Mayna’s Tale

Mayna was enjoying her Friday morning, sipping a cup of tea and flipping through the pages of the daily newspaper. She had nothing to do that day --- no chores, no errands, no pending office work, nothing! But this idea of nothingness did not seem to bother her; after all, she had seen them all --- those feelings of nothingness, the vacuum that eats you from inside out, the cravings and the satisfaction of doing things that mattered. Then all on a sudden, everything turns dark and barren, leaving one wondering about bygone days.

The one-bedroom apartment worked as a perfect hiding place for her; it was not a full-fledged apartment though; only a bedroom with an attached bath and a balcony. She was subletting it from the elderly couple that lived in the rest of the four-bedroom apartment. The couple’s two sons lived abroad: one in Finland and the other in the USA. They were looking for a paying guest, while Mayna was on her mission to find a one-bedroom place. It was quite difficult for a single woman to rent a house on her own. She was a widow, but that did not matter to the landlords: after all, widow or not, the fact remained that she was a single woman, and a pretty one. She had almost decided to go back to the Working Women’s Hostel when her colleague Asif came up with this solution. Mayna could rent a room from his elderly uncle and aunt; it would serve both ways, he said. Mayna would have her privacy and his elderly relatives would have someone around them in emergencies. Mayna liked the place the moment she walked in. The four-story building was located in a suburban area of Dhaka and was remote enough to hide her from the chaos of the busy city. A recluse, Mayna instantly rented the room and moved in within a week. She had been living there for about three years now. The elderly couple treated her like their own daughter and she felt blessed to have them around. Her parents were both dead and so were her in-laws. She had placed her ten-year-old son in a boarding school. Now she lived alone, worked six days a week, and came home to be greeted by two loving people as if she was their daughter.

The doorbell rang. Who could come so early on a Friday? Maybe uncle and auntie had a visitor, Mayna thought.

“Mayna dear, some lady is at the door, asking for you,” auntie came to tell her.

“For me? Who would come here to ask for me? I didn’t give this address to anyone.”

Mayna went to receive her guest. A middle-aged woman was standing by the door, looking at her with a pleasant smile and a friendly look in her eyes. She recognized her visitor and welcomed her in.

“Neelima! How did you find me?”

“Sorry to barge in unannounced, dear Mayna. I got your address from Asif. He told me you were living with his relatives. I hope I am not bothering you.”

“Oh no, not at all! You will never be a bother! You were a friend who stood by me in need.”

“I am here to talk to you to know about your life, in detail. You told me once that you would like to share your story with me, remember? I am working on a collection on the rape victims of our war, and, with your permission, I would like to write down your experience, your story.”

“My story; the story of a raped life --- the story of a woman who sank low and then stood up to fight a battle of her own, and then earned her right to happiness and fought to keep it alive, until fate snatched away everything, once again. What a story!”

Auntie brought them a breakfast tray. Mayna offered Neelima a cup of tea. They sat in the balcony and sipped their tea as Mayna unfolded the narrative of a life full of misery.

Mayna was never a typical Bengali girl. She loved sports, had a strong mind and was actively involved in politics. She was a feisty eighteen years old, who dreamt of getting a Bachelor’s degree and being a teacher. Her mother scolded her for being an unruly girl, her father protected her, and her siblings adored her, and Haroon just loved her unconditionally. Yes, Haroon, a Masters student at Dhaka University and a fellow member of their local political party in Narayanganj was the love of her life. They knew they would get married as soon as Haroon could get a job and Mayna finish her B.A. But all their plans were disrupted on the 25th March of 1971. The horrible incidents of mass killings in Dhaka impacted on their small town as well. Things became chaotic everywhere as opportunist thugs of their town started vandalizing homes and businesses, lighting fires everywhere, and chasing people out of their homes. Like many other families, they also hid in a nearby village. Mayna’s two brothers had already fled to join the freedom fighters. Her parents had to take Mayna and her sister to a safe place beyond the reach of the hyenas. Unfortunately, the remote village where they hid was also affected by the massacre in Dhaka. The Pakistani Army was not there yet, but so what? It is a known fact that every political revolution is always undermined by some backstabbing traitors; the local goons of the village were only affirming that dismal fact through their treachery and turmoil. The remote village had its own traitors, known as the Razakars, or the members of the local militia force that helped the Pakistan Army. These Razakars carried on their tasks of looting, killing, and of course, raping women who they thought belonged to the families of freedom fighters. These traitors attacked their village one night. They burnt homes, killed the young men, ‘arrested’ the older ones, and kidnapped the girls. Mayna was raped that night by a group of Bengali men of her own country. They left her unconscious body in the rubble and took the rest of the girls to the military camp. They also took all the older men and young boys as prisoners.

When Mayna regained her consciousness, her younger sister came out of her hiding place to inform her that the goons had taken their father to the military camp as a prisoner. Mayna ran to the camp and pleaded with the Army officers to let her father free. They did so without any hesitation, but imprisoned her in exchange. And that was how she became a war-whore, as those hyenas used to call them.

They transferred Mayna and six other girls to another camp and dumped them in a big hall room, a place that resembled a broken school.

“Where is this place?” Mayna asked one of the girls.

“Shhh. Don’t talk. They will kill you if they hear you talking,” was what the girl replied. There were a bunch of other girls, lying down on the ground, with their bodies covered in blankets. They did not look at each other or change their position. They just lay there, like mutilated cadavers.

“Do you want some more tea?” Mayna paused and asked Neelima. “I know I need another cup. I am thirsty.”

“No, no, I am fine. Don’t worry about me,” Neelima said. Mayna poured herself some tea and asked, “Neelima, you have seen piled up dead bodies by the roadside of Dhaka during those days, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have seen them all.”

“And you saw the genocide, the mindless, merciless killings of men, women, children, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, I have seen them all. Dead decomposed human bodies being feasted on by dogs and vultures and ravens. I have seen them.”

“But have you watched women getting gangraped, day after day, night after night, in front of a bunch of scared women who waited for their turns to be raped the same way?”

Neelima did not answer.

“Well, I have seen and experienced both. The camp I was in was a gangrape camp; or a pervert-exhibitionist-rapist’s paradise, you may call it, for every night they would bring visitors and enjoy raping and watching us being raped. They instructed us when to clap or laugh or cheer as part of the audience while a poor woman’s body got raped by ---not one, not two, but at times by eight or nine men. And they would come back the next night and every night. We endured the torture all night long and waited all day long for the night to bring back its demons.”

“Did they feed you?”

“Yeah; tea and a roti (flat-bread) in the morning; daal (lentils) and roti for lunch; sabzi (vegetables) and roti for dinner. But we hardly ate. We only drank water to quench our thirst.”

“How about shower, or, or...did you have your clothes?” “Shower, huh! Once in a while; and for clothes, we had a piece of long cloth to wrap around our waist --- a lungi rather --- the kind that men wear, and men’s sleeveless T-shirts ---that’s all.”

“Did you find out where that place was?”

“No; but I was not bothered about the place anymore. The nightly gangrape routine was driving me crazy. Within a month, I realized I was losing it. I got ready to either kill or get killed.”

Mayna stopped suddenly. Neelima also had no more questions to ask. She sat there quietly, waiting for Mayna to resume her story.

After enduring the torture for a month, Mayna decided to retaliate. One morning, she attacked the guard with her bare hands and then tried to run away. But the sentry ran after her and gunned her down. Her plan to escape the mortal world failed as the sentry only shot her in the leg. Her cruel captors showed kindness by nursing her back to health. She had two broken legs and fractured ribs and bruises all over her body. When she came back to her senses, she found herself in a hospital, tied to a bed with her two plastered legs. The attending nurse, a Bengali man, whispered in a soft voice, “Shhh, go back to sleep.”

“What are they going to do with me?” Mayna asked.

“I don’t know. I guess they want to fix your body before they can use it again.”

“Dear brother, please help me!” Mayna pleaded.

The man’s face became gloomy. “I wish I could. But they will kill both of us if they catch me helping you. We are also prisoners here, you see,” he sighed, “We have no freedom; we just do what they tell us to do — all of us in this hospital --- the Bengali doctors and nurses; and we know they are going to kill us once they are done. I wish I could help you, but I am in no better condition than you are.”

Mayna’s attending doctor, a Pakistani woman, surprisingly, was very compassionate. She made sure Mayna ate her food and took her medicine. She sat at her bedside to comfort her with soothing words: “You will be better and up on your two feet,” she would tell Mayna in English, “and you will be able to resume daily life in no time.”

“My daily life!” Mayna sneered at her, “Do you have any idea about my daily life? Do you really want to know?”

“No, please! I don’t want to know,” the doctor interrupted, “please, don’t get excited! Tell me why you did run away that day in that manner? Why did you do so?”

“I wanted them to kill me. I know they would not let any prisoner escape from their custody. So, I wanted them to shoot me dead. Death would be better than living this life of a sex slave.”

“Trust me, you will earn your freedom soon.” The lady doctor said in a strange voice.

There was another ailing girl in the bed next to hers. Mayna and that girl tried to communicate with each other through whispers and gestures. The sixteen years old girl was another hapless victim of lust, suffering from some mysterious disease that was given to her by her oppressors. One day she was taken away from that room. The lady doctor told Mayna that the girl needed more drastic treatment and had to be taken to a better facility. “But it was not the case,” the male nurse later informed her, “the girl was diagnosed with tuberculosis and they had to get rid of her. Her body was dumped somewhere nearby.”

Mayna was released from the hospital in late November. She was brought to Dhaka to be interrogated by a big army official. Her apparent act of defiance had caught their attention and they wanted to meet her in person. She was given a sari to wear, for the first time in months. They wanted her to look pretty and presentable to the big officer. The man was sitting at his desk; all dressed up, pinned up with medals of glory and buttoned up like a wooden soldier. He seemed quite interested in Mayna.

“So, you are the brave girl who started the commotion?”

Mayna stood there speechless. She was trying to fathom the man’s thoughts.

“Want to work for me?”

“What do you mean, Sir?”

“I mean come to work for me. Be my pretty spy. I want you to keep an eye on some officers I don’t trust. You watch them, befriend them, and spend time with them; you know what I mean, and report to me every night. And I will reward you in return. Why are you shivering? Are you cold? Go, rest in your room.”

So, what was it all about? Was she to be a privileged courtesan who would get a private bedroom as a reward? Was she going to be upgraded from a common whore to the level of individual escort for her courage?

The Officer kept her as his personal booty, his own brave harlot. The imprisonment went uninterrupted for a month or so. Then in December, things started to change. Mayna heard the constant sound of air raids and rattling anti-aircraft guns day and night in Dhaka. She heard rumors that the Indian Army had joined forces with the Bangladeshi freedom fighters and also that the joint force was ready for a last battle with their enemies. Mayna suddenly noticed that the Pakistani soldiers and their guards, the janitors, and the cook --- those who got used to kicking and abusing her, slighting and torturing her all those people had suddenly changed their attitude. They started acting like weak and frightened creatures!

“The freedom fighters are coming to save you. They have taken over Dhaka. Will you save me from their anger?” The sentry pleaded.

“Please save me from them! I have a wife and kids waiting for me back home!” pleaded the soldier who was once her rapist.

“Will you tell them I fed you and allowed you to have shower and took care of you?” asked the Bengali cook and the janitor.

The cowardice of these pathetic creatures made her sick to her stomach. These were the same people who had imprisoned women and underage girls, raped and tortured them, and robbed them of all human dignity!

Very soon, the rumors proved to be no rumors at all. The freedom fighters did come to save them. The Army officers had already fled when the freedom fighters of Bangladesh reached the camp. Only the soldiers and lower class employees remained. The radio repeatedly broadcast news of the end of the war. The Pakistani Army had surrendered and every one of its members was to go back to Pakistan. Mayna stepped out of the military camp and started to run. Thousands of people were on the streets screaming and running along with her aimlessly. Freedom fighters ran with their guns and flags of the new country. Mayna also ran with the crowd, chanting “Joy Bangla, Victory to Bengal;” and amidst the crowd, she saw faces of treacherous Bengalis who had worked for the Pakistani Army in the camp she had been taken to. She heard the voices of those traitors chanting: “Joy Bangla!” And in an instant, she saw how the line between the traitors and the patriots of the liberation war had been erased. Running side by side with the freed citizens, chanting the praise of the new country, the Razakars put on the mask of patriots and posed as champions of a country they had never wanted.

Mayna ran faster. She didn’t stop to catch her breath; she just ran. She had to be away from all these people who had now infiltrated the ranks of the freedom fighters; she had to run away from a dreadful past and an uncertain present. She had to find her loved ones. She got on a bus to Narayanganj without realizing that she had not a single penny with her. She got up and approached the driver: “Can you please stop the bus so that I can step down? I have no money to pay for the bus ticket.”

The bus driver smiled at her and said, “Today’s trip is on me, sister. We have our own country today and I want to celebrate this victory by offering everyone a free ride. Pay me another day!”

Mayna reached Narayanganj to find her home vandalized, empty, and unlocked. She ran inside to change her clothes. She took a shower and then ran out in search of some food. She was starving. The small departmental store next to their house was open; the owner, uncle Salaam, was a good family friend. Mayna went to meet him and decided to borrow some money,

“Uncle, As Salaam U Alaykum. Can I borrow some money from you? I will pay you once my father gets back home.”

She then went to the breakfast café and bought a few pieces of daal-puri.

Mayna rushed back home and devoured those puris. She emptied a whole pitcher of water and lay down on the floor of her parents' empty room. For the first time in nine months, she slept peacefully. When she opened her eyes the following morning, she saw her father standing before her. “Is that you, father? Is that really you?” She jumped up and embraced her father and burst out crying.

“Don’t cry my baby.” The father wiped his own eyes and said, “I have been coming back every other day, hoping to find you here. Your brothers are back, and your mom and younger sister are all safe. We were worried about you.” He spoke. “Now that you are here, I will clean and fix the house and go back to bring them home tomorrow.” Mayna’s father left the next day, asking her to stay inside, with doors locked and lights out. “Time is not in our favor yet,” he cautioned, “you can never be too careful. Don’t answer the door. I have the keys with me and I will let myself in when I am back with them.”

Mayna spent her time cleaning and cooking. She cooked rice and daal (lentils) and some egg curry. She ate and slept, woke up to eat and then went back to sleep again. Her father returned after two days. He had brought everyone with him: her mother, her younger sister and two brothers --- all were back. The younger brother was injured during the war and had lost his right arm, but he was as spirited as before. The siblings helped their father reopen his homeopathic pharmacy. Their father sat at his store from morning till evening. But no one seemed to be in need of any medicine in a war-torn country; they had been injured and impacted in so many ways that medicine was not sufficient to cure them. They had no jobs, their homes had been destroyed, crops looted, and families killed. Mayna’s older brother went back to his old workplace in the cotton mill. Mayna and her two other siblings wanted to resume normal lives. But what was there to go back to? Schools and colleges were still not ready to reopen. Their friends and families of freedom fighters found themselves threatened and bullied by the traitors of the country who now cunningly put on the cloaks of patriotism. The Razakar traitors took over their town wearing the mask of war heroes. Total anarchy prevailed.

People who had assisted the Pakistani army in destroying lives and in raping the town’s women were in power. Quite naturally these men knew all the women they had raped or delivered to the army camp to be raped. And quite naturally, they singled out every taken girl in public to harass them and their families. Some girls fled the town; while some families took their daughters and wives and left the town for good, leaving their homes and property behind. And of course, the deserted land and property went to those who had made them run away! Mayna was also singled out. Men who delivered her father to the army camp recognized her as the ‘slut’ who slept with the Pakistanis.

Mayna stopped going out. Her family became tired of being embarrassed. And her father, being overwhelmed with everything, went to Haroon’s house to ask him to marry Mayna. Haroon had already moved to Dhaka where he had a job in a private company. Haroon’s father was home and was quite pleased to have found the opportunity to insult the father of a whore. The broken-hearted father came home and wept like a child for not being able to do anything for his brave daughter. Mayna’s mother could not take it anymore. She took out her anger on Mayna:

“Why did you come back? Why didn’t you die? Why didn’t they kill you? Why didn’t you stay out of our lives and rot somewhere in a brothel? At least we would not have to suffer for your sins!” Mayna’s mother’s rant poisoned the environment.

The angry mother slapped and shoved and pushed the daughter. Mayna fell on the ground and lay there, like a broken tree.

“What are you saying, Mayna’s mother! What are you saying? Are you out of your mind?” Mayna’s father grabbed his wife by the shoulder and shook her.

They fought all night long because of her and eventually ran out of words and tears. When everyone fell asleep, Mayna packed a bag and walked out of the house, leaving a note for her father:

“Baba, I am sorry I have caused you so much pain. Please ask Ma to forgive me. Tell her she does not have to be ashamed of me anymore. And, Baba, please do not come looking for me.” --- Mayna.

Mayna took with her a newspaper cutting of the address of a Women’s Shelter in Dhaka. She went to that Shelter and requested a meeting with its Director, Moshfeqa Mahmud. The Director was having a conference with a group of women when she arrived there.

“Do you remember that day?” Mayna stopped talking and looked at Neelima.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I remember I was there. And along with me, there were a few of my friends and colleagues: Zarina Alim, Basanti Guha Thakurata, and Noor Jahan Begum, but I think Nawshaba was there too.”

“Yes, all of you were there. I didn’t know any of you then. But later you and Zarina took interest in me and helped me in so many ways.”

“Do you know what happened to Zarina?”

“Yes, I do. What a sad life that wonderful woman had to live!”

“Yes, Mayna. It was really sad. An educated woman ---Zarina was a smart and an educated woman, from a highly respected family. She dedicated her life and money for the rape victims of the war, although she herself had an abusive marriage and had suffered her whole life!”

“But why didn’t she stand up for herself?”

“I wish I knew. But let’s come back to your story.”

“Yes. I remember all of you sitting around the Director’s table. The Director listened to my story and asked me what kind of work I was looking for. I told her, I would take any job, anywhere.”

“Wasn’t your first job at a non-profitable organization?”

“Yes, as an assistant office secretary. Was it you or was it Zarina who helped me get that job?”

“You got it on your own accord, darling; we were just there to help.”

“You know what I did with my first month’s salary? I sent my father a money order of 200 taka and wrote him a letter --- that I had a job, a respectable one, was living in a Woman’s Hostel, and I would do my best to help him financially; and I also informed him that I was getting ready for my B.A. exam.”

“He must be very proud of you!”

“Yes, Sister Neelima. He was. He wrote back but never asked me to go home. I think they were relieved after I had left.”

The soft morning sun turned into the scorching heat of midday, which made it impossible for them to stay outside. Neelima wanted Mayna to take a break and promised to come back again. But Mayna was in the mood to talk. She wanted to finish telling her story that day. She was not willing to revisit the painful paths of her memories another time. They went inside and Mayna continued with her story.

Mayna passed the B.A. exam and got a promotion. She was a confident woman in her early twenties. She was strong enough to bear the expenses of her siblings' education. She never went back to visit her parents and never expected them to visit her. She lived in the Women’s Hostel and worked at a non-profit organization. In afternoons, she went out with her friends and roommates from the Women’s Shelter; they would all go out to eat in restaurants once in a while. In short, Mayna was living her life in comfort and was content. However, there were times when her heart ached. She longed to hear Haroon’s voice. She knew Haroon lived in Dhaka. She had also heard that Haroon had gone to see her brothers and had asked for her address. Haroon had also apologized to her father on behalf of his own family. Three years had passed since she had been freed from the military camp. Her physical bruises were healed but her heart and her head were still sore. Yet, despite all the pains and humiliations, she longed to hear Haroon’s voice, at least one last time. The urge became so overpowering that Mayna lost self-control. One day, she sat with the telephone guide to find out the number of Haroon’s office. She called the receptionist’s desk and asked to be transferred to one Haroon-Ur Rashid.

“Is this Mr. Rashid?” She asked in a shaky voice.

“Yes, who is calling? Who is this?”

“I am someone you used to love ages ago.”

Haroon hung up the phone. The same day, Mayna found him waiting by her hostel gate, with a bouquet of tuberose in his hand. He had come back for her!

Mayna and Haroon had a lot of catching up to do. He asked for her forgiveness for all the bitter words his father had uttered against her; he apologized for not having the courage to stand before her three years ago. He had fought against the enemies of his country and had never feared for his own life in the battlefield. And yet, when it came to matters of the heart, he was always the coward; he believed that Mayna had the heart of a tigress, which was why she could fight the way she had. She even had the courage to pull him out from his dungeon of cowardice, he admitted. Mayna did not disagree with him. She was indeed the courageous one; and he, on the other hand, was accustomed to staying away from all sorts of troubles. Haroon told Mayna that he drove by the hostel almost everyday, but didn’t have the courage to ask for her; sometimes he would enter the office building with an intent to see her, but then he would leave in haste, before anyone could approach him. He was afraid to stand before her, for he thought she would not forgive his cowardice. They were sitting by the lake near the Parliament Building. That day, Haroon talked for hours, trying to explain himself. After he was done talking, he looked at Mayna earnestly, but found her absorbed in her thought; Mayna seemed unaware of her surroundings.

“What are you thinking about?” Haroon asked her.

“Nothing. I was watching the sky. Do you know, I hadn’t had a chance to catch a glimpse of that sky for ten whole months? Oh, how I had longed for just one peek! I thought I would never have this chance to look up at the sky... the azure sky, the vermilion colored sky of the evening, and the black sky of the monsoon season...oh!”

“You seem to be in the mood to write poems. Need a pen?” Haroon teased her.

“You are no fun to talk to!” Mayna said, “I just lost Joy and....”

“Who did you lose? Someone named Joy? Let me go and bring him to you.”

“And you won’t be jealous, seeing me with another man?”

“Of course, I’d be jealous! I can’t even stand the thought of seeing you with another man. I never could, not even those during war-torn days.”

“At least you had the luxury of pondering, Haroon,” Mayna murmured, “But think of what I had gone through! I didn’t think of you or of my family, for I thought I was bound to die in that dungeon. All I waited for was a bullet that would punch a hole in my head or my heart. The only thought that I had was of death --- how would death come to me, how would I die, and where would they dump my body? I sometimes thought of Sheikh Mujib though, and of those political rallies and processions we used to participate in....”

“Let’s not talk about those days anymore, Mayna.” Haroon Interrupted her. “Let’s go now. We will eat something on our way, I will drop you at your hostel, and then I will have to start for Narayanganj to see my mother.”

Mayna didn’t say anything. She kept thinking about her past and their possible future. Was Haroon brave enough to propose to a Birangana (war heroine)? What if he never did propose? What would she do? Mayna decided not to press Haroon for marriage. She could spend the rest of her life with him without getting married. At times she even considered asking Haroon to rent a house where they could live together. But she gave up the thought, for she was afraid that Haroon might misinterpret her unconditional love as a sign of weakness. He might misread her love as the sinful passion of a harlot of the war --- an insatiable seductress.

Haroon went away for a week, telling Mayna to wait for him. He went to meet his parents in Narayanganj. He came back a different man. He was not a talkative person anyway, but he grew into a quiet man after his recent visit.

“Will you wear a nice sari today when I come for you today at the hostel?” Haroon told her on the phone one day. Mayna wore a light pink handloom cotton sari and braided her long hair. She put some kajal (kohl) in her eyes and put on some lipstick.

Haroon smiled at her as he picked Mayna up from her hostel and asked the driver to go to a certain address. Mayna was puzzled. Haroon did not explain the purpose of that long drive or instigate any conversation during that journey. Once the driver brought them in front of a one-story building, Haroon got out and opened the door for her. He unlocked the house and let her in. All the while, he held her hand as she walked through the walkway to the living room to the dining area.

It was a beautiful house, nicely decorated with indoor plants and handicraft items. The living room was spacious and so were the three bedrooms. Every room had its personal veranda.

“This house has been allotted to me by the Company that I work for. It’s been mine for the last two years, but I never lived here. All my life I wanted to live with you, but couldn’t bring myself to live in a house where you wouldn’t be. My parents have been trying to convince me to marry for a while now. But I knew I couldn’t marry anyone else. I was waiting for you. This house is for you.” Was he crying? Yes, he was. Then he suddenly looked up and teased her, “Now look at you, I asked you to put on a beautiful sari, and all you could find was this --- cotton one! Couldn’t you find a red sari? I mean a red Banarasi sari?”

“Where would I find such an expensive sari? Besides, a red Banarasi is meant to be worn by brides....”

“You are my bride, aren’t you?” Haroon handed Mayna a packet. “Now would you please go to the other room and wear this one for me?”

Mayna wore the red Banarasi --- an elegant bridal sari and stood before him. He slid a ring in her finger and said, “Will you be my bride?” Haroon kissed her and held her close. They spent that night in that beautiful house --- their future home.

Haroon and Mayna got married in March 1975. They went to a four-month long trip to Europe. Haroon took her to see the London Bridge, the Eiffel Tower, the museums of Paris, the city of London, and the beautiful tulip gardens. During one of these trips, Mayna had a hysterical outburst in a shopping mall in Germany. She thought she saw a familiar face --- the face of one of those rapists. The man looked at her and smiled. Did he smile because he had escaped his trial, or because he recognized her? Was that a smile of victory? Was that a smile of her defeat, her country’s defeat at the hands of these traitors of Bangladesh who had gone unpunished? It took a while for Haroon to calm her down. He took Mayna to see a therapist. The news of Sheikh Mujib’s murder came as another blow. They were in London during that military coup. Sheikh Mujib and his whole family had been slaughtered and the country had been put under martial law. Mayna’s lamentation for the slain leader was uncontrollable. She couldn’t accept the news; she just couldn’t believe it; most of all, she did not feel safe anywhere. If the founding father of a country was not safe in his own country, then how could she be safe anywhere? Mayna gave in to depression and anxiety. The doctors had to sedate her; they also advised Haroon to take her back to Bangladesh. She might feel better in her own house.

Haroon and Mayna returned home in September 1975. The country’s political atmosphere appeared to be calm, but there were indeed signs of fear and anxiety everywhere. Some close allies of Banga-Bandhu were forced to join Mushtaq’s new cabinet, while a few others joined willingly. The top Awami League leaders were arrested, and among them were Tajuddin, Syed Nazrul Islam, Mansur Ali, and Qamruz Zaman. Mayna was deeply impacted by the political upheaval of the country. She was on the verge of having another nervous breakdown, always afraid of an impending danger. Haroon did everything in his power to revive her mental peace. Mayna however regained her mental strength when she found out that she was pregnant. Her anxiety and worries were then replaced by excitement and hope. Haroon and Mayna spent their time quibbling with each other over silly things regarding the baby. Haroon wanted to have a daughter, but Mayna vehemently opposed that idea. She wanted a boy.

The political situation of the country kept getting worse. The country went through a series of coups and martial laws and saw a gradual rise of radicalism. In November, Khaled Musharraf and many other distinguished freedom fighters were assassinated. Radical Islamist groups began making public appearances to display their strength. They started demonstrating in rallies and processions in the streets of Dhaka, chanting “Naraye Takbeer, Allahu Akbar!” Meanwhile, four prominent leaders of the country were assassinated in their prison cells. Haroon began to worry for his country and for his wife; he didn’t want Mayna to be upset by all these unsettling political events.

Mayna gave birth to a beautiful baby boy in June. Haroon wanted to name their son Gautam, and Mayna had no objection to it.

Mayna became busy with her life, nursing the newborn, managing it, and running the house. Mayna’s little son had mended the relationship between her parents and her in-laws. The two sets of grandparents started visiting together to see their grandson. Mayna felt content in her life. However, she started noticing some change in Haroon’s behavior; he always looked worried and preoccupied. It looked as if he was scared of something. Mayna couldn’t figure out the cause of his anxiety. She thought that he might be having some problems in his office, but Haroon assured her that there was nothing to worry. But it became quite obvious to Mayna that something was indeed eating up Haroon’s peace. He kept telling Mayna with a reassuring smile that “everything’s alright.” But everything was not okay; he eventually told Mayna that he had been receiving threatening phone calls from strangers. These people spoke dirty words about his wife and threatened to kill him too. “Don’t be scared,” Mayna told her husband. “They can’t do anything to us anymore.” But Haroon thought otherwise. “I’m not that sure anymore, Mayna,” he said anxiously, “Haven’t you seen what they did in 1971? They can fix their faces to fit any masks and they could change their color any moment.”

Mayna’s older brother was also receiving the threatening calls in Narayanganj. Mayna wanted to go to the local police station to file a complaint or injunction. But Haroon realized it was of no avail. No injunction would stop these callers. Besides who should they file complaint against? These cowards had no faces to show! They had only heard strange voices over the phone, calling from unknown numbers. Time passed but the phone calls never stopped. Different people would call at different times and harass them.

A few months later, Haroon had to go to Narayanganj to attend a family gathering. Mayna couldn’t accompany him, because Gautam suddenly fell ill that day. After Haroon left, Mayna felt scared for no obvious reason; she wished she had gone with Haroon. If the little Gautam was fit to travel, she could have gone with Haroon. At around 12:30 PM, Mayna’s brother called her from Narayanganj to tell her that Haroon had fallen ill and they were bringing him to Dhaka Medical College Hospital. Mayna was at a loss. She didn’t know what to do or whom to call. Finally, she made a phone call to Haroon’s office. She was then told that a car was already on the way to pick her up and take her to the hospital. Mayna rushed to the hospital, but it was already too late. She found Haroon’s lifeless body lying in the pool of his own blood. Haroon was fatally injured by a group of ruffians in Narayanganj, right in front of his own house. Someone had told Haroon that there was a brawl outside his house. Haroon went there to resolve the scuffle, but got attacked the moment he approached those thugs. They stabbed him repeatedly and left the scene. The whole thing was a setup, Mayna’s brother had told her. It was a premeditated murder. Mayna couldn’t hear a single word her brother said, for she fell into a coma. When she regained her consciousness, the first thing that came to her mind was that she had lost everything, once again.

Haroon’s office was very considerate and helpful. They offered her a job with a better salary so that she could stay in the company allotted house. Mayna took the offer but requested her previous boss to keep her as an unpaid employee in reserve. She wanted to go back to her old job, she told them. Little Gautam grew older day by day in a fatherless house. Mayna made sure he had the best education. She had promised to herself not to let Haroon down, ever. Her new office staffs were quite friendly, and her boss was unusually cordial. The happily married boss indicated that he was willing to take care of Mayna and her child in all possible ways. Mayna understood the hint but decided to act dumb to avoid any conflict. She didn’t need another man in her life anymore. The only one she had loved was dead and the one that she now cared for was going to carry on their legacy --- Haroon’s and hers. No other man was allowed in that world.

When Gautam turned ten, Mayna put him in Mymensingh Cadet College, a prestigious boarding school for boys. Gautam would complete his high school from there and then would go to college to earn either a Medical or an Engineering degree. Mayna in the meantime would pass her life as a recluse and do everything she could to provide for their son. After putting Gautam in the boarding school, the first thing she did was leave the posh job and the company allotted house. She knew her boss was unhappy to have lost his chance to seduce her, but that was not Mayna’s concern at all. She went back to her old job and rented an apartment from a loving old couple. She had invested all her money in real estate and bought two rental properties. The money she earned from the rental properties was enough to cover Gautam’s educational expenses. She had nothing more to lose, and nothing to be afraid of. A brave Birangana, Mayna was now ready to join her husband in heaven. She was still waiting for the final call.

Source: A WAR HEROINE I SPEAK --- Neelima Ibrahim.

Translated in English by Fayeza Hasnat.