"They
used to uproot the prisoners’ nails by piercing knives to their fingers
In the early hours of August 30, 1971, everybody at home woke up
hearing the outcry of my younger sister Shimul. I rushed to her room and found
that some black-dressed Pakistani army soldiers had rifles pointed at her neck.
The Pakistani army men entered the room through the kitchen door which was
always kept open. Shimul was at that time practicing of her singing. One army
captain asked, “Who is Altaf Mahmud?” Altaf Mahmud came forward to introduce
himself and said, “I’m Altaf Mahmud”. “Mall Kaha? (Where are the
arms)”, asked the captain.
“I don’t know,” replied Altaf boldly. Without waiting a
moment longer, the captain struck Altaf Mahmud with his rifle. Altaf felt severe
pain on his abdomen. His nose started bleeding. Then the army men compelled him
to unearth some boxes full of arms and ammunition near the tube-well behind the
house. From then, the army formally began to torture him. Before taking us from
our residence in front of Rajarbagh Police Line to the MP Hostel, the army
unleashed torture on us several times. I cannot say how I was taken to MP
hostel. Soon after the car carrying us reached the front of the Hostel, the
Pakistani army burst into joy as if their favourite food stuff had been brought
for them. The soldiers started torturing Altaf on the street. They asked us to
walk for a while and line up there. Then we were taken to a small kitchen. Many
others were confined in the room.
At about 8 a.m. they noted down our names after taking us out from
the tiny house. Then the formal torture session began. A well-trained group of
army personnel took us to an adjacent room and started torturing us. Before
entering the room, I heard the groaning sounds of other people who were being
tortured at that time. The soldiers continued torture on them for 20-30 minutes
and then sent them back to the kitchen.
Havildar Shafin Gul was the leader of the torture group. He used to
unleash torture in many ways. I heard Altaf Bhai groaning at regular intervals
as he was being tortured mercilessly in the room. From another room, the screams
of other freedom fighters were also heard. Through a hole of the kitchen door I
saw a man who‘s face was almost distorted. His right eye was about to come out
while the left one was bleeding. His face was badly injured. He was yelling in
Urdu, “Mujhe goli mar doo, lekin mat maro (Kill me, but don’t beat me
anymore).” Hearing the voice, I thought I might know the man, but I could not
recognise him then. Later, I found out he was Hafizur Rahman, a close aide of
Altaf Mahmud. He was a skilled player of various musical instruments.
I found a group of 5 or 6 army men inside the room when I was
called in. Shafin asked me, “Who were with you and where are the arms?” In
reply, I said, “I know nothing.” Then the barbaric Pakistani soldiers forced
me to lie down on the floor. Two of them stood on my hands while two others on
the legs. Another man pressed my neck to the floor with his legs. They started
inhuman torture on me. They beat me mercilessly from my shoulders to the knees
as if they were chopping meat like butchers. It was their routine torture on
freedom fighters. It was a common punishment for those who claimed to be
innocent from the beginning.
They continued torture on me for about 15 minutes. I found my
clothes had got wet with continuous bleeding from my back and other parts of my
body. At the same time, the devilish army men unleashed torture on the other
Bangalees confined in the balcony and in a room next to it. I could realise the
extent of torture by hearing the screams. I also realised that I was tortured
less than the others. I was sent back to the kitchen after torture lasting for
about 20-25 minutes. The torture on the others, continued.
I saw the detainees taking care of the injured people back from the
torture cell. They washed the blood from their face, shoulders and clothes.
Spraying water on their faces, some detainees tried to bring back the sense of
those who had fainted. I did not know the whereabouts of Altaf Mahmud. The
barbaric soldiers took Altaf away from the camp at about 10 a.m. They also
tortured my elder brother in a barbaric way.
By this time we met two handsome guys in our room. We realized that
they were badly tortured. They were continuously bleeding from their nose, lips
and face. Their clothes were stained with blood. The elder one was looking
towards me, my four brothers and Alvi by reclining his head on the wall. Despite
such unbearable torture by the army men, he was smiling. He was Sharif Imam,
husband of Jahanara Imam. The younger man was Jami, his youngest son. Mr. Sharif
Imam made gestures to us not to make any noise, because the army men used to
multiply the level of torture on those who made noise.
We were confined in a 3-room flat of the MP Hostel. One evening,
about 7 or 8 p.m, we got frightened with the sound of kicking on the door. We
heard the sound of unlocking of the room. The soldiers brought in a young man,
aged about 27-28 years, who was about to die. They kicked and left him in the
room. One of the army soldiers said, “Bloody, want to flee? We’ll not kill
you by shooting”. The young man was moaning and said, “Don’t beat me,
please kill me.” The boy lay with us in the room, but as the door was open, we
could not do anything for him. When the door was closed, we tried to raise the
boy so that he could sit by the wall, but he was too weak to sit. His face was
almost distorted. His nose and mouth were bleeding profusely. He tried to get up
several times, but failed. We could not recognise him. Later, Alvi told me that
he was Badiul Alam, a freedom fighter. He was known as Badi in the Dhaka
University campus. Badi made an attempt to flee from the concentration camp as
he thought it was better to die than to be tortured, but the Pakistani armymen
foiled his attempt and arrested him. Badi fainted as the army men unleashed
brutal torture on him. The devilish Pakistanis left him in an unconscious state
in our room. His off-white trouser and shirt were stained with dry blood which
made the clothes blackish. At about 8 p.m. the armymen took him away. I never
saw him again. After several rounds of interrogation and torture till 8 p.m. the
army men took us away from there in two pick-up vans.
At about 9.30 p.m. the army men took some other people from
adjacent buildings. They picked up another handsome young guy in a separate jeep
from Building No 2. He was severely tortured, but still strong enough to stand.
He himself got into the jeep. His name was Rumi, a freedom fighter and the
eldest son of Jahanara Imam. It was my first and last meeting with Rumi. We were
taken to the Ramna Police Station by 10 p.m. Everyone was lined up in the
verandah. I was surprised to see Chullu Bhai in the line-up. He was also
severely tortured. Chullu Bhai told us not to disclose anything.
On August 31. Pakistani soldiers came to the Ramna thana by bus.
They packed all of us in the bus and took us again to the same Nakhalpara MP
Hostel at about 10 a.m. Everybody was feeling severe pain on their body due to
the previous day’s torture. The army men started torturing us again that day
in same way, asking similar questions. The torture turned more violent. I
applied the strategy according to tips given by the detainees in the Ramna thana
custody. It worked. At one stage the severity of punishment was lessened. I gave
Alvi and others the same tips. In the meantime, one of Alvi’s finger was
fractured. It happened when he tried to resist the stroke of the baton. His
finger was still bleeding.The army men slapped Dilu my younger brother, on the
ear, as he did not give satisfactory replying to their questions. His ear was
also bleeding. He could not even hear anything after the blow. Dilu is still
short of hearing. We spent the whole day in a reign of torture. At about 10 p.m.
they took us to a cell at the Ramna police station.
The next day was September 1. At about 9 o’clock an army bus was
brought and the army men asked us to get into the bus. For the first time there
I saw cricketer Jewel sitting beside me with bandage on his finger. I heard that
he had received bullet wounds on his finger during an attack on the Pak army
near Dhanmondi Road No 18. I heard Jewel reciting from the Quran. Perhaps he
thought that he was going to die soon. His injured finger was proof of his
active participation in the war. Jewel was an active fighter in several
important operations against the Pakistani occupation forces.
On August 30, when he was being brought as a prisoner, he told Mr.
Samad, “You have helped the Pakistan army to arrest freedom fighters. If I
return I will kill you.” But Jewel never returned. He embraced martyrdom.
We were detained again in the same rooms after getting off the bus.
After a few minutes, all the prisoners were taken outside the buildings. The
soldiers ordered us to line up and walk slowly towards the ground floor of the
biggest building of the three. They also ordered us to be seated on the floor.
The place resembled a court room. A colonel was sitting nearby along with two
captains. It was Colonel Naser Hezaji. One of the captains was called Quaiyum,
but I cannot recall the name of the other. Among others, Shafin Gul and his
accomplice Bihari Muktar were there. We understood that they were going to take
the final decision as to who was to be killed and who to be released.
I was observing the captain who was sitting beside Colonel Hezaji.
I recalled that the captain used to go to the DIT television centre. I decided
to talk to him. The captain was so ferocious that he used to remove the
prisoners nails by piercing knives to their fingers. The colonel was delivering
the verdicts like a judge, by pointing his finger to the right or left —
release or punishment.
At about 12.30 p.m. I was called in. The colonel asked me,
“What’s your name?” I replied. Then he asked the names of others. The
Captain was moving the knife about as if it was a pistol. Suddenly I told him,
“I’ve seen you earlier.” Surprised, the captain said, “Where?” I said,
“At the Television Centre.” Then the captain said, “Yes, I used to go
there, but what did you do there?” In reply, I told him that I was an artiste.
The captain smiled and asked what my job was. I replied that I used to sing and
play the tabla (a musical instrument).
As soon as I replied, the captain kicked a small table towards me
saying, “Play on it and sing a song also.” I felt a new lease of life, and I
started singing and playing on the table like a tabla. I cannot recall which
Urdu song I sang. All of us were released, except Altaf Bhai. The captain once
again ordered us not to disclose anything of what happened there. He also asked
us to supply the names and addresses of the freedom fighters and report
regularly about their activities.
When we were leaving the Hostel, Altaf Bhai said, “Don’t worry
about me. Take care of Shaon, my child.”