Muntaha's murder reminds stark degradation of humanity

Five-year-old Muntaha. Red lipstick on her lips. A smile on her face. Shiny black hair down to her shoulders. Her charming eyes gazing fixedly. She is dressed in a purple outfit. Such a bright and beautiful child, Muntaha Akter's photo spread across social media, particularly Facebook. Seven days after her disappearance, her body was found near her home. The child's body had been buried in a muddy pond. Muntaha's home was in the village of Birdal Bhararifoud, in the Kanaighat Upazila of Sylhet.

On the morning of November 3, she returned home with her father from a religious gathering. Afterward, she went outside to play but was never seen again. Following her disappearance, many posts were shared on Facebook seeking her whereabouts. On the morning of November 10, Muntaha's body was found. The incident is heart-wrenching. This beautiful child, like a flower, was strangled to death. This brutal act was committed for a trivial reason. According to the police, around four months prior, Muntaha's private tutor, Shamima, had begun teaching her. However, Shamima would often take breaks without informing Muntaha's family. Later, Muntaha's family forbade her from teaching the child, which angered Shamima. Additionally, there had been incidents of clothing going missing from Muntaha's family, and these clothes were found at Shamima's house. Shamima was accused of theft. It was over these issues that Muntaha was allegedly strangled to death.

We often hastily use the word "beastly" to describe something brutal, savage, or violent. But how appropriate is this usage? The question has arisen before, perhaps in a softer tone. Now, however, it has become a much stronger and more urgent question. If behavior akin to that of animals is referred to as "beastly," then perhaps "beastliness" is, in many cases, better than human behavior or humanity. I can understand the ferocity of an animal. The cruelty and violence of animals are driven by the necessity of survival. But how is it possible for a civilized human being to throw an innocent animal off the roof of a five-story building for no reason, and then record the fall? I cannot fathom it!

There are no words to condemn such a brutal act. What is even more disappointing is that, after committing such a horrific crime, the accused showed no remorse whatsoever. There was no sign of regret, no crying, no grief. The murder of Muntaha seems to be a horrific manifestation of our social decay and moral degradation. The prevalence of violence around us is increasing every day.

In daily life—whether familial, social, or political—we are constantly faced with violence, either directly or indirectly. We are living in fear, anxiety, and confusion. Murder, killings, and beatings have become routine occurrences in our society. Yet, there is no strong or effective protest against any of this. Even the mentally healthy people in our country seem to be shrinking inside themselves, becoming mute. It feels as though an odd imbalance has emerged in our social equilibrium. We are pushing away the everyday virtues of love, empathy, sympathy, humanity, trust, and dependence.

Nowadays, when I try to open up to someone, to share my joys and sorrows, I often find myself wondering: Is the person really listening to me? Are they secretly laughing inside? Do they think I have no goal in life? Maybe they think I’m crazy or that I’m just a fool.

I realize that this sense of distrust is not unique to me. No one feels safe being completely honest in front of others anymore. Society has made us excessively cautious about our image and reputation. We’re drifting further away from the natural ease of expressing our thoughts, feelings, pain, or even joy. We’re distancing ourselves from the freedom of being spontaneous, of being real, because we’re constantly burdened by the need to prove ourselves: to be "focused," "positive," and "constructive" at all times. We’re endlessly trying to prove to others that we are strong, capable, and progressive, and in doing so, we’ve lost the simple act of being authentic.

Even on open platforms like Facebook, very few posts openly talk about someone’s breakdown. Most posts are about how great I am. There's only one fear: that no one should see me as weak, that no one should think of me as vulnerable and take advantage of my situation.

This is such a suffocating situation. There are so many people around, yet no one is being honest. No one laughs freely when they're happy, no one talks about their sorrow, even in private, and they certainly don’t have the courage to share their fears.

Perhaps it’s the intolerance around us, the need to protect ourselves from that intolerance, the unhealthy competition that never leads anywhere, that drives us to constantly prove ourselves at every level, in every sphere, as liberal and modern. And in doing so, we don't reach out to others, we don’t try to pull anyone toward us, we don’t speak up to someone’s ear, and we don’t lend an ear to anyone’s words.

We fear that perhaps, in the process of living life, we are forgetting to truly live. We are forgetting how to love, losing faith in trust, and closing the doors to the room of shared thoughts, locking ourselves away.

Just as, after a cricket match, the crowd slowly disperses and the searchlights gradually dim until they are left standing alone in the dark, so too is the lonely individual. Everyone is around, everything is around, yet one feels alone. In victories and defeats, in past, present, and future, in gains and losses, in wishes and refusals, in war and peace, in sorrow and joy, in love and separation, in life and death. After birth, in the safety of a mother’s lap, the infant’s tiny hands search for more support, clutching at the folds of the saree. That is the beginning. And then the search for that support continues throughout life, but that support is becoming weaker.

The responsibility of saving a five-year-old Munthaha lies with every member of society. But we failed to save her. The very people whose lap was the child's favorite refuge—are they the ones who ended up killing her? It often becomes very confusing. Is the progress of humanity the same as the progress of civilization? This question arises, but the answer to this question remains uncertain, filled with hesitation.

Civilization is the foundation of human life. It is also the foundation of what we understand as humanity. It is this civilization, this society, that gives birth to us, that shapes and molds us, and ultimately leads us to our final destiny. Our journey begins with civilization; the journey of the entire human race is intertwined with the progress of civilization. Therefore, the overall progress of civilization is, in essence, the progress of humanity. This is one way to answer the question.

The other answer suggests that the progress of civilization refers to the advancement or constant change in our surroundings, yet it does not necessarily lead to the progress of the entire human society. In some cases, progress benefits a few individuals; in other cases, it benefits certain classes. Having witnessed humanity being repeatedly humiliated, perhaps this is why I find myself caught in such a divided response, struggling with confusion.

The murder of Munthaha, however, is not an isolated incident. Such inhuman acts are frequently happening all around. Children are often attacked, abused, and even killed. These incidents are occurring across the country. Would it be possible for such things to happen if there were even a minimum sense of humanity left?

If we consider humanity to be the lesson of civilization, then with the advancement of civilization, humanity should also progress. Inside people, there should be improvement in empathy, compassion, trust, values, love, and all such qualities. Over time, human civilization should be heading towards a more refined, more advanced form of humanity. Sensitivity should become more pronounced. But is this actually happening?

Many would perhaps argue that there is a decay in values. But if that’s the case, we must also accept that there is a decay in humanity itself. In other words, this civilization has already touched its highest peak, and there is no further possibility of progress. From now on, only decay remains—slow, gradual decay, at a pace faster than its progress. Are we prepared to accept such a reality? Surely, we are not. We firmly believe, from the depths of our hearts, that human civilization still holds limitless potential. There is still much ground left to cover. Therefore, we cannot simply rely on the theory of decay to make sense of things; we need to reach the root of the problem. Why has superior humanity still not permeated every aspect of society? Why has the most basic sense of humanity not yet been awakened in many? We need to understand these questions, and this responsibility must be equally shared by every sensitive individual. It is their duty to keep civilization free from flaws.

Chiraranjan Sarker: Columnist