The Mujibnama
An Epic on Sheikh Mujib, the Father of Nation
by Sayeed Abubakar
Translation in English: Sayeed Abubakar
Book 2
Having a bright smile on face, he returned
With a heart swollen with self-confidence
To his home named ‘Number Thirty Two’. His
Daughter, as if a golden lotus of
Heaven bloomed just, found out her palace of
Affection on his broad bosom. Saying
‘Hasu’, he fondled her keeping his hand
Wet with tenderness on her forehead. He
Sighed and started speaking: “O my daughter,
I know your ever busy father roams
Here and there leaving you at home or he
Passes his time into the darkest cell
Of prison; you all look expectantly
For his return which way the swallows
Look expectantly for rain-water. I
Return to you just to flee away from
You again. I remain indifferent to
What you eat, what you wear and how you pass
Your days and nights. Really, to be a
Daughter of a leader is a matter
Of sorrow, o my babe, I know, I feel.”
His daughter replied in sweet voice:
“You are the friend to Bengal; the people
Of Bengal love you more than their lives; our
Happiness lies in it. Don’t get worried
Thinking for us.” Fazilatunnesa,
The mother to Bengal, came with slow steps
Towards them. She entered into the talk
Between father and daughter: “We have set
You free like a bird of forests. That’s why,
You have become Bangabandhu now in
Bengal. Do not forget it ever.” In
Reply, said Bangabandhu: “Yes, you have
Set me free; that’s why, I wander on the
Streets of Bengal to find out the looted
Liberty of the people of Bengal.”
“Talk to mom, Dad. I will just go and come
Back with a glass of milk for you.” Saying
It, his Sun like daughter ran away, as
If a storm. The leader of seven crore
Bengalis stared at that storm with pleasant
Eyes for a moment and then turned his eyes
To his better half: “Listen, O Hasu’s
Mother, they won’t be able to subdue
Us any more. The people of Bengal
Have risen up. All have realized in
The long run, they are not our brothers; they
Are our enemies, our killers. How long
We will tolerate their torture! Bleeding
Souls of the brilliant teacher martyr
Shamsuzzoha and Sergeant Jahurul
Haq don’t let me sleep; how compassionately
They stare at my face and calling me, say,
‘O Mujib, don’t let this blood go in vain.”
I cannot let the blood of martyrs go
In vain at all in this Bengal. Listen,
We will defeat them in the battle of
Imminent election of East Pakistan.
This time my Bengalis will not mistake.”
Mrs. Mujib, the Mother to Bengal,
Sighed, saying, “May God accept it. But there
In a gathering of his supporters
Maolana Bhashani declared that he
Won’t fight in the field of election; his
First demand is food, then election. I
Can’t realize politics any way.
It’s difficult to realize when who
Throws stone at which beehive.” “Don’t get worried,
Renu. Time will say who is wrong and who
Is right. They wanted to entrap me by
Filing a false case named ‘Agartala
Conspiracy’ against me. Questions were
Raised against my ‘Six Points’. And I was called
Traitor. Tell me, Renu, who has ever
loved this Bengal more than me, more than
Sheikh Mujib? I recognize every inch
Of Bengal; almost all the faces of
Bengal’s men and women are known to me;
Mujib can’t treason against his soil and
People. If God smiles on us, I will make
This country golden Bengal you will see.”
“I have desired it throughout my whole life.
Never I wished that your milk-white image
Get stained with a little black spot. You are
The leader of seven crore Bengalis,
So dear to them; this love can be purchased
On earth by no money or wealth. I wish
This identity of you lasted in
Bengal for ever. For Agartala
Conspiracy Case, that time you were in
Prison. Thirty five persons were accused.
Trial was going on. Going to visit
You at prison, I came to know that the
Government of Pakistan wanted to
Parole you in order to have you in
An urgent conference. I realized
That it was another conspiracy;
They wanted to destroy perpetually
Your strong personality and your bright
Political existence. I got frightened;
It seemed to me that you would slip this time
On the mud of conspiracy. In a
Frenzy of despair, I shouted, ‘Beware!
Don’t take parole. If they want to set you
Free, unconditonally they have to
Set you free then. Captive Mujib will go
On a conference- I won’t tolerate
It. If something happens like that, then keep
In mind, while coming back home, you will find
Your Renu no more.’ Saying it, like a
Lass I started crying aloud. You know,
I have been your life-partner since my teen
Age, never did I revolt against you
This way. Just after then, Sergeant Jahurul
Haq was murdered. The whole country roared in
Anger. ‘Nineteen Sixty Nine Uprising’
Took place. On twenty second February
You got released from prison. The Bengalis
Gave you a warm reception on twenty
Third February at Racecourse Ground and
You returned home like a hero having
The title ‘Bangabandhu’.” Saying it,
She wiped her eyes, as if wet with dawn’s dew.
Bangabandhu, the leader of poverty-
Stricken people, said in a choked voice:
“Truly, you saved me that day from a great
Danger awaiting me. If you did not
Press me hard that way, something might happen
Terrible. My friends often mock at my
Madness for my wife. If they knew the cause! ”
Having the glass of milk at her hand, his
Daughter, as dear as his eye-ball, came
With a slow step. Mrs. Mujib, flooded
With passion, somewhat embarrassed for the
Sudden arrival of their daughter, said
In a cramped voice: “I have cooking. Let me
Go. You talk father and daughter.” When she
Left the room hurriedly for the kitchen,
They two saw a light of serenity
Spread over her face. Both the father and
The daughter stared with a steadfast look on
Her going, as if they were watching a
Spring-wind going back giving them a soft
Touch of peace providing a kind
Of sweet coolness within their bodies and
Souls. Absent-minded Mujib, who is the
Greatest man of Bengal, got back his sense
By the call of his daughter, “Milk, Dad.”
He sat down on the sofa. Then he took
The glass of milk like a gentle boy from
The hand of his motherly daughter and
Started sipping, as if he were drinking
The sweet water of heaven’s brook. Drinking
The milk to the lees, he stared with a smile
At his daughter; a brightened line of a
Green forest spread over his face: “How is
My cow, Hasu? How selfishly I drink
Her milk! I don’t get a chance to meet her.”
“She is quite well, Dad. When we go to her,
She stares at us like a dumb and look to
And fro for someone. She has, perhaps, come
To know by this time that you are very
Busy with country, party and politics.
That’s why, she keeps quiet every moment.”
The blue of the great leader’s two eyes get
Moist with tears. The thunder of Summer-storm
Is in his voice but, what a billowy
Unfathomable Bay of Bengal flows
Within his heart! —”O my God! I had just
Forgotten her. When I get ready for
Outgoing in the morning, remind me,
I will meet her first, then I will leave home.
All the birds of this Bengal, all the trees,
Animals, flowers, fruits, rivers, canals,
Bogs, fields and the desolate extensive
Plains—they all know me. Farmers, labourers,
Coolies, fishermen, boatmen, barbers and
All the veiled women of villages, all
The shopkeepers of village-markets, the
Teachers of schools, students, youths, mobs—they all
Forget their sorrows seeing your father.
Seeing your father for once, they all see
The whole country in front of their eyes, the
Country on whose chest has sat firmly the
Autocratic martial beasts of Pakistan,
Who sitting there are sucking like leeches
The life-blood of seven crore Bengalis.”
No sooner had he completed his speech
Than his second daughter Sheikh Rehana
Along with Sheikh Russel, his youngest son,
Came running with laughter and making fun.
Instantly, a delight-fair was set up
Surrounding their dear father. Leader was
He of seven crore people, a strange fire-
showering speaker, a magician of
Musical words who robbed the hearts of men
And women; the greatest Bengali was
He in thousand years; but now he became
Suddenly a loving father among
His dearest son and daughters. His eldest
Daughter, as if she were his far-seeing
Mother Hasina, was watching that scene
With the eyes of the goddess of earth. With
The pea-cock eyes, she was watching the great
Leader’s sweet game with his daughter and son
And was saying in her own mind: ‘What a
Loving world of illusion it is and
How beautiful Number Thirty Two house is! ‘
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