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By Iftekhar Sayeed (about the author)
Become a Fan -- Page 2 of 4 page(s)
Then next two weeks were to be veritable hell. My mother called me, and told me what had transpired. Farhana (my wife) and I packed some clothes, and went off to stay with my parents for the night.
Shahid was overjoyed to see us.
In the afternoon, Nanno came round, with his goons, young boys of about the same age. When I saw him, all I wanted to do was to – kill him. I wanted to kill him for making my parents go through this nightmare, for jeopardizing their lives. I had once won an award in a shooting contest with a .22 rifle, and now I wished I had the rifle so that, perched on the roof of the adjacent building, I could pick off this monster like I had picked off crows on branches at an age more wanton.
We tried our contacts. My brother-in-law had once been with the Bangladesh Chatra League, the student front of the Awami League (AL) to which Nanno belonged, and which was the source of his power. His cousin was also a member of the BCL, and he met Nanno that night.
Nanno was in an alcoholic stupor; he couldn't even recall whom he had tried to shake down, and so the attempt at influencing him with a fellow-member proved fruitless.
My parents were close to two members of the Awami League, Justice (retired) Debesh Bhattacharya and his wife, Chitra Bhattacharya, who was to be MP after the next election that would bring the AL to power (these threats were, incredibly enough, being made when the AL was the opposition! This was a foretaste of what would happen when the AL would come to power).
It was only later that I had enough leisure to ponder the fact that these two people – the retired judge who had sat on the highest court of the land, and his distinguished wife – were allied to a party that drew its funds with the agency of students-turned-thugs: and this was no secret. Everybody knew that the parties employed the services of musclemen – more like muscleboys – to extort money. But what were an alleged gentleman and lady doing with these people?
My father called somebody in the party, hoping to be let off paying the "tax". He was informed, in no uncertain terms, that the tax would have to be paid for part of it would be routed to the leader of the party.
Indeed, recent cases brought by the army-backed caretaker government have revealed the extent to which Sheikh Hasina, party leader of the AL, depended on extortion. In one case, she has been accused, with her cousin, of extorting Takas 29.9 million from the managing director of a power company. Her cousin has confessed to the crime.
The amount to be had from my father was a paltry sum; but these were early days: democracy was only four years old. Over time, five-figure extortions would yield to seven- and eight-figure extortions.
A PRIVATE ARMY
I then decided to take matters into my own hands. I knew some trusted people, and my parents, my wife and I drove out to see them. I spoke to my man, and a meeting was arranged at my flat.
They came in four motorbikes, driving terror into the hearts of the security guards at my apartment building. They were the real McCoy – hired guns!
My parents were in my flat, and my father and I spoke with the blood-shot little militia I had put together. They were murderers; for the right price, they would kill anybody without a subsequent thought.
They were decent, too.
One of them – half-drunk – heard my wife making tea in the kitchen, and he went out to tell her not to bother because the only thing they drank was whiskey!
I felt powerful with these blokes around. I could see them blowing away Nanno and his boys in a blaze of bullets – if they caused trouble! But the feeling didn't last long.
Become a Fan -- Page 2 of 4 page(s)
Shahid was overjoyed to see us.
In the afternoon, Nanno came round, with his goons, young boys of about the same age. When I saw him, all I wanted to do was to – kill him. I wanted to kill him for making my parents go through this nightmare, for jeopardizing their lives. I had once won an award in a shooting contest with a .22 rifle, and now I wished I had the rifle so that, perched on the roof of the adjacent building, I could pick off this monster like I had picked off crows on branches at an age more wanton.
We tried our contacts. My brother-in-law had once been with the Bangladesh Chatra League, the student front of the Awami League (AL) to which Nanno belonged, and which was the source of his power. His cousin was also a member of the BCL, and he met Nanno that night.
Nanno was in an alcoholic stupor; he couldn't even recall whom he had tried to shake down, and so the attempt at influencing him with a fellow-member proved fruitless.
My parents were close to two members of the Awami League, Justice (retired) Debesh Bhattacharya and his wife, Chitra Bhattacharya, who was to be MP after the next election that would bring the AL to power (these threats were, incredibly enough, being made when the AL was the opposition! This was a foretaste of what would happen when the AL would come to power).
It was only later that I had enough leisure to ponder the fact that these two people – the retired judge who had sat on the highest court of the land, and his distinguished wife – were allied to a party that drew its funds with the agency of students-turned-thugs: and this was no secret. Everybody knew that the parties employed the services of musclemen – more like muscleboys – to extort money. But what were an alleged gentleman and lady doing with these people?
My father called somebody in the party, hoping to be let off paying the "tax". He was informed, in no uncertain terms, that the tax would have to be paid for part of it would be routed to the leader of the party.
Indeed, recent cases brought by the army-backed caretaker government have revealed the extent to which Sheikh Hasina, party leader of the AL, depended on extortion. In one case, she has been accused, with her cousin, of extorting Takas 29.9 million from the managing director of a power company. Her cousin has confessed to the crime.
The amount to be had from my father was a paltry sum; but these were early days: democracy was only four years old. Over time, five-figure extortions would yield to seven- and eight-figure extortions.
A PRIVATE ARMY
I then decided to take matters into my own hands. I knew some trusted people, and my parents, my wife and I drove out to see them. I spoke to my man, and a meeting was arranged at my flat.
They came in four motorbikes, driving terror into the hearts of the security guards at my apartment building. They were the real McCoy – hired guns!
My parents were in my flat, and my father and I spoke with the blood-shot little militia I had put together. They were murderers; for the right price, they would kill anybody without a subsequent thought.
They were decent, too.
One of them – half-drunk – heard my wife making tea in the kitchen, and he went out to tell her not to bother because the only thing they drank was whiskey!
I felt powerful with these blokes around. I could see them blowing away Nanno and his boys in a blaze of bullets – if they caused trouble! But the feeling didn't last long.
http://iftekharsayeed.weebly.com
Iftekhar Sayeed teaches English and economics. He was born and lives in Dhaka, Bangladesh. He has contributed to AXIS OF LOGIC, ENTER TEXT, POSTCOLONIAL TEXT, LEFT CURVE, MOBIUS, ERBACCE, THE JOURNAL, and other publications. He is also a (more...)
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difficult to write
by Iftekhar Sayeed on Sunday, Aug 12, 2007 at 3:55:31 PM