Sometime in December 1973, Moina Mia, local Awami League leader and member of parliament, sent his personal assistant to us. The man introduced himself as Abdul Ali and told us we were expected at Mia’s residence the next afternoon. He would not say what the meeting was about, how Moina Mia knew us, why the rush.
‘Have you come to the right people?’ I asked. ‘The number on the gate is not clearly visible. The number plate has seen at least twenty winters. The name of the road is nowhere to be found on the road. Are you sure you are looking for us?’ He said yes, there was no mistake about it. ‘When I do a job for my boss, I have all the time in the world to make sure that I have done it properly. I don’t care about my own sufferings, illness or exhaustion. I don’t care if house number 22 comes after house number 16 and if house number 16 follows house number 36. I care about what I am supposed to do for the MP and if I have done that up to his expectation.’ He said my name was Khaleque Biswas and I had a talented young man living with me whose name was Nur Hussain and together we delivered Sheikh Mujib’s 7 March speech at various public arenas. ‘You may stop me if I am mistaken,’ he said, ‘but I am sure you will not stop me because I will not be mistaken.’ To make himself clearer, he took from his pocket a clipping from the Freedom Fighter and showed me the small item on Nur Hussain which had my name as the byline.
‘Would you like some tea?’ I asked. ‘It won’t take more than two minutes.’
‘No,’ he replied, ‘thank you; there is no time.’
It was a surprising invitation, because we thought only the street people knew us, people who did not know right from wrong, who were still under the illusion that Sheikh Mujib’s voice heralded a new era and healed them from the inside out. Now we knew we had gone beyond the boundary of the slums and reached the minds of people who were powerful, who decided national executive policies, and were responsible for lots of people like us.
I had my reservations about the invitation. After Abdul Ali left, I was besieged with questions and doubt. Perhaps he looked down upon us. He could very well do that, as he was an MP’s assistant. At this moment nothing could be more worthwhile than working for the Awami League. Then I wondered if we had angered the Awami League by delivering Sheikh Mujib’s speech without their permission. What if he was instructed to invite us as naturally and calmly as possible so that we did not know some violent punishment was waiting for us at Moina Mia’s residence?
I buried my fear. I did not want Nur Hussain to be affected by it. I was glad to see he took the invitation most easily, without thinking much about it. As long as I was with him, it was clear that he felt he had nothing to fear.
We went to see Moina Mia at his house which was several blocks away from our place. It was a house that stood alone. It had high boundary walls with wire barricades above. Builders were working on a new construction inside, which already had three storeys completed and would rise even higher. The wide and complicated, but aesthetically pleasing, wrought-iron gate and the image of a lion on the railings reflected the kind of people that lived there. Not many houses I had seen had such a distinguished combination of protection and theatricality.
Seeing us, Ruhul Amin, the gatekeeper, went inside and came out a moment later with Abdul Ali behind him. Abdul Ali advised him to take a close look at us so that he recognized us when we came next. Sounding as mechanical as yesterday, he told him we would be ‘frequent visitors’ there and should be given immediate access at any time of the day. Ruhul Amin saluted us; it seemed he had understood our importance before we ourselves did. ‘Come on in,’ he said, ‘please.’
Moina Mia was in his Mujib coat. He was ready to receive us. He walked to the door and embraced Nur Hussain and shook my hand and led us to the sitting area. ‘There you are,’ he said, ‘what an auspicious day.’ Abdul Ali left the room, leaving us alone.
I had seen him before. I guess I had seen him many many times, when he campaigned for the parliamentary election in early 1973. He was a veteran Awami League leader, and though he was not in Sheikh Mujib’s cabinet, it was said he was ‘close to him personally’ and ‘had advised him on various occasions about homeland security measures and enemy property affairs’. He had been in charge of recruiting freedom fighters for the war and was considered one of the most illustrious freedom fighters not to be adorned with medals—and that this was only because he was never part of the military. After the war he organized Sheikh Mujib’s private militia, a tough, formidable, totalitarian-minded armed force, and helped him in his nationwide political campaign. It was he who arranged the massive reception ceremony for Sheikh Mujib when he returned from Pakistan in 1972. About 150,000 people gathered at Tejgaon Airport that day.
As the shopkeepers did in the market, Moina Mia addressed Nur Hussain as ‘Sheikh Mujib’, and asked him directly if he would be interested in working with him. The job involved, he explained, speaking to various crowds within the local constituency, something we were already doing. Nur Hussain would appear at the meeting spot well ahead of time and deliver the speech again and again to prepare the crowd for the main attraction of the day: Moina Mia’s own speech. He was aware of the public displeasure I had seen across the city. He wanted to address it before it took a dangerous turn. Nur Hussain would help him do exactly that.
I intervened. ‘Forgive me,’ I said. ‘Would you mind telling us a little more?’ I asked if he would give us a hint of the fee. I did not want to sound mean, but Nur Hussain needed to know how much money he would earn from his speeches. He admired Sheikh Mujib as much as anybody else in the country, there was no doubt about that, but he had no other means to support himself than by delivering the speech. We were now going out almost every day, and we were not limited to one constituency. If we were to work for Moina Mia instead of what we were doing, we would have to know the monetary part of the proposal in detail.
No hint was necessary. Moina Mia smiled, as if he had expected this. There would be a deal between us, he said. ‘A solid and transparent deal.’ We would work sincerely and would be compensated sincerely. There was nothing to worry about. As long as Sheikh Mujib was leading the country, there would be no scarcity of money for any patriotic work. He had freed the country; he knew how to fight hardship. Bad times had arrived, but they would not stay long. The Awami League being in power meant all the people of the country were in power. They knew exactly how to take initiatives, proper and pragmatic initiatives, to build the country from its foundation up. Such initiatives would be taken in every constituency and Nur Hussain was an indispensable part of that effort.
Then he mentioned an amount. It was so huge compared to what we were earning in coins that I did not see the necessity of consulting Nur Hussain before giving consent.
‘We are in,’ I said promptly. ‘We’ll be waiting for specific directions regarding where to go, when to go, and what to say.’
Moina Mia slipped an envelope from the chest pocket of his coat. ‘An advance,’ he said. ‘Just to buy two cups of tea to entertain yourself tonight. Just to buy two very good cups of tea.’ The rest would follow. Even if there was no meeting to deliver the speech, he would not miss our payment.
The deal done, two servants, both of them of Nur Hussain’s age but thinner, came in with tea and biscuits. They walked cautiously, served us silently, and then took a few steps back to stand at the corner of the room. Moina Mia noticed the deep surprise in their eyes as they watched Nur Hussain. He smiled and then whispered, ‘This is a miracle. Tell me this is really happening. This is exactly what I needed. I don’t have any doubt any more.’ He looked at us with a smile on his lips. ‘You say nothing,’ he whispered to us. ‘Just watch.’ He added an extra direction for Nur Hussain. ‘Watch and just be yourself. Don’t worry, I am not testing you; I am testing them. I’ve already accepted you. Ready?’ Nur Hussain looked at me and nodded.
‘Basu and Gesu,’ Moina Mia said, ‘come here.’ They took a few steps forward and stood there, keeping a respectable distance from us. ‘What do you think you were doing standing there? I am very disappointed. Didn’t I tell you not to look at my guests eye to eye?’ Basu and Gesu began to tremble as he spoke. ‘You only work for me; you’re not my friends or my guests’ friends, you know that?’ They knew that completely. ‘I can dismiss you right at this moment for this deplorable behaviour and also forfeit your salary this month.’ They knew that too; probably it was a condition of their verbal agreement to work for him. ‘But I forgive you this time because the prime minister of the country forgives you. Don’t repeat this. Ever.’
It was a surprise for them. Perhaps they had wanted to meet Sheikh Mujib face to face from the very first day that they had heard his name. But under the constant commands of Moina Mia, they did not know how to show proper respect to him.
‘Will you stand there like two fools or do something appropriate?’ Moina Mia asked, giving no sign of controlling his anger. They fell to the ground instantly to touch Nur Hussain’s feet. ‘What did I teach you?’ Moina Mia shouted. ‘Do it properly. Three times every time; no concession.’ They touched Nur Hussain’s feet three times and touched their chests and remained on the floor for further commands. ‘Since he is our bravest hero, you respect him again,’ said Moina Mia. They touched Nur Hussain’s feet three more times.
‘They’re not always like this, your honour understands that,’ Moina Mia said to Nur Hussain. ‘I am ashamed of their conduct today but I can assure you they are very loyal servants. They are not loud or greedy, and they do not disrespect anyone. Other servants may have issues with their masters; they may have their heads full of conspiracies to harm them, out of hate and jealousy; but these two are different. They know every moment what I want from them. They are very good servants, Mr Prime Minister; I hope you did not find them rude.’ He gestured at Nur Hussain to touch their heads, which he did without hesitation. Basu and Gesu, still looking at the ground, stood up. Nur Hussain’s touch was reassuring; they were less nervous now than before.