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Thursday, November 5, 2009

[ALOCHONA] Bangladesh rejects India's all delimitation claims



Bangladesh rejects India's all delimitation claims
 
Moinuddin Naser in New York
 
Bangladesh has submitted a note to the United Nations Convention on Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) last week rejecting all delimitation claims of India stating that the country has initiated an arbitration proceeding against India on October 28 last for achieving a delimitation of the boundaries in the Territorial Sea (TS), Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) and Continental Shelf (CS). 
 
 

   Meanwhile India has objected to Myanmar's submission claiming the continental shelf in the Bay of Bengal and so on. With the submission of dispute by Bangladesh the Commission may ultimately defer the issue until the final submission of Bangladesh by July 27, 2011.
   
   Bilateral solution
   Meanwhile Bangladesh has opted for resolving the issue both with India and Myanmar bilaterally. While Dhaka has opted for pure bilateral solution with Yangon, it has involved the UNCLOS. All the three parties are signatories of the UNCLOS.
   Bangladesh's note verbale against Myanmar's submission was discussed in the 24th session of the Commission on the limits of the Continental Shelf which was held in August this year. In its remark on Bangladesh's note verbale, Myanmar said that the responsibility of giving proof about rejecting Myanmar's claim is on Bangladesh. If Bangladesh could resolve the issue with Myanmar and India through bilateral stipulation, that would ease the tension.
   The Bangladesh's note against Indian submission, obtained from the UN website dated October 29, 2009, states that "based on its initial review of the Executive Summary of India's submission, the Government of Bangladesh observes that the submission fails to comply on both substantive and procedural grounds with UNCLOS and with the rules of procedure of the Commission".
   
   Dhaka's rights, claims
   The major elements of disputes as were described in the note, state that "Bangladesh continues to reject all delimitations claimed by India in the Bay of Bengal" to the extent they infringe on the rights and claims of Bangladesh as they are inconsistent with UNCLOS and general international law.
   "On 8th October 2009 Bangladesh initiated arbitration proceedings against India, pursuant to UNCLOS Article 287 and annex VII for the purpose of achieving a delimitation of the boundaries between Bangladesh and India in the TS, EEZ and CS. The unresolved delimitation in the Bay of Bengal is therefore to be considered as a dispute."
   
   Natural prolongation
   The note added that the "actions of the Commission may not prejudice matters relating to the delimitation of boundaries between States with adjacent or opposite coasts. India's submission invites the Commission to do just that, because the areas claimed by India in its submission to the Commission as part of its putative continental shelf are the natural prolongation of Bangladesh and hence India's claim is disputed by Bangladesh."
   
   Outer edge of the Bay
   The note further states that India has claimed a natural prolongation of its landmass through the outer edge of the 'Bay of Bengal Sector' and the 'Western Andamans Sector'. "The Government of Bangladesh believes this asserction is not supported by morphological, geological, or tectonic evidences. Scientific research and analysis have established that the morphology of the seabed in the Bay of Bengal is marked by a regional slope where water depth gradually increases in a seaward direction from North to South."
   
   Further submissions
   "Bangladesh has also reserved its rights for further submissions in this regard," adds the note, "and stated that the Government of Bangladesh observd
   that, given the presence of a dispute between Bangladesh and India concerning entitlement to the parts of the continental shelf in the Bay of Bengal claimed by India" in its submission, the Commission may not "consider and qualify" the submission made by India without the "prior consent given by all states that are parties to such a dispute."
   Bangladesh has suggested to "consider both the submissions of India and Bangladesh together" while Bangladesh submission will be made by July 2011.
   The note was prepared by the US law firm Foley Hoag, which is guiding Bangladesh for resolving the delimitation issue through arbitration.
 



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[ALOCHONA] Is nation heading towards civil war?



Is nation heading towards civil war?
 
M. Shahidul Islam
 
Every nation takes stock of prevailing situations in moments of desperation. Passing through one of such crucial moments, conscientious quarters in Bangladesh must do the same without delay.
   Over the last few weeks, fear of the country sliding into chaos and anarchy has intensified. Many even predict the prospect of a civil war due to the government's dogged determination to annihilate the opposition by creating an intrusive fiefdom to entrench political power. While many prefer to justify such a downward spiralling situation as a natural consequence of unimpeded pre-election foreign meddling-which had managed to install a regime of external choice - it, however, explains only part of a giant problem.
   No doubt the countries in which regimes were installed from without did invariably succumb to civil wars-the recent examples being Iraq, Afghanistan and Pakistan, to name but a few-but drawing sweeping and generalised parallel with others could be misleading.
   From our own vantage, one of the main reasons triggering such fears of the danger of a civil war seems related to the government's inability to govern and the nonchalant manner and the style being followed in dealing with dissents. This seems to have contributed greatly in the resultant rapid polarization of a nation that is otherwise monolithic.
   Since assuming power, the government has followed dual standard in almost all aspect of governance. Besides, it has been excessively obsessed with a number of trials that helped resurface old wounds and sparked the political landscape's further slide toward the precipice of a dreaded anarchical prospect.
   For instance, the media was urged few weeks ago not to write or say anything 'prejudicial' about the ongoing Mujib killing trial, which most of the media outlets did comply with, so far. But, in the parliament, a person no less than the Deputy Speaker had already implicated last week former President Ziaur Rahman with the August 15, 1975 massacre. This was followed by the PM accusing BNP for the recent attack on MP Fazle Nur Taposh, much before any investigation having ascertained that fact for sure.
   Prior to that, Sheikh Selim, a close relative of the PM, blamed the then army chief Maj. Gen. (retd) K M Shafiullah for his complicity in protecting the country's President and Maj. Gen. Khaled Musharrof, then Chief of General Staff (CGS), for ordering officers to move to Bangabhaban in the aftermath of the coup. Blames are also pouring against the then Brigadier Shafat Jamil, commander of strategic 46 brigade, for not complying with the command of the Army Headquarters (AHQ) during the August 15 massacre.
   If the then Army Chief Shafiullah, deputy chief Ziaur Rahman, CGS Khaled Musharrof and 46 Brigade commander Shafat Jamil were all involved in the August 15 massacre, as is being claimed by the incumbent government mouthpieces, the entire armed forces and its chain of command are deemed to have been involved, by implication. That makes the massacre a textbook-style military coup and the trial and justice for the same justifiably deserves to be held under the Bangladesh Army Act, in military court.
   
   Surreal components
   Why that did not happen is another story with immense surreal components attached to it. Before Justice Golam Rosul rendered his verdict in November 1998 to the Mujib killing trial, the arguments against using the wrong venue for the trial were neutralized by obtaining a 'written consent' from the army headquarters that the 'military had no objection to the trial taking place in civil court.'
   That implied two things for certain. First, then incumbent Army Chief, Gen. Mustafizur Rahman, was above the bounds of prevailing laws, and, secondly, such an authority he had derived by virtue of being an uncle of PM Sheikh Hasina who had brought him back to service from retirement. As well, the fact that Mujib killing trial still poisons the High Court compound leads one to conclude that the trial at the civil court not only vitiates the due process of laws pertaining to the incident, it primarily aims at whipping up partisan propagations to defame the image of the military as well as to instil sympathy for the victims in peoples' minds in order to reap undue political dividends.
   Unfortunately, all these happen at a time when the military is waiting impatiently to see the trial of a recent mass murder, concomitant rape and arson, and other grisly crimes against humanity that had taken place inside the BDR compound in Peelkhana on February 25-26. People express dismay and shock that the government does not feel ashamed of the fact that the BDR massacre investigation has transcended tolerable time span and the trial of the carnage, in which at least 58 senior and mid-ranking armed forces officers were brutally murdered, has been cunningly passed onto a hybrid of courts, none of which are competent or capable enough to conduct trial of a mammoth mutiny or related crimes committed by members of armed forces.
   
   BDR probe, manoeuvring
   Add to these the clever manoeuvring that went along with such machinations. For instance, one particular Brigadier General who was appointed a member of the Army-led investigation team, had to quit from the team allegedly upon his negation to remove factual details from the investigation's findings. Another Brigadier Gen., who had replaced him and allegedly complied with the same request and was promoted to the next higher rank.
   These are neither state secrets nor sensitive information deserving tight-leap safeguards. At a time when the nation faces one of the gravest dangers and the armed forces are subjected to the most vitriolic onslaughts to destroy their image and morale, these truths must be told, especially due to some recent trends being more troubling.
   For mysterious reasons, many of the BDR personnel who had made confessional statements following arrest have now begun to change their accounts of the events, while over 50 of such detainees -- considered to be key witnesses -- have died in custody for unknown reasons. Besides, the CID is yet to finalize charges against the accused and the trial is expected to commence only after the dusts of the Mujib killing trial settle to the government's favour.
   
   AK-47, Akhi, Torab Ali
   Amidst such a state of affairs of the nation and its armed forces, illegal arms and ammunition of huge quantity are pouring into the country through over 4,000 km long porous border with India. On November 2, police arrested Taslima Khanam Akhi, secretary of Kushtia town Mahila Awami League (AL), with an AK-47 assault rifle and 82 rounds of ammo while she entered Bangladesh from India.
   AL's Kushtia city branch secretary, Amirul Islam, told bdnews24.com that Akhi is a former commissioner of Kushtia municipality's Ward No 8. The following day, police recovered 17 firearms and arrested two more arms traders from Arabpur bus stand in Jhenidah, who too are learnt to be associated with AL politics.
   One wonders why so many AL activists are arming themselves to the hilt and why the government did not recover as yet the huge cache of arms that one of the accused of the BDR massacre, local AL leader Subedar (retd) Torab Ali, had openly distributed from BDR armouries to various AL cadres immediately after the mutiny stopped at Peelkhana in the wee hours of February 26.
   
   External affairs
   Amidst such a dreadful ambiance, assessments of external powers are bound to be worrying and sombre. Sources say the US is particularly worried about the evolving situation in Bangladesh and three high-ranking US military officials are scheduled to visit Dhaka early this month to discuss with authorities what a source said 'sensitive' military matters. The composition of the team -- army Lieutenant General Benjamin R. Mixon, Commanding General of U.S. army's Pacific command; Vice-Admiral John M. Bird, Commander of U.S. navy's 7th Fleet; and U.S. Marine Corps Major General Randolph D. Alles, director for Strategic Planning and Policy at the U.S. Pacific Command - does beacon something of much import being on the cards.
   A reliable source hinted that the discussion of visiting US generals is expected to include the prospect of Dhaka taking a firm stand against Myanmar which has shown its war-ready poise in recent weeks along the country's land and sea borders. If that is true, one can bet it will further anger Beijing which had last week taken a tough stand against a private artist in Dhaka hosting a Tibetan exhibition and ensured its stoppage at the last minute once the Chinese ambassador lodged a strong protest with the Foreign Secretary.
 



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[ALOCHONA] Even the military regime did not harass us as much



Even the military regime did not harass us as much

Mohammad Asafuddowlah, former bureaucrat who served for 35 years at different levels of the administration, tells Saad Hammadi and Mohiuddin Alamgir about how the persecution of people has increased after the present government assumed power
 

photo by Al-Emrun Garjon
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The Awami League sought a mandate from the electorate titled 'charter for change'. What has changed in the last nine months?

   The parties make election promises to break them. The reason why they get away with it every time is because people have very short memories. The politicians bank on short public memory.

   This government has been more translucent and shady and secretive than any other previous government in terms of sharing information with the people. I see persecution has increased, in terms of both individual and institutional persecution. The role of DGFI [Directorate General of Forces Intelligence] has been more pronounced. Even the military regime of the emergency government did not harass us as much with intelligence agencies as they are doing today. We are feeling that we are being observed and persecuted by the DGFI.

   The only good thing about this government is that it has gone for arbitration against India and Myanmar. I wish this was not arbitration and the government went to the International Court of Justice.

   The Awami League government, soon after assuming power had replaced the personnel of some of the important government institutions like the police, Rapid Action Battalion and other state agencies. Being a former bureaucrat, what kind of effect, do you feel, this politicisation leave on the bureaucracy?

   Terrible! There is nothing systemic. Systemically, there is nothing more harmful to a nation than a political government politicising the state. The public servants serve the state. They are not activists of Awami League.

   Whether it's the civil bureaucracy, police, customs or any other service, by politicising, you are bringing incompetent and inefficient people to service. If the promotions and good postings are done on the basis of party allegiance then invariably it is the rotten ones who will come to you and catch your feet. This is the persecution of efficient and competent people.

   The government has had a number of cases withdrawn against some of the politicians filed during the tenure of the military-backed interim government. Most of the politicians acquitted of the charges belong to the ruling party.

   I'll first correct you a little. It was an emergency government which was unconstitutional and illegal. I was a judge for three years. You cannot close a case like this. Where the state is a party, you cannot close a case by forming a committee at the law ministry and withdraw it. The Code of Criminal Procedure clearly lays down the manner in which a case can be closed. Under which law of the country are you withdrawing the cases? The prosecution is the Anti Corruption Commission, which is not involved in the withdrawals. All these withdrawals are illegal. This is again a highly partisan spirit the government have shown, which is expected of them.

   You have been a vocal protestant of the emergency government. What are your observations about the charges brought against some members of the interim government?

   A lot of advisers at that time behaved with such arrogance that it seemed as if they were the only angels this country produced and the remaining population are thieves, robbers and looters. Their other attitude was as if they were above the law. I am very happy that some of them have been implicated in some acts of corruption. They should be tried and the punishment should be exemplary, particularly because of the lectures they gave about honesty.

   Amidst absence of the main opposition party in the parliament and even some of the MPs belonging to the present government as said by the speaker of the house, how effective do you consider the ninth National Parliament to be?

   Firstly, I don't find any justification on the part of BNP [Bangladesh Nationalist Party] for not attending the parliament on grounds of a chair or two that they were not given as they demanded. This has allowed issues such as the Tipaimukh, the oppression of intelligence agencies in the last two years, the Asian Highway, the deep-sea port, the special economic zone in the sea and many more issues to pass without a debate. This absence is strategically wrong, ethically untenable and politically murderous. This doesn't speak of mature politics.

   Secondly, when you win only 30 seats, you should have guessed it beforehand and not taken part in the election in the first place. If you couldn't understand it, then I question your political insight.

   The parliamentary standing committee on several occasions called on different political leaders including the former speaker and deputy speaker and adviser to the prime minister on charges of power abuse. Do these committees have the jurisdiction to investigate these matters?

   There's no law at all. There is one article in constitution under which a parliamentary standing committee can call anyone with request to appear before it but it cannot compel anyone. My personal impression is if you behave like that, directing someone to come and issuing summons, I will not go. There has to be a manner in which you should call them. This is a sort of egotistic problem. The MPs always have oversized egos.

   Standing committees are not ministries. The committee is a watchdog which will intervene and report on issues to the ministry. But this has to be done with courtesy. When it directly tries to do things, it breaks the chain of command.

   The political party that once strongly protested extrajudicial killings, now defends its continuity after forming the government. Even in the case of the BDR incident, we are now getting acquainted to a new term 'heart attack'. Don't you feel the government is showing a blatant disregard for the rule of law?

   The first sign of a civilised society is that the laws are not brutal. These are mentally perverse human beings. This [heart attacks] is systemic killing. These are cold-blooded murderers. More than 300 have died only in police custodies. They are not answerable to the district magistrates anymore. The law and order has been left up to the police. The police are self-governed now. Law has given them the power to be brutal.

   There can only be one cause for these killings and heart attacks. They were killed because they were speaking the truth. These are acts of state terrorism and state sponsored murders.

   There was a lot of talk during the interim government's tenure, about reforms to our political parties, about the relationship between the two major parties and about a change in the way our governments are run. Do you see any real qualitative change or have we been pushed back into the past?

   We have been pushed even beyond the past line. Whenever the past continuously looks better than the present, you have no future.
 



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[ALOCHONA] Wild Wild Southwest -3 :Crossfire only worry



Wild Wild Southwest -3 :Crossfire only worry
 
Most outlaws wait for scope to surrender, to weather the ongoing drive

Most of the outlaws and members of the left-leaning underground parties now consider surrender in fear of "extrajudicial" death sentence after carrying out a reign of terror in the southwest region for decades.

Sources have confirmed the outlaws are requesting AL local leaders to convince the government to give them an option to surrender like in 1999.

"As the law enforcers are causing much trouble and killing our members in the name of crossfire, our top bosses are asking local ruling party leaders to arrange our surrender," said a Gono Mukti Fouz (GMF) leader asking not to be named.

In 1999, the then Awami League government offered the outlaws an opportunity to surrender and arranged it through ceremonies in the region.

Although many of the outlaws surrendered, the problems remain unresolved as many of them later returned to their previous life again.

Around 2,700 outlaws responded to the previous offer and surrendered with 2,100 firearms. Over 500 outlaws were rehabilitated in the Ansar Battalion on temporary basis, but more than 300 of them disappeared and returned to their previous occupations of killing, mugging and other modes of crime.

Sources in the home ministry say there is pressure from Ansar not to rehabilitate any outlaws in the force this time as many of those rehabilitated in 1999 deserted the force later.

But the situation is different this time as deaths in so-called shootouts or crossfire have been occurring for the last five years. Some of the well-known top tier leaders including Mofakkar Chowdhury and Dr Mizanur Rahman Tutul were killed in similar fashion during the BNP-Jamaat rule.

A number of dreaded outlaw leaders were also killed in 'crossfire' or 'shootouts' with law enforcers. Only infamous outlaws like 'Kashai' Siraj and Laltu who killed scores of people, many by burning alive in brick kilns, are still in jail since they surrendered in 1999.

The current leadership in Kushtia fears they might face the same fate of 62 'comrades', who were killed in 'shootouts' since the ongoing crackdown on outlaws began on August 22.

The Prime Minister's Office gave the order for massive crackdown on the outlaws due to a serious slide in law and order in the region marked by frequent killings.

Sources say against this backdrop, leaders of different factions of outlawed outfits and underground parties now consider surrender and return to "normal" life.

Home Minister Sahara Khatun on October 12 informed the House the government would soon announce its surrender offer so that the outlaws may return to "normal" life.

However, cross-section of people expressed dismay over the government move and said giving such opportunities might be "futile" like in 1999.

Members of the law-enforcement agencies are also against the surrender move right now and are eager to continue the operation to arrest the outlaws.

"We want to see an end to the outlaw problem and want security to our lives," said a local businessman wishing anonymity.

The government should continue "crossfire" to eliminate outlaws and take tough legal measures to bring their political patrons to book, people of the region demand.

CADRES AND ARMS STRENGTH

A list prepared in September-November last year on 13 underground parties and crime rackets mentions names of 2,847 cadres and their godfathers, mostly from 23 southwest and northwest districts.

The list also includes names of 80 kingpins and 150 patrons from mainstream politics.

Sources in Rapid Action Battalion could not say for sure how many firearms the outlaws, underground parties and crime rackets posses but hinted that every active member has at least one gun.

However, a report prepared by a law-enforcement agency around a year ago gives some specific impression about the strength of some of those underground parties.

Purba Banglar Communist Party's (PBCP) ML-Janajuddha faction has 50 to 60 active cadres. The outfit has firearms like M16 and AK47 assault rifles, .303 rifles, 9 shooters, shotguns, single and double barrel guns, locally made and foreign pistols and revolvers and light guns (LG).

PBCP (ML-Red Flag) cadres possess AK47 rifles, single and double barrel guns, local and foreign pistols and revolvers, LGs and bombs.

PBCP (ML mainstream or followers of Mofakkar) has around 50 armed cadres, who use Indian and locally manufactured arms and bombs.

Biplabi Communist Party (Haque Group) has over 50 armed cadres, who have AK47, 9 shooter guns, single and double barrel guns, local and foreign pistols and revolvers, LGs and bombs.

The report states that most of the firearms and ammunition are smuggled in from India, though some underground parties smuggle weapons from Myanmar through Bandarban and Cox's Bazar borders.

http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=112907



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[ALOCHONA] Life is cheap in Bangladesh By Rater Zonaki



I enjoy and support the truth telling writing by Rater Zonaki. He/she has more knowledge & humanity than all lazy political partisan clods who comment on without validating their facts or their sources and who havent read a book or done any serious writing in years.

 

 

 

Life is cheap in Bangladesh

By Rater Zonaki

Published: November 05, 2009

http://www.upiasia.com/Human_Rights/2009/11/04/life_is_cheap_in_bangladesh/4465/

 

Hong Kong, China — "Life is so cheap in Bangladesh," a senior journalist pointed out to a Bangladesh Army colonel who had come to his office to intimidate him. "My life can be ended at any time … by any of the violence that goes on around us. Why are you so concerned about my life?"

 

The colonel, an officer of the Directorate General of the Forces Intelligence, had come to warn the journalist to stop speaking out against lawlessness during the two-year state of emergency that ended in December, 2008.

 

The DGFI is known for the specialized torture cells it maintains in the country's garrisons, used to interrogate suspects. Many of the country's politicians have experienced the taste of torture in those cells.

 

Bangladeshi authorities routinely prove that life is cheap in the country. The poor man's life is cheapest of all. An incident occurred last Saturday at Tongi in Gazipur district, near the capital Dhaka, that illustrates this point.

 

Around 1,500 workers reporting for work Saturday morning at Nippon Garments, a readymade garment factory, were met by a notice stating that the factory would be closed for a month. They had not been told of this closure when they ended their day's work on Friday, and their monthly wages of US$30 had not been paid.

 

This is a frequent occurrence in the country's readymade garment industry. Employers or their loyal staff terminate ordinary workers whenever they wish, often by verbal notice, as most workers do not have written contracts that detail their employment status and salaries.

 

It is a "national tradition" in Bangladesh that the laws favor those in power, not the ordinary people. This has often caused frustration among the people, who then demonstrate to express their demands, regardless of their legitimacy or logic.

 

The outraged workers of the closed garment factory demonstrated on the Dhaka-Mymensingh highway. When factory authorities failed to meet the workers or respond to their demands, they got impatient and began vandalizing vehicles.

 

The government sent riot police to control the situation. The police suddenly started firing indiscriminately at the demonstrators, killing at least three people – a rickshaw-puller who had gone to rescue his garment-worker wife, a pedestrian and a mason. Many others were wounded by police bullets.

 

The media claimed there were even more deaths, and accused the police of a cover-up to suppress the truth. But Home Minister Sahara Khatun denied that anyone was killed by police gunfire. Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina seems to have ended the issue simply by declaring that none would be spared if found guilty.

 

Unfortunately, Bangladeshis already know that they cannot expect justice from their politicians. Deaths due to police gunfire or other unwarranted violence are quite common. The police torture or kill people in custody. Political parties also kill their rivals in open attacks.

 

In recent years, for example, a number of people were killed in Sherpur, Jamalpur and adjacent districts when police opened fire on farmers who were demanding fertilizer to grow their crops.

 

Around eight villagers of Shibganj in Chapainawabganj district were killed by police gunshots for demanding electricity, after being forced to pay electric bills without having received even the minimum power supply.

 

A similar incident occurred in Fulbari of Dinajpur district when locals protested against a multinational company that wanted to mine coal without regard for the local environment and without adequate compensation for local people displaced by the mines. Several were killed by police gunfire.

 

After each of these shocking incidents, the ruling party made rhetorical speeches and promised compensation to the victims. But they failed to even identify the perpetrators or investigate the situation. No comprehensive or sustainable solution was offered, and the suffering of the victims was ignored.

 

After each such incident, the opposition parties became government critics and voiced their sympathy to the victims while lamenting their inability to change things because they were not in power. But no progress is made even when the same opposition becomes the ruling party.

 

There is no remedy or explanation for the unruly violence caused by law enforcement authorities.

 

It is the political parties that have always benefited from violent acts. Bangladeshi politicians have repeatedly demonstrated their penchant for weak and bad policies, irresponsible practices, uncontrollable desire to plunder state property, and greed for power and money.

 

While they survive with all their drawbacks, they have no time or ability to overcome them – let alone helping ordinary citizens or solving problems of state and public institutions.

 

The police – regardless of whether they are riot, traffic or normal police – are part of Bangladeshi society, which has grown impatient with such behavior. This situation prevails in all public institutions, including the basic legal institutions, which fail to address the problems calmly and fairly.

 

People die unnatural deaths every day, but nobody cares. Such carelessness deserves to die its own death in an "intellectual firing." The nation should immediately start building an intellectual infrastructure to kill this ongoing carelessness. Otherwise, life will remain as cheap as the lives of the laborers in the garment industry.

 

--

 

(Rater Zonaki is the pseudonym of a human rights defender based in Hong Kong, working at the Asian Human Rights Commission. He is a Bangladeshi national who has worked as a journalist and human rights activist in his country for more than a decade, and as editor of publications on human rights and socio-cultural issues.)

 



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[ALOCHONA] A Wife’s Letter - short Story by Rabindranath Tagore [1914]





A Wife's Letter

A short Story by Rabindranath Tagore [1914]

Translated from Bengali by Prasenjit Gupta

http://www.parabaas.com/translation/database/translations/stories/gStreerPatra1.html

 

 

The original story [streer patra*] by Rabindranath Tagore is a part of galpaguchchha [Collection of Stories] published by Visvabharati Publications. This translation first appeared in Indian Literature, published by the Sahitya Akademi, India.

 

Translated by Prasenjit Gupta who is a writer living in Iowa City.

 

Illustrated by Rajarshi Debnath who is is a software engineer currently based in London.

 

To Thine Auspicious Lotus-Feet:

 

Today we have been married fifteen years, yet not until today have I written you a letter. I've always been close by your side. You've heard many things from me, and so have I from you, but we haven't had space enough to write a letter.

 

Now I'm in Puri on a holy journey, and you are wrapped up in your office work. Your relationship to Calcutta is a snail's to its shell--the city is stuck fast to you, body and soul. So you didn't apply for leave. It was the Lord's desire, and so was His granting me my leave application.

 

I am Mejo-Bou, the second bride in your joint family. Today, fifteen years later, standing at the edge of the ocean, I understand that I also have other relationships, with the world and the World-Keeper. So I find the courage to write this letter. This is not a letter from your family's Mejo-Bou. Not from the second wife.

 

Long ago, in my childhood days--in the days when my preordained marriage to you was known only to the Omniscient One who writes our fates on our foreheads--my brother and I both came down with typhoid fever. My brother died; I survived. All the neighborhood girls said, "Mrinal's a girl, that's why she lived. If she'd been a boy, she couldn't have been saved." Jom-Raj is wise in his deadly robbery: he only takes things of value.

 

No death, then, for me. It is to explain this at length that I sit down to write this letter.

 

When your uncle--a distant relative--came with your friend Nirod to view your prospective bride, I was twelve. We lived in an inaccessible village where jackals would call even during the day. Fourteen miles from the railway station by ox-cart, then six more on an unpaved road by palanquin; how vexed they were. And on top of that, our East-Bengal cookery. Even now your uncle makes jokes about those dishes.

 

Your mother wanted desperately to make up for the plain appearance of the first bride with the good looks of the second. Otherwise why would you have taken all the time and trouble to travel to our distant village? In Bengal no one has to search for jaundice, dysentery, or a bride; they come and cleave to you on their own, and never want to leave.

 

Father's heart began to pound. Mother started repeating Durga's name. With what offering could a country priest satisfy a city god? All they could rely upon was their girl's appearance. But the girl herself had no vanity; whoever came to see her, whatever price they offered for her, that would be her price. So even with the greatest beauty, the most perfect virtues, a woman's self-doubt can never be dispelled.

 

The terror of the entire household, even the entire neighborhood, settled like a stone in my chest. It was as if the day's sky, its suffusing light, all the powers of the universe were bailiffs to those two examiners, seizing a twelve-year-old village girl and holding her up to the stern scrutiny of those two pairs of eyes. I had no place to hide.

 

The wedding flutes wailed, setting the skies to mourn; I came to live in your house. At great length the women tabulated all my shortcomings but allowed that, by and large, I might be reckoned a beauty; and when my sister-in-law, my Didi, heard this, her face grew solemn. But I wonder what the need was for beauty; your family didn't love me for it. Had my beauty been molded by some ancient sage from holy Ganga clay, then it might have been loved; but the Creator had molded it only for His own pleasure, and so it had no value in your pious family.

 

That I had beauty, it didn't take you long to forget. But you were reminded, every step of the way, that I also had intelligence. This intelligence must have lain deep within me, for it lingered in spite of the many years I spent merely keeping house for you. My mother was always very troubled by my intelligence; for a woman it's an affliction. If she whose life is guided by boundaries seeks a life guided by intelligence, she'll run into so many walls that she'll shatter her forehead and her future. But what could I do? The intellect that the other wives in the house lacked, the Lord in a careless moment had bestowed upon me; now whom could I return the excess to? Every day you all rebuked me: precocious, impertinent girl! A bitter remark is the consolation of the inept; I forgive all your remarks.

 

And I had something else, outside all the domestic duties of your household, something that none of you knew. Secretly I wrote poems. No matter if it was all rubbish, at least there the boundary wall of the inner compound could not stop me. There lay my freedom, there I could be myself. Whatever it was in me that kept your Mejo-Bou detached from your family, you didn't like it, didn't even recognize it; in all these fifteen years none of you ever found out that I was a poet.

 

Among the earliest memories that I have of your house, the one that comes to mind is of your cowshed. Right next to the stairway leading up to the inner rooms was the room where the cows were kept. The tiny courtyard in front was all the space they had to roam. A clay trough for their fodder stood in one corner of the courtyard. In the morning the servants had many thing to do; all morning the starving cows would lick at the edges of the trough, bite at it, take chunks out of it. My heart cried for them. I was a village girl: when I first arrived at your house, those two cows and three calves struck me as being the only friends I had in the entire city. When I was a new bride, I would give my food to them; when I grew older, bantering acquaintances, observing the attention I show the cows, would express their suspicions about my family and ancestral occupation: all cowherds, they said.

 

My daughter was born--and died. She called to me, too, to go with her. If she had lived, she would have brought all that was wonderful, all that was large, into my life; from Mejo-Bou I would have become Mother. And a mother, even confined to one narrow world, is of the universe. I had the grief of becoming a mother, but not the freedom.

 

I remember the English doctor's surprise upon entering the inner compound. When he saw the confinement room, he grew annoyed and began to scold. There is a small garden at the front of the house, and the outer rooms do not lack for furniture of decoration. The inner rooms are like the reverse of an embroidered pattern; on the inside there is no hiding the starkness, no grace, no adornment. On the inside the lights glimmer darkly, the breeze enters like a thief, the refuse never leaves the courtyard. The blemishes on the walls and floors are conspicuous and inerasable. But the doctor made one mistake; he thought this neglect would cause us sorrow. Just the opposite: neglect is like ashes, ashes that keep the fire hidden within but do not let the warmth die out. When self-respect ebbs, a lack of attention does not seem unjust. So it causes no pain. And that's why women are ashamed to experience grief. So I say: if this be your arrangement, that women will suffer, then it is best to keep them in neglect, as far as possible; with attention and love, suffering only grows worse.

 

However it was, it didn't even occur to me to recall the existence of grief. In the delivery room, death came and stood by my head; I felt no fear. What is our life that we must fear death? Those whose life-bonds have been knotted tight with love and care, they flinch before death. If Jom-Raj had caught me that day and pulled, then, in the same way that a clump of grass can easily be pulled out from loose earth, roots and all, I too would have come out in his hand. A Bengali girl will wish for death on the slightest pretext, but where is the courage in such a death? I am ashamed to die--death is too easy for us.

 

Like an evening star my daughter glowed bright for a moment, then set. I fell again into my eternal routine and to my cows and calves. Life would have passed, slipping on in that way to the end, and today there would have been no need to write you this letter. But a tiny seed blown on the wind can lodge in a brick terrace and put down the roots of a peepul tree; in the end that seed can split open the heart of brick and stone. Into the set arrangements of my world a tiny speck of life flew from who knows where, and that started the crack.

 

My elder sister-in-law's sister Bindu, mistreated by the cousin she lived with after the death of her widowed mother, came to your house to seek refuge with her sister. That day all of you thought, Why did this misfortune have to land at our doorstep? I have a contrary nature, so what could I do: when I saw that you were angry at her, my heart went out to this defenceless girl and I resolved to stand firm at her side. To have to seek shelter at another's house against their will-what an indignity that is. Even if we are forced to accept someone against our will, should we push them away, ignore them?

 

And I watched my Didi. Out of great compassion she had brought her sister Bindu in, but when she saw her husband's annoyance she began to pretend that Bindu's presence was an unbearable imposition on her too, and she'd be relieved to be rid of her. She couldn't muster up the courage to express her affection publicly for her orphaned sister. She was a very devoted wife.

 

Observing her dilemma, I grew even more distressed. I saw her make the rudest arrangements for Bindu's food and clothing--and she ensured that everyone knew about it--and so demean her in every way, even engaging her in household chores as she would a housemaid, that I was not only sad but also ashamed. Didi was anxious to prove to everyone that our household had been fortunate in obtaining Bindu's services at bargain rates. The girl would work tirelessly, and the cost was minimal.

 

Didi's father's family had had nothing other than its high lineage: neither good looks nor wealth. How they fell at your father's feet, importuned him to take her into your family--you know all that. Didi herself has always thought of her marriage as a grave indignity to your family. That is why she tries in every way to draw herself in, not to impose; she takes up very little space in this house.

 

But the virtuous example she set gave me a great deal of trouble. I could not humble myself in all ways as she had done. If I find something worthy, it's not my inclination to disparage it just to please someone else--you've had proof of this many times.

I drew Bindu into my room. Didi said, "The girl comes from a simple home, and Mejo-Bou is going to spoil her." She went around complaining to one and all as if my actions were putting the family in great peril. But I am sure that deep inside she was greatly relieved. Now the responsibility was mine. She had me display the affection towards her sister that she could not herself show, and her heart was lightened by it.

 

Didi always tried to leave a few years off Bindu's age. She was no less than fourteen, and it was just as well to mention this only in private. As you know, her looks were so plain that if she were to fall and crack her head against the floor, people would first concern themselves about the floor. In the absence of father and mother, there was no one to arrange a marriage for her, and besides, how many people would have the strength of their beliefs to marry someone who looked like her.

 

Bindu came to me in great fear, as if I might not be able to bear her touch, as if there were no reason for her having been born into this great universe. And so she would always shrink away as she passed, lower her glance as she walked by. In her father's house, her cousin had not even given her a corner in which an unwanted object might lie. Unwanted clutter makes its own space around the house, and people forget it's there; not only is an undesired person not wanted where she is, but while she's there she's also not easily forgotten, so there's no place for her even in the trash-heap. It could not be said that Bindu's cousins themselves were greatly desired by the rest of the world, though they were comfortably off.

 

When I brought Bindu into my room, she began to tremble. Her fear caused me great sorrow. I explained gently that there would always be a little space for her in my room.

 

But my room wasn't mine alone. So my task wasn't easy. And after only a few days she suffered a red rash on her skin. Maybe it was prickly heat, or something else; anyway, all of you decided it was smallpox.-After all, it was Bindu. An unskilled doctor from your neighborhood came and declared, It's difficult to say what it is without waiting another day or two. But who had the patience to wait another day or two? Bindu herself was half-dead from the shame of her ailment. I said, I don't care if it's smallpox, I'll stay with her in the confinement room, no one else will have to do anything. On hearing this, all of you gave me extremely menacing looks, even seemed poised to do me harm; Bindu's sister, feigning extreme displeasure, proposed sending her to the hospital. Soon, however, Bindu's rash faded away completely. Seeing this, you grew even more agitated. Some of you said, It's definitely smallpox, and it's settled in.-After all, it was Bindu.

 

There's one thing to be said for growing up neglected and uncared for: it makes the body ageless, immortal. Disease doesn't want to linger, so the easy roads to death are shut off. The illness mocked her and left; nothing at all happened. But this much was made clear: it is most difficult to give shelter to the world's most wretched. Whoever needs greatest shelter also faces the greatest obstacles to gaining it.

 

As Bindu's fear of me ebbed, another problem arose. She began to love me so much that it brought fear into my heart. I have never seen such an embodiment of love in real life; I've read of it in books, of this kind of intense attachment, and, there too, between women. Not for many years had I had occasion to remember that I was beautiful; that long-forgotten beauty had charmed this plain-looking girl. She'd stare at my face, and the hope and trust in her eyes would grow. She's say to me, "Didi, no one but me has seen this face of yours." She'd become upset when I tied my hair myself. She liked to play with my hair, arranging it this way and that. Apart from the occasional invitation, there was really no need for me to dress up. But Bindu was eager; and every day she would ornament me one way or another. She grew besotted with me.

 

There's not even a yard of free space in the inner compound of your house. Near the north wall, next to the drain, somehow a mangosteen had taken root. The day I saw its new leaves budding forth, bright red, I'd know that spring had truly touched the world. And when I saw-in the middle of my routine life-this neglected girl's heart and soul filling up with color, I realized that there was a spring breeze of the inner world as well, a breeze that came from some distant heaven, not from the corner of the alley.

 

The unbearable impetus of Bindu's love began to agitate me. Once in a while, I admit, I used to be angry at her, but through her love I saw a side of myself that I'd never seen before. It was my true self, my free self.

 

Meanwhile, my care and attention for a girl like Bindu struck you all as beyond the limits of propriety. And so there was no end to petty scoldings and peevishness. When one day an armlet was stolen from my room, you felt no shame hinting that Bindu must have had something to do with the theft. When, during the Shodeshi movement, the police began to search people's houses, you came very easily to the conclusion that Bindu was a police informer. There was no other proof of that, only this: she was Bindu.

 

The maidservants in your house would object to doing the slightest work for Bindu. If ever I asked one of the women to fetch Bindu something, she would pause, frozen in reluctance. And so my expenses for Bindu went up: I engaged a special maid for her. None of you liked that. You saw the kinds of clothes I gave Bindu to wear, and you became incensed. You even cut off my spending money. The very next day I began to wear coarse, unbleached, mill-made, ten-anna dhutis. And when the maid came to take my plate away after lunch, I told her not to. I fed the left-over rice to the calf and went to the courtyard tap to wash the plate myself. You saw that and were not too pleased. But the idea that not pleasing you was all right—that your family's pleasure was of little consequence—had not yet entered my mind.

 

Your anger increased. And meanwhile Bindu's age kept increasing too. This natural progression embarrassed all of you to an unnatural degree. One thing surprised me: why you didn't force Bindu to leave. I understand it now: deep inside, you were all afraid of me. Deep inside, you could not help respect the intelligence that God had given me.

 

In the end, not strong enough yourselves to make Bindu leave, you sought the shelter of the gods of matrimony. Bindu's wedding was arranged. Didi said, "Saved! Ma Kali has protected the honor of our clan."

 

I didn't know who the groom was; I heard from you all that he was worthy in every respect. Bindu came to me, and sat at my feet and cried. "Didi, why do I have to be married?"

 

I tried to explain things to her. "Bindu, don't be afraid: I've heard your groom is a good man."

 

Bindu said, "If he's good, what do I have that he would like me?"

 

The groom's people did not even mention coming to see Bindu. Didi was greatly relieved.

 

But Bindu cried night and day; her tears didn't want to stop. I knew how painful it was for her. In that world I had fought many battles on her behalf, but I didn't have the courage to say that her wedding should be called off. And what right did I have to say that anyway? What would become of her if I were to die?

 

First of all she was a girl, and on top of that she was dark-skinned; what kind of household she was being sent off to, what would become of her—it was best not to think of such things. If my mind turned to such thoughts, the blood would shudder in my heart.

 

Bindu said, "Didi, just five more days before the wedding, can't I die before then?"

 

I scolded her sharply; but the One Who Sees Within knows: if there was some way she could have passed easily into death, I might have been relieved.

 

The day before the wedding, Bindu went to her sister and said, "Didi, I'll just stay in your cowshed, I'll do whatever you tell me to, I beg you, don't get rid of me like this."

 

For some time now, I had seen Didi wipe her eyes in quiet moments; now, too, her tears ran. But the heart could not be everything; there were rules to live by. She said, "You must realize, Bindi dear, a husband is a woman's shelter, her protector, her salvation, her everything. If suffering is written on your forehead, no one can avert it."

 

The message was clear: there was no way out. Bindu would have to marry, and whatever happened afterwards would have to happen.

 

I had wanted the wedding to be conducted at our house. But all of you were firm: it must be at the groom's house; it was their ancestral custom.

 

The matter became clear to me. The gods of your household couldn't bear it if any of your money was spent on Bindu's wedding. So I was forced to be quiet. But there's something none of you know. I wanted to tell Didi but I didn't; she might have died of fear. Secretly I gave Bindu some of my jewellery, made her wear it before she left. I thought Didi would notice it; perhaps she pretended not to. Do—in the name of kindness—forgive her that.

 

Before leaving, Bindu threw her arms around me. "So, after all, Didi, you are abandoning me completely?"

 

I said, "No, Bindi, no matter what your condition may be, I'll never abandon you in the end."

 

Three days went by. The tenants of your estate had given you a sheep to feast on; I saved it from the fire of your hunger and kept it in one corner of the coal-shed on the ground floor. I would go and feed it grain first thing in the morning. I had relied on your servants for a day or two before I saw that feeding the animal was less interesting to them than possibly feeding upon it.

 

Entering the coal-shed that morning, I saw Bindu sitting huddled in a corner. As soon as she saw me she fell at my feet and began to cry.

 

Bindu's husband was insane.

 

"Is that really true, Bindi?"

 

"Would I tell you such a lie, Didi? He's insane. My father-in-law wasn't in favor of this marriage, but he's mortally afraid of his wife. He went off to Kashi before the wedding. My mother-in-law insisted on getting her son married."

 

I sat down on the heap of coal. Woman has no compassion for woman. Woman will say, "She's nothing more than a woman. The groom may be insane, but he's a man."

 

Bindu's husband did not seem deranged to look at, but once in a while he grew so frenzied that he had to be locked up in his room. He was fine on the night of the wedding, but the next day—perhaps as a result of the excitement, staying up late, and so on—he became completely unbalanced. Bindu had just sat down to lunch when her husband suddenly grabbed her brass plate and flung it, rice and all, out into the courtyard. For some reason he was seized with the notion that Bindu was Rani Rashmoni herself, and that the servant must have stolen her platter of gold and given her his own lowly plate instead. Hence his outrage. Bindu was half-dead from fear. When on the third night her mother-in-law ordered her to sleep in her husband's room, Bindu's heart froze within her. Her mother-in-law was a terrible woman; if she was angered she lost all control of herself. She too was unbalanced, but not completely, and therefore all the more dangerous. Bindu had to enter the room. Her husband was placid that night. But no matter; Bindu's body turned wooden with terror. With what silence and craft she made her escape after her husband fell asleep, it's not necessary to describe at length.

 

I burned from contempt and anger. I said, "A marriage based on such a deception is not a marriage at all. Bindu, stay with me the way you did before, let's see who dares to take you away."

 

You all said, "Bindu's lying."

 

I said, "She's never lied in her life."

 

You all said, "How do you know that?"

 

I said, "I'm sure of it."

 

You all tried to frighten me. "If Bindu's in-laws report this to the police, you'll be in trouble."

 

I said, "They deceived her and got her married to a madman, and when I tell the court that, they'll listen."

 

You all said, "Then we'll have to go to court over this? Why? Why should we bother?"

 

I said, "I'll sell my jewellery and do what I can."

 

You all said, "You're going to a lawyer then?"

 

I couldn't answer that. I could complain bitterly, but I didn't have the courage to do any more.

 

And meanwhile, Bindu's brother-in-law had arrived and was raising a racket outside the house. He said he was going to file a report at the police station.

 

I didn't know where my strength came from, but my mind would not accept the idea that for fear of the police I would simply hand her over—hand over to the butcher himself the calf that had come running from the cleaver, afraid for her life, to seek shelter with me. I found the audacity to say, "Fine, let him go file a report then."

 

After saying this I decided I must take Bindu into my bedroom right away, put a lock on the door, and stay inside with her. But when I looked for Bindu I couldn't find her. While I was arguing with you all, she had gone out on her own and given herself up to her brother-in-law. She understood that by staying in the house she was putting me in great danger.

 

Running away the way she had earlier, Bindi had only increased her own unhappiness. Her mother-in-law argued that her husband hadn't done anything to hurt Bindu. There were plenty of terrible husbands in the world. Compared to them her son was a jewel, a diamond.

 

My elder sister-in-law said, "She has an ill-fated forehead; how long can I grieve over it? He may be crazy, may be a fool, but he's her husband, after all!"

 

The image rose in your minds of the leper and his wife—oh devoted woman!—who herself carried him to the prostitute's house. You, with your male minds, did not ever hesitate to preach this story, a story of the world's vilest cowardice; and for the same reason—even though you'd been granted the dignity of human shape—you could be angry at Bindu without feeling the least discomfort. My heart burst for Bindu; for you I felt boundless shame. I was only a village girl, and on top of that I had lived so long in your house—I don't know through what chink in your vigilance God slipped me my brains. I just couldn't bear all your lofty sentiments about woman's duty.

 

I knew for sure that Bindu would not return to our house even if she had to die. But I had assured her the day before her marriage that I would not abandon her in the end. My younger brother Shorot was a college student in Calcutta. You all know about his different kinds of volunteer work, running off to help the Damodor flood victims, exterminating the rats when the plague struck—he had such enthusiasm for these projects that even failing the F.A. exams twice had not dampened his spirit. I summoned him and said, "Shorot, you have to arrange things so that I can have news of Bindu. She won't have the courage to write, and even if she does, the letter will never reach me."

 

My brother might have been happier if I'd asked him to kidnap Bindu and bring her back, or perhaps to crack her crazy husband's skull.

 

While I was talking to Shorot, you came into the room and said, "Now what mess are you getting us into?"

 

I said, "The same one I made right at the beginning: I came to your house.—But that was your own doing."

 

You asked, "Have you brought Bindu back and hidden her somewhere?"

 

 I said, "If Bindu would come, I'd certainly bring her back and hide her. But she won't come, so you all needn't be afraid."

 

Seeing Shorot with me had kindled your suspicions. I know that you didn't approve at all of Shorot's comings and goings. You were afraid that the police were keeping tabs on him, and that some day he would get himself into some political tangle and drag you into it too. So I didn't usually call him to the house; I even sent him my Bhai-phota offering through someone else.

 

I heard from you that Bindu had run off again, and that her brother-in-law had come looking for her again. Hearing this, I felt something sharp pierce my heart. I understood the luckless girl's unbearable suffering, but I could see no way of doing anything for her.

 

Shorot ran to get news of Bindu. He returned in the evening and told me, "Bindu went back to her cousins' house, but they were terribly angry and took her back to her in-laws' right away. And they haven't forgotten the money they had to spend on fares and other expenses for her."

 

As it happened, your aunt had come to spend a few days at your house before leaving for Srikhetro on a pilgrimage. And I told you all, I'm going too.

 

You were so delighted to see in me this sudden turn towards religion that you forgot altogether to object. You also thought, no doubt, that if I stayed in Calcutta at that time, I would certainly make trouble about Bindu. I was a terrible nuisance.

 

I would leave on Wednesday; by Sunday all the preparations had been made. I called Shorot and said to him, "No matter how difficult it is, I want you to find some way to get Bindu on the Wednesday train to Puri."

 

Shorot grinned with delight; he said, "Don't worry, Didi, not only will I see her into the train, I'll go with her to Puri myself. It'll be an opportunity to see the Jagannath temple."

 

Shorot came again that evening. I took one look at his face, and the breath stopped in my chest. I said, "What, Shorot? You couldn't do it?"

 

He said, "No."

 

I asked, "You couldn't get her to agree?"

 

He said, "There was no need any more. Last night she set fire to her clothes and killed herself. I talked to her nephew—the one I was in touch with—and he said that she'd left a letter for you. But they destroyed the letter."

 

Oh. Peace at last.

 

People heard about it and were enraged. They said, It's become a kind of fashion for women to set fire to their clothes and kill themselves.

 

You all said, Such dramatics! Maybe. But shouldn't we ask why the dramatics take place only with Bengali women's sarees and not with the so-brave Bengali men's dhutis?

 

Truly Bindi's forehead was seared by fate. As long as she lived she was never known for her looks or talent; even in her last hours it didn't enter her head to find some new way to die, some novel exit that would please the nation's men and move them to applaud her! Even in dying she only angered everyone.

 

Didi hid in her room and cried. But there was some solace in her tears. However it was, at least now the girl was beyond suffering. She had only died; who knew what might have happened if she'd lived?

 

I have come here on my holy journey. Bindu didn't need to come any more, but I did.

 

In your world I didn't suffer what people would normally call grief. In your house there was no lack of food or clothing; no matter what your brother's character, in your own character there was nothing that I could complain of to the Lord, nothing I could call terrible. If your habits had been like those of your brother's, perhaps my days would have passed without upheaval; perhaps, like my sister-in-law, so perfectly devoted to her husband, I too might have blamed not you but the Lord of the World. So I don't want to raise my head in complaint about you—this letter is not for that.

 

But I will not go back to your Number Twenty-Seven Makhon Boral Lane. I've seen Bindu. I've seen the worth of a woman in this world. I don't need any more.

 

And I've seen also that even though she was a girl, God didn't abandon her. No matter how much power you might have had over her, there was an end to that power. There's something larger than this wretched human life. You thought that, by your turn of whim and your custom graved in stone, you could keep her life crushed under your feet forever, but your feet weren't powerful enough. Death was stronger. In her death Bindu has become great; she's not a mere Bengali girl anymore, no more just a female cousin of her father's nephews, no longer only a lunatic stranger's deceived wife. Now she is without limits, without end.

 

The day that death's flute wailed through this girl's soul and I heard those notes float across the river, I could feel its touch within my chest. I asked the Lord, Why is it that whatever is the most insignificant obstacle in this world is also the hardest to surmount? Why was this tiny, most ordinary bubble of cheerlessness contained within four ramparts in this humdrum alley such a formidable barrier? No matter how pleadingly Your world called out to me, its nectar-cup made of the six elements borne aloft in its hands, I could not emerge even for an instant, could not cross the threshold of that inner compound. These skies of Yours, this life of mine: why must I—in the shadow of this most banal brick and woodwork—die one grain at a time? How trivial this daily life's journey; how trivial all its fixed rules, its fixed ways, its fixed phrases of rote, all its fixed defeats. In the end, must the victory go to this wretched world, to its snakes of habit that bind and coil and squeeze? Must the joyous universe, the world that You created Yourself, lose?

 

But the flute of death begins to play—and then where is the mason's solid-brick wall, where is your barbed-wire fence of dreadful law? A sorrow, an insult, can imprison; but the proud standard of life flies from the hand of death! Oh Mejo-Bou, you have nothing to fear! It doesn't take a moment to slough off a Mejo-Bou's shell.

 

I am not scared of your street any longer. In front of me today is the blue ocean, over my head a mass of monsoon cumulus.

 

The dark veil of your custom had cloaked me completely, but for an instant Bindu came and touched me through a gap in the veil; and by her own death she tore that awful veil to shreds. Today I see there is no longer any need to maintain your family's dignity or self-pride. He who smiles at this unloved face of mine is in front of me today, looking at me with the sublime expanse of His sky. Now Mejo-Bou dies.

 

You think I'm going to kill myself—don't be afraid, I wouldn't play such an old joke on you all. Meera-Bai, too, was a woman, like me; her chains, too, were no less heavy; and she didn't have to die to be saved. Meera-Bai said, in her song, "No matter if my father leaves, my mother too, let them all go; but Meera will persevere, Lord, whatever may come to pass."

 

And to persevere, after all, is to be saved.

 

I too will be saved. I am saved.

 

Removed from the Shelter of Your Feet,

 

Mrinal

 


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