Country adrift in suffering, flood crisis and cricket victory

The home of my ancestors, who came from far away hundreds of years ago during the declining period of the Mughals, is located in that region. It is the locality where everything, their business, estates, and families, flourished, but about a century ago, the situation started to change a little. Learning to read and write became more profitable than running a zamindari by the middle of the British era. Nobody except the students of history say that the zamindari system was never economically successful. Even the rich zamindars used to earn money through various types of business, be it interest business or salt. My ancestors started joining jobs, advocacy and education. As these were not occupations of a rural society, so everyone started becoming city-oriented, meaning Kolkata-oriented.

My father also grew up in Kolkata, out of touch with Raipur upazila in Noakhali. By 'ancestral home’ we mean Dhaka city. I went there only once in my life. We don't have a village we belong to. Therefore, during this flood, I did not feel bad for my own 'ancestral home’, but for a region of Bangladesh, that is, a region of the country. Since there was no contact with any human being, the suffering of this flood was somewhat distant and did not really touch me as I don't know anyone personally, but everything changed with one phone call. Suddenly 'Mo' called. “Bhaiya, didn't you come? I couldn't get the news. The flood is very devastating here, I can't stay at home, I am on top of the house.”

Suddenly everything turned upside down. The man who called was a domestic help at our house a long time ago. He first came around 60 years ago, a village boy. He was in our house, with a break of one year, until my mother died. In 1971, at the request of the Liberation Army, he went near the camp of the Pakistan Army by boat, buried a bomb and blasted it. Then he left the village and ran away. Rest of the days of the liberation war, he was in Dhaka. Mother died in 2010. She received the last service in his hands. Suddenly the suffering of the flood entered my house. He hailed from the poor rural family who have always depended on urban migration.

These days the number of domestic helps is less and usually they are female ones if on a full-time job. Female domestic workers are more expensive in villages, garment workers are even more expensive. However, in the 1960s, there were many teenage boys in the profession of domestic helps who stayed in the house like a family members, such as 'Mo'. He came to Dhaka with his brother, spent almost his whole life in Dhaka. After getting married he brought his wife to Dhaka. At that time, people used to build a separate room adjacent to the house for the domestic helps where their family lived. Once the children grew up, they used to send them to ancestral village.

After mother's death, we brothers raised money and arranged to build a house and buy some cows for ‘Mo’. That is how it went on, if needed, we used to assist him financially. He said over the phone that both the house and cattle were lost in this flood. He is of my age, meaning 72. Can he start over anew?

He has children engaged in nominal jobs. Migration is the best tool for rural poverty alleviation, becoming a labourer abroad; but it also costs money. He does not have the capability. Everyone in the village knows that migration is the way of economic relief for the rural people. Dhaka is better than village but Oman, Saudi Arabia and Malaysia are much better than Dhaka. Both he and his wife are sick; the disease will kill the patient but will not go away. It costs money to manage. The flood will go away increasing everyone's suffering; but the agony of this old man rises like the waters of an eternal flood, rising and rising, with no relief, no deliverance, except for death only.

His telephone came at a time when my mind was overwhelmed with joy despite a thousand surrounding troubles. The issue was Bangladesh's cricket victory, defeating Pakistan for the first time in Test match. When the match started, none hoped for such unexpected results. In most of the cricket matches, we get defeated and we never won against Pakistan. It is their home ground where the ball moves fast and Pakistanis are masters of pace bowling. Everyone says prayers hearing the name of Shaheen Afridi. And what our batters are, everyone knows; but the impossible turned into reality. When did Sadman, Mushfiq, Shanto, and Liton Das bat like that! And needless to say, what the Pakistanis showed in the second innings in front of Mehedi and Shakib's bowling. It deserves our thanks. In the end we won.

Once Facebook used to be filled with joyous posts after such an incident happened, but now no one is so excited. It was supposed to be like this. Everyone is suffering due to the flood, no matter whether personally affected or not.

Some posts appeared on the Facebook, I myself copy-pasted a foreign cartoon about Pakistan's defeat. Nothing more. Very strangely I remember one of Rabindranath's writings. The poet was travelling by train after the death of one of his children. Seeing the wonderful astrology around, he was also touched. He wrote that the death of his child is an unbearable pain; but there is no way to deny this astrology. Both are true and real, and they coexist. This is life. Greetings to all.

Afsan Chowdhury: Novelist, liberation war researcher, and teacher