A
burning cigarette was pushed into his limbs and needles pierced into his finger
nails
Syed Abul Barq Alvi
Syed
Abul Barq Alvi, a Professor of the Fine Arts Institute of Dhaka University, is a
noted painter. He took part in the liberation war. He was arrested along with
others on August 30, 1971. The Pakistani occupation force conducted barbaric
torture on him. He gave the following statement.
I was working in the Department of Films and Publications (DFP) in
1971. I was not involved with political parties. But since my student life, I
was influenced by leftist thought. Being a conscious artist, I had experience of
writing posters and making festoons during different movements and struggles. We
had also been bringing out a cyclostiled magazine long before the Pakistan Army
launched their attack on March 25,
Later on August 29, I went to the house of noted music director
Altaf Mahmud. He intended to send with me one of his businessman friend to
India. But due to curfew at night, Altaf Mahmud told me to stay at his house. It
was the early dawn on August 30, 1971. I was sleeping in the drawing room of
Altaf Mahmud’s residence at Rajarbagh. A pickup came and stopped in front of
the house. I heard the sound of parking and the noise of stepping of boots.
Surprised, I got up from bed. Some 5/6 uniformed Pakistani army personnel
started kicking the door of the drawing room. I was frightened and confused on
whether I should open the door or not. All residents of the house, in the
meantime, woke up. Altaf Bhai came forward slowly and said “I’m opening the
door.” As soon as the door was opened, Pakistani army soldiers pointed their
guns at the chest of Altaf Bhai and shouted, “Who is the music director?”
“It’s me,” replied Altaf Bhai. “Where are the arms?” one soldier asked
loudly.
As there was no answer, they took Altaf Bhai to the backyard. Some
of them stormed into the bed-room and checked everything. They put me, Altaf
Bhai and his two brothers-in-law on to the pickup. Some boys from a neighbouring
house were also taken. While taking us to the pickup, the Pak soldiers beat us
with the butts of their rifles. The pickup van took us straight to the
martial-law court. The court was at the then MP Hostel, which is now the
residential area of the employees of Prime Minister’s Secretariat. Three
buildings were being used as martial-law courts. We were lined up and later
taken to the kitchen of the last building. All of us were asked to sit on the
dirty and damp floor. I was seated after one or two persons. A sepoy called one
of us who was very close to the door. He was taken to the torture room.
We could see a little of what was going on there. Sound of whipping
could be heard from there. As the questioner was asking in Urdu, I couldn’t
understand all the questions, but one thing was clear that he was asking the man
about who were the persons with him. We were frightened as the whipping,
shouting and groaning continued. He was taken to another room after being
tortured for about 15-20 minutes. We saw his body was bleeding. His face was
badly wounded. It was a horrible scene. The next one was a brother-in-law of
Altaf Bhai. He was tortured in same way at the interrogation cell but the army
couldn’t collect any information from him. In fact, he did not know where the
arms were, who were freedom fighters and where they stay. A burning cigarette
was pushed at his limbs and needles pierced into his finger nails. Later the
sepoy said, “Come on, mister music director.”
Altaf Bhai looked at all of us and went to the adjoining torture
room. I heard, he was being questiond: “Tell me where are the rest of the
arms?” “Don’t know.” “Who had kept the arms?” “Some people whom I
don’t know.” I heard Altaf Bhai being whipped and hit by rods. The
repression was slightly visible through the window. Altaf Bhai was not able to
bear the pain of the torture. As he didn’t disclose the names, the level of
torture on him increased. He was being hit with rifle butts indiscriminately.
Burning cigarettes were also pushed on him. Altaf Bhai did not shout like the
others, because, he knew that he would not be freed and it would be his last
day. He admitted everything about himself, but did not name any one else. He
fell down many times as he could not bear the torture. But every time, he was
compelled to stand up. The questioning and repression continued. He was taken to
another room after about an hour. Another person was taken from us and the
repression continued in the same way.
I was the next to be taken away. So I decided what I would say.
They asked in Urdu, “Who is Alvi?” I was surprised to hear my name. How they
knew my name? Did Altaf Bhai tell them my name? No, he couldn’t have. Then the
next person? Or was it anyone else? I was silent for a while thinking of all
these things. The sepoy again shouted, “Alvi Koun (Who’s Alvi)?” I stood
up. Others in the waiting room were observing me. I could not escape denying my
name. They knew it. As soon as I entered the torture room, one officer mentioned
a date and said, “You came from India along with the arms.” He also
mentioned the names of the freedom fighters who came with me. Everything in his
statement was correct. How did they came to know? I understood that one of our
team had been caught. Nervousness started gripping me. I firmly denied
everything — I never went to India, I knew none. Showing a piece of paper, one
of them asked, “Do you know Fateh Ali Chowdhury, Komol and Baker?” “I know
none of them,” I replied confidently.
The army personnel wanted to know, “Are you Alvi?” “Yes, but
I don’t know any of them.” One of the interrogators said, “You will be
freed if you admit everything.” Again
I said, “I know nothing.” Among the three or four armymen, one started
beating me mercilessly. Such indiscriminate beating continued. He struck me hard
in the abdomen with the butt of a rifle. At the same time, I was also being
whipped and questioned. A soldier said, “Do you think you’ll be freed after
denying everything?”
I was feeling severe pain at the beginning of the torture. At one
stage my feelings became numb. My palms were seriously wounded as I tried to
resist the beating with my hands. Bleeding started from the hands. As I had no
sense following continued torture, I could not fathom the exact condition of my
body. Later, I found bleeding from the back and legs. The beating stopped after
a long time. Again the questions were repeated. I denied again. They mentioned
many other names who were known to me. They had gone to India along with me at
the beginning of the war.
The middle-aged armyman who was torturing me became ferocious like
a blood hound after he had failed to dig out anything from me. He hit my abdomen
with the butt of a rifle. He also repeatedly punched and kicked me with full
strength. I fell down, but was forced to stand up again. The extent of torture
increased. I had no strength to remain standing up. I fell down repeatedly. At
one stage Baker was brought. He was our team leader. Only one week back we
carried arms from India under his leadership and kept those in the house of one
of his relatives. He was to come on August 29, but he did not. We were worried
about his fate. Now seeing him in front of me, I understood everything.
The army personnel asked Baker, “Is he Alvi?” Slowly raising his head, Baker looked at me and said, “Yes”.
Then he was taken to another room. His entire body and face was stained with dry
blood. It was for the last time I saw Baker. I told the army personnel, “I
don’t know him. He gave a wrong statement. He lied to save his life. I never
saw him.” In fact, from the very beginning I had decided what I would tell
them. I knew they would not spare me if I admitted the facts. The army officer
asked me, “Do you know Fateh Ali Chowdhury?” I replied in the negative.
“I’ve no friend by that name. However, I can try to check whether he is
known to me if you could bring him in front of me.”
The officer tried to lure me that I would be freed if I tell the
truth, otherwise, I could have to die. But he could not get any information from
me, and became almost like a mad dog. He started hurling abuses and asked a
sepoy to take me and beat me. He said in Urdu, “suaarka
bachchako udhar le jao. Aur maro usko” (Take away the son of bitch and beat him up). Being
excited, he also threw a paper on my face. Perhaps, the paper was the torture
report containing the list of those who were picked up or would be arrested
later.
The sepoy took me to another room where torture continued until
evening. I was not given a drop of water all day. An elderly army man, perhaps a subedar major, secretly brought two
pieces of bread for us at about 3 p.m. He also brought some sugar. The man was a
Beluch. Among the barbaric soldiers, only he showed a little kindness. Looking
at me, he told the sepoy, “Itna mar na maro. Ye bachcha hai. Itna mar marne se ye mar jayega”
(Don’t
beat him too much. He is a kid. He will die if he is beaten anymore.) The blood
over my body made me more confident that I would not admit anything. Never.
At night we were taken to Ramna police station by a bus. The army
troops handed over us to the police. A policeman told the troops to record the
names of those who were taken to the police station. I thought, my name should
be changed and it would be helpful to prove myself innocent. In fact, except for
my close relations no one knew my full name as it was a long one. I mentioned my
name as Syed Abul Barq. Intentionally I hid the last name Alvi.
We were kept in custody at the police station. There were many
others like us. I told Altaf Bhai the story behind my name. He said,
“Ultimately there is no way to escape. Baker might be called again tomorrow.
He will again identify you. They will again interrogate and torture you.” In
police custody, we’re kept along with some theives and pickpockets. They were
very sympathetic to us. The Bangalee policemen at the thana were also
sympathetic. A pickpocket cleaned my face and back with his towel while others
rubbed ointment on our wounds. At that time, the prisoners kept medicines like
paracetamol and painkiller, iodex etc. Their relatives used to supply those. We
could not sleep at night due to severe pain all over the body.
The next morning we, as per the list, were taken to the martial-law
court. This time they took us to another building (building no. 2). On not
seeing any of the previous day’s army men there, I felt courageous. We were
kept in a room, with a wide balcony. We were taken to the balcony one after
another, according to the list, for interrogation. But the torture was not like
the previous day. There was only questioning. Altaf Bhai was the last man to be
interrogated. I was not called. Somehow I was dropped from the list. Maybe my
name was on the paper which was thrown at me. I stood up and said, “I was not
called.” The army officer looked at me, and asked me my name. I said, “Syed
Abul Baraq.” Now the officer looked at the list he was carrying. He went
through the list from top to bottom several times, but did not get the name. He
asked, “Why were you caught?” “I don’t know. I had gone to the house of
Altaf Bhai in the evening and was picked up from there the next morning.”
“Why had you gone there?” I said, “His parents are related to me.”
“Did you not know that he is involved with the Mukti Bahini (Freedom
fighters)?” asked the army officer. “No.” “What do you do?” “I do
work at the DFP.” “Do you attend your office?” “Yes.” “What is the
telephone number of your office?”
I didn’t go to office after March 25 except for somedays to get
my salary. In fact, the entire time I was inIndia. At first I thought I should
give him a wrong number, but that could be more dangerous for me. So, I told him
the correct number. I was thinking if the officer rings up my office and anyone
and asks about my absence, I would get into trouble. Hpwever, I was confident
that everyone at my office would say that I was attending office regularly as
they liked me very much, specially, my boss Mr. Bari. The army officer took the
telephone set. He dialed thrice keeping an eye on me. Perhaps, he was trying to
observe if there was any change on my face. Again I thought that I was going to
face trouble. Instead he said at last, “Okay,” and asked me to standbeside
him. In the meantime, one army man brought a copy of the holy Quran. The officer
ordered, “Touch theQuran and say I never went to India. I don’t know
anyone.” I did the same without any hesitation and said tomyself, “May Allah
pardon me. Saving
one’s life is the prime farz (duty).”
These incidents, one after another, were making me feel more and
more confident. I heard, the army people talking among themselves, “He is a
kid. He has been tortured enough.” A new problem arose when it was confirmed
that I was going to be released. The subedar major who had brought bread the
previous day came into the room at the last moment. He heard everything about
me. He could tell others about me. It was my good fortune, he did not say
anything. Other than Altaf Bhai, all of us were released. But I had some more
problems. The sentry on duty at the gate, was the one who had told me on the
previous day, “Do you think you’ll be freed after denying everything?” To
avoid him, I said, “How shall I go? I can’t even stand up. If you give me a
lift up to the road, I’ll manage somehow to go thereafter.” The officer
enquired and found out that there was no car. He said, “You are young enough.
I believe you can walk and go.” As my attempt to avoid the guard at the gate
failed, I said, “I will not be allowed to cross the gate in this condition.”
The subedar major ensured my crossing the gate by carrying my body on his
shoulders.
We came to the main road on foot. The sepoy who had threatened me
the previous day was looking at me with anger as if a tiger had lost his prey,
but he could not say anything as one of his senior colleagues was accompanying
me. The Beluch army man coming near the road touched my back and said, “Go
home, you must call a doctor to check your condition. Take care.”
I was on the main road but there was no vehicle. At this time, a
private car came back after crossing me. I was astonished. The driver said:
“Come on.” He was a neighbour of Altaf Bhai, father of TV actress Nima
Rahman.
I stayed at Altaf Bhai’s house for 15-20 days. I went to India
again along with a group. My fingers started to become normal after treatment at
Muktijoddha Hospital for many days. At that time, my only work was drawing
pictures of war fields. I still feel the pain on my fingers whenever I paint for a long
time. The horrible memories still haunt me and take me back to those tormenting
days I spent at the Pakistani army camp during the Liberation War.
Interviewed by Ruhul Motin