Bangabandhu: In whom courage and principles mattered

Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. TBS Sketch

Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman was a man of conviction resting on absolute courage. There was never an instance in his life where he wavered or demonstrated any sign that the troubles which consistently marked his career made him step back at any point. He was cognisant of the dangers attendant on his life, of the ceaseless persecution that would mar his ability to live a normal life. Nothing of the sort could impede his politics, though, the way he shaped and articulated it.

The Father of the Nation did not live beyond 55 years and yet in that brief span of life he packed a career which other politicians can either dream of or take longer decades to give shape to. In those five decades and a half, all the way from his boyhood, Bangabandhu was driven by a sense of self-worth which came linked to the self-esteem of his people. When, as a schoolboy, he confronted Sher-e-Bangla AK Fazlul Huq and Huseyn Shaheed Suhrawardy, both acknowledged and esteemed leaders of Bengal, with demands that they look to certain issues in his locality, it was a sign of the boldness that was to be a hallmark of his future political career.

Observe the nature of Bangabandhu's leadership during the non-cooperation movement in March 1971. At one point, an Indian journalist wished to know from him if his movement was not a challenge to the authority of the government of Pakistan. Bangabandhu's retort was clear and without ambiguity. "What do you mean by the government? I am the government." It was a clear articulation of the responsibility he happened to be carrying out at the time, as the leader of the majority party in the Pakistan national assembly and indeed as the undisputed leader of 75 million Bangalees. 

In that same month, when reporters informed him that General Yahya Khan was desirous of visiting Dhaka for talks with him on the gathering political crisis and asked him if he was willing to meet him, Bangabandhu replied that Yahya was welcome to come to Dhaka, adding, "He will be our guest." That was a clear sign on Bangabandhu's part that East Pakistan had transformed to Bangladesh and that the Pakistani junta could no longer exercise any authority there. In other words, Yahya Khan would be coming to Bangladesh, which had de facto become independent, as President of a distant Pakistan.

In his political career, Bangabandhu was always faced with the prospect of either his politics being snuffed out by successive Pakistani regimes or his life being put to an end by the army. But he did not flinch. There was not the slightest hint in him of reaching for a compromise with the establishment or of taking to the path which so many other politicians had taken in their bid to stay relevant.

At the height of his trial in the Agartala Conspiracy Case in 1968, a western journalist wanted to know from Bangabandhu what he thought his future would be as a result of the case. Again, Bangabandhu's courage of conviction shone through. He told the journalist, "You know, they can't keep me here for more than six months." He was almost right in his assessment. He was freed in the eighth month of the trial, which was eventually to collapse in the face of a mass upsurge throughout Bangladesh.

At one point, as the proceedings of the Agartala trial got underway, Bangabandhu spotted a journalist he knew very well seated in front of him. All 35 accused were behind the journalists' row, with the journalists and the accused both facing the judges presiding over the trial. Bangabandhu softly addressed the journalist a few times, trying to draw his attention.

In his political career, Bangabandhu was always faced with the prospect of either his politics being snuffed out by successive Pakistani regimes or his life being put to an end by the army. But he did not flinch. There was not the slightest hint in him of reaching for a compromise with the establishment or of taking to the path which so many other politicians had taken in their bid to stay relevant.

The journalist, aware that military intelligence was all around, whispered, without looking back at Bangabandhu, that a conversation was not possible with all those government agents present in the room. It was then that Bangabandhu came forth with his response in a manner that even had the judges and lawyers pretty much shaken. "Anyone who wants to stay in Bangladesh," he said in his powerful voice, "will have to speak to Sheikh Mujibur Rahman."

Bangabandhu's repeated spells in prison are today the stuff of legend. He was not one to look for hideaways in order to prevent being arrested by the security forces of Pakistan. He was always at home in Dhanmondi when the police or the soldiers came looking for him. His faith being in constitutional politics, in democracy, it was not for him to resist arrest or have the security forces looking for him all over town.

It was thus that he waited for the Pakistan army to arrest him in the early hours of 26 March 1971, moments after he had declared Bangladesh's independence. Flown to Pakistan to be tried before a military tribunal, he declared his non-recognition of the court and as long as the farcical proceedings went on, he maintained his silence. Even the sentence of death imposed on him in November left him unfazed.

On the night Bangabandhu was arrested in March 1971, General Tikka Khan was asked by the arresting officer if the Bengali leader should be brought to him. Tikka's disdainful response was, "I don't want to see his face." And yet it was the same Tikka who, as chief of staff of the Pakistan army, saluted Bangabandhu when the Father of the Nation went to Lahore to attend the conference of Islamic heads of state and government in February 1974. A meaningful smile played on Bangabandhu's lips as he shook hands with Tikka Khan. "Hello, Tikka," he said, before moving on.

Indomitable courage defined Bangabandhu. On arriving in Rawalpindi to attend the round table conference called by a tottering President Ayub Khan in February 1969, he quipped, "I can smell my tea and my jute on the streets here." He was referring to Bangladesh's tea and jute, the foreign exchange earned from the export of which had been spent in West Pakistan at the expense of Bangalis. Asked by newsmen how he felt being a free man after the Agartala trial, he observed: "Yesterday a traitor, today a hero."

This was Bangabandhu, the superman destined to lead his people to freedom. As Shakespeare would say, "Here was a Caesar. When comes such another?"