The boy got in – such was the prestige commanded by Dr. Ahmed.
The reader must have surmised by now why the thought of going to the police never even occurred to me – or to my parents. The police would never come between a student politician and his victim: indeed, it made every sense for them, in such a situation, to side with the former, and make some money. One couldn't blame the police.
My father negotiated his way out of the ordeal: he had to pay, but less than what the kid had wanted. The kid even robbed the poor middleman in the transaction, who called my father, blubbering into the phone. The place was, however, sold, and my parents moved to an apartment building.
A LOYAL FAMILY
During this awful interlude, I was delighted by one thing: my father had sworn never again to vote for the Awami League. Now, I thought to myself, now he will come to his senses and give up the blind loyalty for the party!
I was wrong.
My parents are even more loyal – if that's possible – today than before the incident. It was as if the event had never taken place. Now I realised why the humiliated members of the communist parties were more faithful than the others. I could not explain it – but I could, for the first time in my life, see that it happens. My entire extended family, who had been helpless spectators in the shakedown, continued to be loyal Awami Leaguers, as these people are known.
I ask myself today, what would sap their loyalty completely? I realise that even if the party killed me – their son – they would continue being loyal. This is the very antithesis of family values that are part of our Muslim culture. Thus, the import of democracy has pervaded even the intimate recesses of our being.
But perhaps I have been privileged in a perverse fashion: I have lived to see, first-hand, how an entire society goes mad, and loses all humanity - some in the pursuit of money and careers, and others, like my mother and father, out of a mysterious love for an idea from hell.
As to Nanno's fate, the last I learned of him was from a newspaper report. After the military took over, he was finally arrested (Bangladesh Observer, 24th March, 2007): "Official Sources said Shawkat Hossain Nanno was wanted by Ramna police in seven cases, including murder." The headline read: "Younger brother of Liaquat held in city."
Liaquat Shikdar was the secretary general of the Bangladesh Chatra League; however, when Nanno came knocking softly on our door, and slapping the servant, and greeting my father with expletives instead of "salam", his brother was doing time in prison. The BNP was then in power, so he was behind bars for political reasons. The younger brother inherited the elder brother's calling, like a mafia family.
I had once wanted to kill Nanno: today, I feel terribly sorry for him. A young man who could have made something of his life, and who was inveigled by the party into a criminal career, was to spend the rest of that life in prison. However, one could argue that he was lucky: for between 2001 and 2006, two-hundred-ninety-nine student politicians have died, mostly in intra-party gangland wars over sharing of the spoils. At least, Nanno was alive. Of course, he may be awarded the death penalty, and then justice would be done.
Or would it?
The reader must have surmised by now why the thought of going to the police never even occurred to me – or to my parents. The police would never come between a student politician and his victim: indeed, it made every sense for them, in such a situation, to side with the former, and make some money. One couldn't blame the police.
My father negotiated his way out of the ordeal: he had to pay, but less than what the kid had wanted. The kid even robbed the poor middleman in the transaction, who called my father, blubbering into the phone. The place was, however, sold, and my parents moved to an apartment building.
A LOYAL FAMILY
During this awful interlude, I was delighted by one thing: my father had sworn never again to vote for the Awami League. Now, I thought to myself, now he will come to his senses and give up the blind loyalty for the party!
My parents are even more loyal – if that's possible – today than before the incident. It was as if the event had never taken place. Now I realised why the humiliated members of the communist parties were more faithful than the others. I could not explain it – but I could, for the first time in my life, see that it happens. My entire extended family, who had been helpless spectators in the shakedown, continued to be loyal Awami Leaguers, as these people are known.
I ask myself today, what would sap their loyalty completely? I realise that even if the party killed me – their son – they would continue being loyal. This is the very antithesis of family values that are part of our Muslim culture. Thus, the import of democracy has pervaded even the intimate recesses of our being.
But perhaps I have been privileged in a perverse fashion: I have lived to see, first-hand, how an entire society goes mad, and loses all humanity - some in the pursuit of money and careers, and others, like my mother and father, out of a mysterious love for an idea from hell.
As to Nanno's fate, the last I learned of him was from a newspaper report. After the military took over, he was finally arrested (Bangladesh Observer, 24th March, 2007): "Official Sources said Shawkat Hossain Nanno was wanted by Ramna police in seven cases, including murder." The headline read: "Younger brother of Liaquat held in city."
Liaquat Shikdar was the secretary general of the Bangladesh Chatra League; however, when Nanno came knocking softly on our door, and slapping the servant, and greeting my father with expletives instead of "salam", his brother was doing time in prison. The BNP was then in power, so he was behind bars for political reasons. The younger brother inherited the elder brother's calling, like a mafia family.
I had once wanted to kill Nanno: today, I feel terribly sorry for him. A young man who could have made something of his life, and who was inveigled by the party into a criminal career, was to spend the rest of that life in prison. However, one could argue that he was lucky: for between 2001 and 2006, two-hundred-ninety-nine student politicians have died, mostly in intra-party gangland wars over sharing of the spoils. At least, Nanno was alive. Of course, he may be awarded the death penalty, and then justice would be done.
Or would it?
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