After defeat in Akhaura battle.

2008-07-08T07:07:00.001-07:00

After defeat in Akhauta battle 1 took shelter in my village home situated at 7 to 8 miles west of Akhaura. As a chief of the driven family with empty hand in one cloth, my father Marred new households in old and torn building made in the British period. I could not settle down in my home. My only anxiety is how to teach good lessons to the aggressor forces. I began to travel village after village with my boyhood friend Miron. Miron was very cordial in all respects. He was available at any time whenever you would need him. I tried to find out old friends. The aim was to build up a guerrilla force with the object to jump upon the moving aggressing forces, to snatch away their arms by sudden attack and to kill them with their arms. But it was not possible. I did not get such expected response. All were chicken-hearted. Nobody turned up besides two or three. Our area was then under the complete control of Pakistani forces. I realized that I could not do anything for the country staying there. Therefore. I determined to go to Agartala.

Searching u companion lo go to agartala

I was searching n companion to go to Agartala. Though Miron had been giving company so long, but he did not like to go. He used to live on hand to mouth, if he moved; the members of his family would fell in great difficult position. I had no such difficulties. To take shelter I had home and to carry on day-today livelihood of our family members in such a distressed condition there were landed property left by my grandfather. Meanwhile Pakistani army caught Miron. In December the freedom fighters made free Akhaura by defeating Pakistani army. In revenge the Pakistani forces hit back. The aggressors took away Miron along with other villagers to carry ammunition boxes. Till midnight they were forced to carry ammunition boxes and were lined up with the attempt to toll them by firing. But they did not shoot. But at the last moment they were used to carry the dead bodies of Pakistani armies shot by freedom fighters. He was used to carry on foot the dead bodies of the Pakistani armies on shoulder to some distant place from Akhaura and after placing the dead bodies in the truck the Pakistani army took Miron back to the previous place and set him free. By the grace of Almighty he was alive. Till today I have been maintaining friendship with Miron.
In the meantime members of some families came and took shelter in our house. My father’s friend Dr. Khaleque also came. He rendered his medical services to the villagers free of cost. The relatives of our village also had been giving assistance in many ways. Some villagers were sending vegetables, some home made cakes (pithas), fried rice (chira, muri) etc. to our houses. We were pleased at their cordial assistance.
Just by the side of the railway line our village is situated. There is a railway station established in the British period. Paghatachang village is by the side of Paghachang station. The name of the station was named after the name of the village. The railway line runs through the middle of Paghachang and our village Chandpur. The railway station is in the middle place. This station is linked up with Dhaka and Chittagong. Through this railway line the Pakistani army sometimes moved by train and sometimes by trolley from Brahmanbaria to Akhaura junction and from Akhaura to Brahmanbaria day and night In spite of these circumstances had been trying to collect companions for guerrilla fight. The villagers were panicky by getting the news of mass killing by Pakistani soldiers. They were annoyed with my movement from one village to another village. Even the villagers stopped talking and mixing with me being afraid of the aggressors and collaborators. In my own village I became separated and used to live alone.

At that time the Pakistani forces did not enter into my village. Everybody presumed that the army would in any day enter into village to catch me and would burn the villages. I could not sleep in my known house. With me knowledge of all, I spent the night in the kitchens of one house and in the jute godown of other houses. Because the collaborators might at any time inform of my location to the army.
Our village market is by the side of railway line. One day I went to the market and saw some Pak army were going by railway trolley towards Brahmanbaria. For nothing some people rushed to the Pak army with a Pakistani Hag in hand. I guessed from distant place that the army stopped the trolley and were telling something to them. To observe the matter I also went and stood behind them. I realized that the flatterers were talking with the Pak army in a peculiar language by mixing Urdu and Bengali words and shouting at intervals with a slogan Pakistan Zindabad. I could not tolerate My whole body was as if flared up with fire. From back side the slogans tame out spontaneously from my mouth "Murdabud". The old man who was standing by my side hold tight my mouth, pushed me at a distant place and told me, "What do you do. You will be killed, even you will help them to lead us in danger and to bum the villages. Go away from here."
With hatred and anger I left for home. I felt peculiar feelings. I could not do anything and also I could not bear all these incidences. The whole body and heart became heavy with anger and grief. "Oh. Bengali, if on that day we were united, we would be able to destroy all these Hyenas. But instead of attacking them, we encourage them to keep possession of our country with the Pakistani flag and slogan Pakistan zindabad. The situation was the same all over the country. The result was that about one core Bengalics turned up as refugees in India. To take revenge we became freedom fighter. If India would not help us in those days, then what would happen to us, the next generation would not be able to imagine.