Kalyani Ghosh is a luminous name in the cultural arena of Bangladesh’s Liberation War. Born into a culturally inclined family, she wielded song not merely as art, but as a weapon of struggle.
Born in 1946 in Raozan Upazila, Chattogram, to a family steeped in cultural traditions, she began learning music from her mother at just five years old. She became a regular artist with the Chittagong Radio Center soon after it launched in December 1962.
While pursuing her studies as a first-batch student in the Bengali Department at Chittagong University, she remained actively engaged in cultural activities.
When the Liberation War began in 1971, Kalyani was a teacher at St Placid’s School. But the war swiftly upended her life. After the genocide, gunfire, and terror that gripped Chittagong following March 25, she was forced to flee with her family. She soon became a ‘kantha sainik’ (or, voice soldier) for the Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra (Free Bengal Radio Station).
After independence, she worked as a regular artist for Bangladesh Television and Bangladesh Betar, later retiring in 2005 as deputy director of the Bangla Academy.
On the occasion of Independence Day, Kalyani Ghosh shared her memories of ’71 and her thoughts on the present with TIMES of Bangladesh’s Shahariar Mahi.
How much of those harrowing days of the Liberation War do you still remember?
The memories of those days have faded with time, but certain images never vanish.
After Bangabandhu’s 7 March speech, an eerie sense of preparation took hold in Chattogram. People sensed something momentous was coming. After 23 March, schools and colleges closed. We attended a rally at Laldighi Maidan – there was anticipation, excitement, and an unknown fear in people’s faces.
Then came the night of 26 March. Everything changed in an instant. The Pakistani army began firing. Panic, gunfire, explosions – the whole city seemed to tremble. We tried to stay in the city for a few days, but after 28 March, we knew it was impossible to remain. So we fled to the village with our family.
Did conditions improve in the village?
For the first few days, I thought perhaps we were safer. We believed the situation in the city would normalise and we could return. But soon we realised the village was equally perilous.
Our village was in Binajuri, Raozan. The Razakars began their reign of terror – looting homes, setting them ablaze. Every day was filled with fear of being captured or killed. We couldn’t stay beyond 15 days. We knew staying meant certain death. So we decided to flee.
What was that journey toward the border like?
It was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I managed to find a burqa and smeared soot on my face to avoid recognition. I carried my young child, barely a year and a half old. Fearfully, we set out at night.
It was raining heavily, with constant lightning. We didn’t know which path to take – we only knew we had to survive. We walked with a crowd, like a massive procession. Strangers to each other, we shared a single goal – to cross the border.
Near Ramgarh, we had to cross the Subrum River. The water was low, so we crossed on foot. But crossing was no simple task – darkness, slippery mud, fear – it felt like disaster could strike any moment.
What did you find upon reaching India?
What greeted us on the other side was another nightmare. Countless people – refugees. Diseases like cholera and smallpox were spreading. Some were sick, some starving, others weeping over lost loved ones.
We found no shelter that day. We spent the night under parked trucks. Rain fell, mud beneath us, bodies exhausted – yet, at least, the fear of gunfire was gone.
We reached Agartala by bus in the morning. My sister Uma contracted smallpox and had to be hospitalised. Even in that condition, we kept fighting to survive.
How did you become involved with the cultural movement in Calcutta?
We reached Calcutta on 5 May. There, I saw Bangladeshi artists, intellectuals, and cultural activists united in purpose – all working to advance the Liberation War.
Having experience with Chittagong Radio, I quickly connected with many. We performed at Calcutta University Institute – my brother Prabal, sister Uma, and I. Dr Sanjida Khatun was delighted hearing us. Soon, I joined the “Bangladesh Mukti Sangrami Shilpi Sangstha” (Bangladesh Liberation Struggle Artists’ Group). We performed in refugee camps, for freedom fighters, at rallies. People wept listening to our songs. I realised then – song was not entertainment; it was a force to sustain courage.
Later, joining Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra, I took part in composing, recording, and broadcasting songs regularly.
What was your experience joining the Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra?
Around June, we met Samar Das and Abdul Jabbar in Gariahat. They already knew us. They brought us to the Swadhin Bangla Betar Kendra.
It felt like another world. Everyone was fighting, but with different weapons – some writing songs, some composing tunes, others recording. At the Baliganj Circular Road station, we learnt and recorded two or three songs daily. In total, I performed over fifty songs – solo, duets, and choral performances.
Do you recall any particular songs or moments from that time?
I remember many songs. Prabal and I sang “Aha Dhanya Amar Janmabhumi Punya Salile” together. And “Tomar Neta Amar Neta Sheikh Mujib” – we three siblings recorded that song.
These songs were not just songs – they were instruments for inspiring courage. I later heard that freedom fighters would listen to these songs before operations. It made me feel that our voices, too, were fighting.
You also helped form an organisation of your own.
Yes, 26 of us formed the “Bangladesh Tarun Shilpi Goshthi” (Bangladesh Young Artists’ Group), and I was its secretary. We performed a production called “Ekti Shurjer Janma” (Birth of a Sun), tracing Bangladesh’s history from 1952 to 1971. We performed it widely, spreading awareness of our history.
What are your thoughts on the current discourse around “second independence”?
I must say clearly – a nation has only one independence. Independence is not merely political – it is about consciousness, culture, identity.
Now, some people speak as if to hypnotize the public. They try to hide historical reality and offer new interpretations. This is very dangerous.
Do you see a disconnect between the younger generation and the Liberation War?
The biggest problem is the generational gap. Many young people today fail to understand the depth of the Liberation War.
Lack of education, lack of knowledge about history – for these reasons, they cannot distinguish truth from falsehood. As a result, the values of the Liberation War are being weakened.
What, in your view, is the way out of this situation?
Only one way – education. Not just textbook education, but education about history. People must know, must understand. They must read books, consult old newspapers, listen to those who witnessed the war. This cannot be achieved in one generation – it will take many generations of work.
