A world without my mother!

Salah Uddin Shoaib Choudhury

August 9^th is the second death anniversary of our beloved mother. Two years back, on this day she left us silently. Although to members of our family, this is one of the saddest days (the other if 29 ^th March when my father died in 2003), to me, it is even much shocking and painful. Ruling government did not allow me to attend my mother’s funeral, despite the fact that right after she passed away, an application for granting bail on parole was submitted with the ministry of Home Affairs and subsequently the ministry granted the application granting five hours bail on parole. Later, office of the deputy commissioner (Dhaka) told my family members that, they were instructed by higher authorities not to allow me to attend the funeral. I came to know about her death almost two weeks later. Although I did not know on 9 ^th August that our beloved mother left us all for ever, from the evening of the day, I don’t know why, a kind of peculiar mood was prevailing in me. On that night I saw a bad dream. I was almost sure; there was something wrong with my mom. I immediately jumped from the bed (for seventeen months in prison, I had to sleep on the floor) and washed myself to prepare for deep night prayer. I was praying for good health and long life of her to the God almighty, although by then everything was over! Her dead body was lying at our residence. From that very period, each time in my prayer, I was seeking God’s blessings for her long life. Her smiling face came in front of my eyes, which almost made me sure that everything was okay.

Each Friday, my wife was going to the prison gate to see me. But on August 13

^th, she didn’t. For the entire day I was waiting for a call from the gate. In the afternoon, when the visiting time was already over, I was rather shocked on her for not coming to see me. She even did not come on next several days. This time, a new tension circled my mind. For years, my wife had been suffering from hypertension. I thought she might have been sick; otherwise, it was almost impossible that she won’t come to see me. Suddenly, I found a jail guard, who was known to our family and requested him to make a phone call at our residence to check if anything was wrong. Next day he came again and told that nothing was wrong at my residence and my wife spoke to him over phone. I was partially relieved with this news, but still I was surely not relieved fully from the mental stigma. The same day during the noon time, when I was preparing to have lunch, slip came from the gate. Someone has come from my residence to meet. I rushed to the gate without having lunch. My younger brother Sohail was there with Aman. Before they could ask me anything, I asked them, how is ‘Amma’ (mother). Drawing an artificial smile, Aman replied, she is okay. I asked the same question again. How is she? Anything wrong or has she expired? This time, Sohail took out a piece of paper from his pocket and said, “we applied for bail on parole, but they didn’t grant. Her body was kept in morgue for two days in the hope of getting the order for your bail on parole”. I turned mum for minutes before tears started flowing from my eyes. My entire body was shivering in anger at the heinous decision of the government to stop me from bidding farewell to my beloved mother. I started shouting in anger uttering abusive words at the government and the jail authorities. Then asked Sohail, if he has told this matter to my brother Dr. Richard Benkin. He said, he did! I asked, what did he say? “Dr. Benkin was terribly shocked and annoyed”, said Sohail. We spoke for almost an hour and came back to my room. My appetite had already gone and silently I lied in my bed, closed my eyes, while my heart was heavy with tremendous grief and sorrow. Memoirs of my mother started rolling in front of my thoughts like celluloid. Her voice I heard in my ears.

There are some pains, which human heart could never absorb. To me, the greatest pain is my mother’s death. I could not bid her farewell when she left us all for ever. I know, this had been an injustice to the highest degree to me by the government. Possibly, I shall never forgive them for this crime. They will remain guilty in the court of my own soul for ever. And I know for sure, if there is God (and I am sure there is), those who did not allow me to attend my mother’s funeral will certainly not have their own children, to attend their funeral, when they will leave this world. This is a prayer from the bereaved son of a loving mother. This is a cry of a human being who had been the victim of wrath of a so-called democratic government.