‘Of Course We Killed Him’

A nuanced new narrative of the Bangladesh Liberation War looks closely at Mujibur Rahman’s assassin

The emergence of independent Bangladesh in 1971 was arguably the most significant event in the history of the Subcontinent since Partition. Yet historical understanding of the causes, course and consequences of the conflict remains at something of a discount; after an initial flurry of books there was little interest in the topic outside of Bangladesh. The past couple of years have seen a slew of books revisiting 1971. More importantly, popular interest appears to have rekindled owing to political developments—especially the ongoing war crimes trials of those alleged to have collaborated with the Pakistani regime against their own people. This book is a welcome addition precisely because it is alert to the salience of this history in contemporary politics. A respected journalist, Tripathi has followed Bangladesh for nearly three decades. His is an admirable collage of history, reportage and sensitive observation.

The book begins with an arresting account of his 1985 meeting with Lieutenant Colonel Farooq Rahman: the man behind the assassination of Bangladesh’s first prime minister, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman. Farooq minced no words: “Of course, we killed him. He had to go”. His candour in private was matched by his public persona. He had recently contested—and lost— the presidential elections. Tripathi then cuts to January 2010, when Farooq was executed after trial—under the watch of Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina, daughter of Mujibur Rahman. Farooq’s story succinctly captures all that went wrong with the dream of an independent Bangladesh.

This dream itself was the outcome of another hope gone rancid. The Muslims of Bengal were among the most enthusiastic supporters of the demand for Pakistan in the 1940s. They were certainly among the best politically organised groups within the new state of Pakistan. Yet they found themselves rapidly marginalised in their new country, the leaders of which sought to curb their distinctive Bengali-Muslim identity and to impose a structure denying the possibility of leveraging the numerical majority. Tripathi recounts these and subsequent events leading up to the election of 1970 in familiar terms. The notion that there was a gathering head of steam in East Pakistan from 1948, which acquired unstoppable force by 1971, begs a number of questions. Tripathi does not, perhaps wisely, get drawn into these historiographical rabbit-holes.

The central chapters of the book focus on the events after 26 March 1971, when the Pakistan army launched a brutal crackdown on Bengalis. Tripathi is at his best describing the experiences of people who bore the brunt of the Pakistan military’s murderous plans. These may be ‘ordinary’ people, but he pulls together an extraordinary cast. Thus we learn of Dhirendranath Datta and his 19-year old grand-daughter Aroma. Datta was among the few politically active Hindus who chose East Pakistan as their homeland in 1947. He was also a prominent spokesman against the move to relegate the Bengali language to insignificance— and among those picked up and killed soon after the crackdown began.

Tripathi tracks down Gandhians who ran an Ashram in Naokhali where the Mahatma once lived, and where he walked to restore communal amity just before Partition. During Operation Searchlight, the group held fast to their principles and paid for it with the execution of four elderly colleagues in late 1971. We also meet a host of youngsters who joined the resistance movement operating out of India, including Rokeya Kabir, a student at Dacca University captured in a famous photograph marching with a rifle. And, he rightly emphasises the role and travails of women during the conflict. In a moving chapter, he talks to survivors of rape—a systematic tactic used by the Pakistan army to erase the identity of Bengalis. Although independent Bangladesh recognised them as ‘Birangona’ or ‘war heroes’, it refrained from bringing them or their children into mainstream public life. State-assisted abortions joined with a drive to give the children up for adoption in other countries.

Tripathi also recognises the violence perpetrated by the Bengalis themselves against those seen as supporters of the regime— especially the Urdu-speaking ‘Biharis’. Unlike some recent authors—such as Sarmila Bose—he makes fine distinctions, eschewing the temptation to sensationalise or draw up specious equivalences. Coming to terms with this history is, in many ways, the central challenge for Bangladesh today.

(Srinath Raghavan is a senior fellow at Centre for Policy Research and the author of 1971: A Global History of the Creation of Bangladesh)

Salil TripathiThe Colonel Who Would Not Repent