of our gang members and as the seniormost, had to comply.
But on that evening, all ATM booths were ordered shut to prevent fleeing members of the fallen party from withdrawing large cash.
Thankfully, the guard near my home knew I did not belong to that specific category and lifted the shutter.
Money in hand, we called one Mr. Lawrence (not of Arabia but of Dhaka) who said: “well, to make the night special, you can take a walk with Mr Johnnie who wears a dark label.”
An evening with Johnnie is just fine, the gang members felt.
However, around 11 pm felt a sudden agitation among a few; some were too eager to go back home.
Surprisingly, by midnight, the streets were totally empty and several guys from my group came up with one excuse or the other to return home.
Home is the last place now, I thought.
Such a night may never come and Dipok, Pavel, Rakib, Yasin agreed.
Someone got a rocket rickshaw (motorised) as we decided to move towards Gulshan.
At the Moghbazar intersection, there was some activity although the restaurants were closed.
Called another junior friend but he, like many others, decided to remain home.
With the situation still very fluid, and the aura of invincibility/vindictiveness of the fallen regime vivid in the minds of many, there was an apprehension of a counter coup, which motivated most people to go back home.
Either this, or people simply felt the night would be unsafe.
Well, one line came to my find: fortune always favours the brave!
Also, the famous quote by Katharine Hepburn: “if you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”
Trying to enter Banani via the road 11 bridge, we came across a group of agitated people pelting stones at a house, belonging to a fallen party member and once a Dhaka Mayor.
Seeing the mood turn ugly, we changed the route to enter via another road and came across a large house enveloped in darkness with several men, women and children walking in and coming out with a variety of items.
Entering, we saw people, mostly from the local shanty town relaxing, gossiping on the small green lawn in front of the house.
The police box was empty, in the garage was a black SUV with a large stone on the bonnet with the windscreen smashed.
This used to be the home of the former Law Minister, said one of the young lads swinging from the branch of a tree.
Sarcasm on a silent night!
They were bringing all kinds of products from inside the house.
Some they took, the books they dumped near the sewerage drain outside the building.
Curious, I went forward and picked up what seemed like a massive book.
The name struck me: White House Years.
The author none other than the wily statesman: Henry Kissinger.
It seemed surreal really because many years ago, immediately after the liberation of Bangladesh, Kissinger reportedly made some denigrating comments about the new country.
In addition to that, he was also complicit in suppressing the Blood Telegrams, sent by US Consul General in Dhaka, Archer Blood, which categorically mentioned the heinous human rights violations by the Pakistan army, lambasting the US government for remaining silent with the famous line: our government failed to denounce the suppression of democracy.
Kissinger and Richard Nixon in 1971 prioritised opening a steady channel of communication with China with Pakistan support and hence the refusal to acknowledge the telegram.
As I held the massive book, certainly a work of great political acumen, all these memories of Kissinger and Bangladesh’s independence came to mind.
It seemed like a divine plan for this book to fall into our hands on that night when the country had experienced what can be called a second birth.
The house was surrounded by large apartment buildings but there wasn’t a single person looking down to see what was going on.
Trust me, not a single one!
Anyway, could not leave Mr. Kissinger by the drains and so, picking him up, we moved towards Mohakhali.
Sitting in a small eatery which was still open, ordered fried eggs, paratha and got some beef broth without any meat pieces.
As we waited for the food at 3 am, a line from Mr Henry Kissinger came to mind: “Every victory is the price of admission to a more difficult problem.”
