Is there still more to come after Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s tragic departure

Journalist and columnist Bibhuranjan Sarkar went missing on Thursday (21 August). The following day, police recovered his body from the Meghna River at Gazaria in Munshiganj. I first learnt of his disappearance from writer Linu Haque’s Facebook post, and shortly afterwards saw the news of his disappearance spread across Facebook. I called his classmate at Dhaka University and political fellow traveller Jiban Krishna Saha, but he could not say where Bibhuranjan Sarkar’s residence was. I realised then that society had long ceased to have any use for Bibhuranjan Sarkar.

His adda companion at Shilpakala Academy, Pradip Halder, informed me that his body had surfaced in the Meghna. On Thursday morning at 10 o’clock, he was supposed to go to his workplace at the Ajker Patrika office in Banasree, but although he left his Siddheshwari home, he never reached the office. He also did not take his mobile phone; instead, he left it switched off at home. An hour before leaving home, he emailed a piece titled “Open Letter” to the news portal bdnews24.com at 9am. Reading that letter, it seemed clear he had taken the decision to end his life in a considered way. I do not know what the post-mortem report says; but a man who knows how to swim cannot drown himself unless he jumps from a height and is injured. That, too, makes it a matter of mystery.

What was in that open letter? In it, he spoke of the various obstacles and limitations in his personal and professional life, which have struck many with force. Arguments have begun about who bears responsibility for his death. Some are blaming the neglect he faced during the Awami League government, while others blame the mob violence under the present interim government. But in his open letter, Bibhuranjan Sarkar held both responsible. He had been suffering from cirrhosis of the liver and other serious illnesses. Every month his medicines cost over Tk 20,000. His BUET-graduate son was also suffering from a complicated illness and remained unemployed; his married daughter, a doctor, failed her higher studies thesis examination. He believed that under the interim government, his son’s unemployment or his daughter’s failure was due to having a Hindu name, or simply being his children. He had sunk into debt, secretly seeking help from close friends, relatives and well-wishers just to survive. He wrote that his debts were so large that he termed “borrowing” as his profession.

From his student days, Bibhuranjan Sarkar had been involved in journalism. I became a devoted reader of his writing from 1984, when Shafik Rehman’s weekly Jaijaidin began publishing. Because of its fierce role in the anti-Ershad movement, Shafik Rehman was forced to shut the paper and leave the country. When the BNP came to power in 1991, the paper was revived. From the beginning, Khondakar Moniruzzaman, Tariq Ibrahim, Taslima Nasrin and Shafik Rehman himself wrote regularly for Jaijaidin.

In the early 1990s, my diplomat brother Mahiuddin Ahmed also wrote regularly in Jaijaidin. No government likes the truth spoken, and for safety, Bibhuranjan Sarkar often wrote under the pseudonym “Tariq Ibrahim”. Although Shafik Rehman was aligned with the BNP, he would generously publish government-critical views in his paper—and not only publish them, but give them prominence. His logic was simple: the government has its own media to speak for it, so he would not fill Jaijaidin with government praise. After Jaijaidin closed, Bibhuranjan Sarkar never found stability in any other newspaper.

Prothom Alo Editor Matiur Rahman invited him to work with him at Dainik Bhorer Kagoj. But unable to detach himself from Jaijaidin, he did not accept. In fact, it was Matiur Rahman who had persuaded Shafik Rehman to give Bibhuranjan a place at Jaijaidin. They had earlier worked together in the Communist Party’s mouthpiece Ekota, and I used to read both of them there. Had he joined Bhorer Kagoj, he would have later entered Prothom Alo as well. Had he remained with Matiur Rahman, perhaps financial hardship would not have driven him to such an end.

After death, people’s value grows. Everyone, especially intellectuals, stand before a corpse and say, “No one can fill his place.” The state too issues solemn messages of condolence. Yet the Ekushey Padak and Independence Awards are, in most cases, given posthumously. Such recognition brings no benefit to the dead. In his open letter, he wrote that appeals to Sheikh Hasina’s office for help had produced no result. Still, it is not that he received nothing, but not to the extent he had hoped.

While many journalists were allotted land plots by the government, his two applications failed. He also lamented that while others had profited by writing books about Bangabandhu and Sheikh Hasina, his own two books published by Agamee Publications brought him no royalties. Though Sheikh Hasina once took him along as part of her delegation to Singapore, it brought him no financial benefit; poverty had pursued him so relentlessly that the honour of accompanying the Prime Minister seemed secondary. In fact, he was not an Awami Leaguer, but a pro-Russian communist. Yet, because of his steadfast support for the Liberation War and for secular democratic politics, he was always branded with the “Awami tag.”

In his open letter, he mentioned the climate of fear in the media under the current interim government. Matiur Rahman of Manabzamin has also noted that all media executives live in fear. Recently at Ajker Kagoj, where Bibhuranjan last worked, an article published under his supervision by Mazharul Islam Bablu drew “red eyes” from authorities. He himself faced backlash for one of his own pieces. That article stated that Sheikh Hasina had been flown to Delhi in a military helicopter, and that not only police bullets but also meticulously designed militant attacks had killed people. Bibhuranjan insisted that Mazharul’s piece contained no falsehoods.

Because of publishing it, the section editor stopped speaking to him, and according to social media reports, he was placed on indefinite leave. The paper was likely under pressure, and had no option but to let him go. The fear of losing even that low-paying job may have pushed him into despair with life itself.

Bibhuranjan and I were the same age. We had not known each other at Dhaka University, but had encountered one another in politics, spoken occasionally. He had never been with the Awami League, but he was a staunch supporter of Bangabandhu and the Liberation War. Though much younger, he was close friends with my diplomat brother Mahiuddin Ahmed. Both suffered from cirrhosis of the liver. Mahiuddin often hosted discussions and music sessions with people from many walks of life in his yard, but I never saw Bibhuranjan attend these. He would visit alone, chat, eat lunch, then rest on the bed afterwards.

My brother’s house contained countless rare books, which deeply attracted Bibhuranjan. Perhaps because of age and friendship, he felt no hesitation in taking any kind of support from Mahiuddin. From Mahiuddin’s wife, Bilquis Mahiuddin, I learnt that Bibhuranjan had gone to India for treatment with financial assistance from Sheikh Hasina, and that my brother had some role in securing that help.

One day, on the way to Shilpakala Academy with my Bangladesh Bank colleague Ashutosh Saha, I met Bibhuranjan on the road. I asked him, “What are you doing these days?” After a long silence, he said, “I wrote for Dainik Sangbad for a long time, but they never paid me. For the past month I have not written; but no one at the paper even asked why. How unwanted my life has become.” Now, at the news of this unwanted journalist and columnist’s death, Facebook is filled with mourning, with colleagues, friends and acquaintances recalling him with heartfelt memories.

Even ordinary readers, unfamiliar with him personally, are expressing their painful reactions after reading his “open letter” in Bdnews24. This chorus of grief has deepened the sadness of his funeral; but it could not prevent the end of his life. Perhaps no one killed him; but society, the state and individuals drove him to death.

Zeauddin Ahmed: Former executive director, Bangladesh Bank, and former managing director, Bangladesh Security Printing Press