Mustafa Monwar was a luminary across almost every branch of Bangladeshi art, including painting, film, drama, music, and puppetry.
A cultural warrior of the Liberation War, he led the cultural team of the Bangladesh government-in-exile in India at various times. This lifelong champion of progressive culture passed away at the age of 90.
He spent the final chapter of his life battling illness.
Despite his failing health, he gave an exclusive interview to TIMES of Bangladesh reporter Shahariar Mahi on 25 March, discussing different phases of his life and his despair over reports of the harassment of freedom fighters following the political shifts of 2024.
This report is based on that final interview.
In the 1960s, Monwar, the son of the renowned poet Golam Mustafa, joined the newly established Pakistan Television (PTV). When the PTV Dhaka centre launched at the DIT Bhaban in 1965, he left his position at Dhaka University’s Faculty of Fine Arts to work there.
His objective was clear – to highlight Bengali culture at a time when the Pakistani ruling class was attempting to label it as an alien culture. Using art and culture as his medium, he was constructing a silent language of resistance.
This cultural stance drew him directly into the political reality of the turbulent 1971. During the non-cooperation movement in March, he was involved in producing Ganosangeet for television.
He was responsible for the visualisation of the song “Songram Songram Songram, Cholbe Dinrat Abiram,” written by Fazl-e-Khoda and composed by Azad Rahman. When the song was broadcast, it felt to viewers as if hundreds of voices were roaring in protest together; the television screen had become an alternative stage for defiance.
This stream of resistance became even more evident on 23 March, Pakistan Day, which turned into a day of silent protest. As the programme manager of the PTV Dhaka centre, Monwar unilaterally decided that the Pakistani flag would not be shown on television.
He conveyed this decision to the announcer, Masuma Khatun, and continued the programme until midnight. At 12:01am, the start of a new day was announced without ever displaying the flag.
This symbolic protest instilled a sense of courage in the city’s residents, as if the scent of imminent change was already in the air.
However, that courage was soon followed by horror. By late March, terror gripped Dhaka. On 25 March, news arrived that the army had left the cantonment. Shortly after, Mustafa Monwar received a warning that he might be arrested.
As night fell, the situation turned dire. Driven by curiosity and fear, his wife went to the roof and saw the barricades in front of their house being cleared. She immediately switched off all the lights in the house.
Soon, the sounds of gunfire, heavy boots, and banging on the door followed as soldiers entered the premises.
The sound of boots eventually stopped outside their room. Soldiers searched the house room by room until they reached the bedroom. However, finding no one in the darkness, they assumed the occupants had fled.
From behind the door, the family heard them say, “Sab bhag gaya” [everyone has fled].
Concerned for the safety of his family, Mustafa Monwar decided to abandon the house.
Then began his period of hiding – moving from place to place, day and night, with every day filled with uncertainty and every night gripped by dread. Eventually, through the initiative of his colleagues, it was decided he must leave the country.
Alongside economist Rehman Sobhan and Anisur Rahman, he crossed the border via Brahmanbaria.
Crossing the border did not end the uncertainty. At that time, the radio was the only link to news – listened to at a very low volume under blankets. Reports of the declaration of independence and the arrest of Sheikh Mujib arrived in fragments.
Panic spread faster than reliable information.
Near his residence in Kolkata was a refugee camp. Visiting the camp the next day, he saw that no one was smiling; everyone was miserable.
Almost everyone had fled their homes and land with nothing but the clothes on their backs, while others had seen their homes burnt by the Pakistani invaders. Seeing the faces of these suffering people, he thought, “I must make them laugh.”
This thought birthed a unique cultural resistance – puppet shows. The first performance took place at a refugee camp in Barrackpore, near Kolkata.
Through the puppets, he depicted a farmer beating Yahya Khan and asking, “Does anyone else want to hit him?” The audience would erupt in joy, stepping forward to strike the effigy of the oppressor.
The artistry and dialogue of the puppets brought smiles to the faces of the distressed refugees.
From then on, his puppet shows became a source of joy for the helpless people in the camps. Wherever he went, children would surround him, calling out, “Putulwala, Putulwala” [The Puppeteer].
These cultural activities were more than entertainment. They were a living testament to the Liberation War. This legacy of the 1971 puppeteer is immortalised in the footage captured by Lear Levin, the cinematographer of Muktir Gaan.
The harassment of freedom fighters following 5 August 2024 deeply pained him. He felt it was not just a personal sorrow but a blow to everyone directly involved in the war.
In his words, “Then the question arises, why did we fight, and for whom?”
During the war, risking one’s life was a daily reality; a bullet could have hit him at any time. Yet, fear was overcome by a unique feeling – a combination of thrill and responsibility rooted in the urge to liberate the country.
When someone denies or distorts history, he wondered if people are forgetting that sacrifice.
Referring to the election of individuals accused of war crimes to Parliament 55 years after independence, he called it a tragic part of democratic reality.
However, he noted the core question is why people are choosing them. In his view, a situation has been created in society that allows those who worked against the country to return to leadership.
He believed that no country reaches an ideal state immediately after independence and that the character of a state changes over time. However, he felt that the mentality and core spirit that united people during the Liberation War is no longer the same.
His stance on the theory of a “Second Independence” was clear, “There is only one independence, and that was achieved through the 1971 Liberation War.”
While subsequent movements are important, he argued they are not equivalent to independence, which represents a nation’s existence, identity, and sovereignty – all achieved in 1971.
Reflecting on the difference in mentality between the past and present, he noted that people then fought selflessly for the love of the country. It was a time of unity. Today, he feels that patriotism has, in some cases, become performative.
Thus, the life story of Mustafa Monwar presents a different face of the Liberation War – one where the laughter of puppets existed alongside the sound of guns, and art provided light amidst the darkness of war.
