Bringing a taste of freedom to the barefoot slum child

Fifty-five years have passed since independence. I still remember a slogan I raised in 1972, right after independence: "We will bring the taste of freedom to the barefoot slum child." Now, standing in 2025, I must admit—we failed. But we did make the country independent. How? Back then, there wasn’t a single sponge sandal factory in this country. Bengalis didn’t even know what indenting business was. Today, we manufacture everything, from shoes to construction materials. Despite having no iron ore of our own, we are now building and exporting massive ships worldwide. A boy from my village has even built and flown a helicopter! Isn’t that something to be proud of? This is how far we have come as a nation.

There are countless memories from the war—some from the preparation phase, others from the battlefield. One such memory stands out. I fought under Sector 9, covering Barisal, Patuakhali, and Jhalokathi. One day, we had around eight or nine rifles—some were muskets that required single shots, while others had magazines that could fire six to seven rounds at a time.

Near Gabkhan Canal, a well-known waterway in Barisal, we sat and strategized. The Pakistani army frequently traveled through this route. We saw them, fully armed, as if prepared for battle at any moment. Their positions were fortified with sandbags, and they had LMGs (Light Machine Guns) mounted all around. We decided to launch a simultaneous attack from one side, firing four shots together so the enemy wouldn't immediately recognize whether we were using muskets or magazine rifles.

Each of us took on a different target—some aimed at the searchlight, others at the master cabin. The Pakistanis’ LMG bullets flew about a hundred feet over our heads, missing us entirely. But every one of our shots hit its mark. The surrounding villagers had no idea what was happening. About an hour later, two or three gunboats arrived, signaling a possible counterattack the next day. We immediately warned the locals: "Forget your homes, save your lives first! Leave the area!" Two days later, the Pakistani forces burned down the entire village. That was one of our battles.

Another memory stands out. It was August 14, Pakistan’s Independence Day. Across from Swarupkathi in Barisal, Indira Hat hosted the largest timber market in Bangladesh. My comrades Jahangir Bahadur, Siddiq, and I devised a plan. We gathered bamboo sky fireworks—those that explode mid-air with a loud bang. Today, you don’t see them much. We enlisted a local craftsman to fill bamboo tubes with brick chips, husks, and other debris, turning them into makeshift terror weapons.

On the opposite bank stood the Char Chandpur Pir’s shrine. A launch (steamer) named Gajaria was about to set sail, carrying Pakistani soldiers. We targeted that launch, firing the bamboo explosives, creating deafening blasts that shook the air. At the same time, we played Bangabandhu’s March 7 speech over loudspeakers:

"This struggle is the struggle for our emancipation! This struggle is the struggle for our independence!"

Hearing this, the Pakistani soldiers retreated in fear. That victory, that moment of joy—nothing could compare!

Even today, our independence remains incomplete. The struggle for true freedom continues, and it will never end. As poet Sukanta Bhattacharya said:

"Bravo, Bangladesh! The world watches in awe,
Burning, suffering, crumbling into ashes—
Yet never bowing down!"

Author: A Freedom Fighter, Sector 9