Book review: Reminiscing Ekushey--- Fifty Years On

Books. AlexMSchol. Creative Commons.

-G.M. Shahidul Alam (thespian and educationist; adjunct Professor, Media and Communication department, IUB)

An Ekushey Anthology 1952-2022, Niaz Zaman edited, writers.ink, 2022.

Twenty five literary pieces, consisting of nine poems, fifteen stories, and a play, make up An Ekushey Anthology 1952-2022, a noble endeavor undertaken by Niaz Zaman, a noted educationist, prolific writer, publisher, and an indefatigable literary figure. 

The eventual birth of Bangladesh may be traced back to the debasement of its key cultural make-up, its language, Bangla, and Zaman has thoughtfully striven to bring out the anthology on the fiftieth anniversary of Ekushey February, the date that marks the beginning of the end of the Pakistan of 14 August 1947, and the emergence of Bangladesh as a sovereign independent nation-state on 26 March 1971.

The twenty five articles are made up of four in the original English, and the rest twenty one in English translated from the original Bangla. It has to be acknowledged that the translators, with the odd exceptions, have done a commendable job in presenting the works of some accomplished writers like Anisuzzaman, Asad Chowdhury, Jahanara Arzoo, Abdul Gaffar Chowdhury, Zahir Raihan, Selina Hossain, Shaukat Osman, Bimal Guha, Hasan Hafizur Rahman, Jharna Das Purkayastha, et.al. 

Niaz Zaman herself has translated five pieces, besides writing the Preface and signing off on the book with the story My Friend, My Enemy. Noora Shamsi Bahar has translated a couple, Kabir Chowdhury three, and Hasan Ameen Salahuddin, Khondakar Ashraf Hossain, Junaidul Haque, Bashabi Fraser have done one apiece.

Nuzhat Amin Mannan’s Ahad’s Last Words, Niaz Zaman’s My Friend, My Enemy, Saleha Chowdhury’s Talking Their Hearts Out, and Neeman Sobhan’s Just Another Day, all composed in English, are generally successful efforts at bringing out the essence of Ekushey February as it happened, and its aftermath. Saleha Chowdhury’s interesting piece contains this cryptic observation pregnant with multiple indications: “It is amazing that 21 consonants and 5 vowels make the world go round. 

What would we do without the English language?” Zaman has provided an informative Preface to her endeavor, including this trenchant observation on generational change: “While the observances at the Shaheed Minar have become stultified --- and the day even become an occasion for lovers to meet --- the significance of the Language Movement can never be forgotten.” And we are now in the era of the Webb space telescope with all its attendant ramifications in the waiting! 

I dare say, though, that the essence of Ekushey February will remain with whatever generational Bangali inhabiting Planet Earth. This line, though, is for the ages: “For an older generation, the events of 21 February 1952 were the spark that lit the flame of nationalism and the Shaheed Minar its symbolic representation in concrete.”

Another of Zaman’s observations is intriguing in its broad implications: “Ekushey February today is no longer just a national observance but, as International Mother Language Day, a worldwide celebration of the diversity of human languages and the need to preserve endangered languages.” This point may well play the squirrel in some minds: How many political leaders in various official, or unofficial, capacities, let alone the general citizenry, across the globe have even the knowledge of the existence of International Mother Language Day, much less what it signifies? 

Ekushey February will remain in the hearts and minds of Bangladeshis and Bangalis from generation to generation, and the twenty five writings in the book depict, in various degrees of competence, that particular point.

Interestingly, though, one poem in the anthology, Mohammad Nurul Huda’s Suddenly Ma, looks to embrace other languages along with his own: “Holding my mother language within my bosom, I embrace the language of every mother With all my heart.”

Zaman has classified the articles in two groups: “the early stories focus on the events that took place on 21 February --- the processions, the police action and the deaths --- while the later ones show how the attitude to Bangla has changed in these seventy years.” 

This last point, to reiterate, is something to track down the years.

The offerings in the book, to repeat, are generally of good quality, with some going down the lane of hyper-emotion, a not uncommon Bangali trait.

Anisuzzaman’s “Eyesight” is a poignant tale of a martyr told through his blind father. Jahanara Arzoo’s poem, This Smouldering Fire, is emotive as it speaks of “The lands of Kanupa, Chandidas, Rabindra, Nazrul, Of Mahua and Madhumalati.”

And admonishes: “This smoldering fire burns slowly 

In the bones of men eternally.” 

Alauddin Al Azad poses a profound query in Memorial Monument:

“Has anyone seen such a death

When no one weeps at the head of the departed?”

Asad Chowdhury is defiant in When the Month of Falgun Arrives:

“You call it Shaheed Minar?

…..

But I call it “Return”,

return to one’s own home….”

And so is Mahbub Ul Alam Chowdhury in I Have Not Come Here to Weep:

“I have not come here to weep

For those who gave their lives under Ramna’s

Sun-scorched krishnachura trees

For their language….”

Varied emotions are manifest in the writers. Saleha Chowdhury’s “Talking Their Hearts Out” is an interesting piece that encompasses a protagonist from the other region that speaks Bangla: Poshchimbongo.

The protagonist, from Bangladesh, remarks: “Whenever Jay and I talk, we remember our country, our language, and walks by a flowing river. We also remember our roots, our history, and our traditions.

“We talk our hearts out, the two of us. One from Bangladesh, the other from West Bengal.”

Mozaffer Hossain’s “An Ad Seeking the Identity of a Hand” is an unusual treatment of a matter related to Ekushey, and is dedicated by the author to a veteran of the Bangla Language Movement, Rawshan Ara Bachchu.

The language struggle brought out some unusual, but interesting, writings, all taking up on different facets of the movement. Obaidul Huq’s self-explanatory title, “The Opinions of a Handful of Martyrs” is one. As is Ali Imam’s “The Last Man in the Procession”. 

Another one is Afroza Parveen’s “The Nameplate”. She employs a bit different approach in dealing with the thematic content of the book. All of their writings, and the unusual approach they adopt, though, enrich the overall quality of An Ekushey Anthology.

Jharna Das Purkayastha, in“The Journey of Shamim Akhtar”, dwells on the conflict that different generations, including of the same family, experience, precisely because of the dynamics of the inevitabilities of generational change, and all the problems they might generate. 

Shamim Akhtar cannot reconcile to the fact that his younger son Shafin has settled in Australia, married an Australian girl, and started a family there. He laments to himself, “I was a part of the Language Movement. I walked a long way in processions with posters in my hands. 

I love my language. I love my country…. How can my son settle abroad, totally ignoring my ideals and sentiments?”

Neeman Sobhan has a trenchant observation in “Just Another Day”: “Language supposedly empowers humans, and differentiated them from animals. But if, despite the ability to verbalize, people could not make their wishes known or heard, were they not equal to dumb beasts?” 

The editor of the book, Niaz Zaman, rounds off her editing effort by presenting her story “My Friend, My Enemy”, which she has dedicated to Halima Khatun, who was in the forefront of the procession that defied Section 144 on 21 February 1952. Zaman, through her protagonist, posits: “And Urdu --- is not the mother tongue of most West Pakistanis. 

If anything, it is an Indian language. It used to be called Hindustani at one time.” An Ekushey Anthology should be an enjoyable, and informative, read.

First published in The Daily Star on 11 August.