A world without my
mother!
Salah Uddin Shoaib
Choudhury
August 9th 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
13th, 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.