Still waiting for death-defying Rumi…

August 29, 1971. It was around midnight. There was a terrified silence in the city of Dhaka under the tight security of the Pakistani occupation forces. On that day, Shafi Imam Rumi returned home just after evening. He told his mother that his friend, guerrilla fighter Hafiz, would be staying the night. The darkness of night was deepening. In his younger brother Jami’s room, the radio was on. Suddenly the airwaves rang out with the song “Ekbar bidaay de ma ghure asi…”. Rumi was startled. He thought—why has this song been played several times today? Surely some accident has happened somewhere. With heavy hearts, everyone went to sleep—father Sharif Imam, mother Jahanara Imam, younger brother Jami, Rumi and a few others.

A few hours later, there was a sudden banging on the main door of the house. The military police had completely surrounded Rumi's house on Elephant Road. There were only police and police around the house. Mother Jahanara Imam tried very hard to get Rumi out of the house. But it was not possible. Under the glaring lights it was clear that the entire house was surrounded. There was no way out. Her heart shook with unknown fear and anxiety.

Sharif Imam stepped forward. He asked, “What can I do for you?” Standing opposite was a young officer of the Pakistan army—Captain Kayyum. Fair, slim, speaking softly. His Urdu accent revealed he was a Bihari. Captain Kayyum entered the house with a subedar and a few military policemen. The house was searched thoroughly. Everyone’s names were asked and they were told to come downstairs. Then Captain Kayyum asked Rumi’s father, government officer and engineer Sharif Imam, to come with them. Everyone else was taken into the vehicle. Jahanara Imam asked, “Where are you taking them?” Captain Kayyum replied, “Nothing, just routine interrogation. We are taking him to Ramna police station. They will be released in an hour.” The car left. Jahanara Imam stood in front of the house.

Mother Jahanara Imam kept waiting. Half an hour. An hour. An hour and a half. Two hours. The Bihari guard in front of the house said, “Maiji, you go inside the house.” Jahanara Imam was silent. Her two beloved children and husband were in the hands of the barbaric Pakistanis. What sleep could she find in her eyes?

Though they were supposed to be taken to Ramna police station, Sharif Imam, Rumi and Jami were instead taken to the MP Hostel, the torture centre of the Pakistani army, opposite the old airport. Freedom fighters were subjected to unspeakable torment there. That night they were lined up under bright lights and asked, which one of you is Rumi? He was then separated and taken away. Jami and Sharif Imam were put in another room. It was here that Colonel Hejazi interrogated Sharif Imam about Rumi. Both Sharif and Jami witnessed the barbarity of the Pakistan army. In that camp they saw artist Altaf Mahmud, Rumi’s fellow fighters Bodi, Chullu, Azad, Jewel, painter Alvi, Bashar of the English daily Morning News and many others. Young reporter Bashar had been arrested from the house of martyred fighter Azad, whom he was helping. Others had been captured in various operations. Guerrilla fighter Bodi had been betrayed at a friend’s house—the family, loyal to Pakistan, sheltered him only to inform the army. Everyone there was crushed by torture. Some had broken hands, some broken fingers, some disfigured faces. Sharif Imam and Jami themselves were subjected to cruel torture during interrogation. They were released from that hell on 31 August. But Rumi was not.

Jami last saw Rumi on the afternoon of 30 August. That was the last time anyone from the family saw him. That day Rumi told Jami he had been brutally tortured. Yet he had confessed nothing. He only admitted to the operation of 25 August, taking all responsibility upon himself and Bodi. During the conversation, Rumi was taken away to a small torture chamber. With him were Bodi and Chullu. After that they were never seen again. Never at all.

Not knowing her eldest son’s fate, Jahanara Imam became frantic. She searched everywhere for the slightest trace of Rumi. Though she had no faith in pirs or fakirs, she even went to the “Pagla Pir” to seek news of her son. She gave charity, sacrificed animals. But Rumi did not return.

In hope of easing the situation, President Yahya Khan declared a general amnesty in September. It is believed that before this amnesty, the Pakistani army executed by firing about a hundred freedom fighters. Among them were perhaps singer Altaf Mahmud, guerrilla fighters Rumi, Bodi, Azad and many more.

Though released, Sharif Imam’s body had been broken by inhuman torture. He became gravely ill. Just before victory, he died in PG Hospital. With the loss of her husband and son, Jahanara Imam was left utterly alone. After the war, freedom fighters came in groups to her house. Gradually she became the “mother” of all freedom fighters. Though the sight of these golden sons gave her joy, she could never accept the loss of her Rumi. For long she lived in hope—perhaps one day Rumi would return. Perhaps he was in some prison in West Pakistan, or wandering the streets deranged by torture. One day surely, he would return. After years of waiting and sighing for her son, Jahanara Imam died in 1994.

Rumi never returned. Yet even 45 years after independence, the nation feels the presence of Rumi and his comrades every Victory Day. Rumi, Bodi and Azad have no graves, no memorials. Yet if one listens closely to the southern winds of Bengal, one can hear their voices. In the earthy scent of this land is the smell of their blood. They are woven into the red circle and the green field of the flag. Deep respect to the sacrifice of these fiery sons of Bengal. It was their courage that gave strength to a battered, war-torn nation, and won us this map. And so, the nation still waits—that in days of dire peril, young men like Rumi will once again step forward to take the helm of the country. Perhaps as revolutionary youths, perhaps as the voice of the oppressed. Whenever the freedom and sovereignty of this land is endangered, Rumi will return—age after age, again and again.

Rahat Minhaz: Assistant Professor, Department of Mass Communication and Journalism, Jagannath University, Dhaka