A Dire Premonition: A Clarion Call for Action: Hasan Maruf

What unfolded in the shadowy recesses of my dreams last night was no mere illusion, no fleeting nightmare conjured by an overactive mind—it was a forewarning, a vivid tableau of despair painted in the hues of blood and betrayal. Bangladesh, our beloved motherland, lies on the precipice of annihilation. The specter of doom that now stalks Kashmir is but a harbinger of the calamities that may soon engulf our soil, should we remain idle, lulled into complacency by the false comfort of the present.

In this prophetic vision, Dhaka burned—a city once vibrant with life, now reduced to ash and desolation. The streets, once teeming with voices of unity and resilience, were drowned in a cacophony of gunfire, screams, and sorrow. Our brothers—our own blood—had betrayed us, their loyalty sold to sinister hands, their treachery festering like a malignant wound. The army, once the shield of the people, stood as silent spectators or complicit collaborators, abandoning their sacred duty to defend the nation.

The imagery haunts me still: families torn asunder, lives extinguished with ruthless finality. My wife, the light of my life, lay lifeless. My parents, the anchors of my existence, were no more. Even the bastion of hope, our government—fallen. Dhaka, the beating heart of our nation, was a graveyard of dreams, a monument to our collective failure.

And yet, the greater horror lies not in the dream but in the gnawing certainty that it foreshadows reality. Are we awake to the peril that looms, or are we sleepwalking into oblivion? Are we, fractured by grievances and distracted by trivialities, ready to forge a bulwark against the abyss, or will we surrender to the tide that threatens to drown us?

Make no mistake: the forces poised to strip us of our sovereignty and shred our independence into tatters will not be deterred by appeals to conscience or justice. The world will not save us. The UN will issue toothless resolutions, the US will offer hollow platitudes, and our so-called allies will watch, bound by their own interests, as we fall.

It is upon us—each and every one of us—to rise as guardians of this nation. To cast aside our petty differences, to unite under one banner of resistance and resolve. Our future cannot, must not, be dictated by foreign hands or by the traitors among us. We must seize it, mold it, and protect it with unyielding determination.

Let this serve as a warning to the dreamers, the apathetic, the disheartened: the hour is late, and the stakes are existential. This is no longer about politics, ideologies, or factions. This is about survival—our survival, our children’s survival, and the survival of everything we hold dear.

Bangladesh shall not bow. Bangladesh shall not break. But only if we choose to rise now, with fire in our hearts and steel in our spines. The future is not written—it is ours to shape. Let us rise before the shadows of my dream become the horrors of our reality.

Thanks and gratitude to all.